Thank you SKquick96 for your review! I'm very glad you are enjoying it!

I got some big news, yall! I got a callback for some background work for a Netflix production! We filled yesterday. It was wild! And my own fantasy T.V pilot is well underway and we begin filming in West Virginia in August. Keep an eye out for a show called Veraleigh. You won't regret it!

The cave was dark and damp. The sky overhead was a dusty charcoal grey, still overcast from a heavy downpour that was the cause of the leaky ceiling. A vampire, tall and thin wearing worn out rich people clothing, stoops over a nearly dead victim. His matted long brown hair conceals his face as he buries his fangs into the neck of the poor unfortunate soul beneath him. There are five other bodies scattered about the cave floor, all drained of their blood.

From the mouth of the cave, another young man steps through. His clothes are slightly nicer, definitely cleaner, and brighter in colors of mossy green and white. He has a tan cloth messenger bag draped across his torso. His coppery hair is slicked back and cut around his ears, matching the crimson of his eyes. The brunette vampire looks up at the new arrival, tossing aside his now dead meal like a rag doll.

"Perhaps you should slow down, my lord. You'll attract the Italians. At this rate," says the redhead as he looks around the makeshift living space with apathy.

"The Italians," scoffs the older vampire. He runs his tongue over his bloodied bottom lip, savoring the taste. "I've been starved for hundreds of years. Do you know what that's like?" His voice isn't harsh, but it's cold, and the redhead flinches away in fear.

"No," he answers. "I only mean to look after your best interests, my lord. You are not yet recovered from your imprisonment. If you attract the wrong attention, I'm not sure we would stand a chance."

"Have faith, Abreham." The older vampire turns, slicking back his hair with a withered hand and goes to sit on a smoothed cluster of rocks, arranged to resemble a chair. He settles down, raising his unnaturally colored eyes to his companion. "Did you bring me what I asked for?"

"I did," replies Abreham, stepping forward and pulling out a pair of sheers from his pocket, as well as mass of papers from his bag and handing them over. "There wasn't much on her. Plenty on the King, though. Are you going to call the Romanians in?"

"No. That would serve no purpose." He takes the items from Abreham and settles the papers to the side, instead pulling his hair over is head and beginning to sheer the unruly strands away.

"Arban...you mean to take them on yourself?"

"I mean...oh curious one, that my motives are my own. Now, be a good boy and bring me dessert." Arban waves him off in dismissal, then continues to cut his own hair until it's cropped around his ears. His head hadn't felt so light in years. Abreham shook his head in annoyance but turned to leave as Arban picked up the papers.

Cassiel Karras adjusted the white cuff under the black suit jacket he wore. His fingers steady, despite his nervousness, as he waited outside the main council chambers in the Vatican. They were taking too long to call him in, and he feared what that meant. For the past month he had been sent to three of the fifteen tombs which imprisoned some of the most dangerous and unruly vampires. Old leaders of a world that shouldn't even exist. All three of those tombs had been empty, chilling him to the bone.

When the oak double doors opened for him, finally, he walked through with bated breath to see a comfy room made up in creme', red and gold. Pope Benedict XVI sat in a high backed chair, his head of white hair brushed down neatly and white Zucchetto cap snugly on his crown. He wore white robes over a white suit, his deep set brown eyes watching Cassiel's every move.

"Good evening, your Holiness," The younger man held in his grimace out of respect as he knelt on his left knee, and pressing his lips to the ring that adorned the Pope's hand.

"Take a seat, Father Karras," said the Pope, waving his hand towards one of the wooden chairs around the table. There were several clergy already sitting, and he gave small bows of respect to each of them, before doing as he was told. He really didn't envy any of these men for their high position. They were stuck in offices doing paperwork and making hard decisions. He'd been there and done that and much preferred the footwork he was doing now. It was much easier to keep an eye on things when you were boots on the ground than it was to rely on someone else's faulty memories.

The table was round and a bright brown color, with light carvings on it's face to give it some character. There was only one thing atop it, the Holy Bible, of course. Mounted as if on a pedestal. No one was smiling. No one said a word for a hot minute. Pope Benedict XVI leaned forward in his chair, and broke the silence.

"Your reports have troubled me. I want you to visit the other twelve tombs and confirm whether they are occupied or not."

Cassiel sucked in a breath, dread filling his heart. "But they are scattered around the world. It'll take me a year to get to them all!" And he couldn't keep an eye on Dean and her progress with the King.

"You need to do this quickly," interrupted one of the Clergy. "Eat in transport, sleep in transport. Come back with your reports as soon as you've gathered them all. If they've all escaped, humans are in more danger than ever."

Cassiel scowled, annoyed by their insolence. They dared think he protested over resting time? He was on a much higher authority than any of these men, the Pope included, yet, he bowed his head and remained silent. He could admit that this task was important as well, but he didn't have to be the one that they assigned to do it. He was an exorcist, not an investigator.

"You'll leave immediately. I've already booked your plane ticket to New Castle. I want you to check on Nergal's tomb as soon as possible. And pray to God he has yet to be released," said the same Clergy. Cassiel looked towards the Pope, who only stared back at him grimly and nodded once.

"I'm sorry for any inconvenience this has caused you," said the Pope. "Take an hour or two to put your affairs in order and to pack. Your plane leaves at 10p.m."

Another Clergy handed him a cardboard pamphlet for Finnair Airlines. Inside was his one way ticket and a golden credit card with his name on it. So this was what had taken them so long to see him. He'd given his report two days ago, and waited still another four hours before they'd sought fit to bring him inside this room. So much time, wasted.

"You can use that for essentials and plane tickets to the other tombs. I trust you know where all twelve tombs are?"

"I do."

"Good then. Best to get a move on," finishes the Pope as he stands. Everyone, including Cassiel, stand with him. He bows once more to each of them.

"Good day, your Holiness," he says before turning and leaving, a deep frown set in his face.

Making his way outside into the low sunshine, he pulls out a sleek black and silver flip phone and scrolls through his contacts, landing on one.

Gabriel.