Deacon had induced himself into a lovely, dreamless pitch black sleep. It was incredibly soothing to not have to think at all. If he said that out loud, he knew everyone in the world would jump to make a joke that he spent most waking hours also not thinking. This was perhaps his least favorite joke in the world. That's saying a lot because in case you hadn't noticed, lots of things annoyed Deacon, especially jokes that weren't his. And now he was thinking about all the things that annoyed him, because someone interrupted his sleeping.

Viago turned his torso at an uncomfortable-looking angle to try to be on Deacon's level. "Goodness, Deacon. That must be a very nice sleep. I was knocking for quite some time."

"What do you want?"

"Good evening to you too. Flat meeting in fifteen minutes."

"Did it ever occur to you…" he growled, reaching out to the shelves for assistance in rotating himself upright. "… that these could be maybe emails or something?"

"I suppose it could."

"Of course it—really?"

"Yes, there's some truth to that. And we can email on our phone, yah?"

"Yes. Yah. You can do that. Just email me."

"Is your phone charged?"

Deacon reached up for where it was on a shelf between a box of Magnum condoms and a dustbuster from the nineties. He clicked it. The screen read his battery at 6%. "Yes, fully charged and ready to go."

"Okay then, I will leave you."

"Oh. Okay."

Viago turned away and shut the closet door with the utmost care. Deacon said, "Huh!" to himself. Maybe Viago was turning over a new leaf. He took initiative, he showed up to fight clubs, and now he was listening to Deacon's suggestions. This could be very useful.

His phone buzzed. He looked at it, now on 5%, and read his email from Viago.

From: dandylion
To: deacon666666666

Subject: Trying this as an email instead!

Dear Deacon,

Flat meeting in 13 minutes.

Sincerely,

Viago

Vladislav had settled himself into the kitchen downstairs a couple minutes early, fairly certain of how this whole thing was going to go down. Viago would ask they put an end to what he would surely call their "silly new hobby." Deacon would put up a fuss. Viago would respond exactly how Deacon wanted, and they would have some sort of violent spat until they came to their senses before anyone got too hurt. Then Viago would walk away with a faint sense of victory, Deacon would begin knitting, and Vladislav would inevitably be the one left to figure out what the fuck to do next. After all, they were good for September, but October was around the corner, and with it, a new round of bills. And then there would be November, then December. Then a new year. Then Satan knows how many new years after that.

So he had prepped an old notebook, one of those leathery ones that had a tie around it, the skin flaking with age. On one of the few empty pages, he scrawled a few ideas:

Bank robbery with hypnotism

Hypnotize people at the ATM

Kill the landlord

Stripping

He usually left Viago to run these meetings, as it seemed to make him happy, but it made Vladislav feel in control that day, coming in with his own agenda. He was sort of hoping that the others would agree with him by the time they hit #4 (though to be fair, Vladislav knew nothing of whatever setup they had with whoever the landlord was)—his hypnotism still felt off these days, and he hadn't thought about which one of them should be the first to strip, or for whom, or where, or what they would wear.

Just as it occurred to him that perhaps being a stripper was more difficult a job than he originally thought, Nick walked into the room, hands in his hoodie pockets, with a quiet, "'Sup?"

And right then Vladislav realized maybe he wouldn't know what would happen next. He didn't remember ever having Nick at a flat meeting. "What did you say to me?"

Nick's eyes shifted around. "… 'Sup? I just mean, you know, what's up? As in how are you?"

"I'm fine. How are you?"

"Good. Guess what I turned into today?"

"You… what? What did you turn into?"

"A rat. Bopped around on the floor for like an hour. Met another rat. Oh yeah, we have rats, by the way."

"Oh, that's—hmmm."

"Yeah, but I think if you just got like an exterminator or whatever it'll work out. Didn't get the feeling there were a bunch."

That wasn't what Vladislav "hmmm"ed at. He was trying to remember when he first learned to morph into something besides a bat, and maybe what the timelines were of everyone else in the house too. Deacon had only mastered being a dog a few years ago, and the earliest he remembered seeing an owl with Viago's big brown eyes was the early 2000s. Viago also talked often about the meditative joys of being a mist. But otherwise, Vladislav didn't remember what else they could turn into. Anything? As for Vladislav, he had a zoo's worth of animals he could morph into, but not for a while. He needed to get back into the swing of it, and a rat was the only non-bat thing he had been trying for the past few months.

This took a couple minute or so of thought, in which time Nick had poked a thumb-hole through one of the sleeves in his hoodie, and was working on the other. "Nick, what else have you been able to… turn into?"

"Well, when I was on the streets, I tried dog one day. To beg for some food. Then kids kept trying to pet me so I stopped. Oh, also there was owl one day, but I didn't want to eat rats. Then today I was a rat… full circle." He pulled at his sleeves, but with no trace of nervousness, just fiddling while he scanned his memory. "Also don't like hoot noise owls make. Vibrates my throat kinda weird. Do you have blood in the fridge? Can I have some blood?"

"Help yourself," he said, making a mental note to bring this up with Viago as soon as possible. He wasn't sure where the urgency was coming from, but he knew not to question those old vampire instincts.

Nick dove in the fridge to rummage, not noticing he nearly smacked Viago with the fridge door when he walked in. "Ah, someone is hungry."

"Oh yeah, sorry," Nick brought out a large decanter and the last of their little hospital-stolen baggies. "I'll go find something this week."

"Don't worry! You are part of the house now. We will all find a way to contribute." Viago put a new little notepad on the table in his usual seat. "I need to make a new chore wheel anyhow, with the weather changing soon and all that. That is on the agenda today, and going shopping for blood—Vladislav, remind me to pick your brain about that—and also something else, what was it for you?"

Vladislav nodded, half at Viago, and half at Nick, who was standing in front of the open fridge, sucking down a bag of blood like it was a Capri Sun and he was an eight year old with low blood sugar. "We can have our own conversation about it later. And other things."

"Yes, I suppose, but also we could bring it up to the group and get their input on it? Four heads are better than two?"

"Yes, I agree, but also we could have our own conversation, as the oldest and wisest, perhaps. Our own meeting. As the elders of the house."

"Yes? But we should also share our knowledge of things with the younger ones?"

"YES and I would like your private feedback on how to do this?" If there was one thing Vladislav prided himself on (actually, there were many things), it was expressive eyebrow action, and Viago was really not seeing it all.

"Okay, see, why do you not text me about these things, why do you bring this up at the top of meetings? Like the last time when you had the whole to-do with your last, you know, date and couldn't get the rose quartz obelisk out of your you-know, and you decided to wait until it was time to sit down—"

"Viago can we just have our own meeting later?!"

Nick plopped himself down early on in the exchange to rip open his second blood pack, his head darting between the two as they spoke. "Viago, man, I think Vladislav wants to talk to you later."

"Talking more later? Don't you losers ever get sick of this meeting shit?" Deacon walked in with a knitting project so tangled and large he carried it in both arms. Before he had a chance to put it down, he noticed Nick. "YOU!"

Nick stiffened and scooted his chair back, reaching into his hoodie pocket. "Deacon, hold on, man."

"I will not HOLD ON! Do not tell me what to do! YOU hold on! How many times are you going to destroy this house? And you two—" He glanced between Viago and Vlad. "How many times are you going to let him?"

Viago looked unfazed, tapping his fingers on the table, obviously ready for this fight. "Deacon, what happened last times with the werewolves and everyone was not his fault and you know that."

"It does not matter if it's his fault, obviously he didn't mean to, what kind of sociopath would mean to do any of that? Take down three werewolves, including his best friend, and get your wife eaten in the battle?"

"Thank you, Deacon, we were all there—"

"Only some psycho would MEAN to do that, but it happened anyway, and he was the cause!"

"I know!" Nick said, speaking louder than Vladislav remembered him ever speaking. It echoed into the hallway. Deacon was silenced, but raised his eyebrows and made a grand sarcastic gesture for Nick to continue speaking. "I know I caused it. I needed blood so bad and I wasn't keeping track and I thought living with werewolves and vampires would mean I wouldn't try to eat any of those people. I didn't even know we could eat werewolves."

"We generally don't," Viago offered.

"Unless you are such a moron you hadn't fed in weeks and got that desperate!" Deacon finished.

"Do you need help?" Nick looked at the pile of yarn as half a ball of it fell to the floor.

"Certainly not help from you!" Deacon tossed his items onto the table. Nick reached out toward him with an envelope. Deacon jumped away.

"It's just… I wrote you a letter. About how sorry I am. Viago suggested it. I'm not like, that great with… talkin'. Much." Nick waited for Deacon to take it. After a moment, he said, "There's also an iTunes gift card."

"I do not know what that is," Deacon scoffed, but snatched the envelope and shoved it in his back pocket. "You may have fooled these dummies over here, Nick, but listen closely—I have my eyes on you. See my eyes? Fully on you?" He popped his pale eyes open as wide as they could go, which was really saying something. "You can stay here. After all, you have nowhere else to go. Of course. Who would take you?"

Vladislav sensed Nick was itching to talk back to that, but kept his mouth shut. Maybe he had learned something. Also, even Vladislav had to admit the idea of Deacon's full attention was a threatening thought.

"This is your final chance. If I sense you will put us in danger one more time, I'll kill you myself. I don't care what these two say." Deacon plopped himself down in his usual chair beside Vladislav. "I'll end up saving their asses, as usual."

When Nick carefully sat back down in his chair, Viago made a little hum noise of satisfaction, opened his notebook, and crossed the first item off the list. "Item one – welcome back, Nick! We are making good time."

"Does not feel like it," Deacon grumbled as he started sifting through his pile of yarn, trying to find the end of one thread. There were at least four different colors in the pile, most of them very un-Deacon-like pastels.

"Then I'll just jump right into the next thing. About this little hobby of yours, Deacon."

"Knitting?"

"No, fighting."

"I know," Deacon snorted at his own little joke. "And what judgy thing do you have to say about it?"

"I'm not interested in judging you for it. After all, as you saw, I got caught up in it myself. It's easier than I thought for that to happen."

"Then why do you have a whole meeting to bring this up instead of just letting me live my life?"

"I don't question why you do it anymore, I'm just curious about… how you do it."

As Viago flipped over to a couple new pages with roughly drawn charts and numbers, Deacon looked over to Vladislav, as if he knew what was going to come next. Vladislav shook his head and Deacon narrowed his eyes.

Still looking at his pages, Viago said, "I know you have made plenty of money. You were able to pay all the monthly bills, and by my estimation of your time outside the house, you couldn't have been there more than three times. Is that correct?"

Deacon's eyebrows expressed multiple emotions between doubt and surprise in Viago's direction, but he said, "Sounds right to me."

"Sounds right to you, or it is?"

"What?"

"Are you not keeping track of this money anywhere?"

"Why would I keep track of it?"

"That is not really a question, Deacon, please."

Deacon finished untangling enough yarn that he could loop it around the needles, but he had started retangling the whole thing as he gestured with them wildly, saying, "What is the point of keeping track? Why keep track if all I need to know is it increases every week?" To Viago's raised eyebrows, he said, "It is simple! When you win a fight that you have bet all the money you have on, then you have more money than you started with!"

"Well, that's IF you win."

"I win all my fights," then, a quick look between Viago and Vladislav. "That's what you're supposed to do."

"I am not questioning your ability to win fights. Just your ability to plan around it. Is that fair?" Deacon shrugged. It didn't say much, but Viago continued, "I was just thinking I have some ideas on how to fill in those gaps. That is meeting agenda item number two-point-five. Do you want to hear those ideas?"

"Not really."

"I do," Vladislav offered. "It wouldn't hurt, Deacon, to do things there more efficiently. It can only make more money."

Vlad reached under his seat for his leather notebook and unwrapped the tie around it. Nick watched him do this, and reached for a pen from the center of the table, then held it up to his palm.

Viago looked at Vladislav's notebook and made a little hum of approval. He looked at Nick ready to write on his hand and ripped a piece of paper out from his own notebook, handing it to Nick, who took it with the smallest crinkle noise. "Maybe you want to take notes as well?" Viago said pointedly at Deacon's knitting hands.

"Why? You already have them."

"It will help you memorize."

"I don't need to memorize, I need you to spit this out so I can move on with my day and practice my fights my way, which was working fine before you dropped in."

Vladislav braced himself for a pedantic response from Viago and an ensuing cacophony of hisses, but Viago turned to the side, let his eyes flash black and yellow for just a couple seconds, then blinked it away. "Alright, then. Well, I have an entire plan charted out, so if you are so eager to move past it, perhaps you can review it on your own time."

"Perhaps not."

"Deacon."

"Viago, maybe if you are so concerned with managing all our finances, you can start selling some of the eight hundred million pointless antiques we have sitting around."

"You mean the antiques you use on a regular basis, like the tables, and the chairs, and the swords, and…"

"Obviously not the good stuff. Sell some of the useless shit. That you should really have gotten rid of anyway a long time ago." He quickly glanced up from his knitting to catch a peek at Viago's reaction. Getting a blank stare back, Deacon continued, "Even before that hoodie dummy over there got us all into a crisis yet again."

"Such as?"

Deacon's knitting needles click-click-clicked. "I don't know."

"I'd like to know what you were going to say."

"Maybe that locket you keep holding until you bleed. Weren't you planning to sell that anyway?"

Vladislav knew right away that was the locket Kathryn gave him, with her picture inside. They didn't own any other silver items. "Viago, you hold that with your bare hands?"

"No… not usually."

"Why would you ever?"

Viago's eyes darted between Vladislav and Deacon. His was sitting so upright, his spine nearly curved backward. "It just helps me."

"How does that help?"

"It helps me feel close to it. That's all. So yes, I planned to sell it, but went to town and just... couldn't."

His voice had grown small, and his fingers fidgeted with the papers in his hand. Vladislav felt suddenly very bad for Viago. He often did, actually, but there didn't seem to be much to use to saying it out loud. What good would that do, just acknowledging out loud how sad someone was?

Vlad looked over to Nick, realizing Nick had been staring at him. Nick broke the stare after a few more seconds and said to Viago, simply, "That's sad."

Viago looked at Nick with something like shock for a few seconds, but then he glanced back down at his notebook. "This isn't on the agenda."

"I agree it's sad," Deacon said. "Some woman you cry over. For no real reason." Deacon paused in his knitting. Vladislav couldn't tell if this meant Deacon thought what he wanted to say was so poignant it was worthy of silence, or if he was second-guessing it. With Deacon, it could have been both. After another moment of hesitation, Deacon started clicking the needles again.

"What does that mean?" Viago said with a tone reflecting that he knew exactly what it meant.

"You know how I—come on, Viago. You have not thought about it like this at all?"

"Deacon, for someone who wanted to move on with his day, you are really avoiding your points today."

Deacon tossed the pile of whatever the yarn was meant to be on the table. "Man, you ship yourself across the sea for the love of one woman, and she does not have the patience to wait eighteen months?!"

"I, no, she didn't, Deacon, it wasn't—"

"You stutter like you don't know I'm right for once! Viago, she was never worth it from the start! It's time to move on!"

"WHO are YOU to say what is TIME for me to do?!" Now the hovering began. Viago clutched for the table to stay put, but his hands visibly strained. Vladislav pushed down on the table to keep it on the floor. "You don't know a thing about taking care of yourself! I take care of you, ALL OF YOU, all day, every day, for DECADES! So how do you know what's good for me?!"

"That's his opinion…" Nick muttered, suppressing a smile.

"It is not just OPINION, it is FACT!" Still furiously knitting, Deacon hovered up to meet Viago's height. "Also you do not ALWAYS TAKE CARE OF ME! In case you haven't noticed I PAY THE BILLS NOW!"

"I DID notice that's WHY I brought it up in the FIRST PLACE!"

"Only because you are CONTROL FREAK who can't stand SOMONE ELSE MAKING MONEY!"

They were inches away from the ceiling at this point. "Oh! Funny! I DON'T REMEMBER YOU MAKING MONEY LAST WEEK!"

"YES! FUNNY! BECAUSE THAT WAS YOUR FAULT!"

"WELL MAYBE I KNOW AND MAYBE I AM TRYING TO SORT OUT A PLAN TO PREVENT THAT FROM HAPPENING AGAIN, AND GETTING YOU FOUR TIMES THE MONEY!"

"WELL MAYBE… THAT SOUNDS GOOD, WHAT IS THE PLAN?"

Mid-air, Viago turned himself upside down and grabbed his notebook. "THERE! TAKE A LOOK! AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK!"

"OKAY, I WILL DO THAT TONIGHT!"

"OKAY!" Now standing in his unusual upright posture, but with his feet on the ceiling, Viago adjusted the ascot that kept trying to fall toward the floor. "I will go to my study now and await your notes!" He stomped off, along the ceiling, out the kitchen and down the hallway.

Deacon squished himself in the corner of the kitchen as he opened the notebook and started to flip through it. His knitting project fell onto the table. Nick reached over to pick it up for him, but Deacon waved it away. "Leave it. I messed it up. I have to start over." Deacon flipped through the pages, making little noises of affirmation. He looked down at Vladislav. "Did you read this?"

"Get down from there and talk to me like an adult at the table."

"Get down from there and talk to me like an adult at the table!" Deacon said, in high-pitched mocking tone, but pulled himself down along the wall to stand on the floor. "What do you want? You know I was right about the Kathryn bullshit."

"Part of me agrees with you. You must tread carefully with that topic, though. Your tone could not have been any worse."

"Well, it's better than not talking about it all. You bring it up with him then if you know so much about how to talk about it."

"Maybe another time," and before Deacon could do more in response than raise an eyebrow, Vladislav quickly said, "What's in that notebook?"

"He wrote up a schedule for us. What times to go in and fight and how much to bet on each round. It's like a rotation of some kind, like, I guess we will all get a week off."

"That's not a bad idea," Nick said, fiddling with the yarn he still held.

Vladislav nodded in agreement, remembering the sensation of getting punched in the chest by Viago, and enjoying the thought of not having to replicate it anytime soon. "I wonder who will get a break first."

"Well, that's what I'm going to go talk to him about. It wants to start with me but I have some… unfinished business and so I want to fight for—I don't know, at least the next couple weeks."

"Does it have anything to do with that girl?"

"I'll be back, I'm going to talk to Viago."

And with that, Deacon was off, walking down the hall, before teleporting just at the last few feet.

Nick clicked the knitting needles a few times, then said, "Is that a good idea? Them talking alone together? After that fight?"

"Yes, they're fine. That's just something they need to get out of their systems from time to time. Deacon needs to start some sort of fight every few days or he starts clawing at the furniture."

"Weird relationship."

"Watch; tonight they'll be sitting together, practically on top of each other, yelling at the TV like twins."

"Cute. What do they watch?"

"The Voice. You didn't hear that from me."

Nick snickered and muttered, "Cute," again a few more times. Then there was nothing. Just the sound of him knitting.

Vladislav looked at what he was doing—an exceptionally neat little doily. "When did you learn to do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"When did you learn to knit?"

"Oh, I didn't. I don't know how. I'm just fixing it for Deacon."

Vladislav watched Nick's long white finger move with precision and speed. And he wasn't even looking at them. He was staring at his little empty blood glass. Vladislav picked up Nick's glass and his own and walked over to the fridge. "I'll get us some more."

"Thanks, bud."

"Anytime. Nick, do me a favor?"

"Yep?"

"See that candle to your right?"

"Yep."

"Light that for me."

Nick put one knitting needle down and grabbed the wick between his fingers. When he pulled it away, the flame was lit, and he brushed away some ash from his finger and went right back to knitting.

Vladislav felt a shiver run up his spine. "Thank you."

"No worries."

"With just two fingers?" Viago pulled nervously on his glove as he flexed his fingers, trying to envision what in the world it must feel like to produce fire from them. He himself could never shake the feeling that his fingertips were ice cold. "He has not mentioned such a thing to me before. Not to you, either?"

"If he did, I would have told you."

Viago had settled into his seat on the bus, but Vladislav stood above him, clutching at the pole, even though that entire half of the bus was empty. It would have made Viago nervous, were it anyone else. "Well, Vladislav, let's also remember Nick is not so forthcoming with his words."

"There's not being forthcoming and then there's not telling us when you've developed multiple powers overnight."

"We don't know if they're overnight, necessarily." This was making him feel quite a few conflicting emotions. It was nice to be able to spend a midnight bus ride talking to Vladislav about anything they wished again, but he didn't understand why the guy was so worried about everything Nick did. "Has he given any indication it will be an issue?"

"I don't know what an indication would look like."

"What were signs the last time he had issues?"

"Nothing. That was the problem. It came out of nowhere."

Viago nodded, turning to look out the window into the blurry dark of the night. "You're right." There was the briefest silence. As soon as Viago sensed he was being stared at, he repeated. "You're right! I said you're right! There was no detecting it. No planning that could have helped."

Vladislav sighed before saying, carefully, "Does that have anything to do with all these… plans you've made lately?"

"I always made plans. That is my entire thing, I thought."

"Viago… about what Deacon said earlier…"

"Don't worry, we talked about that, him and I."

"What did you say together?"

"That it's not his business and he shouldn't bring it up."

"He agreed?"

"Funny thing about Deacon that I thought you knew at this point—in front of people, he pretends he is fearless. Behind closed doors, his resolve dwindles after little more than a staring contest."

Vladislav said nothing to that, slouching into the seat beside Viago. Viago wondered why that was the talking point that stopped him. Good thing, too, because Viago himself didn't really know how to follow it up. It was true, though. Deacon pretended he didn't need anyone, and that his flatmates drove him nuts, Nick most of all. But he hadn't moved out since he followed Petyr all those years, even now that Petyr was long gone. If he was as annoyed as he acted all the time, he could leave.

Thinking of Deacon reminded Viago they had multiple episodes of The Voice to get through on the Tivo.

Thinking of the Tivo reminded him of Stu, who had patiently set it up for them two years ago.

There were so many things to think about, it seemed, that Viago felt he should really write them down. A to-do list. A to-think list. And prioritize them how? By importance? By urgency? By how loud the thoughts were and how warm they made his head feel?

If it was by that last criteria, then by far the most pressing one was wondering why the two of them always sat so closely together on buses when there was plenty of room. Was it a safety thing? Was it kind of nice to feel someone else's dead flesh and know theirs felt just as cold, sensing this even through their clothes?

For some reason, it was also particularly satisfying to sit so close to Vladislav. Viago admired the way he let himself slouch and unfold and just sort of sit however he wanted. He couldn't imagine what that felt like, to be able to just do that.

Vladislav said something to him that he didn't catch. "I'm sorry, what now?" and the fear that Vladislav was back to reading minds shot to the top of his to-think list.

"It's our stop."

"Ah."

Off they went, walking side by side not toward downtown, but towards the more upscale suburban part of Wellington. It was a longer walk than the ones they took trying to find a fun night out, but not an unpleasant walk, even with a fairly awkward silence.

They stopped in front of one of those blood donation trucks, parked in front of a church. Vladislav spat on the ground. "We need to find one of these that isn't parked in front of one of these fucking buildings. Or just start raiding the hospitals again."

"I told you we can let Nick do that. He says he's done it recently." Viago traced a hand along the cursive lettering on the side of the vehicle. "These buses are so enticing. I see why humans would donate blood."

"It's not enticing. They do it to feel better about themselves. And there's enough mortals trying desperately to feel better all the time, so we're good just using these trucks for now. Forget my hospital idea."

"If the humans only knew," Viago replied, before knocking on the door. "Yoo hoo!"

The exact type of handsome, smiley young man you would want to take your blood donation opened the door. His name tag said Ted. "Hey fellas! We're wrapped up for the night and just taking care of some prep for tomorrow. We open at eight A.M. so we'll get you all set up to donate first thing in the morning!"

"That's pleasant, but I must insist…" Viago stepped up to look deep in his eyes. With a wave of his hands and a slight lowering of his voice: "You will lead us to all the blood you have and let us take whatever we want."

His smile did not falter. "Of course! Come on in."

Once he led them inside and towards a freezer in the back of the bus and unlocked it, Viago waved his hand in front of the young man's face again. "Now you will also sit down on one of these nice cots and have a nap and not hear us saying anything."

"Yeah, this a tiring job…" Ted said to himself, putting his feet up on one of the cots and curling up. "Should have stuck with vet school…" and then he was asleep.

Viago unfolded the Wellington Hurricanes tote bag he was keeping in his pocket and held it open. Vladislav tossed packets of blood in the bag. "Gentle! I don't want this tote getting ruined."

"I just want to make this fast."

"Why? We have hours before sunrise."

"I have an eerie feeling about this area of town tonight."

Viago hummed, feeling curious but not wanting to really push it. Of course he wanted to validate his friend, but Vladislav probably got suspicious and eerie feelings at least once a week, and it always seemed to be just when he felt like being a homebody. Viago thought it was kind of endearing, but it didn't always make for solid conversation.

Just before he shut the door behind him, Viago glanced at the sleeping technician on the cot. "Should we bring him back? Save these bags for rainy days and have something nice and fresh in the meantime?"

"That nurse? No. He looks like he'll taste like vanilla icing."

"That sounds nice."

"That sounds disgusting."

"Vlad, it'll be easy. He's already hypnotized."

"Leave. It. Be."

"Gosh, your mood!" Viago started rummaging in the bag as they walked toward the bus stop. "Let me find you a nice full one to snack on. You must be hungry."

"Stop," Vladislav grabbed his arm.

"What?"

"Hear that?"

"No?"

"Listen carefully!"

Viago scanned the night sky.

"Not up there, fool. Here on the ground."

"Vladislav, I hear nothing."

"Silence!"

Viago huffed once, then obeyed. He listened, but truly heard nothing except the distant noises of human society. Crowds of people a few blocks toward downtown, some crickets in the trees, a chilly wind. And then he could hear a car passing them by. He looked toward the road the car was coming down. It swerved around something in the road further up the block, stopped near the lump in the road, then quickly turned and disappeared into the night.

Viago whispered, "Are you suspicious of cars now?"

"That's the second car to do that exact pattern. It swerves to avoid whatever that is, then it stops to look, then it speeds off like it's seen a ghost."

"Perhaps it's seen a vampire. Perhaps two of them. It's cold. Can we go home?"

"I'm going to see what that is."

"Are you eating roadkill again? The Beast is really losing her sense of creativity with these spells. That's the third time for the roadkill-craving one."

"It has nothing to do with her!" he growled, not stopping as he walked toward the pile.

Viago could see the bus at their stop wait for a second, then drive away. "Well, that was the last bus. I am not carrying this tote as a bat and crashing into a tree or something, so I hope that coat you're wearing will be alright to fly in. Or we could walk. I guess this is the last night for some nice exercise before it gets too cold." Viago looked up at the moon. It was nearly full. "At least we have some light out, I suppose. Vladislav, when was the last time you talked to The Beast? Did you sneak in another night with her and I didn't notice? Is that why you are in a mood?"

"Viago."

"I won't pry about it. I was just curious."

"Come here."

Viago didn't hesitate to walk over to where he was. He was so used to Vladislav's vaguely suspicious tone that he nearly heard his own voice in it sometimes, but a straightforward worried tone was unusual.

He looked down to see what it was. "Oh, this poor… puppy?"

"No," Vladislav said. "That's no puppy."

Viago knew this, but said it out loud for Vladislav to confirm what he was seeing.

The dead animal in the road was definitely a werewolf, but one in easily the worst shape Viago had ever seen. It was a full grown adult, but so thin its ribs were showing through patches of falling-out fur. It was covered in burns in varying stages of healing. The burns were in the shapes of chains. It was missing many teeth. And one eye was gone.

But none of those injuries seemed to be due to death and decay. There were no bugs on it to be seen. It had no smell except stale drool, the usual urine, and advanced infections. And the blood coming out of its mouth in a pile was glistening and fresh.

Viago tried to look for something familiar in its face. Either this was a stranger, or it had been too long since he'd seen one of the werewolves he knew. Or it was too injured or starved to recognize. "Is this… one of Anton's, you think?"

"I don't think so. It's wearing some sort of necklace. They don't do that… it would have broken in the transformation."

Viago finished that thought in his head—Anton would have had his companion take off their jewelry. Anton would have taken care of this creature.

"Actually, it looks like a tag. Maybe it is a dog? A strange dog?" Vladislav peered closer at it, but when Viago reached down to look at the tag. Vladislav pushed his hand away. "Don't touch. If this thing is not one of the mortals' creatures, you don't know what could be wrong with it. Curses, poisons, plagues. Could be anything."

"I have my gloves. I'll be careful. I just want to see what it says."

"Throw that glove out after, then."

"Nooo this is real leather!"

"Viago."

"Fine," Viago handed the blood tote to Vladislav and crouched, keeping far away and reaching out his arm as much as possible. He flipped over the tag—for such a sick-looking creature, the tag was nice. Shiny, almost too shiny. He had to step a little closer to look.

"No, don't go any closer."

"Just a little—it says—" He squinted. "Grand Properties."

"Okay, then leave it, come on now."

"The other side says—"

"Viago, drop it!"

"If found, call Gina, at 917— hey!" Vladislav yanked him away and he landed on his butt. "These pants are such a nice cream color and I can't sit on the street in them! Honestly, Vladislav! Why did you do that so suddenly?"

Vladislav ignored him.

"Oh, come on, what was it? What did you see?"

"Don't bother. Let's just get home."

"If you tell me, I'll tell you a secret."

This made Vladislav pause enough for Viago to catch up. He laughed in a way that struck Viago as insulting. "You have no secrets."

"That is not true. I contain multitudes."

"Go on then. What is your secret?"

They stood in the middle of the deserted street, staring at each other. Viago had not thought this far ahead. He made eye contact with Vladislav's stern eyebrows. "It's really good. So whatever you're going to tell me had better also be juicy."

"If it has anything to do with laundry, it's not a good secret."

Viago cleared his throat to buy time as he scrapped the idea of sharing the secret that he did not like the way his flatmates folded towels. "No. It is not to do with laundry. It is. To do with." What would grab Vladislav's attention? "The Beast."

Vladislav scanned his face for so long that Viago had to take a few deep breaths to feel calm, as if any of that breathing would get oxygen flowing in any way whatsoever. Finally, Vladislav said, "There are no secrets to be had there because I ended things. Once and for all."

"No, you, what? How, when?"

"I sent her a letter."

"… That's all? No big dramatic fight? No chasing each other down the block? No orifices filled with shiny pointy objects?"

"The idea of doing that was just exhausting."

"It wasn't before?"

"Before, it was thrilling. That's how I knew it was done. I thought of seeing her again the night after we made up that last and final time and couldn't get out of my coffin the entire evening."

Viago fiddled with his gloves. He would have liked to have read the letter. Or at least known when it was sent. This happened so often over the years—just when he thought they were best friends and could tell each other anything, Vladislav veered off on his own yet again. "How do I know it's really over between you two this time?"

"You'll just have to wait and see, and realize over time that you never heard from her again." A faint smile danced on his face. "It sounds like bliss to me."

"Never again? Do you mind if I just reach out her real quick about this blood pudding recipe she said she—"

"What she does now and who she talks to is none of my business, because as I said, it's over. You may speak to her freely."

"Alright. Maybe I will."

"What secret did you think you had about her?"

Viago shrugged. "Just that I thought you should really end things permanently. So I guess you beat me to the punch."

"I think it's time we both moved on."

"I think so, too."

Vladislav looked at him, that faint smile still present. "So we are bachelors. Yet again."

Viago couldn't help but grin back. "Single and ready to mingle, as they say."

"As who says?"

"Mortals."

Vladislav nodded, mulling this over. Then he stepped toward Viago.

After a second step, Viago took a step back. He didn't want to step back, but it seemed like what he should do. When Vladislav stepped again toward him, really getting into his personal space, he felt some unease. "Vladislav… do you need something? Some blood maybe? We have plenty…"

Vladislav slowly reached his arms up toward him. Viago braced himself for another fight, desperately scanning his to-think list for what he said or did wrong. He didn't want to fight again. He didn't want to hurt anyone. So whatever Vladislav wanted to do, that was fine. Viago just stiffened, ready for pain.

Moving like he was made of wood, Vladislav slowly put his arms around Viago's shoulders, stepping one more foot forward to almost meet their bodies, but not quite.

Viago stood straight like a flagpole, arms stuck at his side. "What are you doing?"

"I know mortals also… hug… for reassurance."

"Ah," Viago said.

"I haven't hugged in quite some time."

"Yah I see that," but Viago didn't hate what was happening. It was very awkward to have someone's arms around you while their chest and pelvis was still a good six inches away, but awkward was a thing Viago could handle. He reached one gloved hand up to pat Vladislav's arm in return. Looking over his friend's shoulder into the dead of night, he asked, "So… what was it that spooked you? Back there with the dog?"

"I'd rather not tell you just yet."

"But you will."

"Yes."

"Alright then."

Vladislav took his arms back. The way they moved made Viago imagine a creaking noise coming from his joints. "… You're just going to let it go?"

"I'm just relieved you didn't lie again."

Then they started their long walk back home. It was quiet, and cold, and still, but it was not awkward. They didn't feel a need to talk. About halfway home, tired of walking, at nearly the exact same time, they picked up their feet and flew the rest of the way.