The night air was cool and had been refreshingly crisp. Had been, before it was filled with smoke and ash.

Solomon checked his cards, humming softly as he did. He found the quiet sound useful for distracting him from the screams.

"Do you have any twos," he asked the vampire sitting across from him. Benjamin shook his head; his dark eyes focused on his own hand. "Go fish." Solomon sighed and drew a card. In the distance, one of his gorger packs screamed. A moment later, some of Solomon's magic flooded back into him, the cold power drifting through his veins before settling around his heart.

"Pillar of Fire at the west side," Benjamin said. "Do you have any sevens?" Solomon sighed as he handed over his seven. At the same time, he reached out along one of the threads of dark green magic that sprung from his chest. He focused on the strand, sending a squad of zombies towards the other side of the compound.

He had at least one ember corpse in that squad, and the lone mage stationed in Good-View had shown a decent amount of skill in fire magic, but so far, only in fire magic. The squad should be enough.

He tried to focus on his cards but found his mind drifting. Good-View had been owned by a branch family of the Laurota.

Said branch family, their pack of Were-Kin allies, and the lone battle mage hadn't been enough to stop Solomon. They had fought well, but now... Another scream tore into the night air.

He had offered to take them prisoner. They had refused. He hadn't wanted to give them such messy deaths, but the undead were far easier to replace than his own people.

The spark of a much younger Solomon felt guilt at the deaths. But that spark was from a Solomon who hadn't experienced centuries of life, of war.

Of death.

Now, Solomon found it far easier to push down the guilt, but he didn't try to crush it completely. He needed that guilt, needed something to remind him that what he did, while necessary, was something that should eat at him.

But he did worry how it would affect him when he destroyed something more innocent than one of the Laurota's outposts.

This was a base filled with trained spooks, not civilians. How long would it be until– "Solomon! Do you have any fives?"

"What? Oh, sorry, Benjamin. My thoughts had run away with me."

Benjamin didn't say anything but stared pointedly at Solomon's hand. He sighed and started handing over his five when his phone began to ring.

The loud, blaring tone echoed off the walls of the ruined building they sat in. Solomon stopped himself from jumping at the sudden noise, but it was close. He read the number, then froze as all thoughts of cards left his mind. He quickly answered the phone.

"Speak," he said, his voice cold.

"They're holding the summit in Silver Spruce, a small town in Oregon." The voice on the other end of the line was rough but had an odd smoothness to it, like gravel covered in grease. "I'm sending you a map now."

"What day is the summit?"

"Three weeks from today. Now that I've told you when and where the damn thing is, when can I expect my payment?" The voice dripped with impatience.

"You will get your payment. You know my track record of repaying debts. Be patient. They will die."

Solomon hung up before the voice could respond. "Well, well. He actually came through," Benjamin said. He could have overheard the phone speaker from across the street, much less from across the table. "That he did," Solomon said. "And we wouldn't have found the place without him."

They had found at least seven other potential summit locations so far. The factions of the Pact had made a strong effort to hide the summit location. Each faction sending important members to the dummy locations to throw Solomon off. "What's the plan?" Benjamin asked.

Solomon set down his cards. He didn't want to raze a town just to kill a few powerful players, but...

"Planning is the plan. I have several prepared already. But we have three whole weeks. Let's see if we can come up with some that don't involve killing swaths of civilians."