"Hiya, Justin. Merry Christmas!"

Fraser skidded his bike to a halt in front of Justin, who was standing in the alleyway outside the club smoking. He'd never told Fraser where he worked, but it shouldn't have come as a surprise that a kid an enterprising as Fraser would find out. Great timing too, as he'd be able to ask Fraser to hand that other USB stick over and find out what was on it.

"Can I have a ciggie?" Fraser asked.

"No, it isn't good for you."

Fraser shrugged. "I've got something to tell you. Can I come in?"

Justin dropped his fag end to the floor and stamped on it, picking up the flattened butt and sticking it in the bin. He pushed open the back door to the kitchen and Fraser followed him in, nose twitching. The mid-afternoon shift had finished, and the remains of fifty people's Christmas lunches dotted every surface. He and Marty were making the sourdough loaves the kitchen was famous for.

Marty slid one of the giant paddles out from the oven, six loaves on it, as Justin and Fraser entered.

"Better give him one," Justin said, and Marty picked up the biggest loaf and carved it into doorstop slabs, slathering them in butter. Neither he nor Justin ever tired of watching appreciative humans eat their food. This one might not have the word power, but the appreciative yums and mmms made up for it.

Mouth still full, Fraser raised his eyebrows, signalling to Justin he was now ready to deliver that all-important news. Marty saw it too and stuck his hand in the air as Justin tossed the packet of cigarettes at him. He let himself out.

"Well?" Justin asked.

"It's the warehouse," Fraser replied, jaw still working furiously to chew the bread. "There were aw' these Vampire Security guards hangin' around the industrial estate earlier."

Justin swore. The day before, he'd moved Dorothy and all her paraphernalia into the scrubbed clean basement. Dorothy had looked around, nodded once, and said it would pass. She didn't bother thanking Justin for all the work he'd put into a) finding the place and b) hiring and paying a heavy-duty cleaning team.

"I better make my way over there."

Marty could handle the few food orders that would come in. He grabbed his coat off the hook on the door. Fraser's bike was child-sized, appropriately enough, but if he got on it, Fraser could sit on the handlebars, and they'd get to the warehouse much more quickly than walking.

Fraser eyed Justin dubiously as he explained their mode of transport. "If you break ma bike, I'll stake you myself."

Nevertheless, he sat on the bars, slight weight leaning into Justin. They set off, the ride wobbly at first, but then the bike gliding along as Justin adjusted to the shift in gravity. Fraser in his light grey hoodie must make them look like that scene from a long-ago film where a small boy pedalled an alien to the hillside where a spaceship would pick him up and take him home.

They arrived at the industrial estate fifteen minutes later. The vans were still in place, loading boxes into the back as a woman in a white coat, her hands handcuffed behind her back, screeched at .

"Please, please don't do this!"

Not Dorothy, though, and they were removing the boxes not from the old Hamilton & Co warehouse but the building opposite. One van trundled off, its black lead-lined sides passing inches in front of Justin and Fraser's faces as it drove towards the exit of the estate.

Justin felt what used to be his blood run cold. Maya was in that van.

He got off the bike. "You better scarper, Fraser," he told his companion, who nodded. "Take this with you." He pressed the USB stick into the boy's palm. "There's no bitcoin code on it, but it's valuable. Can you keep it safe?"

"Oh, aye!" With that, Fraser grinned and pedalled off much faster than a small, malnourished boy ought to be capable of.

A car screeched to a halt close by. Dorian exited his walk towards them deliberately unhurried.

"What's going on?" he asked, addressing the guy who appeared to be in charge. "My business partner and I will sue you for every penny you've got if we discover you've damaged my property."

What? Dorian owned both buildings? He cycled over. The guards stared. One of them put his hand behind his back, reaching for the automated crossbows they wore.

"Don't touch him," Dorian snapped. "He's state licensed and within his right to be here. He's my business partner."

The guard's top lip curled. "A vampire as a business partner? I've heard it all now. But if this building is your property, you're both in shit-loads of trouble." He pointed to his colleagues loading up the boxes. "Stolen goods worth close to a quarter of a million pounds. Know anything about them?"

"No."

Justin had worked closely with Dorian for more than a year. The denial was a lie. A memory struck him—that time he'd stood outside the kitchen at Club Sapphire listening to a whispered conversation.

"I know, I know. Time is of the essence, but they won't touch anything as hot as that. They can't."

At the time, Justin had guessed the conversation concerned stolen goods. Dorian must have been part of a plan all along.

The guard folded his arms. "We received a tip-off about this place being used to house stolen goods, so we raided it earlier this morning and found them. You and your 'colleague' will now need to come in for questioning. Convince us the stuff we've just confiscated from your building has nothing to do with you. I doubt it, though."

The remaining guards closed in on them. Dorian's face underwent several transformations before settling on disdain. "Good God, man. By the time my lawyer's through with you, you'll be out of a job."

The guard shifted his shoulders, gallic-like. "It's a risk I'm willing to take, pal."

His colleagues took that as their cue and piled Dorian, Justin and the white-coated woman into a van—the same one they'd used for transporting vampires before the Liberal Party outlawed them. As suspects, they chained them to the walls of the van, cuffs around their wrists and necks.

The van sped off, the jolt of it sending Justin and Dorian chained to the back door forward and then back, their heads thumping off the door with a crack.

"Are you Kirsty?" Justin asked the woman, and she nodded. "Damn and blast them! Those boxes contain thousands of vaccines. Think of how many people they would protect!"

"I phoned Julie Tree before I got here," Dorian said, naming the vampire rights specialist lawyer Justin hadn't thought about in a long time. She'd been the one responsible for arranging the conditions of Lewis's pardon when they returned to Dunrovia. Surely, the charge of receiving stolen goods would be small fry to her.

"In the meantime." Dorian dropped his voice. A glass screen separated them from the guards in the front, but better to be on the safe side. "When they start asking questions, deny all knowledge. Kirsty, pretend you thought everything was legit. Repeat the same thing like a stuck record, okay?"

The van jolted once more as it rolled over yet another deep pothole. Justin closed his eyes. Denial while being questioned by the nasty sods at Vampire Security might help in the short-term, but not as much as having back-up in the form of another vampire.

Lewis, I need your help.

Did telepathy travel over kilometres and not just metres... He'd better hope it was the former.

AUTHOR'S NOTE - thanks for reading! Next update, Tuesday 3rd August, 2021.