A/N: Another Riley adventure! If you haven't read any of the others, I at least recommend reading The Boys Are Back. It will make this one less confusing. Anyways, please review! I love reviews! Thanks for reading. :)

I was still reeling a little bit over running into Finn's mom—who did not look old enough at all to have a twenty-two year old son. But the resemblance spoke for itself. It almost hurt to look at her, because all I could see if Finn's face. I stared hard at the picture of the girl who had drowned. Haunted, would be the word I'd use to describe the look on her face. Haunted and uncomprehending—kind of how I felt right now, actually.

"I had a friend track your license plate down. In case you were wondering how I found out who you are," she said mildly. I had been wondering, but not enough to ask.

"What do you need from me?" I countered, tired of feeling like I was just drifting helplessly. If she really knew a way to wake Finn up, then I wanted to stop messing around and just get to it.

She grinned. "A girl who speaks her mind. No wonder he likes you." I had to fight the urge to slap that stupid grin off her face. But no, we were in an art gallery, and public displays of violence were not appreciated amongst the art community.

Then her grin faded into something much darker, and she started filling me in. "I made a deal—not a crossroads deal—but a deal nonetheless." I didn't know what a crossroads deal was, but after tonight I would definitely be looking it up. She continued, "The only problem is that I can't be two places at once. And, since the deal hinges on me being present to wake Finn up, I need you to fill in with the other job. It's time sensitive, and it should be right up your alley."

And here I was thinking I didn't even have an alley. Finn's mom pinned me in place with her stormy gray eyes, forcing me to focus as she laid out the job. "There's a nest of vampires in Helena, Montana. They're maybe nine or ten strong. But more importantly, they have someone I want. At any given time, they have a couple of girls as feeders. I've been watching the nest for almost two weeks. The only time to get in and get out with the girls is when a majority of the nest goes out to bigger cities in search of new feeders."

Her eyes flicked up and down over me. "There's a lot of killing in this one. If you can't handle it, let me know right now, and I will find someone else."

Oh, I would handle it. For Finn, I would definitely handle it. I met her gaze squarely, not letting her intimidate me. She smiled, but it was more like a cat-ate-the-canary smile. It was unnerving, but I refused to show any discomfort.

Finn's mom reached into her purse, handing me a manila envelope. "All the details are in here," she said. "Get your own transportation to Montana."

Then she turned and started walking away. I was lost. I was so, so lost, and my only source of answers was walking out the door. I was just about to call out to her when she turned around and walked back. She stopped, leaving barely a foot of space between us. "You'll get one shot at this. The girls will die if you don't get them out before the vampires bring back new, replacement feeders. And if you screw this up, I will hunt you down, and I will kill you. Painfully. Do you understand?" And there she was again with that sickly-sweet smile.

I leaned forward, narrowing the gap between us into wildly uncomfortable proportions. "Do your job," I warned her, my voice full of an icy calm that I didn't feel. "And I'll do mine."

If my mettle surprised her, she didn't show it. Instead, she walked out, this time for good. I waited until she was gone to find a chair to sit down in. Never mind that it was a carved piece of art. I just wanted to sit. Besides, the gallery was mostly empty. And really, who the heck chooses to make a chair to represent a human emotion? How did that even work?

I twisted in my seat, trying to find the plaque for the piece. It was labeled, "Shock and Awe." Oh. Yeah, I felt kind of shock-and-awed. If I remembered correctly, it was considered a military tactic. I definitely felt military tactic-ed by Finn's mom. That wasn't even really a word, but it should have been, because it fit her to a T.

After waiting through the remainder of the show, I took the envelope back to the hotel in somewhat of a daze. After months of a solid routine, everything was about to change. And if I finished this job, then Finn would be awake.

Hope.

Gosh, it was a good feeling.

Once in my room, I peeled off the dress, swept my hair into a ponytail, and pulled on some sweats and a soft t-shirt. Then I hopped onto the bed, sitting criss-cross style as I popped the seal on the big envelope. Inside were papers and pictures. I pulled them free and spread the whole mess around me in an arc. Then I moved my attention from one thing to another with disgusting slowness.

At the end of the arc, I had a pretty good idea of what it all meant. Separating all the pictures from the rest of the documents, I moved them to the left, by my knee. There were about a dozen different photos, but they were all of the same group of people. From what I could see, there were nine different guys collectively. That would be the nest. Nine vampires. Wow. I'd never even killed one vampire, let alone nine.

But as I further reviewed the documents, a plan began to form in my mind. I didn't have to kill them, at least not all at once. I couldn't, in good conscience, continue to let them kidnap and kill girls. Still, I wasn't an idiot. There was no way I was going to walk in there and kill them all by myself.

As promised by Finn's mom, I found the address to the warehouse, and the roughly plotted schedule of the vampires. The itinerary was excruciatingly blunt and basically gave me three days to get to Montana before the girls would be drained and replaced with new feeders.

I threw all the stuff back in the envelope and put my duffel bag on top of the bed. When I had packed it in Michigan, I had only included the bare Hunting essentials. Thankfully, one such item was my machete. It had a long straight blade with a tip that curved upwards into a wicked point, and along the top edge was twelve inches of small serrated saw edge. Sam and Dean Winchester used something similar against the vampires that had been hunting me, which had been one of my main reasons for purchasing it only a few weeks after the whole ordeal had gone down. Why I had packed it made little to no sense, but I had, and now I was entirely grateful.

I hefted the machete in one hand and my Glock in the other. Oh, the toys a girl could play with. Then I put both items down, realizing that normal people don't usually stand there smiling fondly at the deadly weapons clutched in their hands. Yeah, that was a little weird, even for me.

It was easy to pack my bag. I hadn't really unpacked in the first place. After it was done, I booked myself a last minute plane ticket, and left the hotel, slightly remiss that I hadn't even spent the night. Dang it. I had so been looking forward to staying in an actual hotel. And as soon as I reached Montana, I knew I would be back to motels. Lame sauce.

But Finn was worth it. Finn was definitely worth it.

When the cold Montana air bit at my face and whipped through my thin clothes, I scowled—reciting that I was doing this for Finn and he was still worth—and headed back into the airport in search of a bathroom where I could to change back into my Michigan apparel.

The second time I emerged, the cold nipped at me, but I was ready this time. It was a little weird, because the unease and shock of the meeting with Finn's mom had morphed into something equally as cold inside my chest. I called it my "Hunting mode," in that I always became very detached and cold when I was about to kill something. Maybe it was a coping mechanism, or maybe it was just a thing that happened. Either way, the last time I'd felt like this, I'd gone after a serial killer wielding a ghost.

As I waited for a cab, a little giggle erupted over that last thought, and I wondered when things had changed so completely that insane thoughts like that didn't even faze me anymore. Yowza.

The cab pulled up, and I put on my best "Not a crazy psychopath on my way to kill things" face as I opened the door and climbed in. It must have worked, because the cab driver asked me where I wanted to go without whipping out his cellphone and calling the cops. I tipped him extra for it when he dropped me off at a bar. He didn't even give me a weird look as I scrambled out, pulling my luggage behind me.

Finn had taught me a trick during one of our long motel hangout hours. To steal a car, he'd said, you have a couple of options. A bar was usually a good one, because bars don't always have security cameras in the parking lot, and some patrons don't keep their doors locked in case of mild intoxicated fumbling keeping them out of their car at the end of the night. Plus, they don't always report the cars stolen right away.

I scoped the place out for a while from my street corner, trying very hard not to look like a teenage prostitute checking out a potential customer base. My heavy duty attire may have helped with that. Either way, I picked out four cars that could be good targets. It was three in the morning, and if the cars were still here, then I could only assume their owners were inside, probably pretty wasted.

Only after I had ascertained a certain lack of security cameras both in the parking lot and at the business across the street, did I go about testing my chosen rides. Of the four, two were locked. I was left to choose between an old, navy blue Toyota Camry and a newer, silver Chevy Camaro. Why anyone would leave their stinking fancy Camaro unlocked was beyond me, unless they were young and dumb and spent their nights getting wasted.

But as much as I wanted to drive a Camaro, I felt like the Camry would be missed less and would therefore be potentially a bit more inconspicuous. I slid into the front seat of the Camry, leaving my duffel outside in the event that I had to abort the mission. Then I pulled out a key, so that I could intoxicatedly claim I thought this was my car if the need arose.

Leaning forward, I quickly flipped the visor down to check for keys. Then I checked under the floor mat. Nothing. Inside console, glovebox, passenger visor—all keyless. Hopping out again, I bent by the wheelwell, checking there. Nope. I stood up again, hesitating. Then I saw the small gas flap, and it had smudged fingerprints against the overall dusty haze of the car. Pulling it open, I was greeted by a silver key on a small ring.

Well, hello there, I thought happily, grabbing it and turning around to toss my duffel onto the passenger seat. I climbed in again, turned the car on, and left the parking lot in the first stolen car of my life.

I still had a day and a half before having to storm the vampire nest, so I found a motel. It was seedy, and I was a little disappointed that I could have been in a nice hotel in Oregon right now instead of hiding my stolen car in an alley and walking to what looked like a place to buy drugs or lose marital fidelity. Whatever. Life was funny like that. All the could have been-s and should have been-s wouldn't help me now.

I checked in under the name of Zoe Washburne. After taking a quick shower, scarfing down a bag of airplane peanuts, and setting my my alarm, I flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Now would be a good time to shut up and sleep, I told my brain. But it had other ideas. Finally, I rolled onto my side and called Trixie. She was asleep, but wasn't mad when I asked about Finn.

"No change," she said softly. "I'm sorry." I hung up, not sure why her words hurt so much. I knew Finn's mom was going to wake him up. I knew it in the same way I'd known to bring my machete here—raw, primal gut feelings.

I put my phone back on the nightstand and rolled back onto my back, my brain spinning through the dozens of preparations that needed to get done before the job really started. There was something off about this one. Why had Finn's mom chosen me? There had to be tons of other Hunters she knew—older, more experienced, better qualified Hunters. Yet she had singled me out, tracked me down, and offered the job to me in a way I couldn't resist. It was puzzling, but it also reminded me, I needed to look up what a crossroads deal was.

I sat up, knowing that while my brain was still going one hundred miles per hour, there was no way I'd ever fall asleep. I might as well make use of my mental acuity and get some work done.

Booting up my laptop, I sat down in front of it and researched crossroads deals. I didn't find much, but the one thing that came up repeatedly was the theme of demons. I shuddered, hesitantly wondering if demons were yet another supernatural species that actually existed. I didn't want to think about it for long, so I busied myself with putting together a shopping list.

"Baking soda," I announced out loud, as if that would help me block out demons from my thoughts. "Baking soda would be good." I added it to the list with neat, precise letters and kept brainstorming.

After that was done, I distracted myself by finding directions to the warehouse and trawling through the local news for any recent deaths or missing persons. "Jonathan Moore, you poor illegitimate child, you," I said affectionately. Then I looked up directions to the morgue. With nothing else to do, I dropped back onto the bed and turned on the TV.

Eventually, somewhere between my second and third hour of terrible infomercials, I set my alarm for a different time and dropped off to sleep. I didn't dream, didn't toss and turn. I just closed my eyes one moment and clawed them open the next when my alarm started its cheery jingle.

I shambled around the room, trying to get dressed and find my shoes through the still-lingering morning haze of sleep. I found one teal Converse, pulling it on while hopping on my other foot towards the bed. When I reached it, I bent down and found the other, shoved just under the edge of the bed. I grunted in annoyance and pulled that one on as well. Then I remembered my hair.

Fishing my hairbrush from my bag, I ran it through the long blond strands until I looked at least partially presentable. With one last glance at the bathroom mirror, I grabbed my purse and headed out into the parking lot, pulling up short as I remembered that I was currently carless until I really needed the stolen Camry. Scowling my displeasure, I went in search of the closest coffee shop before attempting to take the evening on. If the baristas thought it odd that I looked like I had just rolled out of bed at five o'clock at night, they didn't say, but I could see their weird looks, which I promptly ignored in favor of gazing lovingly at my coffee.

After coffee, my stomach gurgled a bit, reminding me just how insubstantial airplane peanuts are. So I dug my shopping list from my pocket and went to find the nearest store. It was a nice little place. It had groceries and a not too shabby outdoor activities section. I snagged a basket as I walked in and filtered through the aisles, making my selections carefully. I came out with enough groceries to fill two bags, and as soon as I had paid and left the store, I tore the wrapper off a dense protein bar and started in on my dinner.

The walk back to the motel was telling of the kind of town Helena was. It didn't have the frenetic air of big cities. People were polite. It was not unlike my hometown, Eagle Point, just a lot bigger. I wasn't worried about the stolen car thing, because the only cop I saw the entire time I was out was a burly man checking cars' speeds on his radar gun.

I got to my room and set the purchases on the table, before glancing out the window. It was starting to get dark, which is what I was waiting for anyway. On the table, I took out a cheap backpack and started sorting my items out of the bags. My machete, my gun, and the baking soda were among the chief items to be packed, and when I was done, I flipped back the edge of the curtain, happy to see that the sun was starting to dip low in the sky. Winter, early evenings—it was definitely something I could work with.

Pulling the backpack on, but making my gun easily accessible, I set out to find the morgue. It wasn't too bad a walk, and when I got there, I had just enough light to determine how hard it was going to be to break in. Not very, I decided. The front of the building looked all official, with a camera and heavy duty doors. But I wasn't interested in the front. They didn't bring bodies in through the front, they did that through the back.

I skirted around the building, avoiding the one other camera. It was a different make from the one in the front, and the wires leading from it looked suspiciously droopy and sad. A dud, most likely. Glancing at the big door at the back, I grinned. It was made to be wide and accommodating to several people wheeling a gurney around. It was not made to keep inquisitive guests out. In fact, the lock lacked any type of menacing intimidation factor.

I pulled out my lockpick kit and continued to wait. Around seven, the last of the evening light was fading, and the lady inside started closing the place down. She did it with nothing more than a jiggle of the back door to make sure it was still locked and a flick of the lights. Wow. She had just made my day.

Fifteen minutes later, to allow for any unexpected returns to the office, I hustled over to the door and picked the lock. As anticipated, it wasn't super challenging. Slipping inside, I shoved the pickset into my pocket and pulled out a flashlight, keeping the beam low and steady. I didn't need anyone outside to walk by and wonder why there was an erratic beam of light sweeping all over the place.

A wall of gleaming metal met my beam, and I walked over to it hurriedly, taking in the segmented sections. Choosing one at random, I grasped the big handle and pulled the door open. Inside was a sliding metal tray, but it was empty. I closed the square door and opened the next in the line of three. That one was also empty. Opening the farthest door to the right revealed a body, lying stiff on the sliding metal tray.

Moore, J.

The tag proclaiming his identity was, indeed, hanging on a piece of string attached to his big toe, and I grimaced, reaching in and pulling the tray out towards me. It slid noisily until I was staring at a body. Thankfully he was covered with cloth.

I turned away, setting my backpack down on the ground as I pulled out several of my new purchases. Then I turned back, snapping some latex gloves onto my hands. "Sorry, Jonathan," I whispered, picking up a syringe and flipping the cloth covering him back a little. Then I wrinkled my nose in distaste and stabbed the first of many syringes into his arm.

My trip to the morgue was the last of my needed preparations, and I headed back to the motel to catch one last day of sleep before I needed to be at the warehouse. I felt a little fuzzy as I lay down, mostly because I knew things were going to get serious tomorrow, and I didn't feel altogether prepared for it. But it couldn't be helped. I needed to do this, and then I would have Finn back.

I closed my eyes and refused to open them again. Thankfully, sleep came.

When my alarm went off again, I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. There was no trace of the sleep-induced fog that usually bogged me down in the mornings. I was awake, and I was ready.

Sitting up, I called Trixie. Finn hadn't woken up yet. Faith, I told myself. She'll come through. Whether that was true or not, I didn't know. I didn't know Finn's mom very well. But I had to believe that she would. I would do my part, and she would do hers.

Climbing out of bed, I took a shower. As the hot water cascaded down over me, the cold feeling blossomed in my chest again. I was ready.

The Camry was exactly where I had left it. Throwing my duffel in the trunk, and my backpack in the passenger seat, I started the engine with cool precision and followed my printed directions to the warehouse district.

Address is 1843 North Willoughby Avenue, I recited. Warehouse number five. Nine vampires. Two ways in. Four hours to get the girls and get out.

I parked the car behind the abandoned building across the street. Satisfied my stolen ride was hidden, but also easily accessible for a quick getaway, I checked the backpack straps and quietly climbed the rickety fire escape steps to the roof. Walking to the opposite edge of the rooftop, I pulled out a pair of binoculars, already having removed them from the plastic packaging back at the motel.

The warehouse was rented under the name Ward Henley, according to the documentation Finn's mom had tracked down, and there were two cars parked outside the big loading doors. One was an SUV, and the other a truck. They didn't tell me much, other than the vampires were smart enough to get tinted windows, which in the grand scheme of things, told me nothing. No, what I really wanted to know was how things were set up inside.

I peered through the binoculars in search of anything that might give me a better idea to the layout of the warehouse, but the windows were all heavily shuttered, and the only doors were solid metal. I would be going in blind. But then again, I had already kind of known that, so it wasn't a huge shock or anything.

Checking my watch, I pursed my lips and settled in to wait.

I had gone through two hand-warmers and three granola bars by the time things got moving. It was just before dusk that I got my first real glimpse of the vampires.

All nine vampires erupted from side door in the alley at the same time, streaming out to the front of the warehouse where the cars were. "Well, hello there," I murmured into my binoculars. Five of the men climbed into the black SUV. They were laughing and joking around as if they were headed out to a party, not on their way to kidnap someone. The other three piled into a the pickup truck with a covered bed. I bet that was where they stashed the victims or transported the bodies that needed to disappear.

My stomach roiled at the thought, but I pushed past it. I was not here to get angry. I was here to keep a cool head and do my job.

The vehicles pulled away, leaving one lone vampire standing by himself. He was younger than the others and wasn't much taller or older than me. But it didn't matter. He's a vampire, I reminded myself. And not the sparkly, friendly kind.

Not Sparkly glanced around a little, almost as if uneasy, before stuffing his hands in his pockets and going back inside. Yeah, bucko, I would be uneasy too if a girl with everything to lose was about to come busting down your door in search of your human bloodbags. I stood up, putting the binoculars away and pulling out a small orange box from my backpack. Baking Soda, it happily proclaimed, displaying a picture of a muscular arm holding a hammer.

Popping the tab in the corner, I sprinkled a hearty amount around the ground where I had been camped out. It wasn't the best scent-killer, but it would mask my odor if the vamps ever came sniffing around my lookey-lou spot. Even if it didn't completely mask my scent, it couldn't hurt.

After forty-five minutes or so, I gathered my things from the car and walked across the street. I approached from the east so that the vampire wouldn't see me coming, even if he was watching, which I highly doubted.

I went around the side alley and placed my backpack a few feet away from the door. Then I took a deep breath and screamed, falling to the ground as I released blood over my stomach. It was cold and slick, and I felt vaguely guilty for ruining a perfectly good shirt, but I had to get in the warehouse somehow. This was somehow.

After another scream, there was a slight creaking of the metal door, and that was all the warning I got before the vampire appeared on my right. "Help me," I whimpered, clutching my stomach with one hand. "There...there was a man. He had a...a...knife." I sobbed dramatically, but the vamp's eyes weren't on my face. They were on the blood seeping through my fingers. His nostrils flared, and then his eyes widened.

Yeah, that's right, I mentally sneered. Old blood, probably had a different smell. But it was too late for him even though he was just now realizing it. I slammed my hand into the side of his leg, depressing the plunger on the syringe I held, and injected him with a sample of the very same blood that decorated my shirt. Deadman's blood. Jonathan Moore's blood to be exact.

Not Sparkly staggered away from me, and I leapt up again, kicking his unsteady legs out from under him as he collapsed. Boom. Riley one, vampires zero.

Not wanting to take any chances with how long he was going to be out, I grabbed his arm and dragged him backward into the warehouse, snagging my backpack before going inside.

Then I did something I never would have dreamed of doing a couple years ago. I dragged my machete out of the sheath pressed to my back under my shirt, and I swung it downwards with all my might. Blood flew—disgustingly enough—and this time splashed on me in an entirely unintended way. Some even got on my face. I wiped it off quickly with a swipe of my sleeve, not wanted to get any in my mouth. Going into a vampiric transition was not in the cards this time.

Using the relatively clean hem of my shirt, I swept the blade clean of blood and ventured into the murky gloom of the warehouse.