Chapter 6

One World Trade Center

After walking for another eternity, Kelly finally brings Zach up to street level – and after looking around a bit, Zach realizes where they are. He looks up to see the massive, glass-covered skyscraper ahead, surrounded by an urban park – the September 11th Memorial. Zach sees the two huge, square-ish fountains marking the place where the old twin towers stood until terrorists flew airliners into them on that terrible day in 2001 – before Zach was even born.

"We're going to Freedom Tower?" he asks, and Kelly turns her head slightly to nod.

"That's right."

"I didn't think the building would have any power going to it now."

"Oh, it does. The Master's made sure of it. We're going all the way to the top."

"Really?"

"Mmm-hmm."

Zach brightens a bit, thinking for just an instant that things are all normal and he's just off on a late-night sightseeing trip with his mom. It's not until they get inside the building and he sees just how empty and dark it is that the illusion falls away again. Zach tenses up as they approach the elevator, seeing the two Strigoi guarding it.

"It's okay, Z. They won't hurt us," Kelly says and pats his shoulder as an affectionate gesture, but it feels empty to Zach – the kind of hollow gesture one would get from somebody who doesn't like showing affection. Zach eyes the Strigoi as they enter the elevator, hearing their rattling, growling sounds as the doors close.

It takes only a minute for the high-speed elevator to zoom up the 1,776 feet to the observation deck. Zach remembers the tower's symbolic height from the time he visited on a school trip – and he can't believe he's actually wishing to be back in school now. He finds himself even missing the stupid kids who used to bully him. He just misses everyone – his class, the annoying crowds of tourists, the rude cab drivers, even the bums.

He just misses…normal.

Zach sighs as the elevator slows down, coming to a gentle stop at the observation deck. The doors slide open to reveal the expansive space, housing the café and gift shop. But everything's deserted. Only some of the interior lights are on, just the bare minimum of illumination. Zach walks out and goes directly to the window in front of him, standing right against it, looking out over the river – recognizing the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, but everything's dark on both islands.

No power. No lights. No people. No normal.

Then Zach hears a noise – the telltale, raspy breathing of the Strigoi – but a little different. He turns and sees something dash across the floor some feet away.

"Mom?" Zach calls – but Kelly's nowhere to be seen. Then he hears the sound again, behind him this time. He whirls around to see more shadowy things crawling across the floor – and then jumping up on top of the gift shop shelves, perching like birds or cats.

"Mom!"

Still no Kelly – nobody but him and these things. Zach's breathing picks up as he backs away, and the things' heads turn with his movements, lasered on him, making rattling, insect-like sounds in their throats.

"Mom! Where are you? Mom!" Zach coughs as he shouts. He bumps into a wall – and then, with no warning at all, one of the shadowy things perched on the shelves launches its stinger at him, almost reaching his face. Zach gasps and takes off, but there's nowhere for him to go. The shadowy things jump off the shelves and give chase, cornering him, surrounding him – and it's then that Zach can finally see well enough to make out what they are.

They're just kids…just like me.

But these kids stay down on all fours, moving like spiders or crabs – and their eyes are even more messed-up looking than the average Strigoi, with scar tissue all around the sockets. And as Zach's noticing this, he's also noticing that his coughing's getting worse – he feels the tightening pain in his chest and knows he's having an asthma attack. But he doesn't have his inhaler or medication – and his mother is still nowhere to be found, and now he doesn't even have the breath to call out for help. All he can do is wheeze as he slumps down to the floor, holding a "stop" hand out to the Strigoi kids, as if that would mean anything to them. But amazingly enough, they don't attack. They just sit there on their haunches and stare at him like a bunch of vampire puppies.

"Help me…please…can't…breathe…"

Then he sees the silhouette of his mother as she comes up behind the Strigoi kids, who rub their heads against her legs like affectionate cats – and her hands gently touch their heads, stroking what little hair they have.

"Mom…" Zach barely manages to say.

"It's alright, Z," Kelly says.

"Can't bre—breathe…" Zach wheezes, just as another silhouette comes up beside Kelly, a tall, skinny, bald man wearing a long coat. The Strigoi kids make hissing noises and back away at his approach – and Kelly steps aside with a respectful bow. Zach tries to back away, but he's already right up against one of the windows, trapped.

The silhouette enters some of the measly moonlight coming in, and reveals its face – Zach makes a shocked expression at seeing Bolivar, a favorite singer of his, transformed into the thing in front of him. But Zach can't even say anything – his voice is gone, his lungs ache like they're on fire, and he can only guess he's turning blue at this point.

The Master stares down at him, calmly, hands clasped in front of him. "Hello, Zachary," he says – and Zach can only stare back at him in surprise, at such a pleasant greeting said in such a frightening voice, by such a frightening thing.

"I am sorry to see you in such distress. I would like to help you. Will you allow me to help you?" The Master asks – and even though half of his brain screams no, his survival instinct overrides everything now. Zach nods vigorously, writhing with the increasing pain of suffocation. The Master grins slightly – and then gets down on one knee beside him. Zach watches as he holds out a mutated hand with abnormally long fingers, using a razor-sharp thumbnail to cut his own index finger. His other scaly hand grabs Zach by the face, forcing his mouth open. Zach stiffens up, but he has no choice but to submit. Kelly steps forward then and gets down beside him on the other side, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"You can trust him, Zach…trust The Master as I do, and your pain will disappear. You'll see," she says, so comforting in this moment – so much like his real mother. Zach watches helplessly as some of The Master's white blood oozes from the cut on his finger, pooling into drops that fall right into Zach's mouth. Then The Master closes Zach's mouth and stands back up.

"Rise, my son," The Master says. Zach sits forward, feeling incredibly – strange. Strange, but better. His lungs relax, and the stifling tightness in his chest disappears along with the pain. He opens his mouth, takes in a huge gulp of air and lets it out. Then he breathes normally, through his nose, and it's the greatest feeling in the world. He looks at Kelly, feeling stronger and more energized with every passing second. Kelly stands up, helping him to his feet – then she gently turns him to look at her, smoothing his hair.

"See? All better, right?" she says – and he nods. Zach looks at her and then at The Master, eyes wide with amazement.

"Thank you," he says. The Master nods at him with a snooty air, like a king might look at a peasant.

"You have nothing to fear from me," he says.

Zach looks him up and down, the new energy he feels making him bolder. "Why do you look like Bolivar?"

"Gabriel was a most loyal subject. So I chose him as my host."

"So…he's dead?"

"No. All that Gabriel was lives on in me, and will be part of me forever. He will remain young forever…just like your mother."

Zach nods, not entirely convinced that what he just heard is true. But given his position, he decides not to push the issue. "So why did you bring me here? What do you want from me?"

"I know this must all seem very strange to you," Kelly says. "But you're being given an incredible opportunity."

"Opportunity for what?"

"I need your help, Zach," The Master says.

"My help?"

"Yes…only you can help me with this particular situation. I need you to reason with your father."

"What do you mean?"

"He continues to work against me. I need your help to convince him to stop."

Zach squints at him, wary. "Why would I do that? My dad's just doing his job. He's trying to help people. You're killing them," he replies, and The Master takes the verbal hit with an ever-so-slight twitch of one eyebrow that hints at the fury within – fury that would normally strike out at such an insolent remark. But knowing this is a far different and much more delicate situation, The Master grins, nodding as he tries to figure out a different angle.

"I understand how you must feel, of course…how you would see it that way. And I admire your father's determination…his perseverance. But I fear he does not understand what I am trying to accomplish."

"And what's that?"

The Master strolls back across the deck, stopping at the center window and Kelly gently ushers Zach after him. He stands beside him, following The Master's gaze out to the bay, focusing on what few lights are left to see.

"I have lived a very, very long time, Zach…thousands upon thousands of years," The Master says. "I have seen all the terrible things mankind does to itself and to this world. My greatest wish is to eliminate them. Wars, poverty, disease…those things will all end once my plan has been fully implemented."

"Really? Doesn't seem that way."

"No…I admit, it does not. But that is only because we have just begun…and great change is always the most difficult and disruptive at the beginning."

Zach takes that in, still not convinced but more intrigued now that The Master has shown some compassion to him by stopping his asthma attack – and some actual personality by talking to him. He doesn't seem like the monster Zach imagined. He's…smart. He talks like a teacher. And the possibility of some good coming out of all the bad things that have happened appeals to him.

"So you want to help us," Zach says.

The Master nods, sharing his growing satisfaction with Kelly, turning to her and grinning. She smiles back and touches Zach's hair, stroking it lovingly. "Exactly, Z," she says. "But your father, and the others he's working with…they don't get that. We need you to make him see."

"How? I mean, I don't think he'll believe me," he replies.

"You underestimate your power, young man. You are the most important person in his life. You are the only one he will listen to," The Master says. Zach looks to Kelly for her reaction, and she keeps her reassuring, mom-like smile going – making him feel safe, reinforcing the illusion.

"What do you want me to say?" he then asks.

"He will be contacting us soon, to meet. When he does, and we meet him together, you can ask him to stop working against me. To stop killing my children, whether by poison or any other means…and to convince those working with him to do the same," The Master says.

Zach looks between The Master and his mother – wanting to believe, in his innocence, that they're being truthful. But the little voice in the back of his head, the one that always scolded him when he was doing something wrong or warned him that something wasn't right – it screams at him now to beware.

"I don't think I can do that unless I have something to show him…some proof that you mean it," he says.

"You are that proof," Kelly replies.

"The essence I have given you did not just stop that one attack," The Master says. "Your father is a doctor and so he will be able to examine you and see that your condition has been completely eliminated."

"Oh…okay," Zach says. "But what if that's not enough? I mean like, with Professor Setrakian and Fet. I don't think they'll believe it no matter what I say."

"Do not concern yourself so much with them. All I ask is that you do your best to convince your father. Then he and I will do the rest. Do we have a deal?" The Master asks, offering a hand to him. Zach grimaces at the idea of touching the grotesque thing – but after looking to Kelly again and seeing her beaming at him, so much like she used to – he puts his small hand inside The Master's, feeling it closing around him and giving a single, firm shake.

"Good. I am honored to have met you, young Zach. I will see you again when we go to meet your father. In the meantime, your mother and Mr. Eichhorst will take good care of you. Now I must bid you goodnight."

With that, The Master gives him a slight, genteel bow – then he strolls to the elevator and gets in. When the doors close, Zach looks to Kelly, who kneels to his eye level and hugs him in the reserved, unnatural way she does now.

"I'm so proud of you, Z," she says earnestly enough, and then pulls back to look at him.

"Really?" he asks – and she nods, fussing with his hair again.

"Most people would have just cowered or tried to run away. But you were brave…so brave…and so smart."

Zach can't help but brighten at the compliment. "So we're gonna see Dad soon then?"

Kelly nods. "Very soon…and you'll be able to go back and stay with him if you want."

"Oh…okay," he replies – realizing that he's not so sure he wants to go back now. He loves his Dad, misses him - but while staying with him and the others, Zach learned a lot of things about him that he didn't like. Things that turned his world upside down and left him grasping for anything that reminded him of when things were better.

"Unless you'd rather stay with me," Kelly then adds. "I would love that…but I don't want you to feel like a prisoner. I know you don't like that room you're in now."

"No, not really."

"What if we found a different place?" she asks, and he brightens even more.

"What about home? Can't we just go there?" Zach counters – and for a few seconds, Kelly's face goes blank. Either she doesn't know how to answer – or someone else is telling her what to say.

"I'm sorry, Z…we can't go home. Or at least, I can't. I…I have to be closer to The Master and Mr. Eichhorst. They need me here. But maybe you and your father can go back home."

"Oh," Zach says. He doesn't like the answer – something about it stinks, something besides the obvious. But at the same time, he still doesn't want to leave her. "Well…can we at least find a place with some windows? Somewhere where I can go outside?" he asks.

Kelly smiles at that – the small part of her that's free, the bit of her old self The Master allows her to keep in order to do her work, it warms with the love she still feels so strongly for her son.

"Yes, my dear one…of course we can."

Red Hook Command Center/Safe Streets Initiative HQ – Brooklyn

Two of the Safe Streets-commandeered NYPD Humvees roar up the street toward the building, pulling into the parking lot and zooming around to the rear to the loading dock. A bunch of NYPD Officers, including Justine Feraldo's right hand, Frank, jump out of the vehicle, to help one of two injured officers get inside.

On the other side of the building, Quinlan slinks around the base of the Command Center, looking for a way in – one that avoids people. The options aren't looking too good, as his shadow dashes from door to door. The rear loading dock looks to be the best option, but has a flurry of activity going on as the injured officers are moved inside. Quinlan waits until the commotion's died down before moving closer – noting several police officers still hanging around. He could easily take them out, but he wants to avoid drawing attention. He's not here to make a scene – he's on a self-assigned reconnoiter. So he moves as quietly as possible, zipping from cover to cover until he's close enough to the open bay to slip past, with only one officer standing between him and his opening.

He reaches into the pocket of his long overcoat, and pulls out a coin – a rather old one, an English penny from his time living in London almost two hundred years ago. He rubs it between his fingers, reluctant to lose it even though it has no real value – only sentimental, which he immediately chastises himself for.

Sentiment…gets you into trouble every time.

That's all it takes for him to pull the coin out and fling it. It flies behind the officer and lands with a high clinking noise a good ways away, making the officer turn and look – and then stroll toward the sound, which is Quinlan's cue to move. He puts up his hood, drawing it tight around his head as he moves through the mostly empty space of the ground floor – only a skeleton crew for the night watch. Quinlan sneaks easily past the front entrance detail, the guards far more concerned with talking about the injured officers that just went past them. Quinlan sees the door to the stairs and sneaks over to it, slipping in.

He moves quietly up the stairwell, stopping at every floor to peek in until the finds the Command Center, where the injured officers are just getting off the elevator. A cacophony of chatter and shouting accompanies them – the loudest voice of all belonging to Justine Feraldo herself, as she jumps right in and grabs one of the guys' arms, slinging it over her shoulder as she helps him along.

"What's your name?" she asks the officer, who's breathless with the pain of the broken leg he's suffered.

"Schmidt…Danny Schmidt, ma'am…"

"Nice to meetcha, Danny. What precinct were ya?"

"Midtown South, ma'am…"

"For chrissake, stop callin' me ma'am."

"Yes, ma'am…I mean, Councilwoman…"

From a shadowy corner by some cabinets, Quinlan watches and listens to the woman he'd heard so much about as she and poor Officer Schmidt limp past him. Feraldo does have quite the way about her, Quinlan thinks. A definite strength, but kindness as well. She was fascinating to watch – but she wasn't the one he was there to watch.

Quinlan waits for the parade of officers to pass by and then zips along with them, using their motion to hide his own as they move to the rear of the building, where Feraldo's had a makeshift medical treatment area set up. He ducks into an alcove just as someone else approaches, coming up the hallway from the other direction – and the smell he picks up is unmistakable.

He looks and sees Petey just as she dashes by him, hands behind her head, pulling her long, blue hair into a sloppy ponytail. She joins Feraldo and Officer Schmidt, taking the weight off the Councilwoman and taking control of the situation.

"Petey, this is Danny," Feraldo says, and she smiles at him.

"Hiya…let's getcha inside here, we're all ready for ya," she says – and Officer Schmidt, now semi-out of it with the pain, grins back at her.

"How ya doin', sweetie…you're cute…like the hair..."

"Oh, yeah? Thanks."

"What're ya doin' later?" he asks, which makes Petey laugh – and Quinlan's ears perk up. It had been such a long time since he'd heard a woman's laugh. Such a beautiful sound. And while some women had obnoxious, squealing-pig or braying-donkey laughs that would make one want to run from the room – Petey's was the genuine music of unexpected joy.

"Ohhkay, one thing at a time, Romeo," Petey then says, then looks to Frank, shouldering the other officer. "Frank, take him across the hall there! Keep pressure on the cut, I'll be right there!"

"Got it," Frank replies, helping the other man, who's bleeding from a deep cut he sustained after tumbling down a debris-filled stairwell. Justine and Petey get Officer Danny down on the exam table and then Petey immediately goes about getting his vitals.

"It's okay, Councilwoman. I got this," she says, as she puts the stethoscope's ear tips in.

"Yeah, I guess you do," Justine replies.

"Got an ETA on your Doc?"

"Someone's driving him in right now. Lemme get an update." Justine breezes out of the room and down the hall, right past Quinlan, who watches the hall for another minute to see if anyone else is coming. Then he ventures out of the alcove, stepping lightly across the hall to the room Petey is in, stopping just outside and listening.

"Alright, I'm gonna need you to suck it up here for a minute while I check out your leg, okay?"

"Suckin' it up's all I been doing."

"Very true. And you're doing a great job," Petey replies. "So just a few more pokes and prods here and I can let you rest for a while until the Doc gets here."

"Just get it overwith," Officer Danny says, letting his head drop back on the table.

"Right," Petey replies, as she carefully undoes the Velcro on the plastic brace they used to secure his leg in the field. Officer Danny squirms and sucks his breath in as the brace releases along with the broken bone.

"I know, sorry…you're doin' great," Petey says, as she then takes a pair of scissors and cuts his pant leg off just above the knee, and below the tourniquet applied in the field. "You're doin' good, man, just hang on," she keeps repeating over and over, in a calm, soothing tone honed over years of experience.

Quinlan's head barely clears the doorway as he watches her work, using a flashlight to examine the break closely. She moves down to his feet and places her hands around the affected one. "Wiggle your toes for me?" she asks, and nods when he does.

"Good," she says, and then she pinches his pinkie toe. "Feel that?"

"Yeah…yeah, I can."

"Good…okay," she says, as she then goes about cleaning his blood-soaked skin, gently dabbing around the break – and when Officer Danny winces, Petey immediately grabs his hand, squeezing it tight.

"I know, I'm sorry…almost done. Just keep as still as you can," she says – and then as quickly as Quinlan's ever seen anyone work, she stabilizes Officer Danny's leg and rechecks his vitals. Then she takes a blanket out from under the table and lays it on top of him, tucking the edges under him. "All done for now. Just rest. When the Doc gets here, we'll see about getting x-rays done. You need some water?"

Officer Danny nods, his eyes heavy with fatigue. Petey grabs a bottled water off the table and puts a hand behind his head to lift him up a little, pouring some into his mouth. "There you go," she says. "I'm gonna go across the hall and help your buddy, then I'll be back."

"He's not my buddy, he's a fuckin' idiot. He's the reason we're in here," Officer Danny says.

"What happened?" Petey asks.

"We were clearing out condos in Tribeca tonight…y'know, so all those rich assholes Feraldo's gettin' money from can protect their investment properties? Anyway, we're almost done with this one, and we get jumped right by the top floor landing. Instead of advancing and taking the muncher out, dickhead over there backs up and sends us both down the fuckin' stairs. But he just gets cuts and bruises…he'll be back in play by tomorrow night with battle scars to impress the hotties at the Mayfield. Meanwhile, I'm the one who's out permanently. First thing I'm gonna do when I get mobile is punch him right in the fuckin' face in front of everybody in the bar."

From his listening spot, Quinlan can't help but smirk at that – he wasn't impressed at all with New York as a city, but the people who lived there were certainly…colorful. He watches as Petey takes some gauze and water and cleans the Officer's dirty face, dabbing the gauze on his forehead to soothe him.

"I hear ya," she says. "I'd punch him, too…probably more than once."

Quinlan grins again…I bet you would.

"Anyway, don't worry about him. You just take care of you. Rest easy," she says, giving him a thin smile.

"Hey, y'know…that wasn't just delirious rambling before. You wanna get a drink later?" Officer Danny asks, and Petey laughs again – not a mocking one, though. More like that of a shy young girl getting a compliment from the most popular boy in school, Quinlan thinks. But for some reason the exchange between the two starts to bother him, and he finds himself squinting hard at the injured officer.

"I'll think about it," Petey then says, and Officer Danny makes a clicking noise with his tongue.

"Aw, c'mon…what's to think about?"

"Hey, don't get pushy, alright? I said I'll think about it."

"Okay, okay. Backing off."

"Cool your jets, hotshot. Doc'll be here soon," Petey says with a grin. Then she turns to leave – and she makes a face when she thinks she sees something move past the doorway – fast, like a passing shadow of something. She goes out into the hallway, looking both ways – but there's nothing there.

Once she disappears into the exam room, Quinlan sticks his head out of the alcove and looks up and down the hall, trying to decide if he should continue watching the Petey Show or just bail to start the night's hunt for a meal. He'd seen enough, he thinks after a moment. All he really meant to do was learn more about her and see what it was she was doing for Feraldo – to better determine if he and the Professor needed to be concerned about her.

Clearly, she was no threat, even though their initial meeting had been the ugliest possible confrontation – but that all had context now. In fact, given her skill set, Petey would be a welcome asset.Quinlan shoots one more hard, disapproving squint toward overeager Officer Danny's room before he makes for the stairwell.

About an hour later, Petey pushes open the heavy door to the roof. She shudders a bit as the cold air hits her, finding its way into every opening in her parka. She raises the hood as she walks right up to the edge, the only thing standing between her and the open air being a two-foot tall retaining wall. She leans over slightly, the wind catching her hood and blowing it back – she closes her eyes as it lifts her hair and then gently subsides.

Then she digs in her pocket for an e-cigarette – one of a bunch that she liberated from an abandoned 7-11 on her long trek from Philly to New York. She takes her first drag of the vanilla-flavored nicotine liquid, letting it fill up her mouth on a good, long, slow inhalation and holding it for an instant before blowing the vapor out in a steamy cloud. She'd turned to e-cigs a couple of years earlier, to help her quit smoking real cigarettes – a most illogical habit that many nurses have. And it worked, she did quit – but as she drags on the e-cig, she remembers why she kept the habit for so long. Not only did the nicotine ease the stress of the job, but the whole routine required escape, usually to a rooftop – the only place where anyone living in a city could find some peace in the middle of the day. Sitting up high and holding the cig between her fingers, slipping it into her mouth and blowing out the smoke – it was comforting somehow, centering.

And Petey gradually notices as she inhales and exhales the vapor, how quiet it is. Cities were lots of things, but quiet wasn't one of them – especially New York. But it's so quiet now, in fact, that Petey finds herself lulled into a sort-of trance by it – a deep, meditative state where her mind feels at ease enough to bring forth the heavy thoughts. The uncomfortable ones. The painful ones. The ones about her father, gone forever now. Even though they never had a relationship, Petey feels his absence – even more so at the moment than that of her mother, who died of cancer years back. The fleeting memory of her, a sweet Ukrainian lady beaten down by the stigma of being a mistress and a single mother – it actually makes Petey feel relieved that she left the world before it became what it is now.

She never would've made it.

But the relief only lasts a moment, as the new absence of her father bears down on her again, driving home the lonely reality of being an orphan. Petey takes another long drag, watching the vapor dissipate in the cold air – and then she feels it coming. A growing ache behind her eyes, the one people get when they try to hold back tears.

She doesn't want to cry now – or ever. Not over Alexei Fet. He doesn't deserve the salt in her tears. He doesn't deserve to be thought of in any sort of sentimental way. He doesn't deserve her sorrow, her time or even the effort it takes to think of him. He doesn't deserve this moment. She thinks all these things – and yet, the tears come anyway, too late to be stopped, like a dam that's reached its limit. Strong as they have been, the walls can't hold forever. There's too much pressure built up now – pressure from everywhere, coming at her from every angle, without and especially within.

Petey grips the e-cig tight, her warm tears turning cold as they make salty tracks down her cheeks – and she holds her breath, as if that would stop anything. But on the next inevitable breath, the last of her strength gives way to uncontrollable sobbing. She draws her knees in and covers her head with her arms, giving over, letting herself cry it all out – the dissolution of life as she knew it, her new life within the vampire apocalypse that she's only just beginning to understand, and the loss of a father who never wanted her.

She feels adrift, like whatever otherworldly, invisible tether that once tied her to the world, to reality – and perhaps her sanity – has unraveled and snapped. Now she's floating in the murky sea of the unknown, unsure how long she can tread water – or if it's even worth it to try, since it seems like the world may very well be ending anyway.

Even though she's quiet about it, Petey's cries carry all over the roof – the city acoustics bouncing the soft, heartbreaking sounds off every hard surface. She cries until her gut hurts, and then she looks up and out at the darkened city. The edge calls to her – she crawls toward it, grabbing onto the wall and looking down, her thoughts darkening still further.

It'd be easy…just pull yourself over and let gravity do the rest.

But then she thinks of Fet – the brother she didn't know she had until a few years ago. The sweetest guy she'd ever met, who would be absolutely heartbroken if she were to abandon him now. She knows what that feels like – abandonment. A broken heart. Fet didn't deserve that. He deserved a loving family – so did she. And it seemed that they were going to have to provide that for each other now. Petey sniffs back her despair, swallowing it down, burying it.

Suck it up. Get your shit together.

Then she hears a noise – or thinks she does – a noise that doesn't belong in and among the hard city sounds. A gentle flapping, like a bird coming in for a landing – or fabric picked up by the wind, like sheets on a clothesline. Petey stands up and turns to look behind her, but it's dark enough that she can't tell if there really is something there or not.

But somehow, she knows it – or feels it, more like. She got feelings like this from time to time – and her mother used to tell her it was her gift. A heightened intuition that sometimes allowed her to see around corners, so to speak. But she's not seeing anything now – only getting a vibe that she doesn't like. Keeping her eyes scanning, she backs her way toward the door – hoping to god that what she's sensing isn't a Strigoi. But the idea that it could be makes her move quicker, and she turns and sprints for the door. She throws it open and then pulls it shut behind her, making sure it locks. She jogs down the stairs, stopping once she's down a few floors to look back up toward the roof – but there's nothing there.

Or at least, nothing she can see or hear. It's just quiet.

Too quiet.

Petey then books it down the rest of the way back to the relative safety of the command center, making sure not to look back – out of fear that she might have been right. Sometimes it's better just not to know.

If she had stayed on the roof just a few seconds longer, if she had bothered to look up – she might have caught a glimpse of Quinlan as he crouched there on top of the doorway – stock still like a gargoyle, but unable to keep the wind from lifting his coat. With his enhanced hearing, he waits until Petey's footsteps have faded before jumping down.

He walks to where she'd been sitting at the edge of the roof, and looks down – down to the dark, grimy alley below, down to where he's fairly sure she had been considering jumping to. A jump she wouldn't have survived – but of course, that was the whole point.

And as he stares downward, Quinlan wonders to himself: if Petey had jumped, would he have stopped her? He tends to think he would have, which leads to the next inevitable thought…why? After all, he'd already attacked her once – and he didn't really know anything about her other than her connection to Fet, a human he could barely stand. Why should he care if she dies?

Because there's something about her.

Something that piqued his curiosity, that made him stay the extra hour to wait and see if she emerged from the building. She interested him. He could no longer honestly pass off tracking her as strictly a security thing. And the realization makes him both unhappy and exhilarated at the same time. He shakes his head at his human side rearing its ugly, complicated, messy head – amazed that people could deal with emotions at all, let alone all the time, every day, every minute. Especially such emotion as Petey was clearly dealing with as she sat there weeping, contemplating ending her own life.

What would bring her to such a state? Besides the obvious, of course. As awful as things had gotten for the human race in the last month, Quinlan doubts that the Master's deeds were the sole cause of her grief. There was something else going on with her – something much deeper, much sadder, much more personal.

And he wants to know what it is.

But at the moment, the need for blood necessitates an end to shadowing her…for now.

Later on, when Quinlan returns from the night's hunt, his ears prick up immediately, hearing the hasty movement of things – papers being shuffled, desk drawers opening and shutting – and it doesn't feel right. He draws his sword as he slinks along the hallway and enters the main sitting room. It's empty but the lights are on, and Quinlan feels the disturbance of air, of someone having just been there a few seconds ago. He then hears the swinging door in the adjoining room and almost calls out for Setrakian – but then he thinks better of it, and instead follows the noise.

Quinlan enters the study and looks around, feeling that same wake of a person who's just left the room – he's right on someone's trail. And it's not the Professor or Fet. He would have recognized their scents. He thinks of Petey but it doesn't smell like her, either.

Which could only leave…

Quinlan steps up his pace as he hears more rifling ahead – someone's desperately looking for something, someone who shouldn't be there. The sounds lead him to the room where Setrakian kept the Lumen when he wasn't there – the room protected with ultraviolet lights. Quinlan stops as the purplish glow looms ahead of him, stopping him from getting much closer. He can't go into the room without seriously injuring himself – but he could still hit whoever's in there from his spot. He maneuvers around to get the best vantage point, and sees a male silhouette, tallish and bald, standing there in front of the open cabinet staring at the locked safe.

"Looking for something, Doctor?" Quinlan says, low and calm – but it startles Eph all the same. He whirls around and puts his hands up like the guilty almost-thief he is.

"You scared the shit outta me."

"Yes, I have that effect on people. Where is the Professor?"

"He left with Fet a little while ago to go meet somebody. I have no idea who. You mind putting the big scary sword away?" Eph says, his wary eyes darting from Quinlan's face to the sword still in his hand by his side. Quinlan cocks his head slightly, brandishing the sword with a fluid, stylish flourish that makes it seem like just an extension of his wrist as he rotates it.

"Depends," he replies. "Are you planning on stealing the Lumen?"

Eph can only gulp at that. Quinlan nods, sliding the sword into its scabbard on his back. "I thought as much. The only real question is why?"

Eph sighs, hanging his head for a moment – knowing he was never a good liar and that there's no easy way to ramp up to the truth, especially with someone like Quinlan standing in judgment.

"The Master wants to trade Zach for the book," he blurts. Then he sighs again – with relief this time, like a huge weight just fell off his back.

"So the Professor was right."

"Yeah. He usually is," Eph replies. "So…what happens now?"

Quinlan clasps his hands in front of him, chin slightly lifted, considering. "Well, I suppose I should kill you. It is why I'm here, after all…to protect the Lumen, and the Professor, from the likes of you."

"Look, Quinlan…can I call you Quinlan? Look, yeah, you got me. I'm not a good guy. I'm an asshole. I suck. But this is my son we're talking about. He's all I have left…and I am scared to death right now because I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't want to do this to the Professor, but…I can't see any other option. And I can't afford to wait. This has to happen now," Eph says, breathless at the end of it, terrified that he's just signed his death warrant and that the next – and last – thing he'll feel is some cold steel slicing through his neck.

But nothing happens.

Eph makes a face at Quinlan's stoic expression. "Okay…so…am I dead now or what?"

"I should kill you, but I won't. Because this is an opportunity neither of us can afford to pass up," Quinlan finally replies.

"Wait…what?"

"You may not be the most honorable man, Doctor. But you love your son, that much is clear. You need him back. I need to kill The Master. We can accomplish both ends by luring him out into the open using the Lumen as bait."

"But you just said you're here to protect Setrakian."

"We fight on the same side…and I admire his dedication to winning a war that has cost him everything. But he is unwilling to take a risk like this. He is…too cautious. And this chance will not come again, so…what do you say, Doctor? Shall we show The Master that we can double-cross just as well as he can?"

Eph just gapes at Quinlan, shocked by the rapid, crazy turn of events and not quite sure he heard him right. The two stare each other down for a moment, the silence heavy around them, disturbed only by the humming of the UV lights – both of them knowing the choice they're about to make will change everything for everyone.

"You won't make a move until I have Zach, right?"

"Of course."

"You know how to open this safe?"

"I don't need the combination to open it. All I need is for you to shut those UV lights off."

Eph takes a deep breath – then he finds the power strips the lamps are plugged into and shuts them all off. The humming stops and the room instantly cools down. Quinlan basks in the temperature drop and the return of the dark for a moment, closing his eyes and stretching his neck muscles. Then he pulls a mini-Uzi from one of the shoulder holsters under his coat.

"You might want to step aside, Doctor."

Eph's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. "Holy sh—!"

He dives out of the way as Quinlan pounds the lock on the safe with a torrent of bullets, the deafening noise of metal on metal forcing Eph to cover his ears as he cowers against the far wall. But it only lasts a couple of seconds – then it's over and done, and Eph looks up to see the safe door ajar, with a new, nasty-looking window in it leaking smoky wisps.

Quinlan holsters the mini-Uzi and walks up to the safe, making sure his leather gloves are securely on before grabbing the silver-bound tome off the shelf. He examines it for a moment, in awe of the superior craftsmanship in the carvings on the cover – especially the large symbol in the center, a flower-like design that in recent years had come to signify a warning of something toxic and lethal contained within.

Eph gathers himself up off the floor and joins him. They both stare at the book – then at each other. Then Quinlan hands it over to Eph and walks off, saying over his shoulder,

"Come along, Doctor. We've no time to waste."

Eph grips the heavy, ancient thing in his hands, squeezing it – as if he could will it to take his place and do the rest of the dirty work for him.

"Right," he breathes – and then he follows Quinlan out of the building, into his stolen taxicab, driving off into the night.