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The incessant buzz of my cell continued. When Natasha’s name appeared on the screen, I knew it was urgent. She would never call on my day off at this late hour unless something was amiss.

“I need to take this.” I said, shifting away from Chanel’s warmth.

She made a small sound of protest but sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. Her eyes followed me as I answered the call and walked toward the kitchen.

“What is it?” I kept my voice low.

“You need to come to The Castle.” Natasha’s voice was controlled in a way that signaled danger more clearly than shouting would. “Now.”

“What happened?”

“Not over the phone. I have something you need to see.”

The call ended with a click. I stood frozen for a moment, my index finger hovering over the darkened screen.

“Zand?” Chanel’s voice pulled me back into the present. She was standing now. Her perfect face etched with concern. “What’s wrong?”

I strolled to her in three long strides. I cupped her flawless face in my hands. “I have to go to The Castle. Natasha has beckoned me.” I press my lips to her forehead, inhaling the scent of her cocoa buttered brown skin. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Lock the doors, stay inside. Josh is downstairs. He’ll come up if you need anything.”

“You’re scaring me.” Her tiny fingers wrapped around my wrists. They were warm against my skin.

“Nothing scary to report. Natasha didn’t tell me what she wanted. You know she’s top secret about everything. You don’t have to worry. You’re safe here. Josh is just a precaution. I’ll call you when I know more.”

I kissed her quickly on the lips, then grabbed my car keys. At the elevator door, I paused for one last look at her. The urge to stay nearly overwhelmed me, but Natasha wouldn’t call without reason.

“Chanel, I love you.” Something I said often but now felt different and more meaningful with all the threats we were facing.

Her warm smile spread to her cheeks. “I love you too.”

The elevator descended too slowly. I nodded at Josh in the underground parking garage. I was relieved that he had been training Donté for combat. I really didn’t want to teach a formergang member how to fight, but I didn’t have much of a choice. Almost all my people had combat skills. It was a rule that Natasha implemented a few years ago. Guns didn’t work on vampires. But guns were the only way he knew to defend himself when he was a human.

My old Chevy started with a growl. I needed an oil change soon, and I didn’t own an autobody shop. I should probably ask Layla to homework buying one. I didn’t normally drive recklessly, but I pushed it to the limits of city driving, weaving through late-night traffic with the precision that came from decades behind the wheel.

My thoughts raced ahead of my vehicle. What could Natasha have found? Whatever it was, it was significant enough to warrant this late-night summons.

The Castle’s exterior loomed against the night sky. Strategic lighting illuminated its Gothic façade. I wanted it to have an eerie feeling when patrons saw it in the darkness of night. I wanted it to appear grand and out of place in our current time. I always bypassed the main entrance. I pulled into the alley parking lot, using the private access door. The back hallways were quiet tonight. We were closed three nights of the week, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Unless someone bought the place out for a special event.

Natasha met me at the elevator. The doors opened to her stone face. Her expression revealed nothing but professional concern.

“Come.” she said, leading me to her security command office down the hall. The room was a technological fortress, walls lined with monitors displaying every angle of The Castle and the outside surrounding areas.

But it wasn’t the security feeds that dominated the room tonight. Six screens in the shape of a horseshoe that sat on her desk were on. The center display had on what appeared to bethe local Channel 7 news report. The monitor was paused on the female news anchor.

“What am I looking at?” I asked.

Natasha sat in her chair behind her desk. Her red nails flew quickly over the keyboard. “Five women murdered in Chicago over the past nine days.” She pulled up the first report. “All with the same name.”

I leaned forward with my hands gripping the back of her chair as the headline filled the screen: “Local Nurse Chanel Taylor Found Murdered in South Side Apartment.”

My stomach dropped. The woman in the photograph was not my Chanel, but there was a slight resemblance. She was a Black woman with dark hair, a curvy build, and looked to be in her mid-twenties.

Natasha clicked to the next screen. It was an image of a police file with an attached photo. “There was a second woman named Chanel Taylor killed in Bronzeville.”

A very different Black woman with the same name as my love.

Screen by screen, the sick pattern unfolded with horrific clarity. Five Black women, five murders, all the victims named Chanel Taylor.

“I talked to my contact at the CPD. They have connected the murders, but they’re keeping all the victims’ names off the news, so no one puts the killer’s modus operandi together and assigns the murders to a serial killer.” Natasha explained. “Different neighborhoods, but they were all killed the same way— violently. And as you can see, all victims’ names are the same.”