Author's Preface
They stowed their gear in the back of the Dodge and carefully secured the heavy canvas bag containing the harvested teeth and blood-stained silver jewelry.
"Where's the nearest HQ?" Penny asked, wiping a smear of dark ash and grease from the back of her wrist with her sleeve.
Richard pulled out a worn road map, unfolding it across the steering wheel and squinting in the dim amber glow of the dashboard light. "Erm... where are we..."
"Indiana. Elkhart," Penny said, leaning her head back against the vinyl seat and taking a heavy, ragged breath to settle her adrenaline.
"Right," Richard murmured, his calloused finger tracing a route northwest toward the state line. "Bridgman Retirement, just across the Michigan border. Just under fifty miles call it a fifty-minute run if we stick to the main highways."
Penny glanced out the foggy window at the dark, silent river trees before looking back at the bag sitting between them. "Fifty minutes to cash in teeth from a dead coven. Living the dream, Rich."
"Always, Pen," Richard muttered, turning the key. The engine turned over with a deep, throaty rumble. "Always."
The drive was quiet. The only sound in the cab was the low, crackling hum of static drifting out of the dashboard radio as the Indiana stations faded out. Outside, dark stretches of Midwest farmland slid past in the rain-slicked night.
"You're quiet," Penny said, turning her head from the passenger window as the Dodge crossed the Michigan state line.
"Yeah... sorry," Richard muttered, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. "Just that vamp rattled me."
"How so?"
"She said something about a Gilgamesh," he said softly, shaking his head. "Something about rising..."
"Gilgamesh?" Penny frowned, the light from the passing highway lamps casting long shadows across her face.
"Yeah," Richard murmured, staring straight into the dark stretch of asphalt ahead.
"Just rattled me, that's all."About twenty minutes out, they had pulled off into a desolate 24-hour strip mall lot just off the highway. Richard killed the engine while Penny dashed inside a flickering gas station to grab a prepaid burner phone, a fresh SIM card, and a top-up nozzle of cheap regular unleaded to splash into the Dodge's tank.
Now, with the new phone sitting cold and unactivated on the dashboard, the miles rolled away in near-silence.
By the time they turned off the main county road onto Gast Road, the clock on the dash glowed a harsh 4:02 AM.
The Bridgman Retirement Home sat back from the empty asphalt like a monolithic block of institutional brick and dark shingle, swallowed completely by rural Michigan darkness. It was a single-story sprawling structure wrapped in flat, low-slung architecture, surrounded by deep perimeter lawns and a boundary of skeletal fruit orchards that looked pitch-black under the moonless sky.
Every single exterior window was dark. A solitary, amber security lamp buzzed softly above the recessed main entrance, casting a jaundiced, sickly glow over a pair of empty sliding glass doors and an asphalt parking lot that was completely, unnervingly vacant. There wasn't a single staff vehicle in the stalls, no night nurse smoking out back, and no motion lights kicking on as the Dodge's tires crunched slowly onto the gravel apron.
It looked dead. Or worse, abandoned.
Richard cut the headlights, letting the old truck coast into a shadowed corner near the side maintenance service doors. The engine ticked softly as it cooled down in the freezing pre-dawn chill.
"Quiet," Penny whispered, her eyes scanning the dark, looming roofline.
"Too quiet"It's a retirement home, Pen, not a rave," Richard said, chuckling softly as he killed the ignition. "Good front, ain't it?"
Penny tilted her head, her gaze sweeping over the dark brick facade and the empty parking lot. "No... I was hoping for somewhere with a bit more life."
"Ah, Penny, Penny, Penny," Richard replied, stepping out of the Dodge into the sharp pre-dawn chill. "Too much noise isn't always best. Hides the business."
They walked up to the side entrance, past the muted amber glow of the overhead security light. Richard stopped in front of a weathered, brushed-metal access box mounted beside the heavy reinforced doors. He reached out and pressed the brass button.
The intercom buzzed with a loud, harsh static that sliced through the dead silence of 4:00 AM.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the crackle of the speaker and the distant whisper of the wind through the orchards behind them. Then, a sharp click broke the static.
A voice cut through flat, low, and entirely unbothered by the hour
"State your business."
"Delivery for the night shift," Richard said smoothly, stepping closer to the grill. He didn't blink, didn't shift his stance.
"Night shift... doesn't except deliveries till 8am"
"Oh thats a shame" Richard said "because i know that dentures are very hard to get hold of"
A heavy silence hung over the intercom. For a long three seconds, the static hissed against the cold metal box, sharp and unyielding in the 4:00 AM air.
Then came a deliberate, breathy exhale over the receiver the sound of an insider recognizing the code.
Clack-buzz.
The heavy magnetic lock on the side door disengaged with a solid, echoing thud. The small red indicator light above the frame flickered, popping into a dull, solid green.
"Basement level," the voice rasped out, flatter this time. "Take the service lift. Don't wake the residents."
The intercom went dead with a sharp click.
Richard turned to Penny, a faint, wry smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he grabbed the heavy handle. "Told you. Dentures open doors."
He pulled the reinforced door back, revealing a dim, linoleum-tiled corridor bathed in the sickly yellow glow of fluorescent strip lights. The air hit them immediately-a thick, sanitized mixture of industrial floor bleach, stale tea, and undercoating rust.
Penny stepped across the threshold first, her eyes darting to the security cameras mounted in the ceiling corners as Richard let the heavy door slam shut behind them, locking them inside.
Standing right inside the entryway was a man in a sharp, dark suit that looked completely out of place against the faded linoleum. In front of him sat a low wooden coffee table holding a wide, reinforced leather briefcase, laid open and waiting.
"Can't let you any further," the man said, his voice quiet and completely devoid of emotion. "A couple of the residents are awake."
"No worries," Richard replied easily.
He unslung the canvas bag from his shoulder and set it down heavily on the low table next to the briefcase.
Without a word, the man pulled a small jeweler's loupe and a portable UV pen from his breast pocket. He flipped the canvas bag open, turned the teeth out onto a felt mat, and began examining them one by one under the magnified glass. He clicked the light on, checking the deep, metallic root structures and inspecting the silver filigree on the Level 4's rings for genuine Syndicate markings.
Penny leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms and watching the man's hands move with practiced, mechanical speed."These five are young," the appraiser murmured, rolling the smaller fangs between his gloved fingertips under the purple glow of the UV pen. "Not worth much. A few grand each... say, four thousand total for the lot."
He set them aside and picked up the larger, silver-rooted fangs. "Older. Female..." He held one up to the light, peering through his loupe before giving it a light, deliberate tap against the hard surface of the table. "Hmm. Hollow root channels. She was a mother. Forty years old, give or take."
Penny shifted against the wall, frowning. "You can tell all that just from looking at teeth?"
"Yeah," the man replied, not bother to look up. "Every one has little markers. Teeth tell a story if you know how to read 'em." He set the fangs down on the felt mat with a soft clack. "I'll give you six grand for her."
"Six?" Penny scoffed, stepping forward. "You joking?"
"Six grand or nothing, lady," the man said, his voice ice-cold and unyielding.
Richard stepped up beside Penny, resting a heavy hand on the edge of the table. "What about the jewelry as well?"
The appraiser pulled the canvas bag closer, tilting it to let the silver necklaces and heavy rings spill out beside the felt mat. He sorted through the metal with a gloved thumb, testing the weight of a thick signet ring before dropping it back onto the pile.
"Tell you what," the man said, snapping his loupe shut and sliding it back into his pocket. "There's some nice gold in here. Hmm... say seventeen all in.""Make it eighteen and you have a deal," Richard said, holding out a broad, calloused hand.
The appraiser didn't flinch. He looked down at the extended hand for a long, quiet second, then nodded once.
"Deal."
He reached down into the open leather briefcase on the coffee table, slid out two thick stacks of banded hundred-dollar bills, and peeled off ten loose notes from a third strap. He stacked the cash cleanly on the table right beside the felt mat, then swept the harvested fangs and gold into the lining of his bag with one smooth, practiced motion.
Penny straightened up from the wall, her eyes tracking the money.
"Nice doing business with you," Richard muttered, sweeping the cash up and sliding it into the deep inner pocket of his coat.
The man snapped the briefcase shut with a sharp clack of brass latches. "Always is. Now get going before the day shift staff start trickling in."
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