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However dumb they might have been, the moment they’d understood we were more interested in the treasures than them, the vamps had started throwing around whatever items they could get their hands on as distractions, not caring it was mostly killing their peers. And idiots like Gideon, if I didn’t dosomething.

He was all the way at the end of the dilapidated space that must have once been a dining room, teetering at the edge ofwhatever the hell that was. Too far to reach. Too heavy and unbalanced to get himself out of there, and I could already spot a feral sprinting towards him.

Oh, damn it to all the hells.

I couldn’t afford to get rid of my one dagger—those vamps were everywhere, and I was not getting bitten by a goddamned feral. My mother would kill me, for one, and I also didn’t fancy spending the entire weekend vomiting bile. Which was far, far less that what might have happened to a regular person infected by their saliva; I was in no danger from turning into one of them.

I retrieved the feather-tipped pen in the inner pocket of my jacket and barely took half a second to morph it into something larger before taking aim. The gold tip pierced Gideon’s shoulder. It served him right. At least he’d get a chance to maybe—maybe—learn something today. The speed of the impact propelled him backward, enough to regain his footing just in time for him to shove his boots at the coming vamp.

Then the goddamned idiotlaughed.

Today was my last day with Gideon. And a great thing too. Another moment with him would give me gray hair. I preferred sticking to platinum, thank you very much.

“That’s another drink I owe you tonight,” he said, joining me across the dining room, and heading into another hallway.

Empty, except for a still-closed wooden coffer with iron latches.

“If I accepted all the life debts you owe me in the form of shots, I’d die of alcohol poisoning. And you owe me a pen, by the way.”

Pressing the tip of my blade to the lock, I sent a pulse of sheer power through it. It wasn’t wise. There was always the possibility of the box rebounding my energy, or whatever was inside responding by attacking. But we were having alongmorning, and whatever we were dealing with, I would rather face head-on than waste time pussyfooting around it.

Damn, was Gideon rubbing off me?

I didn’t die. Inside, there were another dozen priceless treasures. I could tell at first glance. An ancient, bow, helm, crown, all gleaming and resplendent, like they’d been polished just yesterday. The vampire master who used to live here must have been old, to collect all these treasures. But dumb enough to die and leave us with this mess.

"Nothing’s trying to bite my face. I say, let’s pack it up.”

“How are we bringing all this back to Highvale? I mean, it’s hardly the first haul of this scale we’ve seen, but we didn’t prepare a damn plane to cart it all back,” Gideon groaned.

We had another dozen chests at a minimum.

It wasn’t a simple matter of hiring a private jet, either. Magical objects could bend space and time, send pulses of power that could majorly fuck with regular human technology. The Guard had one jet, lined with a silver, lead, and iron mix, reinforced with a thin layer of spells. It had to be booked ahead to guarantee no one else was using it.

Hearing a footstep, I lifted the blade in the direction of the sound.

“Apple pie!” someone shouted before one of our colleagues, Parker, appeared, sweating and panting. “Damn, we need a better keyword next time. I’m dying for pie now.”

“That, my friend, was the plan.” Gideon grinned. “After we’re done, we’re all going for pie, mate. I know a place.”

Parker shook his head. “No can do. It’s Rupert. Got a nasty chomp from one of the fuckers. We need to get him out.”

“Where is he?” I demanded.

“Downstairs. Lawrence and Towers are carrying him out. It’s all clear—your floor was the last I checked.”

I stormed past him before he’d finished, jumping the stairs two at a time. “Wait!”

Between Selena Lawrence and Oliver Towers, Rupert Samuels was limp, occasionally twitching, the bite on his neck already showing a network of nasty bruises and black veins.

“Take him back to Highvale like that and he’s dead,” I told his friends.

Outside, the sun was shining—uncharacteristic of London in October, so that was likely just to fuck with me.

“Yeah. That’s what happens when feral vamps bite you. You turn. He wouldn’t want that. We’ll take him to his family so they can say goodbye, and?—”

Gods, they were idiots.

“You can start composing your eulogy, or you can bring him back here and let me help.”