I decided to drive to New York City rather than to fly, and I took Rohan's high-end Jaguar for the remarkable way the seats made my ass feel. I liked my new Audi, but the Jag simply was a cut or three above.

Because of my scant need for rest, I managed to make the trip from Chicago in short order. And I soon was situated in a reasonable room about eight blocks from where I knew Whitefarrow hung his hat. His security might be tight, but he was one fellow it was never hard to find.

My first action upon settling into my accommodations was to contact Fallon and to arrange a reunion. Best to do that before anyone knew to look for me in the city. My enemy was ruthless, and this was the best way to see my young friend while ensuring her safety.

I should have refrained from seeing her entirely. It is with the deepest shame and utmost pain that I admit to any weakness, but things had not gone well with Freya-Lynn and I on our last meeting. She broke down in tears several times on our drive home from Kenilworth. It soon had become clear that the fear she felt was not of her kidnappers. She feared me. Not long after I left her, she texted and informed me she couldn't see me again.

I didn't blame her for any of it. I hoped that one day she might relent, somehow see herself clear to forgive me, but I was not certain she would. Some people simply did not have the heart to look at a creature like me without quailing. And what can I say? She was right.

I thought to see Fallon just once to help me get my bearings. We met at a tiny diner a few blocks from her home, chatted, laughed, and caught up. I hungered for her warmth and thirsted for her society at that point far more than I craved her body. And our reunion was more splendid than I could have hoped.

Afterward, I walked her back to her door, bid her to be careful in the city, and promised her I would again contact her when my business in the area was completed. She left me with the most loving kiss.

I then spent the rest of the night prowling around the city, checking in on the properties I knew to belong to my enemy through his many companies, and getting a feel for the security in each location, especially in the lofty office building that was the nerve center and headquarters of his many undertakings, a place called Centrix Tower. It had been many years, and my study of the man and his affairs was as up-to-date as I could make it.

First and foremost, I needed to figure out how to get past the man's security. He was guarded night and day, and in recent years had seldom left his headquarters building.

I wasn't worried about threats from my fellow blood drinkers. My kind tended to be fickle in their allegiances. If what Rohan had told me was true—and I rather suspected it was—there was no great love for the fellow among our kind. Like Marion, Whitefarrow no doubt had a few young and naïve hangers on, but few other blood drinkers would take any significant risks on the man's behalf.

No. My enemy's personal security was provided primarily by normal humans, most of whom were security professionals. Most of those would have little idea what Whitefarrow was. That might work for me or against me. Professionals rely on their reputations, which means they're willing to take great risks to keep their charges safe.

But human beings have families.

Did I want to identify the key people in my enemy's security detail, inform them of the true nature of their employer, and if necessary threaten their families? No, not really. But I think you've guessed by now that it wouldn't trouble my conscience to do so.

I needed more information. One way or the other, I needed to see inside my enemy's organization, to get a handle on what went on there and to assess its strengths and vulnerabilities. Eventually, I'd need to seek the help of people close to Whitefarrow.

But first things first.

I drank that night. These next weeks would be important, so I needed to bring my A game. Later that evening, I cleaned myself up, found a lovely club, and led a delightful young man to believe he might get lucky. And he did. I left three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills in the unconscious fellow's shirt pocket after draining three syringes of nectar from his shapely backside. I felt better afterward and resumed my hunt with greater vigor.

***

In the end, I devoted nearly a week to my stalking and to my research on Whitefarrow and his security team. By watching my enemy's various properties closely, I identified two people inside his organization that I believed would be able to help me.

The first was a senior security officer named Corey Wanchek, a well-muscled man in his middle thirties who often worked near the boss. Corey was a former marine sniper and family man from Red Hook who had worked as a private contractor and bodyguard since his discharge from the military. He was every inch the professional and also was, by my observation, a devout Catholic.

Churchgoing men always were a wildcard. I needed to neutralize my enemy's security detachment. The most obvious way was to convince them that their client simply was not worth protecting. That meant that I needed to convince one or more of them that their boss was a vampire, and a requisite task to that ends was to convince them that vampires truly existed. Not an easy thing to do. That might involve deliberately exposing myself to someone like Corey. It was not a pleasant thought.

It wasn't that I was afraid of pitchfork-wielding mobs—at least not those, per se—but if news of my presence were somehow to make it back to my enemy. Well ... that would be trouble for me. I had to move wisely.

Tanis Lizelle was a hippy. I could think of no other way to describe her. The young woman, just barely five feet with a penchant for patchouli, was the only female in the corporate IT department at Centrix Investments, the mother corporation that ran Centrix Tower. That meant she had access to virtually every facet of the company's information systems, and had nearly unfettered physical access to the entire building.

My plan to do away with Whitefarrow wasn't terribly complex. My enemy spent much of his time entrenched in a well-fortified section of the Centrix building. Even if I were to convince his security detail to abandon him, there still were one or more security doors and passageways through which I would need to pass to reach the man.

One entire section of the building, including the top two floors, was little more than an enormous panic room with a single entrance the door of which was of thick solid steel. At the first sign of trouble, the scoundrel need do nothing more than hunker down. Any defections from his security staff would be unfortunate, but Whitefarrow need do nothing more than wait while the services of new bodyguards were engaged.

Undermining his security team alone was not enough. I needed to get the man out of the building at a time of my choosing, where his lack of security guards would work to my advantage. That was the trick.

I had several approaches in mind, none of which I had yet settled on. I needed to learn more. And I needed to have people inside the building on my side; hence, my particular interest in Corey and Tanis.

I first spent some time in Red Hook. Brooklyn had a particular charm all its own, one I found appealing, but it was difficult at first figuring out how to approach the security man Corey. He was close with his family, and spent most of his time in their company.

Using sex to entice the chap was out of the question. The results simply were too unpredictable, and it might require weeks or months to get him onto my team that way. I finally decided on something simple. One or two nights a week, Corey's missus allowed him out of the house to go have a beer or three with his pals.

It was a nice local bar at which he spent his time. There was a certain friendly rowdiness, and the occasional bits of bawdy language, but it wasn't the kind of place that required a constant need to slap hands away. Such things could be dreadfully distracting, and I wasn't interested in unnecessary complications.

"Were you in the marines?" I asked Corey when I finally approached the man. I'd just overheard him talking with several of his comrades about that particular topic.

The veteran confirmed that he was, and I indicated that I was 19, out of work, and considering a few years in the military to get some experience and to serve my country.

The conversation went on from there. Corey was a good man, and he thought it important to give clear and accurate information. The military wasn't for everyone, he said, but if that was the direction I wanted to go, he'd be happy to act as a sounding board, just in case I wanted to run anything past him that the recruiting sergeants told me.

He really was a nice man.

I'd done a little research on shooting ranges in the area, and found one that was open after dark. I asked Corey to teach me to shoot a firearm. That was to be our alone time, the excuse I had to work on the man and to allow him to get to know me—and to convince him that he worked for a monster.

***

"You ever see anything you couldn't explain?" I asked Corey during a break at the shooting range three days later. It was our first visit.

"What do you mean?" he asked, leaning back in one of the folding chairs the range provided.

"You know ... something you couldn't explain, like um ...."

"Like Bigfoot?"

"Yeah," I said. "Bigfoot, Chupacabra, werewolves, vampires ... that kind of stuff."

He chuckled. "I don't really believe in that."

"What if I told you that you worked for one?" I had not planned on moving that quickly. But, as sometimes happened, I just had a feeling.

It seemed to pay off because something flashed in my new friend's eyes. "What do you mean?" he asked.

He'd heard something, rumors at work about the boss. I was certain of it. This might be easier than I'd feared. "You've never heard a rumor? ... Felt something just wasn't quite right about the guy you work for?"

"Who are you? ... really?" His tone was uncertain, but not hostile. It wasn't even suspicious, as strange as that might sound.

"I'm a friend, and I'm someone who knows your boss is not what he appears to be."

He chuckled, as if trying to laugh away his own worries. "He's what, bigfoot? A space alien?"

"Corey, I'm going to go out on a limb and say your boss fills you with unease. And you are not the kind of man who it's easy to make nervous. Yes or no?"

"Are you from H.R.?"

"Of course not."

He stared at the ground in the steady and calm way he did. "He is a strange duck," the marine said after a time. "And, yeah, the guy creeps me out. Creeps a lot of people out. But I'm not supposed to talk about him, NDA and all."

There was something calm and methodical about this man that I liked. Former military men, it had been my experience, were of two types: those obsessed with controlling everything around them, and those who were troubled by nothing. As I'd hoped, I found the latter.

"Are you a journalist?" he asked.

"No, I'm someone who knows firsthand that your employer is a monster. And I want to do something about it."

He smiled. "What kind of monster?"

"Nothing like you've ever heard. People call folks like Whitefarrow vampires, but when they say that ... well, it's nothing at all like in the movies."

"He's a banker," Corey said, as if that explained everything. "And he pays really well."

"I guess that says a lot," I replied. "Look, I'm sorry I was dishonest with you about my intentions. But this isn't the kind of thing you walk up to a stranger and start blabbering about."

"It's okay," he said with a smile. "I can't get the wife to come shooting with me. And the kids are still too young."

The range went hot again, and on the far side of the firing line, a couple of lone shooters began firing. Corey stood, as if to recommence himself.

"What if I could prove to you that creatures like that exist? Would you believe Whitefarrow might be one of them?"

"I might. What sort of proof do you have?"

I joined him on the firing line. "I'll have something for you in a few of days." We continued our lesson.

There was no question Corey was a good choice on my part, but I didn't want to rush him. Even the most stolid of souls can be startled or knocked from their game. So I decided to give him a few days to chew on things before sharing more.

During that period, I also began my friendship with Tanis Lizelle, the IT hippy. I first introduced myself at a bar, and she and I sparked up a friendship chatting about the occult, a subject on which she imagined herself an aficionado.

I don't know if I need to say this to you, but the occult is bullshit ... and, yes, sad. I once met Aleister Crowley, and even I found him creepy, and not in a good way. Was he in touch with the other side? I rather think his spiel was just a con to get young men and women naked. To that ends, kudos to him.

But I digress.

I knew enough of such things to speak of them with a certain degree of authenticity, and then, over a series of days, I steered my conversations with Tanis toward the monsters among us. It took me no time at all to convince her that her employer was one of them. In fact, after several meetings, it was she who was egging me to action against the man.

It was another good choice, and I soon had unfettered access to my enemy's every business secret, and, more importantly, access to his daily schedule for weeks in advance. It was solid gold.

***

Corey and I next met a week later. On our way home from the range, he needed to stop at his uncle's shop to pick up a few things. Most of the former marine's family were in the trades, and his uncle was a blacksmith, carpenter, and jack-of-all trades.

We were nearly to his uncle's place, and my new friend was driving. He was just teasing me about how he was certain that I'd fired a weapon before.

"Yeah, I sort of have," I admitted.

"You know," he continued, "there's a BOLO at the office on someone who matches your description."

"BOLO?"

"Be on the lookout."

"Ah," I said. "It describes me as some sort of leftwing anarchist who wants to destroy capitalism in America, doesn't it?"

He began laughing. "Something like that."

"Did you believe that shit, about me being a crazed lefty?"

"Nah."

"Why?"

"You like shooting too much."

I did like shooting quite a lot, and I'd done some over the years. It quieted the destructive impulse in me. By that time, we'd reached his uncle's shop, and the man was nowhere to be seen.

"He's probably off to bed by now." Corey didn't object when I got out of the pickup and followed him into the shop."

"You had any more thoughts about your boss being a monster?" I asked him.

"I might have heard some things." He selected a length of iron fencing to transport to the pickup. "You said you were going to bring me some proof."

"Lemme help with that." So I helped transfer a dozen sections of fence to the pickup bed, to be installed as an enclosure to a neighbor's front yard. Each section was sturdy, but they weren't terribly heavy.

When we finished with the last, I said, "What if I'm a monster like your boss Whitefarrow? Would that convince you monsters exist?"

He smiled. "You're a nice kid. You're not a monster."

"I don't creep you out?"

"Not even a little bit."

I stepped over to his uncle's work area. There was an anvil there that probably weighed close to 400 pounds. I palmed it, lifted it, and held it at arm's length for a good 20 seconds.

Corey impressed me. He was not a man easily startled, and he wasn't startled now. But there was a look in his eyes of curiosity, with perhaps a hint of doubt. When I lay the anvil down, he spoke.

"Okay, that was really cool. How'd you do that?"

"I'm strong."

He looked around. "Did my ...?"

"Your uncle didn't put me up to this. It's not a prank."

"Okay, take off your jacket."

I removed my coat, and he did a quick inspection for wires and gadgets, carefully asking my permission before he patted me down under and along the arms. His look changed to one of curiosity mixed with confusion.

"And you say you're a vampire?"

It's nothing like it is in the movies," I said. "Nothing at all."

"Wh ... what do you want from me? Why are you telling me this?"

I took a seat on the anvil, my jacket in my lap. "Whitefarrow is as corrupt as he is evil. Some years back, he murdered a friend, someone who was like a father to me. I'm here to take his head."

I counted on a number of things with Corey, one of the most important was that he was a stable character with a deep understanding of loyalty and love of family.

"I'm sorry about your loss. But it doesn't answer my question."

"What do I want from you? ... Nothing." I looked him dead in the eye. "I'm not an angel Corey, but I'm not a monster either. I'm coming for Whitefarrow, and I don't want any innocents to get in the way. I know he's your boss, and I know he pays you. But he's not worth protecting, and he's not worth getting killed over."

Some of what I said wasn't true. Did I want to hurt Corey and his comrades? Of course not. But neither was I certain I could cut through their ranks, especially if Whitefarrow and one or two others such as myself were among them. I just needed to thin the enemy ranks against me.

But that issue was not what I wanted Corey to focus on. He was a moral man, a deeply devout Christian, who guarded a monster. I needed to convince Corey to get his men to walk away when I came for my enemy. Plain and simple. I would say whatever I needed to say.

"So?" he asked.

"When I come for Whitefarrow, I just need you and your men to walk away. I'll handle everything else."

A look of great discomfort crossed his face. He was a professional, and what I asked of him cut against the grain. "I don't know how you did that." He pointed to the anvil. "But you're asking me to break an agreement. I don't know anything about Whitefarrow for certain. People talk, but that doesn't mean anything."

"You need more proof?"

"Yes."

"Okay," I said. "Just promise me not to tell anyone about what we've talked about, and I'll bring you proof."