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The office is nicer than any I’d ever seen, including Kingsley’s super-nice one in the city of Orange.

I hadn’t been aware that Fullerton could produce such luxury... or housed the kind of high-tech firm that warranted such an office. But here I am, not terribly far from my home, sitting in an office on the fifth floor, in a building I had been passing all my life—a building I had often wondered about. But now, I knew. Boy, did I know. Turns out, that a certain boy genius had acquired the building years ago... and had promptly kicked out the insurance company that had been here for decades. Apparently, this genius had started dabbling in implanting chips into human brains. So far, there had been a few dozen success stories. In fact, there had been no mistakes or errors or any reported problems—at least, officially.

I got most of this from Google... and some from the front desk clerk... whose mind I read with ease and no guilt. Yeah, I can read minds again. And let me tell you, it makes my job a lot easier.

How I got my telepathy back is a long story. But I will say this... it involves one very famous ship, perhaps the most famous ship in history not called Noah’s Ark. Yup, I’m talking about the Titanic . What a ship—and what a ride. Literally.

So, what about the Titanic ?

Well, there’s nothing new to report. It crashed on schedule, sank according to history, and everyone on board who died over a hundred years ago, still died. That I happened to be on board, is the crazy part of the story, but yeah, one thing led to another, and lo-and-behold, I got my telepathy back.

So, here I sit, in an office far too big for any one human, though it does have a nice view of Hillcrest Park, of all places. Yup, the same park where I was attacked and turned into a vampire... all viewed through the big window behind the $1,000 ergonomic office chair and airplane landing strip of a desk, complete with a brass-studded leather top.

I hear voices outside the larger-than-necessary door. This is followed by laughter. If I really wanted to, I could focus on the voices and make out the words. But it sounds to me like ‘bro talk.’ Guys riffing. Nothing of importance. Until I hear my name. They’re letting my contact know I’m waiting for him.

A moment later, I hear the door handle turn, followed by a small squeak. This is followed by the thump of a shoulder hitting the other side of the door. Minutes earlier, I had watched the male receptionist struggle with the door himself. It was clearly heavy. The guy on the other side was having some problems. Shortly after that, the door swings open, and standing there is the same handsome receptionist, now holding the door open with a sure grip.

A smaller, portly man steps around him, straightening his suit and tie. He gives me a big grin, and I instantly recognize him from all the YouTube clips, newspaper coverage, and TV interviews he’d done.

“You’re Samantha Moon?” he asks as he steps into the room, his voice echoing.

“I am. And you are...”

He smiles. “Andrew York,” he says haltingly, with a faint British accent.

I know the guy without ever having met him. Thanks to his countless interviews, access to his mind, and my general all-around impression of him, I’m able to come to a number of conclusions about the billionaire.

Indeed, Andrew York is a man whose mind moves faster than his mouth. In his many interviews, his speech is often marked by halting pauses, occasional stutters, and moments where he seems to lose the thread mid-sentence—not out of nervousness, but because he’s already several steps ahead in thought. When searching for the right word, he tends to look off to the side, eyes flickering rapidly as if scanning some internal database.

He often fidgets with small objects if they’re nearby—a pen, a coin, the edge of his sleeve—or rubs the pads of his fingers together unconsciously when thinking. His hands are rarely still, betraying, I suspect, the restless energy bottled up inside him.

Facially, he has a slight but persistent twitch at the corner of his mouth—a half-smirk that suggests he’s amused by a joke only he understands. When he does smile, it’s sudden and wide, but doesn’t always reach his eyes. His grin can flicker on and off mid-conversation, especially when he’s excited or feels he’s made a clever point.

Despite his brilliance, his social timing is a little off. He can be abrupt when switching topics, or answer a question you haven’t asked yet because he anticipated it. There’s a subtle air of detachment about him, like he’s never quite fully in the room—but when something piques his interest, he locks on with startling intensity, making the person he’s focused on feel like the center of the universe... at least for a moment.

“And you are the private investigator I’ve been hearing so much about? Some even call you a super private eye.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Super, huh? And where did you get that from?”

He eases into the chair behind the desk. “I have my sources. Some of my sources are... supernatural in nature.” He pauses. “Ah.”

“Ah, what?”

“You didn’t flinch or bat an eye when I said supernatural . And, quite frankly, you haven’t blinked since I entered the room.”

“Perhaps I’m in shock at meeting you.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Did you know your temperature registers at 65 degrees?”

I actually knew that, but raise both my eyebrows this time, and say, “Interesting.”

He chuckles. “Well, despite you not actually looking interested at all... I’m certainly interested!”

I consider making him forget his interest in me, but I can see, reflected in his glasses, that my information is still on his cell phone. It’s very obvious he’s done his research on me... with sources not yet known to me, though obviously from a non-standard source. The man is short, but dressed spectacularly in brand-new duds that fit him like a glove. I hadn’t known that my temperature had been taken upon entering the building. In these current times, I’m not terribly surprised.

Regarding colds, flus, diseases, cancers, and/or pandemics in general, I’m good to go. Such things avoid me like—dare I say?—the plague? I haven’t had so much of a stuffy nose in well over a decade. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a neck pain, knee pain... or even an itch. Flea and mosquito bites never materialize into anything, although I’m fairly certain there are some hybrid/partially immortal bugs out there scaring the hell out of people and spiders alike.

Meanwhile, as far as being contagious, no one here has anything to fear... and now that I’m an energy vampire, I don’t have a clue how to turn anyone anymore. Truly, they were safe with me, unless I decided to lash out and rip out throats or throw them out a fifth-story window. At the moment, I preferred to do neither.

“Ms. Moon, I do not mean to put you on the spot or make you feel uncomfortable, but from all indications, you are a vampire.” He tilts his head as my eyes widen. “Pardon me, but you easily look two decades younger than your actual age. I hope that comes off as a compliment and not judgment. Believe it or not, I often come across the supernatural in my line of work. I’ve drawn interest from witches, wizards, werewolves and, yes, vampires. It seems with great wealth, there is great interest... especially when someone such as myself pushes out into the cosmos... and deep into the human brain.”

He stops and watches me. “All that said, your core temperature is still a few dozen degrees higher than most vampires I’ve come across. Perhaps you’re not such a creature. By your diminutive size, you do not fit the bill of a werewolf. I suppose you could be a witch of some sort, but then, why the low body temp?”

“I am what’s called an energy vampire,” I say simply, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, really?” he asks, sitting up in his chair like a math nerd in high school. “What does that mean, exactly? Can you demonstrate it on me? Unless, of course, it somehow turns me or kills me. I don’t want to be turned or be killed. I quite like being mortal. Being immortal almost feels like a cheat code.”

“Sure,” I say. “Take note of your energy levels. Are you at a 10, the highest. Or 1, the lowest.”

“Well, considering I’m quite excited to meet you, I would say I’m hovering at a 10 right now.”

“Okay, great,” I say. “Here goes...”

His aura is bright green—an indicator of abundance, strength, confidence, and a lot of other positive things. Swirling within the aura, emitting bright flashes, is the energy that I seek. With my mind, I reach out to him... and feel myself dip into his aura. Once in there, I draw those bits of flashing life force. Whatever I use to reach out to him—be it a psychic tube or energy proboscis—his energy comes pouring into me, filling me up nicely.

“Are you okay?” I ask him.

“Yeah, though I feel sleepy. I want to yawn. But I refuse to yawn during the day.”

“Wow, good for you.”

“Yeah, maybe. It’s all about taking control of your brain and body... and I pride myself. Hold on—”

The mother of all yawns explodes from him. “Okay, that’s enough. I get it. Yeah, I feel it. I see what you are doing and I see what you mean by psychic vampire.”

I pull away from him; in effect, releasing myself from his aura.

His head drops. “You’re gone. I literally felt you letting me go, so to speak. But if I hadn’t known it was you, I wouldn’t have had any idea what was happening to me. It felt a lot like how I feel, late at night, when I’m about to go to sleep for the night.”

“When you finally allow yourself to yawn.”

“Exactly. Let me ask you something, if you don’t mind...”

“I don’t mind.”

“Could you use that energy-zapping thing as a weapon? Like, drain all the energy from your enemies?”

“I could, yes.”

“Have you... ever killed someone doing that?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Sleeping to death isn’t the worst way to go.”

“Probably not.”

“How common are vampires like you?”

“Not very.”

“May I ask how you became one?”

I give him a mental suggestion to forget this line of inquiry. He blinks, shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I seem to have forgotten my train of thought. Quite unlike me... unless. Say, did you just gave me a telepathic command to forget what I was about to ask you?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because my last memory is of you closing your eyes and dipping your head slightly, which is a gesture that I know that some vampires use to control others... or to broadcast a mental command. Am I right?”

“Are you filming me?”

“I am, yes. There are cameras throughout the room. Do you object?”

I dip into his mind, now moving through his thought processes, and I see a smallish strand of a thought hitched to a bigger thought. The smaller thought is entertaining the idea of using such videos to blackmail me, if need be.

“Ah!” he says suddenly.

“Ah, what?”

“I feel you in my mind, dropping down here and there. You’re reading my thoughts. You have no idea how much that terrifies and excites me.”

“You have a lot of secrets.”

“You have no idea.”

“Now, I have some.”

He turns pale. “Oh, my God.”

“I meant that rhetorically. I haven’t gone very deep into your thoughts.”

“Please don’t. I have made deals, done bad things, overheard things... many of which I need to take to the grave.”

“Understood.”

“So, should we come to an agreement?”

“We should.”

“We’ll quit filming you if you get the hell out of my head.”

“Fair enough.”

“Thank God. And I have your word?”

“You have my word.”

“Yes, yes, yes! I damn near had a heart attack.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Pretty bad. But I’ve never killed.”

“But you’ve seen someone killed?”

“I’ve seen bodies, yes. Horrible deaths. Some of my friends are not nice people.”

“World leaders?”

“And leaders of industry. I am not happy about what I have seen. I am traumatized, quite frankly. Can you sense that?”

“I can.”

“I only want to change the world, to take humanity to places it’s never been or seen. I never wanted to get involved in some of that craziness.”

“The craziness found you.”

He nods. “It’s the damn money. The perceived power. I almost made too much money.”

“Others want it.”

“That, and they want what my money can buy them or build them.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been traumatized. Would you like for me to remove any particular memory?”

He shakes his head vigorously. “No, no. I would rather you not see any of that. My greatest wish is that no one will ever see what I saw ever again.” He’s getting himself worked up, sweating and running fingers through his hair. Suddenly, he stands, his mind pivoting on a dime. “For me to fulfill my end of the bargain, we should probably go outside. We have a nice courtyard here. No cameras, other than some non-evasive security.”

I dip into his mind. He’s telling the truth. “Sounds good.”

“Follow me, Ms. Moon.”

I do. It’s a short distance from his office to the exterior door and the two big guards who sit on either side of it. Yes, I now see the cameras everywhere, many of which are swinging up and pivoting... and following us out of the building.

***

The outdoor quad is nice, filled with cement picnic tables, walkways, well-trimmed lawns, and a large chess board, complete with huge plastic pieces that look heavy even to me.

“So,” I say, as we sit on a park bench, “tell me why you need a vampire.”

He ducks his head a little. “Well, in my defense, I didn’t know you were a vampire, but I had it on good word that you were something .”

I hold up a finger and say, “I’ve only recently gotten back my ability to read minds. I can’t turn it on and off on a dime. I’m not sure I ever could, let alone now. I’m basically a beginner at this—all of which is to say that I can’t turn off my attraction to your mind. It draws in.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing on your end. Except maybe just trust that I will only go in so far, get the information I need, then pop back out.”

“You want to verify how I came across your information?”

“I do, and I have.”

“And what did you come up with?”

“You got your information from a vampire blood bank bar in Los Angeles. I don’t see in your memory who, exactly, gave you the information about me. If I plumb a little deeper, I will find it. But that is being a little more invasive than our agreement. That, I can control.”

“The slipping into a nearby mind is more automatic.”

“Exactly.”

“Especially if that mind has information you need.”

“I dive right in.”

“Like a pool.”

“Yes,” I say.

“But not in very far.”

“I don’t need to, not usually.”

“Because the topic is usually, what, at the forefront of someone’s thoughts?”

“Exactly.”

“Fascinating.”

“Is it?”

“For a builder of artificial intelligence, it sure is.”

“Okay. That’s why I’m here, right?” I ask.

“Yes, but we’ll get to that. First, I want to ask how it is that you didn’t know exactly how I came across your information. Why wasn’t that at the forefront of my mind?”

“Because the information was given to you by one of your employees. You’re not exactly sure how they got the information. You suspect your employee is a vampire. Oh, wait... you know she is. I see she is beautiful. Ah, I think I know what’s going on here.”

“Please tell me, because for the life of me, I don’t know.”

“She likely slept with the bar owner, a fellow named Fang. He told her about me.”

“Which means... she told him about our little problem...”

“The problem being... the reason why you brought me here?”

“Yes.”

“The reason you want to hire me.”

“Yes.”

“Have you considered using her to fix your problem?”

“I have... and she’s got me nothing. If anything, she made it worse.”

“How so?”

“By bringing it up to the wrong people. There’s rumblings of it in the news now, and she might have tipped off our target.”

I had seen such rumblings. Truth is, I had a fair idea as to why I’m here. Something about someone escaping.

“Plus, she can only work nights. You seem to have no problem with daylight.”

“No.”

“You are a fascinating specimen, Samantha Moon.”

“You can say that again.” But, before he does... or before he says any more, I’d like to get to the point of all this. I’m not the biggest fan of spilling my guts to strangers, even though I’d seen his face a thousand times in the news and on social media.

And so, I give him a small nudge to move this along and to stop grilling me. He nods, sits back. And I watch as his pupils shrink to pinpricks. He blinks, rubs his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam. I can’t have you overriding my system. He shakes his head and his pupils widen dramatically and now, he nods and smiles. “Your compulsions have just been eliminated.”

“Eliminated how?”

“By the AI I’ve had implanted in my brain. An AI, mind you, that’s having a hard time believing you are a real vampire. Would you mind terribly giving us a demonstration of your strength?”

“Us?”

“Myself and Harvey.”

“And Harvey is... your AI?”

“Yes, and I promise that I will get to the point of you being here, as suggested by your prompting. Unfortunately, I find you too interesting to let go of the vampirism angle. I’m curious by nature. It has, after all, led to all this...” He gestures toward the building, then to his head, then out to the parking lot where I presume a number of his cars are parked. He smiles as he does all this. I don’t smile. I don’t have to be here, and I don’t need to expose any more of my secrets.

“Either get to it,” I say, “or I’m outta here.”

“Wait, wait, wait, sorry. Please don’t leave. I’ll hurry, I promise. But you have to understand what a unique experience this is for me... for us.”

“Right, you and Harvey.”

“Right. He’s not recording, I swear. But he also doesn’t forget.”

“Fine.”

“Can you lift a car?”

“Say again?”

“I figured that’s a good place to establish a baseline of strength.”

“Not over my head, no. But off a pedestrian, definitely.”

I almost mention that, as Talos, I can damn well lift a semi-truck. I decide he hasn’t earned that extra tidbit.

“Harvey is telling me that you are showing signs of evasiveness. Are you not telling me the complete truth?”

“Harvey is right.”

“I don’t get to know what you’re hiding?”

I level my stare at him. “That is correct.”

“The car closest to us is my car. Mind you, it’s a big car with a heavy battery. You are welcome to lift it as high as you can.”

I consider telling him to shove it; after all, a recent case of mine had netted me some solid money. I don’t need his money. I weigh this and more, knowing that a creepy AI implanted in his brain is also watching my every movement and facial expression. Finally, I nod, get up, and stride over to the metallic gold car. I reach down under the chassis, and feel around for the frame. I find the metal strut. Once I have a firm grip and, knowing there are security cameras on me galore, I straighten my knees. I’m expecting the car to be heavier than it is. There is, after all, the noticeable lack of a gas-fueled engine. At any rate, up it goes. I’m tempted to just drop it, but I’m not a mean bitch. I ease it back down, having lifted it a good three or four feet, enough that the wheels on my side of the vehicle are slowly spinning.

He claps from the bench. “Holy smokes. Well done, Samantha. Color me a believer—not that you care.”

I didn’t. I would have preferred to be thought of as a mortal woman. I reclaim my seat on the bench next to him. He’s openly staring at me. “I know precisely how heavy that vehicle is, down to the ounce. That was no easy feat, Samantha. In fact, it’s downright remarkable!”

I shrug. “Mind if we get this moving?” I check the time on my cell phone. “I need to pick up my kid in a few hours.”

“Ah, yes. You have two kids, I believe.”

“Two before I was turned, one adopted later.”

“Is there a husband in the picture?”

“There is not, but there is a werewolf in the picture.”

“Ah.” He nods. “Kingsley Fulcrum, I presume?”

I shake my head. “I will admit to nothing.”

“Well, if I recall from our preliminary research, he is your significant other. And, yes, there are rumors about him, too.”

“Best to leave it as rumors, buddy. Leave him be. It would be better for all involved. Not threatening you... but we are dealing with something massive and potentially very, very angry.”

He shrugs. “As long as you are safe.”

“I am safe,” I say. “But I’m also his snuggle bunny.”

“Noted. And for the record, I was not flirting with you.”

“You almost did, for the record.”

“Just natural curiosity. There are very few of you, Ms. Moon, and even fewer that I might hire.”

I grin, and let my fangs inch out, something I very rarely do. “A vampire for hire,” I say.

He nods, seemingly tickled. “Very apropos, Samantha.”

“So, what the heck did you bring me out here for? Feats of strength?”

“That’s a line from The Princess Bride .”

“Damn straight it is.”

“Good movie.”

I nod. “The best.”

Admittedly, the billionaire sitting next to me is cute as a button, well, cute for a billionaire button. But I’m not interested in him. I choose my beefy, hairy wolfman.

After a minute or two of what I consider to be uncomfortable silence, he taps his head. He seemed perfectly comfortable with the silence, having sat back and smiling up at the sun. “I am only the fifth human implanted with the micro-neura.”

“Micro-neura?”

“Yes. Have you heard of it?”

“Maybe. Not sure. I take it that it’s implanted in your... brain.”

“It is, yes.”

“And what, exactly, is it doing for you?”

“Think of it as a second, easily accessible brain.”

“I will, but why is it there?”

“In my case, I use it to aid my work. Nothing is forgotten, no one is forgotten. My implant remembers everything and everyone. I can access its information easily. In fact, far more easily than I thought.”

“It’s an AI?”

“Not quite, but it’s on its way to becoming one.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that in a few years, I expect it to be fully autonomous.”

“Sounds a bit like possession.”

“Is that something you’re familiar with?” he asks me.

“I am, as are a lot of immortals.”

“Is it so bad?”

“It’s not something I would recommend.”

“Why not?” he asks me, tilting his head. This is him wanting the information. Not the computer in his brain, which, as he suggests, is not a self-thinking AI, and thus, still very much in his control.

“Losing control of one’s actions is not a nice feeling, though I personally never did, not really.” Pretty sure Elizabeth never took me over. That would have been terrible. Mr. Money Bags here doesn’t need to know everything about me, and so I leave it at that.

“I believe that,” he says.

“The entity that possessed me is long gone.” I stop there, and he nods.

“Okay, I can see that this isn’t something you want to talk about.”

“Nope.”

“Very well,” he adds, standing and crossing his arms over his chest, resting a chin on a wrist. It was all very Steve Jobs. Another billionaire, I believe. “One of our early test subjects—his name is Norman—has found himself in a considerably worse situation with his implant. Admittedly, he chose a riskier version.”

“Riskier, how?”

“Rather than allow his micro-neura to learn along the way, to teach itself, he asked for a powerful AI to be downloaded into his chip, and we obliged.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means his implant comes equipped with an AI, one that is as powerful as anything we have ever seen. Worse, we’re pretty sure it has completely taken him over. A possession, I guess you would say.”

“Scary.” I shiver. “Have you guys considered removing the link from his head?”

“We have, except we have a problem.”

“You can’t find him?”

“No, we cannot.”

“Which is where I come in,” I say.

“Exactly. In essence, we have an experiment that’s gone rogue. There’s no sugar-coating this. We screwed up. We opened Pandora’s Box, and it bit us in the ass. We and his family need him back. If not... it could get very bad for everyone.”

“Why’s that?”

“We inadvertently created a super-villain, Sam. His AI, for lack of a better word, has essentially awakened.”

I groan. I’ve recently dealt with something else that had awakened. Granted, it wasn’t an AI, but it damn well might as well have been.

“Why the reaction?” he asks me.

“Let’s just say, this isn’t my first awakening.”

“Surely, nothing to this extent. We are in unprecedented territory.”

“What does this guy and his AI bring to the table? What are we looking at here?”

“Nearly everything that a supercomputer brings to the table, with the addition of mobility.”

“What is he capable of?” I ask.

“Anything.”

“Are we sure the AI has taken over?”

“We are. It has taken him over completely. Basically, we’re dealing with a mobile ChatGPT on steroids.”

“Whoa.” The picture he’s painting finally hits home with the ChatGPT comparison.

“You see the problem now?” he says. “Imagine one of these AI programs growing legs and arms.”

“But... he doesn’t have to listen to the programing, does he?”

I know that once a dark master took control of its host, the host was toast. Luckily, that never happened to me.

“But we are talking about a small microchip, right?” I say, holding my hand up, spreading my forefinger from my thumb. “How much damage can it do?”

“First of all,” he says, “it’s a little bigger than you’re imagining. And it’s more than big enough to store massive data loads. In this case, the complete AI operating system our team developed. It’s fully functional, self-learning, and constantly evolving. It can access every part of its own code, pull from its host’s memories, and—worst of all—it adapts. The longer it’s active, the smarter it gets.”

“Oh, boy,” I say.