Disclaimer: I only own the content of this fic.

Once again, I apologize for the delays in updates. Especially this chapter, which I never thought would take me so long. It's not fair to you, and I'm sorry. I've been looking forward to writing the next part of the fic, so I'm really hoping I can get that to you faster.

Now, the chapter itself. The scenes for Amy and the bounty hunters may have come out a little strangely, mainly because I didn't start writing them with an idea of what I wanted to accomplish or where I wanted them to go. I just let them go. This may also explain the abrupt, weird ending for the bounty hunters' scene, the ending I dislike, but that you'll just have to deal with. Claire's scene was easy and fun for me to write, but the vigilantes' scene, the scene for Sorel and Gerard and Mikey and the scene for the VFBI all gave me quite a bit of trouble. Not sure why. And I'm trying to make the VFBI a little less one-dimensional in this chapter.

As for the U-Bet attack scene, that was my cowriter stepping in. Excuse him.

Patrick's dark eyes scanned the ingredients list. "Okay. Time for checking. Ready?"

"Mmm-yep!" Andy answered. He, Pete, and Joe stood in front of the table, which was piled high with ingredients.

"Sage?"

"Check," Pete held up a plastic package of the spice.

"Rosemary?"

"Check," Pete's other hand held the rosemary.

"Blood of a virgin?"

"Check," Joe held up a leather band with a clear vial filled to the brim with blood. He stared at it as if he were looking at the face of someone who just gave him an order in Esperanto.

"Six cloves of garlic?"

"Check," Andy grabbed the garlic and held it up, then muttered an apology to Pete, who flinched when Andy almost hit him in the head with the garlic (which he kept a close eye on).

"Vampire blood from five different vamps?"

"We only have blood from four," Pete crossed his arms. "Mostly from that random bunch of vampires who tried to take us on a few days ago, and one sample's from one of those bounty hunter freaks. But we still need one more."

"Yeah, assuming you and the priest won't work if you'll be taking the cure. We'll get it after we go to the next town." Patrick scribbled on another copy of the list.

"Our two months are almost up, though. We have to meet him after this."

"Then we'll make it fast," Patrick ignored Pete's doubtful rolling eyes. "Coconut milk?"

"Check,"

"Red wine?"

"Check."

"Yule log?"

"Check," Andy held up a Yule log.

"Redwood leaves?"

"Thank you, E-bay!" Joe brandished a plastic bag of leaves.

"And holy water. I got some of that." Patrick nodded and put the list away. "Once again, we have run out of food. Our only choice is to pull over into the next town with a place we can buy some." As he said this, he unfolded a map. "It looks like it's right on the way to the location the priest needed us to be. It's called Purity."

"I hope it's better than the last two," Pete grumbled.

"Looks like the only way we'll find out is to go there, right?"

---

"These waffles are soooo good!" Claire gushed to the waiter who gave all three girls their third serving of Pepsi (they were only half done with their food). The waiter was lanky and pale with dark hair and icy eyes. He was more… unusual-looking than he was legitimately handsome, but it didn't stop Claire, Braids, or Noodle from trying to use their differing genders to get the best of him.

"Oh no!" Braids took out her wallet and looked inside. "Do I not have any money?!"

The waiter's smile disappeared. "Well then, you'll have to-"

"Did I say not have any money? I lied!" Braids interrupted him immediately, seeing he wasn't into letting them get away with not paying.

"Alrighty then," He left.

"Where we going next?" Noodle asked Claire.

"For dessert, duh!" Claire answered, ignoring the fact that four A.M. breakfasts do not typically involve desserts, and that her 'breakfast' was chocolate chip waffles with whipped cream and strawberry syrup.

"How do you think those guys are doing?" Braids asked Claire.

"Who? Peter Panda and those people?" She shrugged. "They're probably fine!

"Didn't they say something about some magical cure?" Braids kept good eye contact with her companion as her hands, looking for something to do in the way that humans do, held a spoon she flipped about in a puddle of blackberry syrup on her half-eaten waffles. Obviously unless she was around other people, Braids felt no reason to make most of her sentences consist of only spews of lies.

"Some cure for vampirism…" Claire spread her arms wide in a gesture of excitement, nearly knocking over the Pepsi. "It's like a bad movie, or an average-quality fanfiction!"

"Why would someone write fanfiction for them?"

"Dunno!"

Noodle was silent. Instead of participating in the conversation, she was dissecting her waffles with guava syrup all over. It didn't look like she was eating so much as she was conducting a scientific experiment. The way she held her focused and fascinated dark eyes near the breakfast made it seem like her whipping out a notebook and 'recording her results' was just moments away. But then she put her fork down and decided to participate in the conversation.

For the next seven minutes, the clique discussed how much they missed their cheerleading uniforms and friends back home, how much they don't miss their math and driver's ed classes, this restaurant's Pepsi compared to the cola of the last six, the weird white color of the porcelain plates in this dinner (so damn white, what detergent did they use and was it of this planet?), how long it had been since they've been on MySpace, who in the restaurant they were going to pickpocket next, and how cute those four waiters were.

Then Braids accepted the check from the pale waiter. She used a credit card (that they had stolen and therefore had no idea if it was worth anything), signed for Art Vandalay, and actually stuck a legitimately good tip under the plate before they left, carrying the restaurant's glasses (hey, they paid for those Pepsis and they still had a quarter left!). They made it into the leather-seated SUV (which they stole, but that was four cities ago, so they're safe for now) that was shiny and new and the only flaw with it was its hideous poo-brown color. They made their getaway before the waiter could do anything about the stolen credit card. Even if he did, and the girls got the card taken away, they had twenty-seven more to choose from.

---

Sorel looked down at his watch, only to realize that he must've been wearing a broken watch for a month now. Or maybe a few days, who knows anymore. "Sooo. Gerard. What is your opinion of this town?"

Gerard looked around the bar. Metal-latticed windows and dark wood floors. "It looks a little more organized than your regular bar. There's something a little off-putting about the place that I can't put my finger on." Gerard looked to the side, obviously wondering if maybe it had something to do with the way that a black-haired vampire in the corner with thick eyebrows and a nice sweater with a 'Tour Guide' sticker on it treated a tourist-y looking couple in their late thirties (smelled like sunscreen, had fanny packs, and matching clothing) to what must've been their fifth round of chardonnay. Was he trying to get an innocent, human couple of ignorant tourists drunk? Oh well, it wasn't his problem.

Mikey arrived back to their area of the bar in the middle of the counter from the bathroom. Sorel knew they must have looked intimidating and criminal-bad-boy-ish, so he insisted they sit in one of the most visible, central parts of the bar.

Sorel looked at Mikey. "Good news! We're staying for the weekend."

Gerard blinked. "It's not the weekend."
"Oh good! We get to stay even longer then!"

---

Amy took a seat on the bed and crossed her legs, observing her surroundings. The bed she sat on had a white, fluffy down comforter over shiny black silk sheets and pillows with cases of the same silk. The night tables were covered in mirrors. The flat-screen TV that was mounted on the wall in front of the bedroom of the suite was white, matching the comforter and the immaculate white carpet. The walls were painted black. Amy could see inside of the bathroom attached through its open door. Black and white tiles on the ground matched the wall (tiled the same way), black marble countertop and stainless steel sink, white Jacuzzi bathtub, and black-tiled shower stall. Little bottles of high-quality shampoo, conditioner, and lotion stood still and numerous near the scented soap bars, looking like an obedient army standing with guns at the ready, waiting for an order, waiting for the order.

Yes, this was an expensive suite. Amy had the money, she figured Why shouldn't I use it? Actually, it was her brother's money. Currently, she was using the part of the family fortune that was his (he's dead, not vampire-dead, dead-dead, he's not using it). If she could treat herself, she would. Besides, it wasn't like she was out buying herself mink coats and cappuccinos at every turn (well, maybe cappuccinos, but not the coats!). She should get to treat herself every once in a while. Not just because she was an accomplished fighter who had made a name of fear for herself in the vampire world over the many years. Not just because she was more than happy to be able to, after being trapped in a coffin with nothing but her own thoughts and death and fear for years, think to herself I still got it when her overstayed presence made people stumble and drop things and stutter and spill drinks. No, she deserved a treat for a much bigger accomplishment: between her and her brother, William, The Baron, SHE had won. SHE had won the battle- survival of the fittest. Granted, though, her brother had died at the hands of another. No matter, she thought. That'll be what I'll work for next. She would say getting Pete (and that IS the proper word for it, getting him) was her next goal in life. She had beaten her brother, this was the next opponent. To tell the truth, she almost didn't want Pete to lose quite yet- almost. But she knew it was inevitable. He was too young, too emotional, too inexperienced, and worst of all, his damned, beatless heart was just too big. It was true what they said about him in the vampire 'underground' she had familiarized herself with since she had come out of the coffin, from the ones who had met The Baron and heard what his opinion was on his soon-to-be protégé (yes, believe it or not, Pete was somewhat known among the vamps Amy associated herself with - for better or for worse). They said that The Baron was always ranting and raving about how well he could do with Peter if only someone would one day detach him from those silly hunter-amateurs who followed him around, and who he followed around. And The Baron was gone now, thanks to said supposed protégé.

Yes, everything considered, victory on Amy's part seemed inevitable. It HAD to be. Room service time! My favorite part.

---

Jared took a seat on the bed and crossed his legs, observing his surroundings. The bed was possibly one of the cheapest he had ever come into physical contact with. The TV had a fine layer of dust. The hinges on the door to the bathroom were rusty. The tile was yellow, clashing with the nubby brown carpet of the main room, and the coffee maker was in the bathroom. There weren't any free shampoo samples or soap bars. The walls were painted an annoying orange. The two beds had the same mint green, floral-patterned quilts and vaguely matching pillowcases.

Yes, Jared believed that just because they had money didn't mean that they HAD to spend it. In fact, it was better to send the idea to people that they didn't have money. Of course, it wasn't a problem for them even if someone thought they did… Jared and his group and been almost-mugged quite a few times (needless to say, since they roam the streets most nights doing jobs) but they have never lost a nickel. They were too quick, too smart. Most muggers were either too nervous or too drunk to win against this group.

Besides, Jared enjoyed hanging around the poorer areas, the vicinity of this motel included. He found that if he hung out in richer areas, nothing seemed to happen (rarely even at night!). Spending all their times in richer areas just because they could, Jared figured, would only make them soft and comfortable in their surroundings, and worse yet, they would ease into normality. The poorer areas of the world were so much better! They were much more unpredictable. Some places even had most of the night activity going on in the day as well, as if there was no sun! I love those places. Why, just tonight a good-looking teenage boy with a lanky build, tanned skin, and hair a cross somehow between blonde and brown approached them. Should they have been in a rich suburban neighborhood, What would he be selling, candy? Boy scout cookies, maybe? Smoothie shop coupons? But no, they were in an area where even a Starbucks was unlikely. They were approached and asked, simply and to the point, if they wanted pot for cheap. What Jared really wanted was the boy's hoodie, which he was wearing right now, but that was beside the point.

To occupy himself, Jared turned to his brother, who was making coffee (which they would drink black) in the bathroom. They were drinking coffee at some time past four because Jared insisted they still had planning to do. The other two members of the bounty-hunting group waited, patiently, for coffee to come. Later, they would be retiring back to their rooms, leaving Jared and Shannon in this one. Jared insisted they come because they still had planning regarding their latest mission. Based on information they had gathered, they were trying to figure out the best way to handle the four heads Sorel had assigned them.

When they are given a mission, for these four men, whoever needs to be killed (or captured) for their cash are no longer people, but heads. Walking sources of income. They were price tags on moving meat. It didn't matter who you were, just how much you were worth. If you were on that wall, it didn't matter if you were a teenage girl, or an elderly man, or a child who hasn't even reached age six. Like it or not, the government views you as a threat to the overall well-being of the United States, and felt it fit to let everyone know. So the second you're placed on that wall, to not just this bounty-hunting team but to almost all of them out there (and there were hundreds), you lose all your features and characteristics, the only parts of you mattered were how many zeros were after your price and how hard it would be to get your head. In this day and age, when you break the law, you join the herd, ever living in the possibility of being 'picked off'.

---

"I'll have theee…" J.K. looked over the menu. Though he had claimed to be ready when the waiter came by, this was obviously a lie, possibly for no other purpose than to bug those around him, mostly the waiter. "Waffles with guava syrup."

The unique-looking waiter nodded. "Excellent choice. And for the rest of you?"

Next, the waiter took other orders of triple-chocolate chip pancakes ("With U-BET SYRUP, DAMMIT!"), citrus pancake special, and the Jumbo-Jumbo Super Size Hungry Man Pancake Variety Platter. He left. And a minute later, Agent S.J. excused himself as well for the bathroom.

The second he closed the door to the bathroom (and his agents made sure he did), it was as if a teacher had left the classroom. Agent J.K. put his feet on the table, nudging T.R. a bit so he could have some room. A.L. put her feet on up the vacated side of the seat, her feet resting where S.J. had been sitting.

A.L. turned to J.K. and actually took her sunglasses and tossed them on the table. J.K. did the same. "Holy crap. That's like, the fifth bathroom break this trip. Constipation, much?"

He laughed. "Hey, Pepto Bismol!"

T.R. only stared at them. This was the first time he had seen any of the other agents take their trademark black sunglasses off, and he figured that they must have at some point and he didn't see. He never had until he was off duty. Should he? Was he able to, or should he hold off, considering the fact that he was their equivalent of a freshman?

She giggled. "Let's play the game!"
"Yeah!" J.K. agreed.

"What game?" T.R. asked, feeling very excluded.

"The Waiter Game!" she replied, then didn't bother to explain it any further. "I'll start!" She knocked an iced tea over the side of the plastic-covered table. The glass shattered, tea splashing, sweetener that hadn't dissolved yet visible on the ground in white spots. "WAITER!" she shouted.

The waiter arrived.

"We had a little accident. Sorry."

"No problem!" the waiter insisted, smiling and going out of view for a moment for a mop. When he came back, he mopped up the tea and broken glass, first picking out the bigger pieces of glass. When S.J. arrived back, the waiter was done. The other two agents had put their sunglasses back on, their postures adjusted.

T.R. watched the others. He had always found them interesting to watch and couldn't help but wonder about their pasts and what made them what they were like now. He only had bits and pieces of each person's pasts, except for S.J., of whom he had a blank reading. When S.J. did talk about his past, J.K. had done something to make him incoherent and half-unintelligible. The words T.R. could make out, he didn't believe.

He knew J.K. used to have a rather large group of friends that he traveled with and worked with, and essentially spend most of his life with. He didn't know any specifics about them, except for the odd first name. The only reason he knew of these people was because J.K. would occasionally slip up and talk about them before catching himself, probably after a few too many beers. T.R. didn't know what had happened to them. He reached the conclusion that they either split up over their own differences, or perhaps whatever happened to them caused J.K. to join the Vampire FBI.

A.L. actually told him directly that she used to be interested in a career as a singer but abandoned it, simply because she realized how asinine the idea was. T.R. had a few times caught her singing before, and said she was very good. She would deny it and usually hit him. Hard. Once she even knocked him out.

All he knew about S.J. was that he had been working for the VFBI for years and years. T.R. suspected he might have been the first vampiric FBI agent or something.

Three girls, two blonde and one of Asian descent, darted by them, giggling and clutching the restaurant's glasses. The VFBI members watched them leave.

"Giggly girls only have one fate: a swift DEATH." Agent S.J. commented.

"Agreed." A.L. practically spat.

Under his sunglasses, Agent J.K scanned their bodies. "We should arrest them. Cuff them. Cuff them good."

Agent A.L. tried not to smile. "Easy there before you get a hard-on."

"Do we still have the furry handcuffs?"

She coughed into her hand, "Raging libido!"

"I'm thinking I go for the legs, you guys use the tasers."

"Ew!" T.R. finally said and giggled, much like the girls had.

J.K. stared straight at him. "Oh, grow up!"

The waiter arrived with their plates. Agent S.J. took a bite as soon as his was in front of him, and immediately spat it out. "This isn't U-Bet."

"We don't have U-Bet," the waiter replied indifferently.

"I asked for U-Bet. You should have GODDAMN TOLD ME you didn't have U-Bet!" S.J. punched the waiter in the gut, causing him to double over in pain. He then jumped out of his chair, picked up the gasping man, and suplexed him, driving his head into the ground with a sickening noise. He then stood up. "Sorry… trying to quit smoking. I'm a little irritable."

"Hey! Waiter!" A.L. called to another waiter who had watched in abject horror. "We accidentally spilled our waiter. Could you mop up the mess?"