Night was dark. Quiet. Cold. Good for a hunt.

My target had no idea he was being stalked.

While his heavy footfalls crunched against icy pavement, I glided a standard fifteen feet behind, melting into the shadows of the South Philadelphian brick rowhomes. He marched forward, clueless, gym bag swung over one shoulder. Even in the dark, I could see the sweat beaded on his bald head turn to ice.

The thrill of the chase thrummed in my veins, urging me forward, fangs bared.

But this wasn't the old country. I'd been around the block a few hundred times. Knew better now than to just pounce a man twice my size on a public street.

I knew the satisfaction of a good hunt.

My target's pulse hummed. Steady. Relaxed. Oblivious.

He slowed as he approached a dingy brick façade just a few lots from the corner of Carpenter Street and Grays Ferry Ave. The house stood, crooked, in the shadows of a scaffolding covered soon-to-be modern apartment complex and the smokestacks of the Veolia Energy plant only a block over. A shiny, new sinkhole was opening out front too. Right in the cross walk.

Instead of ringing the bell, my target paused under the porch light, and made a call. Interesting.

Curtain moved aside from the upstairs window. A feminine silhouette appeared for only a moment in the illuminated pane, before vanishing.

Minute later, maybe less than, the door opened.

My time to strike.

In a flash, I flipped my phone out from my jacket pocket, striking a semi-casual pose against a brick wall, and pretended to call an Uber. The mammoth lens screwed into phone camera would blend seamlessly into its sleek, black case to the nighttime observer. Of course, the video would be absolute garbage in such low light, but capturing the number of the residence Mr. Cabroni slipped into would be enough to satisfy the werewolf's jealous wife.

See, Mrs. Cabroni hired me the moment her husband had come home smelling like "some other bitch." Her words, not mine.

I sighed and slumped a little more deeply against the wall, watching as Mr. Cabroni was pulled into the welcoming arms of his petite mistress. Yeah, domestic work was, well, bottom feeder-ish, but also easy money for a Private Eye.

Porchlight went out.

An icy gust ripped down Gray's Ferry Ave, prickling my ears. They throbbed. My nose tingled. Throat was hoarse. Was only then I noticed my veins ached something fierce.

Golly gee, guess who'd gotten so absorbed in his work he'd forgotten to eat? Again.

Alright, fella, to hell with it.

Camera off. Cabroni wouldn't be exiting the rowhome anytime soon. He'd already told his missus he'd be spending the night at his ailing momma's while wifey stayed home with the pups. I was done.

Maybe I could dip out of this mostly human neighborhood and into Center City before sunup. Swing by The Raven Lounge. Hm, it'd probably be crawling with Tourists at this hour, but it was a vampire owned joint and there were always willing donors lurking about. Place had the proper Society permits for it too. Or at least mighty good fakes.

Except my wallet felt a bit slim in my pocket.

Sigh. Maybe after Mrs. Cabroni's next check cleared.

I turned east toward home instead.

The ground rumbled from an approaching train, but beyond this, the streets were quiet. I scrolled through my phone as I walked, noting, and ignoring, both the text and voicemail from Phoebe, my secretary.

As the train buzzed past me and over the Schuylkill River, the shadow trailing me in my peripheral picked up its pace. Was the kind of shadow that extinguished lamplights as it drew near. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Ah hell. This ain't my night.

With a screech, the shadow attacked. It peeled from the wall in a hissing fury, unfurling into its true form, all leathery wings and razor fangs.

I secured my phone safe in my pocket. No point in retreating. It would only snare me anyway. Best to just accept the inevitable.

The snarling creature slammed into me with the force of the train barreling over the river. Damn thing knocked the air out me. Which was impressive, since I didn't even need to breathe to begin with. For a moment, us two monsters were airborne. And when you're airborne, you expect to come down hard on cracked pavement. You brace yourself for the fractured ribs, busted elbow, probably some decent scrapes to the back and face. Would ruin my favorite leather jacket though. Pity.

Anyhow, my back collided with metal instead. Didn't hurt any less.

I was then dumped onto some heinously upholstered floor. It reeked of iron and artificial pine. I rubbed the stars out my eyes and heard the slide of a metal door closing, deducing that I'd been tossed in the back of a van.

The vehicle jerked forward.

I slid across the floor and into the door of the trunk. The seats had all been removed.

Across from me, encompassing most of the van, was the gigantic, bat-like creature that had attacked me.

Flat on my back and sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Dmitri, is this any way to greet an old friend?"

The creature's form changed, compacting in on itself until the wings dissolved away and the fangs retracted back to a tasteful half inch over the lip. The sickly gray complexion of its skin... well, didn't change much. It only grew more wrinkly as the ancient vampire returned to a human shape.

Vaguely human shape. Eck.

The creature spoke in a thick Hungarian accent that betrayed his over 150 years of living stateside. "Evening, Gregorio, son of Vasel, blood son of—"

"Looking spiffy Dmitri," I interrupted, not particularly fond of that introduction. "Is that a tan?"

The vampire snarled, eyes glowing a bloody red. Still, the effect had lost some of it once majestic terror, as a self-proclaimed lord of the damned was clearly in a state of decay. He stood, hunched over, probably only a couple inches over five feet tall. His skin was the usual undead pallor but decorated with wrinkles and liver spots and few open sores. Bags and crow's feet adored those red eyes. Drooping lips barely hid Dmitri's yellowing, curved fangs. The claw-like nails on his hands were brittle and broken. White hair—which I recalled being a rich chestnut last time I was intimidated—hung in a thinning, limp, mess around his shoulders. At least the old bat was still wearing his best suit, even if it was sagging off his frame and hadn't been dry cleaned since Andrew Jackson was president.

Gee. Dmitri had really let himself go.

I brushed one of his hairs from my shoulder. "Nice to see you too, pal."

"You may refer to him," said a voice from the driver's seat, "as 'My Liege, the Lord of Darkness and Terror,' as he is your master, as he is the master of all—"

"My liege, may remember that it's Greg now and I'm actually unincorporated so—son of a cow!"

Dmitri impaled my hand. My fanging hand! His yellowed talon had torn right through, anchoring me to the floor of the van. So the older vampire wasn't as fragile as he appeared. Who'd of thunk it?

"Dmitri. Please, I—" I groaned. Course the vampire sunk his claw in deeper. Was that the sound of my skin or the upholstery tearing? Dmitri, still hissing, waggled his finger, ripping the hole he'd made a little further open. Not being immune to pain, I ground my teeth. "My liege, my hand. I like that hand. Need that hand. My trigger finger's on that hand."

"Yesss," the older vampire calmed, unstuck his decrepit finger from my flesh, and reached into my jacket. Withdrawing the glossy old revolver, Dmitri made a noise of discontentment in his throat. "I never understood your liking for these toys, Gregorio."

He flicked the gun into the front seat.

I cradled my injured hand. Hell. A measly trickle of blood leaked out. I was almost dry. It would take hours, perhaps a day or two, to heal without a decent meal. "Not that I don't love a social call, but I got to say I'm running on fumes. Why don't we pop off somewhere? What about you, you look like you could use a bite, eh?"

While Dmitri scratched his chin with his bloody finger, humming in deep thought, the brown eyes of the man driving flicked over to me in the rearview mirror.

"How can I eat, Gregorio?" Dmitri's voice was thick with melancholy. "When my love has vanished?"

"Oh. Your... come again?"

The van stopped short at a light. I flung forward, into Dmitri's awaiting arms. He embraced me, a deafening, morose shriek escaping him. My spine cracked. Swell.

"She is gone!" Dmitri wiped the blood from his eye on my sleeve. Yeah. It really was too bad about that jacket. "My dearest! She is my one true love, my dearest wife, my queen, my babygirl, returned to me in yet a new lifetime! No! Not returned! My love is stolen from me! Without her, I am less. I am unworthy. I am to waste to nothing!"

Dmitri sobbed, loud and ugly, into my shoulder. I'm a smart enough man to admit when I'm afraid, and right then I was quaking at how close lord of the flies' claws were to my neck. I sat as still as possible throughout the pothole riddled ride, occasionally offering him a gentle pat and a there, there.

Still, got to say I was confused. Dmitri had a wife? Not one I knew of. Then again, I last saw Dmitri was in '25, and he always was, until this moment, particularly private about his personal life. To let himself go so far to commit suicide by starvation over a woman... well, I figured that must be something special, though I certainly didn't envy the feeling.

But what had it all got to do with me?

"Do you know what it is to lose your truest love, Gregorio!"

"Um, 'fraid not, my liege."

Dmitri dug his claws deep into my chest, easily puncturing through my flimsy t-shirt to the cold flesh beneath. On instinct, I grabbed his wrist and held on tight. If vampires could perspire, then I'd be sweating bullets. My eyes found the driver's in the rearview mirror again, and I delivered a stare which I sure darn hoped would convey he's your master, get him off me already.

The driver returned to his eyes to the road.

My luck.

"It is to have your heart soul ripped from you!"

Before my unbeating heart could be ripped from me, the van stopped short again. Dmitri's claws dislodged from my chest as we tumbled over each other.

Face against the van floor, Dmitri moaned. "I have vowed never to be parted from her again. I shall scour the ends of the earth to reunite with my love. But the googly map, alas, has delivered quite unsatisfactory scouring results thus far."

Oh! Alright now, of course. A missing person case. Juicy. Hadn't had one of those in ages. And for... "love." How noble.

"So you're saying, is that you've lost your Bloodbag—human. You've misplaced a human of yours and want me to bring her back?"

The driver shot me a venomous look in the mirror.

"Yes! Have I not been translucent?" Dmitri bemoaned.

"Yes, of course, crystal, ah, translucent."

"And ye shall find her and bring her back to me. As your master, I command thee, Gregorio"

A cold snap, like a pair of undead hands, encircled my spine and squeezed. "I ain't your pet, Dmitri. You can't command me to do squat."

"Er, yes, old habits," he cleared his throat. "I shall hire thee, Gregorio! To, ah, do an old friend a solid, yes?"

As much as Dmitri's attitude flayed my already irritated nerves, the weight of my wallet in my pocket was just about imperceptible.

"Yeah, sure, I could use the cash. Shouldn't be too much of a jam. Just slip me a copy of her paperwork, bound to have all her info on it."

Dmitri suddenly found a loose thread on his jacket very fascinating.

"You do have her Blood Donor Consent forms?"

"I had every intent—"

"Dmitri..."

"The application process is so tedious!" He yanked the offending thread from his clothing, causing a chunk of the seam to unravel. "It takes weeks for the Society to simply approve a hunt alone! To approve a Donor to be adopted into our realm—" he made a very mature raspberry noise. "In the old country there was no governance to hunting. No capacity limits on harems and familiars and mortal blood slaves! No punishment for appearing in your most terrifying form to frighten the human children before slaughtering their parents as blood sacrifices on All Hollow's Eve! None could rule us, Gregorio, we are vampires."

"Welcome to twenty first century secret society bureaucracy, my liege."

"And it is this Society which would disapprove of my endless love?"

"Righto, find her before the Magistrates do, got it."

"I shall never be satisfied!" Dmitri just about salivated all over my jacket. "Not with blood nor any cappuccinos, until I will have her in my arms! Without her safe return, your master shall crumble to nothingness!"

"Yeah— Cappuccinos?"

Up front, the driver took a sip from his cardboard coffee cup and sighed. "His favorite barista wasn't at the twenty-four-hour café tonight."

"My truest love, ye outspoken swine!" growled Dmitri. "Take the next right."

"Wait a minute, now, D—my liege. While I'm flattered you remember my specialty, ah, this woman is your favorite barista, you say?"

"Yes," Dmitri sniffled into the floor. "At the brewing beans."

"Bean & Brew," said the driver, and the van made a hard right.

"Uh huh," I swallowed and scooched out of Dmitri's immediate reach. "Perhaps your dame may've had the night off?"

"Five nights!" Dmitri spat. "She is missing! Five nights gone! I come, every night, except Fridays and Saturdays, her nights off from the cafe, to admire my sweet's radiant beauty. She is like staring into the sun! Without her, I see nothing but darkness."

I could see the cliff this horse was sprinting towards and didn't like it. "Do you... know her name?"

The van made another right.

"She is the reincarnation of my truest love!" Dmitri snapped, swiping at one of my ankles. Grouch. I retreated till I was levitating on the van's ceiling. "She is my Rosemond's soul returned to me!"

"She told you this?"

"For a love like ours, words are unnecessary."

Oh nelly. Somebody had to set the older vamp straight. It was the twenty first century. Stalking your local barmaid was no longer in fashion. But you try telling that to one of these old bats. They struggle at grasping indoor plumbing and Wi-fi.

"Wild thought here, but have you tried speaking to this barista?"

Dmitri's arm shot up, hooked around my ankle, and yanked me hard onto the van floor. My brains rattled about in this thick skull of mine.

Vision blurry and a new ache blossoming in my temple, I still caught the driver's brown eyes rolling in the mirror. "I grab a coffee. He waits outside. Our master, the Lord of the Darkness and Terror, has been banned."

"Banned?"

"It was an unrelated incident," Dmitri grumbled.

I crawled out of claw's reach. "Of course."

A silence descended upon the van. One that was occasionally punctured by a tragically gothic vampire's sobbing and a left turn.

I rolled onto my back and ran my uninjured hand through my hair. "Alright, Dmitri, I'm going to shoot straight with you on this, cause you've been a pal to me in the past. You ever think this gal you don't speak to, whose name you don't know, who has not signed any consent forms, might not want to be found by, per say, you?"

Dmitri rolled atop me, withered skin flapping around bared fangs, eyes red, and claws pressed dangerously close to that sweet spot under a vamp's chin that'll pop a head clear off.

"E-easy," I gargled, pinned and victim to the old bastard's horrendous, decay-soaked breath. "I've, uh, already died once. Not keen on experiencing round two just yet."

The van came to a halt. I heard the driver put his flashers on and get out. Hoping for this to be a moment of distraction, I squirmed, testing the limits of Dmitri's hold and attention. Both were very, very focused, as it turned out.

"Find. Her."

Breaking into a too wide and too toothy smile, I faked a laugh. "Oh, well, gosh, why didn't you just say so. Of course. Be happy to. If you could just release me than I'll hop right on it."

Like a wild, skittish animal, Dmitri crept off me on all fours, teeth chattering.

"You will find her."

"You betcha," I sat up. "Say, you don't have to go through all this trouble with the van. Just come to my office. I'll leave a card, in case you don't have the address," the door slid open. "Oh. You have it, I see."

They'd come to halt just outside my place on 9th street. In the heart of the Italian Market, nestled between a butcher, several produce stands, and a spice store was my narrow home and office. The sidewalk was empty. It smelled of old meat and yesterday's fish, with a touch of clove. Just above the door, the faded G. Vasilescu, Private Detective plaque swung right above the heads of oblivious Tourists and grocery shoppers daily.

Dmitri's valet was a middle-aged Asian man in an ill-fitted suit. His black hair grayed a bit at the temples, and crow's feet had crinkled the corners of his eyes, but he stood tall and proud and looked ridiculous in a suit so baggy his pant legs were rolled up and the boxy shoulders of his khaki jacket hang limply to one side off him. He was pale for a human. Sickly so. Like the guy hardly ever spent anytime outdoors in the sunlight. He looped his hands under my arms and dragged me out onto the sidewalk.

"Buckle up, My Liege," he whispered into the van before sliding the door closed again.

I got to my feet, dusting off my jeans. The hole in my hand was, to put it mildly, gaping.

"Hey now, your master threw my gun—"

"We spoke with your secretary regarding your usual retainer fee," said the driver.

He plopped my revolver into my uninjured hand.

Then he dug into his pockets and produced folded up check, which he neatly deposited through the hole in my other.

"Thanks."

"For the record," the driver lowered his voice. He must have been in service to Dmitri for some time. No scaring and no fear showed on that skinny neck. "I agree with you. That girl doesn't need to be found. But we'll check in soon. Don't disappoint. Happy hunting."

As the derelict van pulled away, I thought I spied Dmitri pressing his gnarly fangs against the tinted rear window, but then the light at Christian Street turned green and it was gone.

I rubbed my throat with my thumb. A thin line of blackish blood came away.

Funny.

I don't recall saying anything about whether this barista needed to be found.