"Where do we go?" Vasiliy asked.

They had procured another stolen vehicle. A large black SUV that had seated the four of them comfortably. They had left the boat at first light, and now as they drove through the streets, Myla realized just how bad things had become. The last time she had been out in the city was with Alonso and some of his men, they hadn't seen nearly as many abandoned cars or looted shops.

"Your apartment?" Setrakian asked.

"If it is a place you wish to protect, I would not stay there. We are being followed." Quinlan stated.

"By who?" Vasily asked.

"Not sure. Perhaps sun hunters."

"Stonehart is more likely." Setrakian said.

"So where can I lose 'em?"

Myla reached into her bag, unsure if it still kept the same secrets it did before. She'd often clipped hotel cards, club cards, and private member cards to the inner zipper.

The one she was looking for was still clipped there, heavy, with the magnetic strip still in place.

"I have an idea." Myla said. "The Olympian - its not far from here. If you speed up, lose the tail we can pull into the underground parking lot."

"Those lots have gates and key cards - we won't be able to get in." Vasiliy said.

Myla dangled the keycard between Vasiliy and Setrakian.

Vasiliy took the key card and inspected it carefully. Neither Vasiliy or Myla liked where the keycard had come from, but with the black sedan behind them creeping closer and closer...

"Theres food." Myla said. "Rooms."

"Well whatever gets us away from these guys." Vasiliy said.

Vasiliy sped up, winding the car through a few side streets, and even one alleyway before he found the entrance to the parking garage. In one swift movement, he held his hand out to he scanner, and the gates lifted. Quickly and quietly, they had disappeared from sight.

"We should sweep the place." Vasiliy said. "Myla, why don't you wait in the car?"

Myla cocked her eyebrow as the three men exited the vehicle. The underground didn't have a large amount of space. The spots available were allowed for individuals on the lease, and the lease only. Guest parking was always elsewhere, but that was New York for you.

Vasiliy pressed the button on the elevator. The light lit up, and dimmed again.

Quinlan joined Vasiliy's side after checking the shadows and nearby cars for anything unwelcome.

Vasiliy pressed the button again.

"What the hell is wrong with this thing?" he said.

Myla stepped beside him, scanning the key card against another magnetic reader and hitting the call button.

"Stay in the car? You sure you won't get lost without me?" she asked. The elevator doors opened.

"Well." Vasiliy said between his teeth. "Unlike you, I've never been here before."

Myla didn't like the accusatory tone that came from her brother. But she stepped in the elevator anyway. Myla held the same pistol she'd taken from the truck. The three of them followed her to the first floor. There, they checked the kitchens, finding shelves full of food - and luckily, not stragoi.

The next several floors were empty, except for the 5th and 6th, which contained a few turned men and women. Vasiliy and Quinlan had killed most of them. While the professor caught a few of the wounded with his sword. Myla managed to shoot two, killing one.

They made it to the eleventh floor. Finally settling on the top floor as the safest place to stay. Quinlan saw the height as an advantage point, and mentioned the fire escape as a possible option should they need to escape. Vasiliy was happy to have a room with a shower, running water was hard to come by, and few buildings still had reserves.

Now that the building was clear, Myla felt an ease fall over her. She watched as the professor removed his coat to settle into a nearby chair, the Lumen on his lap.

Vasiliy grumbled under his breath. "I'll take that small room in the back. I'm going to get some shut eye."

"How we planning on being here for?" Myla asked.

"As long as it takes." Setrakian said.

"Alright then."

Myla's sweater was spread across the cool cement, as she continued to stargaze from the roof. Night had fallen, Vasiliy and Quinlan had left. Myla had stolen Gus's cigarettes before they had departed - she had made her way to the roof to have one, and had become distracted by the far off gun shots, and the color the burning buildings made in the night.

Myla was keeping an eye on the professor. Babysitting it seemed. But he didn't move much, always reading, and saying nothing.

Myla's eyes rolled as she thought of Vasiliy. It was so typical of him to leave her behind while he went off to handle things. They had fallen back into what they used to be, a college kid who came home on the weekends and told his baby sister to do as she was told.

Something about their situation bothered her. All the memories of their father came flooding back. His stern lectures about making a life in America worth it. She had even heard a semblance of their father's voice when Vasiliy had spoke to her about the Olympian. A bit of disappointment seemed to slip out at the end of his sentence... Myla had to push it to the back of her mind.

She remembered being here before. Hired for private parties. Something Vasiliy knew, but didn't really want to know. She supposed that the conversation would come back eventually. It always did.

When morning came, Vasiliy still wasn't back, but Quinlan had returned. The pale man had avoided all of them at first, unsure if he wanted to trust any of them. But he was just as entranced by that book as the professor was.

Later in the day, Myla brought the professor a bowl of soup, something he didn't seem to even notice. But that gave her a moment to view the two of them. Both of them were trying to read the book, sharing the page.

Making a few copies might be a good idea.

She slightly enjoyed watching them argue. It was like watching two professors of history argue what came first. Only, both of them had actually lived it. Abraham had lived a very long life, but as frail as he was, he could still cut down a stragoi without a second thought.

Quinlan on the other hand seemed to be fluent in Latin, and the longer their conversation went on she realized that Quinlan was older than she had expected An original gladiator. And for some reason that made her blush.

When night had fallen, and Vasiliy still had't returned, Myla decided it was okay to worry about him now. Quinlan had left again, sword at his back and guns at his side. But at least she knew Quinlan was likely to return. 'Damn Vasiliy always does what he wants.' she heard her father say.

She tried to sleep that night. But to no avail. She could only toss and turn, so she left her room. She eyed the liquor cabinet, full well knowing a glass or two would certainly help her get to sleep.

Instead she found the professor, still sitting there, soup untouched.

It was roughly four am, Myla sat next to the professor, she touched his arm, and his gaze slowly drifted to her.

"I think you need a little sleep professor." Myla stated.

"I suppose... you are right." he sighed. Perhaps the words on the page were becoming blurry, maybe the lack of food had finally gotten to him.

She helped the professor his feet, Myla offered to take the Lumen, and it seemed he only handed it to her out of exhaustion.

The one moment moment she had stepped away from him, the professor fell.

Myla fell to her knees, the Lumen sliding away from them as the professor clutched his chest.

"Tell me how to help you!" Myla said.

"My... my..."

"Your pills!" Myla fumbled through his coat on the couch, she could hear the pills rattling, but couldn't manage to find the damn pocket.

"No... here." he said, as he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small vial.

"What do I do?"

"One drop... each eye." he said in between gasps.

Myla's hands shook as she took out the dropper, and placed one white drop in each of the professor's eyes.

That only seemed to make it worse. He shook violently, and seemed to be in incredible pain. She could only take his hands as he cried out.

Then it all stopped.

"Professor... Abraham!" she said.

His hand was wrapped around her arm, but from his wrist she could feel a pulse, and it felt strong.

Quinlan made her jump when he knelt down next to her.

"What happened?" Quinlan asked.

"He fell... I gave him - I don't know what I gave him!"

Quinlan thumbed the vial, almost angry at what it was. "The White." he whispered.

"What can we do?" Myla asked. Her eyes couldn't look away from his pale fingers holding that vial.

"We get him to bed. He'll be fine come morning."

"You're sure?" she asked.

"If he's been using it this long, I'm sure he'll feel ten years younger in the morning."

Myla looked into Quinlan's eyes. Noticing for the first time how truly icy they were.

There was nothing warm about the man. Killing, Killing... Killing.

That was all he talked about right? He was just a man with a bloodthirsty vendetta that was over two thousand years old.

Just a man.

So why was she holding his hand?

Myla had taken his hand in her right, while the professor's hands were still wrapped around her left arm. Her knuckles were white, she had been squeezing Quinlan's palm, realizing now he had the warmest hands. Their heat eased any icy glare his eyes could produce. And with that simple touch, she felt herself calm.

"I understand you're frightened. He will be okay. I promise."

When she let a breath back into her lungs her hand slipped away from his, and Quinlan was free to carry the professor to the nearby couch.

For the time being, he would keep an eye on him. He knew it would ease the girls fear.

"You can go back to bed now." Quinlan said. How low voice startling her again.

"What was that I gave him?"

"It is..." Quinlan sighed. "A complicated substance. It is a form of what keeps me alive, made to keep him alive. The man is nearly ninety-four."

"Just a fraction of your life I take it?"

"And who told you about me?" he asked.

"No one, you -" Myla swallowed. Was he this frightening before? "- I assumed when you corrected the professor's latin by making him understand there is a syllable difference between fighting with someone... and literally fighting with someone."

"Perhaps I was once a student." Quinlan said, a slight smirk appearing in the corner of his mouth.

"Students usually don't joke about Julius Agricola taking the saying literally and defeating a small army... with their own arms."

"Perhaps I read it in a book once."

Myla laughed. His coy demeanor and playful reaction to talking about himself had brought her a great ease.

"Not with the look you had on your face. You looked as though you were remembering it."

Quinlan looked down at the floor. And back at her, this time with a smile on his face. "Caledonians were poor soldiers. It made for a believable story."

Myla eyes brightened as she smiled back at him.

"To be so old... you must have many good stories." Myla said.

"Few good stories. But sadly few."

Myla watched the smile fade from his face.

"Get some rest. I'll watch over him." Quinlan said.

Myla nodded, one moment he could be so inviting, and the next be so cold. 'Few good stories.' the way he had said it had made her so sad.

A few hours later, Myla woke up to a quiet apartment. She left her room, dressing in a pair of jeans, and simple t-shirt. She would need to find more clothes soon, unless she found a way to wash them.

Setrakian was in the same seat as the night before. Still reading the Lumen.

"Coffee professor?" she asked.

He didn't respond.

"Professor." she said more sternly this time.

"Hmm. Yes?" he asked, still not looking up from his book.

"Coffee?" she asked. "Do you want one?'"

"Oh, yes. Hmm."

Myla had taken the pot from the kitchen, pouring herself a black cup of coffee, and one for the professor.

"Sugar." Setrakian said.

Myla added generous spoonful of sugar.

She handed him the cup and took a seat across from him, adding her own personal sweetener to the her cup as usual.

She noticed Quinlan in the corner, reading from a piece of paper. It was a handwritten copy Setrakian had given him to translate. Myla wondered what they had been so entranced with that a mere vocal communication was too great a challenge.

Myla had let them be for a time as she explored the tenth floor. She had found a pair of shoes that fit her, and a t-shirt or two. But she had come back to find the two men bickering about the definition of the word Vrykolakas.

"Vampire" she mumbled under her breath. Quinlan had heard her. Both of them looking at her. "Or wolf. But it depends on your Romanian or..."

"And how do you know this?" Abraham asked.

"Well I wasn't born in the Ukraine, but don't all mothers talk to their children in their native tongue?" Myla asked.

"But you have no accent?" Abraham asked.

"Vasiliy was born there. I came... some six years after my family emigrated. With their accents getting weaker, and going to public school I managed to sound like I was just from Brooklyn."

The Professor smiled at her. "Please explain to us why that word can mean vampire or wolf."

"It means to feast on blood. To need blood." Myla tried to remember the story in her mother's voice. "A creature that needs blood. but dlaka means strain of hair. So you get yuk and dlaka to gather and you get... a wolf with fur that eats blood. I believe it was a story about a great wolf, and when he was killed, he became a powerful vampire. The vrykolaka then became more and more powerful the longer it was left alone, legends said that one should destroy its body. According to some accounts, this can only be done on a Saturday, which is the only day when the vrykolaka rests in its grave - thats how you get the stake to the heart, beheading... you know the things from the movies."

"Your mother taught you all this?" Quinlan asked.

"Well it was my duty to help her cook and clean, and to pass the time we liked to tell stories. Vasiliy was supposed to help our father, he got a job when he was fourteen and had been working ever since. I lived with my 'head in the clouds' he liked to tell me. But they were just stories. Myths of monsters and ghosts. Things my grandmother told her, and her mother before her."

"Someone told me once... there are no myths, only exaggerations." The professor said. There was a small glance between the two men. "Did you mother ever tell you of a polish tale, about a man named Sardu?"

"The tall man with a cane? Yes I remember it. It was to scare children, the story of the boogeyman."

"A man who stole children away from their homes, luring them with treats... and that sound... pick, pick, pick."

"And you're telling me this was not just a story?" Myla asked.

"Sardu was very real. So was the creature before him. The same creature that snatched his body. And the same creature we hunt now."

Myla could still hear her mother's voice. "The children would leave their beds hoping to find treats and spoils... but these children never returned home again..."

"He is the man who made me as I am today. The master. My father." Quinlan said.

Myla had sat around for another few hours while they argued about the latin, greek, and slavic translations.

By four in the afternoon, Myla had enough and took the elevator to the ground floor. She had walked a few blocks to the print shop and ripped their best copier from the wall. She made sure to fill the tray with paper before she loaded it into a cart and pushed it out of the front door.

"You looting now?" Vasiliy asked from behind her.

"Hardly. Borrowing." Myla said back.

"You left the apartment? I specifically told you to stay with the Professor."

"I'm not a baby Vas. I can do what I want. Quinlan and the Professor can't translate the book sitting in each other's laps."

"Maybe I don't trust Quinlan, and we shouldn't give him an extra reason to stick around."

"Quinlan is harmless." Myla said. "Well... not strictly speaking, but-"

"Oh you're friends now?"

"I'm sorry. But did you not leave me alone with two strangers for forty-eight hours and expect me to not talk to them?"

"LiuLiu."

"Don't call me that. You now I hate that."

"Yeah well I don't exactly like finding you at Alonso's or with the keycard to the Olympian just hanging out in your bag. Do I have anymore tricks to look forward to?"

"Do do that Vas. Don't go there. You've been gone for two days! I have the right to worry, I have the right to be upset."

"I didn't want you to leave... it's not safe out here!"

"You think I don't know that? I left during daylight didn't I?"

Myla turned away from Vasiliy, pushing the copier further down the street.

"Myla don't walk away from me."

Myla continued to walk. Hearing Vasiliy steps close behind her.

"LIUDMYLA."

Myla turned around. She didn't know why Vasiliy could get like this with her, why he could act so much like their father, and only when it came to her, or her choices. There was always that part of him that could get angry.

"I haven't seen you in two years Vas."

"Who's fault is that?" he stated flatly.

Myla could feel tears brimming in her eyes, and she didn't want him to know he'd hurt her. She refused to turn around.

"I came back looking for you. I walked to your flat on foot. Without Alonso's help. And when you weren't there I went back to the one place I could be safe while I looked for you. And then you find me, and you're gone the next day?"

"Myla, I'm trying to save the damn city. It's not exactly the perfect time for a reunion. Don't forget that you were the one who left."

"Because I was drowning Vas. If I had stayed another night in this city I would have ended up dead." Myla's fingers tightened on the cart. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve an explanation. "I... thought now when it mattered the most we could be a family again. When I heard people were sick Vas, all I could think of was you."

"It still doesn't change how you left. It mattered to me then."

"You were plenty busy. You gave me money. Money I always found a way to spend on drugs."

"Jesus, Myla." Vasiliy took a step back.

Myla kept walking. Vasiliy followed her from a distance as they both walked back to the Olympian. The copier fit in the elevator well enough, but Vasiliy had to wait for the next ride up.

The argument she had with the professor had lasted only a few minutes before the professor relinquished the book to her. She made quick black and white copies of the first half of the book before handing Lumen back to the professor.

"I'll finish the other half of the book when you take your next break." Myla said. "Where's Quinlan?"

"Somewhere nearby." the professor mumbled.

Myla ignored Vasiliy as he stepped off the elevator. She could tell by the way he tilted his head and bit the inside of his cheek that he'd felt bad about their argument.

"Professor, can I get you some food?" she asked.

His eye still scanned the page. Only briefly did he look up.

"What was that dear?" he asked.

"Food, Professor. Can I get you some?"

"Oh no, I'm quite alright." he muttered turning back to his book.

Myla raised an eyebrow, but quickly drew her attention to Vasiliy.

"You see what I have to deal with?" she said.

"Well the professor was never a peach." Vasiliy said.

"But he was a zombie?" she asked.

"Well. Not to this degree I suppose. Did you say something about food?" he asked.

"Yeah let me get you something from downstairs."

Myla had taken her time making some lunch for the three of them. Despite the professor's refusal. Myla wasn't about to have a repeat of last night. But it seemed that trouble would always find a home.

She came up to the top floor already hearing Vasiliy talking to Quinlan.

"Well Justine's convinced them to send in the big guns. The army going to send in reinforcements, and with the police and volunteers, we can take back the city. None of this hero shit needs to happen." Vasiliy said.

"It took cunning and skill for you to harm the Master at all with your little stunt with the sunlight. And good luck convincing your new comers of what's really the problem here. Half of New York doesn't know what this is, and you think they're going to listen to you?"

"Look, I'm not going to listen to some half-muncher, and some damn book-"

"Vasiliy Fet!" Myla said, suddenly sounding like their mother.

"What!"

"You know as well as anyone this is a team effort, and that Abraham and Quinlan give you a damn good shot at exterminating your damn 'munchers.' So maybe you should reign it in a little, and consider working with them."

"I'm doing good work out there." Vasiliy said.

"Or you just don't want to work with me." Myla stated. "You don't know where to put me, or what to do with me."

Vasiliy was silent as he took his sandwich, and turned back towards the elevators. His silver badge was shining in the light.

"Maybe. I don't know." was all he said before he left again.

The room was silent, Myla only hoped it wasn't as embarrassing as it felt.

Myla took a plate to the professor, setting it by it's side.

"You need to eat that by nightfall, or I will force you to eat it." Myla said. "No more repeats of last night."

Abraham looked up at her, giving her a small scowl before returning to the book. Myla did however see him give a slight nod.

Quinlan was standing by the bar, still fussing with a handwritten page of the professor's scribbling.

Myla walked over to the bar, another small craving came for her to have a drink. But she ignored it.

"Here, managed to make these. Their black and white, but at least it's page by page and in order. If you're going to do this, you two ought to do it right.

"Thank you, this will be an improvement." Quinlan said as a matter of factly. Myla lightly touched his arm as she left his side, before she quietly retreating into the back bedroom.

The outburst with Vasiliy had made both Quinlan and the professor uncomfortable for a short moment. But Myla returned later to make sure the professor had eaten, then she sat with them quietly, reading something she had found in one of the other rooms.

She hadn't seemed bothered by Vasiliy's final statement. But more so aware of their relationship, despite the passage of time between them. Siblings always did know how to have a proper argument.

But, what had struck him was how she raised her voice to defend him. Scolding Vasiliy with a look that told him to be kind. Her eyes had been soft and sad, something that had pained him. But he looked at her now and found himself admiring the girl for her resourcefulness. She'd hauled such a large machine down the street just so he could have a copy of the Lumen. Quinlan felt it was a sort of gift.

She was truly kind. Something he's found to be quite rare amongst humans, at least in the true sense. Everyone can be nice to a degree. But to stick up for a stranger... he admired that.