Viago clucked like a chicken when some fighter's nose blood splattered into the chalk ring, catching his shoes. "Oh my word! And people say I have trouble controlling a spray!"

Nick wanted to laugh at those comments, and the noise he made, and the general absurdity of Viago and his linen shirt and his brocade waistcoat in a place like this. But he was too busy trying not to look at the nose blood, but not looking only made the smell more overwhelming, to the point he could taste the metal in the back of his throat, and he kept swallowing to make it go away, but that only made him want to keep swallowing to taste it more, and his tongue was tingling, and he was very close to getting on the ground and licking it off the floor and the chalk and even the shoes and—

He heard some mechanical noise go out over the speaker.

"Me? Is that me?" Viago said. His voice sounded far away, even though he leaned toward Nick to whisper. "It sounded like they called for a cork. Is that me?"

"Yeah," Nick nodded toward the desk. "That was the name she gave you, 'member?"

"Well, yes, but no, see, then that would mean I was fighting Vladislav."

Nick stared back at him.

"They also called for Vladislav just now over the speaker."

Nick could see in Viago's face, all tensed eyebrows and continuous blinking, that he knew exactly what was happening, but wanted an excuse. Nick cleared his throat, trying to think of a way out. But if Viago couldn't think of one, then what hope did Nick have to do so? "Uh, yeah, that means… you gotta fight him."

"Can't we just leave?"

"If you leave, I don't think they're gonna want you to come back."

"I don't want to! I just want to find my dumb fucking flatmates and leave."

The speaker crackled: "Repeat, I need one Vladislav and one Korg to the ring! One more call, then you forfeit!"

Nick looked up at the speaker. "I guess she found them for you… at least?"

Viago tensed his jaw and tiptoed around the few strange men in his way until he got to the ring, an uneven circle of aqua-colored chalk. Nick followed him, not sure if he could be of assistance, but not sure where else to go either. Once Viago was in view of the ring, he said, calmly, "Oh. Vladislav."

Vladislav looked up at him. "What the … Fuck? VIAGO?" Viago stepped aside to show off Nick. Now Vladislav looked more annoyed than anything else. Nick silently thanked whatever gods vampires thanked that Vladislav wasn't fully angry at him (that was a terrifying thought). "NICK?"

"Yes, Nick!" Viago said, stepping back in front of him.

"Hi... Vladislav," Nick lifted his hand to wave, but lowered it the second he realized Vladislav's eyes were turning a murky black. Vladislav muttered under his breath, "Viago..."

From where Vladislav was standing, Deacon took a small step forward. He gestured to himself. "Deacon."

"We know," Viago and Vladislav said to him in unison.

"Hey, Abbott and Costello," said the speaker. "Timer started one minute ago."

Vladislav wondered if he could still use telepathy with any reliability. He hadn't tried it in many years, more than many years on another vampire, longer still on Viago. He hadn't needed to for as long as he could remember.

But he knew that bell was going to ring any moment. He tried to think a thought as hard and clear as possible in Viago's direction. Throw the fight. One of us has to throw the fight. Listen to me. Hear what I'm saying. Throw the fight.

It wasn't working, or Viago was ignoring him. Vladislav had long since thrown off his coat and vest, rolling up his long black puffy sleeves. Viago had done nothing like that. If anything, he re-secured his ascot. He futzed with his sleeves. Then he even moved a hand to fix his hair.

He was ignoring Vlad deliberately. If a thought could growl, Vlad's would have spat: You fussy little BITCH

Viago's big eyes popped open at him. "ExCUSE me?"

Vladislav curled his lip. So you CAN hear me?

Viago rolled his eyes. You're not exactly subtle

One of us must throw the fight

A different, gentler eye roll. You might be right. No good can come of just walking out at this point. No need for a riot

And no need to blow our cover so soon when there's more money to make

Rest assured I am not coming back after this little incident

Then I'll make it easy so you can get out… and keep that ascot clean

This is a cravat

I don't care

So what's your plan?

I throw three punches to your head, you rally and give me two, I land one kick on your stomach. Pretend it broke a rib. Too much pain to go on. Match over.

Viago's eyes moved back and forth as he listened to Vlad's plan. Then… he said nothing back. Just took off his cravat and rolled it up it. He held it out without looking. Nick obediently stepped up and took it. Then he undid his waistcoat.

Viago… what are you doing?

I just don't see why I am the one who has to lose the fake fight?

He thought of a bunch of swear words. His thoughts were getting cloudy in confusion. Why was Viago picking now to argue? Finally, he thought, as clearly as he could, waving his fist, Because I am going to be coming back here each week!

You can't come back if you lose?

I don't WANT to come back if I lose!

Viago handed his very neatly folded vest to Nick next.

The robot bell rang out. The crowd went wild.

Vladislav scanned Viago's face for some sign of compliance. All he saw was the faintest smirk. He was trying to cover it. But Vladislav could've seen it from a mile away. Confirm you'll do as I say. Throw the fight!

Viago cocked his head to the sight, eyebrows knitting in mock confusion. He tapped his ear as he walked up to Vladislav. "What was that you said? It got very loud in here suddenly!"

"If you don't do what I told you to do, you'll be very sorry."

"STOP TALKING AND FIGHT!" someone called out, receiving a round of loud, angry agreements from a circle of rabid men around him.

Viago nodded at this man, as if to say, Good suggestion! And then in a flash whipped around and punched Vladislav in the chest.

It floored him. He felt at least one rib crack. Maybe two. Something was dislodged. Some kind of bodily fluid was on its way up.

He spat on the ground near Viago's feet and looked up at him. "You really want to do this?" Viago didn't answer. Vladislav tracked his gaze to the crowd, specifically to Deacon. Deacon looked more worried than Vlad had ever seen him. Pale green eyes so wide they were ghostly, one hand covering his mouth. Biting his fingernails.

Vladislav wanted to be worried. But he knew Viago was more so. A good distraction. His chest protested with a burst of pain, but he reached out and gripped Viago's ankles. With one good yank he pulled his legs out from under him.

Viago crashed to the floor. His head bounced off the concrete with a sickening crack. "AH! FICH DICH ARSCHLOCH!" He clutched the back of his head.

Vlad jumped on top of him. He grabbed Viago's shirt collar. "One last chance."

Viago hissed and spun his legs around, reversing their position in an instance. Vlad tugged his collar down to punch him in the face. Twice. Then with one mighty shove, Viago went skidding across the floor into unfamiliar mens' legs.

Vlad had a troubled feeling watch Viago be pushed back up by a crowd of growling men, holding his face. He channeled that unease into a new telepathic message—I take no pleasure in hurting you.

Viago steadied himself and rolled his eyes. He reached into his mouth and pulled out part of a tooth, "tsk"ing and putting it in his pocket.

Vlad hissed at him. STOP ROLLING YOUR EYES AND TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY. I'M STRONGER THAN YOU ARE

In a flash, Viago appeared in front of him. "Oh yah?" He kicked Vlad in the shin. It snapped loudly.

The audience gasped. Vlad hit the floor. Through the blinding pain, he heard someone say, "Damn that fancy guy's fast."

Vlad grabbed Viago's shirt and used it to pull himself back up. "You want to give us away?!"

Viago didn't respond. He seemed off balance. They both staggered to the floor, Viago half on top of Vlad. He reached up for his head. "Oh… teleporting while concussed… feels… swirly…"

Vlad easily pushed him over. Then he backhanded him.

Viago shook his head out and kicked Vlad in the stomach. Vlad punched him there back.

Then they delivered a series of punches and kicks. Not paying attention to where they landed. Not paying attention to how much each hurt. And they did. They hurt. A lot. Each one. For a long time.

Vlad lost track of how long. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes. Even that was troubling. Or it would have been if he wasn't distracted by getting punched in the head six times in a row. Since when did Viago know how to fight?!

Maybe he didn't. His punches were turning into flailing slaps as time went on. And he kept losing his balance. Vlad kept seeing windows of opportunity.

But every time he tried to make a finishing move in these windows, something held him back. And then when he held back, he got punched in the face again.

"Stop!" someone called out. Vlad ignored it. He vaguely wondered which one they were worried about. "Seriously, stop!"

A tanned feminine hand reached in between their chests, pushing Viago off of Vlad. With the other hand, Gina held Vlad to the floor. "I said fucking stop!"

Viago sat up and spat half a fang out onto the floor. "Who won?"

"No one, idiots!" The audience jeered. She flipped the bird in their general direction. "Congrats to you two for making me call the first draw since I started doing this."

"We just started!"

"No, you've been at it for half an hour! Does time mean nothing to you?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Now the rest of my night is gonna be a special kind of customer service hell. Thanks a lot."

"It's not a draw!" Viago paused only to now spit out something that looked like part of his cheek. "I was winning!"

Vlad pushed himself up off the floor. Gina stepped back into the crowd, eyes wide. "You were not winning, idiot! I was HOLDING BACK!"

"That's exactly the sort of lie you tell when you know I'm right! You know how I know? Because I'm ALWAYS RIGHT AND YOU'RE ALWAYS LYING!"

The next second Vlad had hurled himself at him again. He didn't even know what he intended to do next. He just knew he was on top of Viago. His hands went to Vlad's face. Vlad slapped them away. They came back. Vlad bit his left hand and grabbed the other.

Viago hissed and flailed. The men cackled and pounded the floor. Gina was shouting something at them. Deacon was covering his eyes. Viago's dark blood streamed down Vlad's chin. Just when he had the thought that it tasted somehow familiar, Viago pulled his right hand free, put it on Vlad's head, and shoved with all his might.

A loud snap noise echoed over the men. The cheering faded away. Instantly Vlad lost the feeling in his body, and his vision, but did hear, in the distance:

Deacon say "Fuck!", muffled behind his hands.

Gina scream, "FUCK!", which echoed.

Viago mutter, "Fuck…" in agreement.

Deacon peeked out from behind his hands just in time to see Vladislav not come awake, but his neck move without his control, bringing itself rightfully forward in a series of smaller follow-up snaps. The audience watched silently. Gina's hands were on her long dark hair, pulling at it as she watched, her eyebrows following her hairline upwards.

Once Vladislav's neck was properly straight again, a spark of something alive came back into his eyes. With a tone of voice Deacon could only describe in his head as creaky, Vlad said, "Um… excuse me." He sat up and looked around at the audience, seeming to try to gauge their reaction. "Now we can… continue?"

"Yes… we can?" Viago said, his voice shaky, sitting across from Vlad a few feet away.

He looked at Gina. She looked at Deacon. "What just happened?"

"Well…" Deacon stared back into her wide eyes. He could see the entire rest of the room turn to look at him in his peripheral. The audience was slowly but surely morphing from silence into murmurs. Why was it his job to come up with an excuse? "Why would I know?"

"Isn't that your roommate?"

The murmurs grew louder. "Um... yes. Well, Vlad does a lot of… yoga." The murmurs stopped again. "So that makes him nice and flexible." He looked to his flatmates for help, but they were still just sitting there, staring each other down. "Right, Vladislav? You have been doing yoga for years?"

Vlad cleared his throat and turned away from Viago, standing up. "Yes. I do a lot of. Whatever he said."

"Well, damn," Gina hadn't released her hair yet, but she wasn't pulling on it, just twirling it around her hand tightly, still glancing between all the men. "Sign me the fuck up for that yoga class. You two are still done. You hit half an hour."

"Who gets the money?" Deacon asked. A few similar questions popped up around them.

"I'll figure that out during the next fight. We're behind. Get up there!" She waved her hands at Viago and Vladislav. "Shoo! Go! Seek medical attention!" They slowly pushed themselves up and wandered out toward the exit stairs, Vladislav limping on his still broken shin and Viago holding his bitten hand to his chest. Gina shook her head, tapped something on her smart phone, then spoke into it. Her voice echoed through the speaker above them. "Next up I have D.B. vs. Edward… D.B. vs. Edward... Paging one Edward."

Deacon made his way into the center of the ring. Deacon almost stepped in a pile of Vladislav's dark blood. He dodged it and stepped a bit into the chalk line, tonight a pale teal, right where it had been mushed up on an edge where Viago slid into. And again, the men around him were nearly silent. This was all wrong. He looked around at the crowd, wondering if there was someone he could blame for this besides himself. But those four or so young American men from his first night were nowhere to be found.

"EDWARD!" Gina shouted, causing feedback and cringes. "Get your ass into the ring!"

"Is that the tall skinny fella?" asked a beardy old guy Deacon recognized from the week prior. "Tattoo on his neck?"

"Yeah, pale guy, pretty hot."

"Wait," Deacon said. "You said tall skinny pale guy with neck tattoo is Edward?"

"Darn tootin.'"

Deacon registered this. He was set up to fight Nick. Then his brain struggled to catch up with the next realization. "And, wait, you think he's hot?"

"Yeah. I never said I had taste."

That really boiled Deacon's dead blood. "NICK!" He screamed into the crowd. "NICK! GET YOUR SKINNY COWARD DICK ASS OUT HERE!"

"Who the fuck is Nick?" Gina asked. "Where is this Edward guy?" Into the mic, she said, again sending feedback screeching across the room, "EDWARD! LAST CALL!"

She waited a few seconds, then went "Fuck!" again. "Alright, whoever's next up, get ready! You're up in two." She stomped her high heeled boots away from the ring and back toward her desk.

"What, I don't get to fight?!" Deacon ran after her. "I'll fight anyone!"

"The rest of the schedule's full, D.B. And you're acting weird. You and the others are in cahoots. I don't know how I know but I know."

"We are—no, there's no cahoots! Let me do something! Please!"

"Here," she handed him his original envelope of cash. "Now please move. I'm about to have a long line of refunds to give out."

"I don't want to leave, I want to fight!"

She ignored him. He backed up as a crowd of men gathered around the table. Deacon wasn't one to get scared by humans easily, but understood that under normal circumstances, a crowd of thirty-plus men cheering for violence was unnerving. Still, he had never been truly spooked by this crowd as right then: they were gathering around the desk in nearly complete silence, just a few murmurs about money and the shuffling of feet.

Gina kept her eyes down as she counted out piles of money one at a time. Deacon saw her hands were tense and unsteady, and said, "Can I help?"

"Yeah, you can leave, Deacon. You're pissing me off."

He backed away more. He kind of wanted to punch something—this night was a wreck—but what? He didn't have a human face for it. Once he made it about halfway up the stairs, he figured he was out of everyone's line of sight, and that they weren't paying attention anyway, so he turned into a bat and disappeared into the darkness upstairs.

Vladislav felt he should probably say something, but what was there to say?

The temptation was there to make some sort of joke about how they must have looked even worse under the ugly yellow street lamp than they did leaving their fight club, but nothing clever came to mind, and he didn't feel very much like joking.

He glanced over at Viago sitting on the bus stop bench, slowly shaking his head back and forth, pausing every once in a while to squint ahead, as if trying to focus. It must have been one heck of a concussion Vlad gave him. Based on his experiences, those should pass within fifteen minutes. He wanted to feel proud, but didn't, not in the slightest.

Vladislav didn't want to watch that anymore, so he limped himself over to a sign with the bus schedule on it. With one hand, he held it for balance, and with the other, he leaned down and maneuvered his shin bone still it stopped looking lumpy and crooked through his pants. Each little click was painful, but nothing compared to when he made one big satisfying snap. His whole leg felt like one massive ache, but he was able to stand upright now. He walked over to the bench, where Viago slid over to make room without being asked.

He felt Viago staring at him for a moment before he shifted around for something in his pocket. When his hand came toward Vlad's face, Vlad snatched his wrist.

Unalarmed, Viago giggled. "It's just a handkerchief, silly. Your eyebrow is nearly coming off."

"Ah," Vladislav let Viago press the handkerchief to his face, but said, "Why bother? It'll heal in a minute."

"I'll just help it along then." After a moment, he asked, "Did I do that?"

Vladislav laughed before he could stop himself. "Who else do you think it was?"

"Good point." He snickered again. Then he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Vladislav. That got a little out of hand."

"In a way, I think it may have been good for us."

"Yah? Friends should bite each other's hands open?"

"When there's tension, maybe."

Viago had been looking under his hand, staring into Vlad's eyes, and now he looked up into the street lamp, his dark eyes swallowing up the flickering yellow light. "I suppose there was tension. You're right."

"I know."

"And now it's taken care of and done. Isn't it?"

"Yes. It is. Right?"

"Of course, right," he said, pocketing the handkerchief. He cleared his throat once more, then said, "I noticed you didn't use that thing."

Vladislav knew what he was talking about immediately. He allowed himself the briefest pause to be impressed—he remembered the candle snuffer placed at his door and realized there truly was no use trying to get anything past his flatmate—then said, "What thing?"

"Oh you know, the thing. The fire thing. The new thing."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Vladislav, did you not learn tonight what happens when you don't tell me things?"

Vladislav didn't respond right away. He wanted to say something sarcastic. The last bit of pain fading away from his shin prevented this. All the same, powers had come and gone in his long lifetime. It hadn't been noteworthy for centuries.

It might be nice if it was.

So he said, "Yes, I found a little movement with fire these days."

"Vladislav! Pyrokinesis! That's…" Viago turned his face up to the street lamp, as if his words would be found in that flickering light.

"Dangerous? I know. Perhaps in town there is some sort of fireproofing material, a big blanket maybe that I can find and bring home… what? What is that face? You have something in storage already?"

"Well, yes, I suppose I could check the attic. But no, I was just going to say… I wasn't going to say it was dangerous. I was going to say it was lovely."

"This is why I didn't use it against you."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"You're easily distracted."

Viago turned his face from the lamp to Vladislav, but before he could say more, a bat fluttered into their dim light, circling for a moment before coming down towards them.

"Hello, bat," Viago whispered to it. They watched it circle for a moment. Instinctively, Vladislav held out his arm. The bat responded by coasting down toward him and coming to land on his forearm, perching with its wings wrapped tightly around itself.

Viago leaned his wide eyes toward Vladislav and the bat, pausing only for a moment in recognition before: "Deacon! Hello! Do you want to turn into a human and hang out with us now?" He awaited the bat's response, and when it didn't come, Viago's smile faded. "Alright then." He turned away, and the bat glided the few feet away from Vladislav and onto Viago's shoulder. Viago said nothing, just sat himself up into his usual stick-straight position.

Deacon stayed as a bat perched Viago's shoulder for the entire bus ride home.

When they made it back inside, Deacon flew up to his closet without a word. Viago watched him with more than a little worry on his face, and Vladislav watched Viago to see what he would do about it. Viago just clicked his tongue and checked his watch. "I'll deal with that in the evening. We should go to bed."

Vladislav looked at an old grandfather clock in the corner of the room. "We have two hours at least before dawn."

"I know, but I'm tired after all that fuss earlier. That environment is also just draining, if you ask me. Well, actually, speaking of, maybe I'll have something to drink first. And—oh!" He followed Vladislav's look and touched his fingers to the clock. "Vladislav, if you're the one dusting this week, could you please really pay attention to this old guy? Thank you I appreciate it. Okay now, I'm getting my blood. Would you like some? A nightcap for us?" He didn't wait for an answer as he bopped off to the kitchen. "Something like an O-negative. I'll be right back."

The entire night, Vladislav had felt too wired to feel sleepy, but hearing Viago chatter to himself down the hall made something feel right again, and he finally had the ability to relax and feel tired. Just as he realized this, a soft knock on the door woke him fully back up.

He looked through the peephole and instantly recognized the sweatshirt he watched Viago put out into the trap the night before. He opened the door. "Nick."

Nick looked up at him from under his hood, bags under his eyes like never before. It crossed Vladislav's mind to get ready to fight, but it just didn't seem likely. It also crossed his mind to be worried about the fact that they had likely been followed and hadn't noticed. But there was all of the following evening for that, he figured. Vlad just leaned on the doorway. "Yes?"

Nick blinked back at him for a long moment. He was probably trying to read Vladislav's face, but failing miserably, as most people did. He started to mutter one thing, then went silent again for a few seconds before finally saying, "I'm real tired."

Vladislav nodded. When he said "Please come inside," Nick's entire face and body relaxed into a slouch. Vladislav stepped aside and shut the door behind Nick. He wandered over to his chair once they were both inside, but Nick just stood in front of the door, staring off into space. Vlad called out, "Viago! We need three drinks."

The clinking in the kitchen paused for just a few seconds, then Viago responded, "Yes, yes!" and started clinking faster.

Now it was Vladislav who was having trouble reading Nick's face. "Nick? What do you need?"

Nick didn't respond right away, and Vlad was going to ask him to sit, or start running some sort of test to make sure they didn't have another pesky shapeshifting demon on their hands (they were going door to door frequently, which was really a pain), but Nick said, "You know what I was wondering?"

"What?"

"How come we have to get invited inside places? Like it's kind of fine, I'm used to it, but I was just thinking like, why?"

"That's a good question," Vlad said, knowing he had wondered himself in the past (he certainly had enough time to wonder), but never pursued an answer. When Viago walked in the room with a tray of glasses, grinning so wide at Nick that every tooth in his head was one-hundred percent visible, Vladislav asked him, "Viago, why do you suppose we have to be invited inside?"

Viago served everyone their blood as his smile faded just a bit. "I think I have that in a book somewhere. I'll go check tomorrow night. Why? Nick, did you wonder?"

"Yeh. Just wondered."

"I'll look it up. In the meantime, see that credenza next to you?"

"Yeh."

"Make sure you pick up that spare key from the little brass dish on the right. Then you won't have to wonder anymore. At least, not here."

Viago sat in the chair next to Vladislav, picking up a newspaper and prattling on about the headlines. Vladislav listened, and so did Nick, as he quietly put the key in his pocket and sipped his blood, a faint smile on his face.