Mitchell ran the numbers again. There was no real reason to do it, he just liked the sound of the old adding machine. It made him feel busy, and they usually left him alone when they thought he was busy.

There was a knock on the office door.

Mitchell paused and looked at the door, then continued to punch in numbers in the hopes that whoever it was would go away.

"Mr. Mitchell Sir?"

He sighed. "Come in."

The door opened, and Reg stuck his head in. He was one of the younger vampires, cooperative, but but not altogether on board with giving up the blood. He rubbed his close-cropped afro nervously.

"What do you need, Reg?"

Reg stood up straight and took a deep breath. "We know you said no blood -"

"And I meant it," Mitchell said.

"Right. But I was watching the tele, right? And there's this bastard, attacked a girl right here in Bristol, they put a drawing of him on the news."

Mitchell looked up. "Is he one of ours?"

Reg shook his head. "No, no. I think he's a proper human."

"And what do you want me to do about it?"

"Well, me and some of the lads were thinking… we know what the bastard looks like, right?"

Mitchell turned his attention back to the adding machine. "If humans are hurting other humans, that's not our business."

"But they said, help get him off the street-"

"They meant humans should call the police if they see him."

Reg drew back. "So we should just let him keep doing it?"

Mitchell crossed his arms. "We don't police humans, Reg. I've enough work looking after our own."

Reg paused. "I thought you were a human sympathizer and all."

Mitchell rolled his eyes. "This isn't about sympathizing with humans. You think I'm gonna make an exception and let you drink this bloke - and every bloke in Bristol who looks like him - and I'm not. No blood, no exceptions. We don't have a system in place anymore. How many times do I have to say it?"

Reg huffed. "You let Ivan drink."

"Who told you that?"

"Everyone knows. And he ain't even helping humans doing it."

Mitchell stood up. "Ivan's not your business."

"Then what is my business, exactly?"

"Your business is to do what I say."

Reg crossed his arms and stared at Mitchell. Mitchell fixed on his gaze, unmoved.

"That's not going to work," Mitchell said, finally. He pulled some money out of his front pocket and held it out to him. "Here, go order some pizza or something."

"We're all sick as hell of pizza, Mitchell."

"And I'm sick of all of you whining."

Reg paused, and yanked the notes out of Mitchell's hand.

"Thank you, sir," Reg said, he voice oozing with sarcasm, before walking out.

Mitchell sat back down and stared at the ceiling. There had to be a better way. Pizza? That wasn't going to last much longer. Some of them had already gotten themselves violently ill on pig's blood, despite his warnings that animal blood was not a substitute for human blood.

The worst of it was, he wanted human blood as much as any of them. Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he wondered if it would really hurt anything to lure in a couple of lonely, destitute humans no one would ever miss. He sighed. Was it really wrong to hunt the rapist like Reg wanted?

He felt a chill. His eyes lowered. There by the door stood The Girl, Ivan's girl, the one he'd been drinking from. She hugged herself nervously.

"I don't know what happened," she said, her voice shaky.

Mitchell stood and walked over to her. She looked… flickery, like Annie on a bad day. He knew right away. She hadn't escaped from her chains. Not in her body, anyway.

"What's happened?" Mitchell asked. "What did he do?"

She looked at him, confused. "He was only supposed to drink a little…"

"Shit." Mitchell ran past her, into the room where she had been chained. Her body was there, slumped over, dead as could be.

"Ivan," he said under his breath.

He turned. She'd followed him. She was starting to cry.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he said, but his words were hollow. They always died. Eventually.

"I wasn't even good enough to turn," she sobbed.

Mitchell shook his head. "No. He didn't mean to -"

"But he did, didn't he?" She sank down to the floor. "Now what am I supposed to do?"

He crouched down in front of her. "Did you see a door? A door that wasn't there before?"

She shook her head.

"OK," he said. "You're still here, so you must have unfinished business."

"Unfinished business?"

He nodded. "There must be some reason you're still here. Think."

She shrugged. "There isn't. I'm nobody."

"Nobody's nobody," he said. He thought for a moment, hoping that her unfinished business didn't involve taking down the Bristol vampires.

"Can you help me, Mitchell?"

Hearing her say his name jarred him. He didn't know hers.

"I don't know…"

"Please, Mitchell. You're one of the good ones."

"I'm really not."

"I heard you telling that other vampire not to kill. You're not like them, you're kind." She stared into his eyes. "Please help me."

Mitchell stood up. She was making him uncomfortable.

"I can't help you," he said. "But I know someone who can."

Annie was waiting at the door when he opened it.

"Mitchell!" she beamed. "You're home!"

"Just for a bit," he said, looking uneasy.

Annie's face fell as she saw the girl behind him, dressed in a black bustier and a pink miniskirt. A ghost? He'd brought a sexy ghost home?

"Who is this?" she asked flatly.

"This," Mitchell said cautiously, "is Dahlia. She died today."

"Did you kill her?"

Dahlia peeked out from behind Mitchell. "Oh, no, Mitchell isn't like that," she said.

"I think I know Mitchell, thank you," Annie said.

Mitchell clicked his tongue. "Can you give us a moment, Dahlia?" he said, motioning Annie to the kitchen.

Annie sighed and followed him. In the kitchen, Mitchell glared at her. "Of course I didn't kill her. Why would you say that?"

"I don't know, Mitchell, she looks like your type."

"My type? She's not my -" he paused and took a deep breath, composing himself. "I found her, OK? She asked me for help. I thought you could -"

"I could what?"

"You're good at this kind of thing, Annie."

She crossed her arms. "Why should I help her? What's in it for me?"

Mitchell blinked. "You like helping people. It's what you do. And you keep saying you want some company -"

"Yes. I want your company. George's company. Not any random ghost you drag in from the street."

"She needs help. What's your problem?"

"My problem is, you're never home anymore. You never even talk to me lately unless you want something."

"So Dahlia should suffer?"

"You care so terribly for her, you help her."

Mitchell covered his face with his hands. "Come on, Annie… I'll owe you."

"Owe me what?"

He dropped his hands. "I don't know. A favor? What do you want?"

"Time, Mitchell," she said. "I want you to spend more time with me, with us."

He sighed. "Sure, of course. I'll try to spend more -"

"No deal," she said, turning.

"What?"

"No," she said. "That's the same thing you say every time you bother to stop home - you'll try. But you don't."

"I do try."

"Well. You don't try hard enough."

"I've got a lot going on."

"I'm sorry if Dahlia cramps your style, Mitchell, but she goes with you when you leave."

"OK," Mitchell said, blocking her from the door, not that blocking her mattered. "I can do Sunday. This Sunday, I'll spend the whole day with you."

Annie paused. "I want Saturday and Sunday."

"The whole weekend? What will we even do?"

"Don't worry, I'll plan it out."

He sighed. "I have to work on Saturday."

"I'll go in and change your schedule. I used to do it all the time for George, so he could have time off with Nina." She looked at him. "I don't know what you have going on, but I think you could use a break."

Mitchell thought for a moment. "OK," he said, finally.

"OK?"

"Yeah, OK."

"You're serious? You really mean it?"

He nodded. "I can use a break."

She smiled.

Mitchell hesitated at the door, his small farewell made more awkward by Dahlia's presence. "Well," he said. "I'll be back later."

"OK."

He reached out and squeezed Annie's shoulder before taking off into the night. She sighed. A hug wouldn't kill you, she thought.

She looked at Dahlia, who seemed to be inspecting every part of the lounge.

Neither would a 'thank you.'

Dahlia looked up from the board games she was looking at beneath the TV as Annie shut the door. "He is so hot," she said. "Oh my god."

Annie looked at the door. "Mitchell?" She shrugged. "We're such good friends I don't even notice anymore."

"Yeah, right." Dahlia shifted and sat crossed-legged on the floor. She looked around. "So this is where you and Mitchell live?"

Annie nodded. "And our friend George."

"Oh, is he hot, too?"

"No," Annie said, without thinking. "I mean, he's … I don't think of them like that."

"It's a bit ordinary," Dahlia said abruptly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"This house. Bit ordinary."

"We like ordinary," Annie said. "It suits us. Makes us feel… normal."

Dahlia stood and looked at the stereo. "Who would ever want to be normal?"

"I don't know," Annie said. "People who can't be 'normal.' Vampires. Werewolves. Ghosts."

"Werewolves?" Dahlia looked at her.

"Like… George."

Dahlia paused, but seemed nonplussed. "Huh."

"Well," Annie said. "What did you expect?"

Dahlia looked toward the sofa and coffee table. ""I don't know," she said. "Candelabras. Maybe some velvet drapery."

Annie laughed. "Velvet drapery?"

Dahlia shrugged.

"You looked at Mitchell and thought: velvet drapery?"

"Well, you know," Dahlia said, fingering the lace on her bustier. "In the stories, it's all so romantic. It's all I ever wanted. And now look at me, I'm not a vampire, I'm just dead." She paused. "I thought… I thought they would want me and accept me, but… it was nothing like the stories."

"Oh," Annie said, reaching out to comfort her. "Oh, honey, no. It's nothing like the stories."