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G ordon walked along Ruthaven, the too bright sunlight hurting his eyes and his sense of order, not only because he was a vampire but also because he was a forensic pathologist and spent most of his days indoors in his cozy office or the well-organized lab. Daytime walks when it was this sunny out were best avoided in Gordon’s book.

Yet when the region’s most powerful vampire hunter kept bugging you to come out to my house, Gordon, please, I have a bar and friendly humans who will offer you a vein, one did not say no. Not least because Maxim, the vampire hunter in question, exceeded not just Gordon in age and influence, but also most of the vampires Gordon was acquainted with.

“Still too much sunlight,” Gordon said, then pulled out his phone to double-check the address. “Can’t be,” he said, cranking his head back to look up at the building. “Can’t.” He closed the app and checked again. “Well.”

Trepidation and sun migraine bored into Gordon’s skull. He pulled the glass door to 43 Ruthaven open and entered a foyer that was still way too bright thanks to all the glass. However, it was blessedly cool in here, similar to the freezers Gordon kept his corpses in, and that alone made him relax.

Behind a sleek oval desk, a man with black hair and a green blazer watched Gordon’s approach with a smile. As Gordon came closer, he could smell the man, not human, but not fae or wolf either.

Huh, interesting. I’m curious. Maybe this was already worth coming out.

“Dr. Gordon Morris, welcome,” the man in green said. “My name is Bryan. Maxim said you would be stopping by, but he’s excusing himself. He had to step out for work.”

Gordon might have balked at someone recognizing him like this. He was not at all what they called a social butterfly nor a semi-social caterpillar hoping to become one. But the ever-changing yet unfailingly bright hair dyes Gordon favored—cherry red at the moment—usually meant people had an easy time placing him from just that vampire with the colorful dye job . He was no longer surprised when he was recognized, at least here in New Amsterdam.

Doing his best not to sigh and regret coming all this way in the sun, Gordon nodded. “Another vampire who misbehaves? I understand, of course.”

The man’s smile didn’t falter. “I can’t speak to that. Maxim just said that it was urgent.”

Gordon looked back over his shoulder. “In that case, I should go. Maybe reschedule. I’ll call and reschedule. Or email him. You can let him know I’ll send an email.”

“Maxim said that wasn’t necessary. In fact, he insists that you enjoy yourself.” The man pointed. “The elevator will take you up to the bar. Our fae chef always experiments with new and exciting blood dishes, but we also have donors if you’d prefer. And regular liquor as well.”

“Oh,” Gordon said and thought, Oh, shit. I’d much rather head back to the morgue and play foosball with the interns. “Well, I suppose since I’m here.”

The man smiled amicably. Gordon trudged through to the elevators, his sneakers squeaking on the marble floor. The elevator doors opened as if of their own accord, and when it occurred to Gordon that he had no idea where he was going, the elevator car was already moving up, the indicator light steadily going toward the tens.

Back down in the lobby, Bryan pulled his phone out and made a call.

“Yesss?” said Maxim from the other end.

“He wanted to leave, but I sent him up.”

“Good. Adler is already at the bar and having a beer, of all things.”

Bryan fumbled with a button on his blazer. “Are you watching him? With the cameras?”

Maxim let out a long-suffering sigh, a momentous thing in the realm of sighs. It would have carried well to the last row in any theater. “Are you still bothered that we had cameras installed? Please, Bryan. It’s not to criticize. It’s to satisfy my curiosity in moments like these.”

Bryan left the button alone and instead fished out a nice pen from his penholder cup, that silver one Heath had brought back from the accounting conference and gifted Bryan. It was such a very good pen. He twirled it between his fingers.

“Why are you trying to set these two up with each other again, Maxim?”

There was a dismissive noise from the other end, then, “Because it’s more fun than killing those of my kind who misbehave? Leave me to my fun, Bryan. And don’t mind those cameras, dear. Everyone knows they cannot compare to you and have no real practical use, not in this house.”

Bryan considered whether that should mollify him. He glanced at an old planner he kept on his desk. Between its pages, a cornflower had been pressed. He couldn’t see it, but he liked knowing it was there. Maxim never forgot to give Bryan flowers, not for any romantic purposes, of course, but to appreciate him. Maybe the cameras weren’t so bad after all, and Maxim was a good person. He certainly deserved nice things, and unlike cameras, Bryan might help Maxim find those things.

Bryan put the pen back in its place. “I was just thinking, what if you invited someone to have a drink with? Someone who wanted to have a drink with you?”

Five seconds of quiet followed before Maxim asked, “Did Heath put you up to this? Because only the other day, you and I were in agreement that my baby boy was the one with issues when it came to dating. We agreed he was very cute and very datable for a dhampir.”

“Maxim, that was ten years ago. And he still has the same problem, but I was thinking that maybe if you lead by example—”

“I work a lot. And I’m both disgustingly old and disgustingly rich. Now, can you please focus on Adler and Gordon? I’m watching, but it falls to you to make sure that things go as smoothly as we can make them here.”

And Bryan was. Except his focus was no good. True love couldn’t—and wouldn’t—be forced by a vampire hunter moonlighting as a matchmaker.

Still, Bryan tried, making sure the bar wasn’t too warm, too loud, too drafty. He made sure the servers were attentive without pestering the two upstairs. He made sure their environment was as perfect as it could be for a date neither of them knew they were on.

Yet, not two hours later, Bryan texted Maxim. They left, and not together. This prompted the hunter to text back a poop emoji, which Bryan frowned at before raiding the toffee stash he kept in the very back of the bottom left drawer of his desk. Toffee wasn’t love, but it was still good.