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The Screech Collar went to work immediately, imbuing Isabelle with heightened awareness. She felt as if she had drank her fill from live flesh and the body remained warm; such was the clarity of her senses, and all of which were focused on the solitary rooftop door. She was primed to shoot at whatever foul thing came running out. She didn’t have to wait long.

The door burst open and three figures shot out and crouched around the door—one to each side and one straight ahead. That they were human was undeniable: their scent was unmistakable. They were dressed in heavy cloaks and dark helmets, and raised long, lance-like objects—all of which had seen better days. Isabelle recognized those lances—they were EMP rifles, something her brother had divulged to her even though he wasn’t authorized to speak about them—and they were trained on her. She held her fire, not out of fear but out of curiosity; of everything she expected to erupt through the doorway, humans were not in her calculations. She waited, her weapon trained on the foremost human.

A fourth figure stepped beyond the threshold but remained behind the first three, calling out in a hoarse whisper. Their voice was muffled and contorted by the helmet, though the vampires had no trouble understanding them. They were commands to the other humans: don’t shoot unless absolutely necessary. This one seemed to be in charge. Once the commands were issued, this human moved past the foremost one, walking slow and steady toward Isabelle with hands held before them to indicate they were no threat. Isabelle was thrown off by their scent. With the Screech Collar at work, her scent was on overdrive—the figure walking toward her carried the distinct scent of human, but it seemed to mask a more pungent smell she couldn’t place. Whoever or whatever this was, they might prove to be dangerous.

“That’s far enough.”

The voice resounded in her mind. It was Edgar, and it appeared he was inside everyone’s head: the humans turned to face the lone figure standing just to one side of the doorway from which they sprang, rifle aimed at the leader. Isabelle smelled fear emanating from the three humans around the door. The fourth, however, seemed nonplussed. No fear. No emotion. Isabelle noticed something off about them, but again, she couldn’t figure out what it was, though it perched at the edges of her awareness. This person turned their palms up and whispered, words that carried on the breeze and were imperceptible to all save those with heightened senses:

“Los demonios salen en la mañana. Venga con nos otros o vamos a matar los. No van a decir adonde estamos.” The demons rise with the dawn. Come with us or we will kill you. We cannot have you speaking of our whereabouts.

“Muy bien. Platicamos a dentro.” Very well. We’ll speak inside. Edgar lowered his rifle and signaled to Isabelle to do the same.

Isabelle stood and shouldered her rifle. The three humans with EMP rifles stood, keeping their rifles raised, though now they were scanning the sky and the surrounding buildings. Whatever these humans had in mind, thought Isabelle, they probably expected to have the upper hand. This was all the better; she was itching for a fight. Didn’t even have to be a good one, though she wagered this leader of theirs might give her some trouble before she tore their throat out. Behind the cover of the helmet’s visor, Isabelle smiled.

Continued after the break

The humans made way for Isabelle and Edgar to enter the doorway first. One human attempted to relieve Edgar of his rifle and instead found themselves choking in Edgar’s free hand while floating a few inches off the ground. The others looked to the leader who approached Edgar and placed a hand on his arm. Edgar lowered and released the human who scrambled away. The leader signaled one of the other humans to enter ahead of them, then gestured to Edgar to enter. Edgar turned and stepped inside, followed by Isabelle. The remaining humans fell in line behind them.

The six figures walked single file down a short series of flights of stairs before Edgar stopped. Isabelle almost ran right into him, but managed to stop in time. The humans behind her had as much notice and managed to stop in time as well. They were a few steps from the next landing. The human ahead was across the landing and staring down the next flight when they realized the others weren’t behind them.

“Why are you stopping?”

Edgar faced the leader.

“We speak now. Who are you?”

“Are you serious?” The human ahead had wandered back. “You’re surrounded and—“

Isabelle was fast. At the most minute signal from Edgar, she turned and knocked down the human directly behind her, relieved them off their rifle, swept around and behind the leader, and held the rifle high and tight against their throat. Edgar had his pistols out and held one aimed at the compromised human, and the other toward the human on the landing.

“With only two shots, we can overtake you and the crowd below us.” Isabelle heard the calm in Edgar’s tone but felt the threat in his voice, and she was ready to make good on that threat. She indicated this by pressing the rifle tighter against the leader’s throat. Edgar continued: “You’re not one of them—“ he indicated the humans he held at gunpoint, “but that will hardly stop us. I think you know that.”

Still calm and unbothered, the leader said, “Pero de veras.” But of course. ”Our discretion remains paramount, however. It’s not you we are wary of, but who you might lead to us.”

Isabelle was pressed tight against the figure, keeping just enough pressure on their throat with the rifle to maintain her intimidation. The pungent odor underlying the human scent flared strong in her nostrils; the Screech Collar kept Isabelle from becoming distracted, though the scent worked hard to undo her focus. There was something familiar about this scent. Intimate, almost.

Edgar gave Isabelle a slow nod. The Screech Collar compelled her to release the leader. Isabelle lowered the EMP rifle and stepped away. Edgar spun his revolvers and holstered them, saying, “Domina a tus esclavos.” Control your thralls. “We will eat them, and you, at the first sign of trouble.”

Isabelle looked hard at the leader. Thrall. That meant …

Vampire.

The scent she couldn’t place. How had she not noticed? Did the human scent really muddle it enough to not be recognizable? Or perhaps she was this out of touch with reality, after having slept for decades. Either way, she has no time to consider as they were on the move.

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