Colin was still shaking by the time he'd entered the meeting room, a large room with pillars, candles, and a low-hanging mist no one had ever quite managed to locate the source of. Most of the other vampires had already arrived and were awkwardly waiting for the final members to show up. The slightly uncomfortable energy in the air should have calmed him, but it did little to ease the chill in his bones.

What had happened in the car with Joan - He'd never felt like that before. Helpless. Vulnerable. It was too similar to how his roommates' victims felt right before they died. He preferred when his roommates went out to hunt. Having to feel their meals' utter terror through the walls of his house was uncomfortable. It was usually short-lived, since his roommates weren't ones to prolong the inevitable, but it still left a bad taste in his mouth.

He still didn't know where Joan's feelings had come from. He'd seen glimpses of it from time to time, but he'd never seen it awoken so fully in her before. It'd been like watching a dam break. First there were leaks and cracks in the foundation. She'd plugged the holes as best she could, but the cracks had been getting bigger and the water was coming fast. She'd been getting more and more desperate, frantically trying to keep it contained, and then it all fell apart and burst at once. The moment she'd seen Paul, it'd drowned her, and the Joan he'd known was lost.

The meeting started just as the last few stragglers arrived. Tilda, the head of the vampiric council, stepped forward. Her energy was always a bit stilted, unwavering, and dense. There was a reason she was the head of them all. No one else's energies came close to evoking the level of authority hers did. Ordinarily it was intimidating to feel, but right now Colin found it comforting, like an anchor in a raging sea. Something solid to ground him.

She held her head high. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice. You don't have a choice, of course, but it's still much appreciated. Most of you already know why we're meeting here today, but for those that don't: we have recently received some rather… alarming reports regarding some of our local vampires."

She paused, looking around the room. Whether she was pausing for dramatic effect or simply to let the words sit, Colin wasn't sure.

"They're dead," she said flatly. "Theo the Reckless, Garth the Pontificator, Trevor, Collector of Bones, and far too many others for me to name. All either missing or burnt in their own backyards at daybreak."

Her words were met with silence. The other council members wore stony expressions, but Colin felt a collective shudder move through the room.

Tilda continued. "Each of their familiars reported leaving the house to do their chores, or jobs, or whatever other human things they decided to do, and when they returned there were mounds of ash left out in the yard, dressed up in burnt clothing. Their masters. Dead. The boards on their windows were missing as if they'd been pried off. The coffins were broken, some valuables and keepsakes were gone, and the rooms were in worse shape than they left them. Furniture flipped over, broken banisters, things of that nature. One familiar reported her master spontaneously bursting into ash. Apparently she'd thought it'd been a morbid joke at first and dusted what was left of him."

"What's doing this?" Danny asked. "Werewolves? Witches?"

"We don't know," Tilda said. "After investigation, the wraiths haven't found any specific leads and the gargoyles have been no help, either. The attacks don't align with the cycle of the moon and werewolves aren't known for leaving our corpses out in the daylight. Our truce with them remains until any proof should arise of their involvement."

Evan crossed her arms. "You said that valuables were missing, right? Why would whatever's hunting us bother stealing curios? Danny's suggestion could be right. Witches steal semen; why not whatever else they can get their hands on?"

Colin was well-versed in the ways of witches, due mostly to the fact that Nadja hated them and was always eager to expound upon their perverse ways of living. Sometimes, he'd find a way to bring witches into the conversation just so she would go on one of her long anti-witch speeches Laszlo hated hearing so much.

Glad to actually have a reason to put his knowledge on this to use, Colin spoke. "Witches steal semen for its life-extending properties and to maintain their youth. They don't need to steal our valuables. They can magic up pretty much anything they need besides semen. It's interesting actually, see, witches are technically human but-"

"I don't think the witches would be stupid enough to start a war with us, either," Brad interrupted. "Coffins have been broken into. It's hunting us, lurking in the day, ready to break into our homes and drag us out into the light. That's not witches. That's a slayer."

Everyone stiffened. Colin could have sworn the dust particles in the room froze for a moment, seemingly just as startled by the mention of that word as the rest of them were.

Tilda bared her teeth. "We haven't seen one of those in centuries. There's no need to incite a panic, Brad, not before we're sure of what's truly going on."

"Oh, come on, what else could it be? Dozens of vampires are missing or dead. And whatever's doing it is clearly intelligent. It's doing this in the day and prying boards off of windows. This isn't some mindless werewolf or a deranged witch, this is premeditated. It's picking us off one house at a time."

Paul stepped forward. "There aren't any other supernaturals being targeted, right? Just vampires?"

Tilda nodded, eyes still dangerously locked on Brad's.

"Then maybe Brad's right," Paul said, "We still don't know what the motive is for all this. If it's just our kind that's dying, then it could be a slayer. It's in their blood, isn't it?"

Tilda sighed. "I still don't think we should be entertaining this, but yes, from what I can remember they all came from Helsing. They don't need to hunt to survive like we do, but their urge to slay is as strong as our urge to feed. It'd be impossible for them to resist it."

The image of Joan's gray eyes, usually so friendly and bright, suddenly darkened with thoughts of violence emerged in Colin's mind. His jaw clenched as he willed the thought away. He didn't want to think about that.

Danny growled. "A slayer. How the hell do we even kill one?"

"Can we kill one?" Evan asked.

Brad snorted. "Of course we can. We've got Van Helsing's dick in a jar somewhere around here. They can die."

"They die in the usual ways," Tilda said, her voice loud. "Same as any other human. But the time for theorizing is over. We need to decide what action to take. I propose we set curfews for familiars. No wandering outside in the day, not if something is out there waiting for them to leave. Sending out patrols, too, would be good. Perhaps we can catch whatever this is in the act."

"How do you expect us to vote on the appropriate action to take if you won't even admit what's really the cause of all this?" Brad hissed.

Tilda's eyes flashed. "Watch your tone."

The conversation devolved into hissing between the two, their agitated energies clashing against each other. It wasn't uncommon for fights to break out amongst the council members, though it was unusual for someone to pick a fight with Tilda. Colin credited it to the awful atmosphere of fear in the room. They were all frightened, worried that whatever was hunting vampires would come for them next, ending their centuries of existence. The fear permeated the air and weighed it down, coating the walls and the floors. There was no escaping it. It was everywhere.

The air was so thick with fear it was getting difficult for Colin to manage his breaths. He clenched and unclenched his hands, wishing he had something to hold. His eyes briefly met Paul's and suddenly he felt sick. He hastily excused himself and fled to the hall, Tilda and Brad still bickering.

The stone corridors were dark, lit up with nothing but LED torches. The air was dry and musty, but it was far better than in the meeting room. He paced the floor, listening to the steady rhythm his shoes made against the stone.

There was too much all at once. There were missing vampires - dead vampires - some bursting into ash with no explanation and others left to burn in the daylight in their own yards. And then there was Joan, the strangest, most terrifying human he'd ever met. He'd seen in her both the brightest and darkest energies he'd ever felt in a human and he couldn't comprehend how one person could be so contradictory. There was the Baron, too, who was becoming increasingly more insistent and threatening by the night. His roommates were frightened of failing to meet the Baron's expectations. Joan was frightened of herself. And Colin was frightened by it all.

He spent the rest of the council meeting pacing the hall. He knew Tilda and the others were unlikely to care about his absence. When the meeting ended and they all left the room in perfect single file they floated right past him. He followed them out, keeping his distance. They were all still paranoid and it was making him nauseous. Colin made a mental note to instruct Guillermo to check the boards on their windows, to make sure there was no chance of them being pried off from the outside. He wouldn't tell him what it was for - there was already enough panic infecting the house, he didn't need to pile on even more.

When he left the building he looked to the spot Joan had parked her car before, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw it was empty. Of course it was, but there was still an uneasy feeling in his gut as he called for a taxi. He spent the ride home halfheartedly draining the driver, hoping it'd settle his nervous stomach. It didn't.

The next Monday when he came into work, he avoided Joan's cubicle. It was perhaps a bit cowardly, and for all he knew the weekend had softened her, distanced her from whatever it was that was trying to snuff out her goodness from the inside. But he was still afraid, worried he might look in her eyes and see something terrible again, so he went to his desk and hid from whatever dark energies she may have brought with her today.

He knew she would come and greet him at some point, so he bided his time reading emails, rearranging the office supplies on his desk, and occasionally leaving his cubicle to bother one of his coworkers. He sneezed without covering his mouth, sharpened his pencils obnoxiously loud, and bumped into a pile of paperwork sitting precariously on the edge of Mary's desk. The papers flew everywhere and Mary sighed, leaning down to pick them up. A resigned disappointment flowed down her shoulders, dripping onto the floor into an even more depressing puddle. She set the papers to rights on the other side of her desk - the side farthest from him.

By the time lunch rolled around, Joan still hadn't sought him out, not even for their morning break. Deciding that he'd stalled enough, he took a deep breath and headed for her desk. Maybe it would be fine. Maybe what happened in the car that night was a one-off, and that strange feeling she had -

bloodlust

- would be absent. He would sit in the breakroom and she'd talk about her weekend, telling the white lies she always did, maybe sporting some new minor injuries, and he'd pretend not to notice.

He walked past Derek and saw Joan's cubicle unoccupied. Had she gone to the breakroom, then? Without him?

"She called out," Derek said gruffly.

"Why?"

"How the hell should I know?"

Colin started to wonder if he'd imagined Derek in the bar, teasing and probing about him and Joan. It would have fascinated him how a little alcohol could transform a person so completely if he wasn't so concerned about the situation at hand. Joan, the ever-punctual model worker, had called out. She'd never done that before. It could be argued that she should have done it before, like when she had come in with a sprained wrist and she couldn't type without flinching. Or the day she had stumbled in so tired she could barely make it through lunch without falling asleep at the table.

So if she'd decided today was the day to call out - the first workday after something awful woke up in her and wouldn't be put to rest - then something was terribly, terribly wrong.

He headed to the breakroom like he normally would for lunch, trying to ignore the dreadful feeling welling up in him. He'd known that what he'd seen that night in the bar had been bad, but he'd still hoped she'd find a way to rally and walk in that morning with nothing but a smile and an aura of warmth like she usually did. He'd been uneasy before about seeing her today. He hadn't anticipated just how much more uneasy he'd be if he didn't see her.

Lunch ended up being a lonely affair. At first he'd tried sitting in the breakroom alone anyway, just to maintain the ritual, but without her there really wasn't a point to it. He was just sitting in an empty room, his hunger slowly growing and gnawing at him with nothing to distract him from it. It had only been a few minutes before he left the breakroom and began feeding on everyone else. It was the first lunch in weeks he'd spent not starving himself, since Joan wasn't there chipping away at his energy stores with her presence. It should have satisfied him to finally get to actually drain someone for lunch, but he still found himself wishing she was there instead, hunger be damned.

He spent the rest of the day the same way he always had. He asked too many questions in the midday meeting, stole Derek's favorite pen, and rearranged the office supply closet so no one could find what they were looking for. It was just like how it'd been before he'd met Joan, except… now there was no one to conspiratorially laugh as he switched the decaf and regular pots of coffee. No one taking the seat next to him in the meetings. No gray eyes lighting up as he said hello. When he peeked over his cubicle wall, he didn't see a frizzy-haired woman across the way. The emptiness made his chest sore.

Huh. Who knew energy vampires could get lonely?

She was missing the next day, too.

Upon seeing her cubicle empty again, Colin immediately pivoted toward George's office. He'd asked him where Joan was, was she sick, did she quit, where was she?

George had told him she called out sick with the flu and they weren't sure when she was coming back. Colin found that answer wholly satisfying. There was something much stranger and darker than the flu at play here.

"I'm sure she'll come back as soon as she feels well enough to, Colin," he'd said in an annoyingly pitying tone.

Colin's upper lip curled. He still found pity to be distasteful, too cloying and sour. He turned away from George and marched back to his own desk.

She wasn't really sick. Sure, theoretically she could be telling George the truth, but if she didn't call out after any of her previous injuries then he doubted something as banal as the flu would stop her from coming in. It was the -

Just say it, coward, BLOODLUST

- violent urgency he still got shivers thinking about, the thing that made her blood pump faster and her breaths quicker. The all-consuming thing he hadn't been willing to drain.

He noticed his leg bobbing and placed his hand on his knee to steady it. Ordinarily, Colin had no trouble keeping a level head. Even on the misadventures he'd frequently get into with his roommates, he'd almost always stayed calm. Energy vampires tended to have passive dispositions. They were immortal, practically invincible (to his knowledge) observers who could just as easily integrate themselves in the human world as the supernatural one. When your entire existence hinges on being frustratingly boring, you become difficult to phase.

Which meant he wasn't used to panicking like this, not for this long, but for weeks on end his roommates had been plotting, trying to find a way to appease the Baron. At any time the Baron could make good on his threats to kill his roommates, assuming the thing they'd last discussed at the vampiric council meeting didn't kill them first. And now Joan was gone, the shadow in her having finally consumed her.

Of course she called out, he thought bitterly, it swallowed her whole. There's no more Joan left at all.

There'd been too many changes all at once, that's what it was. He took pride in his ability to stay calm, to adapt, to rise to the occasion, whatever that occasion may be, but it felt like everything was falling apart now and he couldn't fix any of it. Not for the first time, he found himself wanting to go back to the status quo, before the Baron took residence in his attic without so much as thank you. He never invited him in. His roommates may have invited him, but he was NOT WELCOME at all.

Colin looked out over his hunting grounds. He listened to the sounds of idle chatter and the clicking of keyboards. On the other side of the room Val was chewing someone out. Joe was getting a drink from the water cooler. Kim was speeding down the aisles between the cubicles, a box of files in her arms.

They were constant, at least.

He leaned back in his chair. He took a deep breath, despite having no need for air. As far as he was concerned, the lungs in his chest were just for show. But it still helped steady him just the tiniest bit.

Deciding that panicking was useless, he told himself to wait for tomorrow. If she was quitting, then she'd have quit already. She wasn't like him, she didn't stall. She had no patience for it. So if she hadn't quit yet, then that meant she had every intention of coming back. She'd come back, and if she was still buried under all that awful shit she had been the last time he'd seen her, then he'd dig her out. He'd be ready this time.

Colin spent the rest of the day anxiously draining the office, frequently passing by Joan's desk, hoping she would magically materialize in her cubicle. He got the sense the rest of his coworkers could tell her absence disturbed him. They kept shooting him wry looks everytime he passed by her desk. He ignored them and held his mug a little tighter, letting its echoes of Joan's energy sink into him.

Wednesday came and Joan had not.

The sight of her empty cubicle deepened the pit in his stomach. George said she was still sick.

He resigned himself to another day without Joan. He drained the rest of the office like normal, but thoughts of her lurked in the back of his mind. He thought about where she was right now. Was she at home, resting in bed, treating the flu she claimed to have? Or was she still struggling like she had at the bar, head in her hands, inconceivably savage feelings plaguing her mind?

He'd been thinking a lot about the source of those feelings the past few days. He'd even gone so far as to dedicate some of his time at work googling potential causes. He found nothing. All of his attempts to research possible reasons for abrupt feelings of violence led him to articles concerning psychopathy and other mental illnesses. He knew Joan, though, and of course she wasn't a psychopath. The sympathy he sensed she felt for him was too genuine.

Which meant it must be something beyond the typical, and even not so typical, human ailments. It had to be supernatural.

He'd been heading to the supply closet to get more staples when he'd come to that realization. He stopped in the middle of the room, rolling the thought of it over again, feeling it out. Yes, that seemed right. She was human, of course, but being human didn't disqualify you from being subjected to supernatural ailments.

Something supernatural must have taken root in her. It made sense - She was, inexplicably, undrainable to him. Her coworkers were uncomfortable around her, as if she was infected. She had strange, seemingly random contempt for things he couldn't understand, like his house and his drawing. She always came in wearing bandages or gauze or even a splint, once. And, most bizarrely of all, she didn't find his company unpleasant.

Was it possession? A curse, maybe?

An inheritance.

He didn't know where that last thought came from, but he knew he didn't want to follow it. The implications of it made him feel a little queasy, so instead he continued his trek to the supply closet, grabbing far more staples than he'd probably ever need. His thoughts drifted into safer territory, like what new sounds he could make to piss off George.

Ultimately he decided on whistling. Colin quietly whistled "Cotton Eyed Joe" the rest of the day, getting louder whenever George was within earshot. He focused on the familiar melody, trying to drown out the voice telling him he might already know the truth about Joan.

When he finally made it back home, the sun was still out. For the past few days, upon arriving home he would circle the house, checking the windows to make sure the wooden planks still held. Guillermo had been checking too, upon his instruction, but Colin found he still couldn't ease his nerves without checking the windows himself. There'd been no subsequent meetings or updates concerning the thing killing vampires, so he'd keep being cautious for as long as it'd take.

Everything looked to be how it always had, planks secured, old vines creeping into the woodwork, except… he sensed a great ball of guilt and terror emanating from one of the topiaries.

He slowly stalked toward the frightened topiary, eyes scanning the rest of the backyard. He heard something that sounded like panting coming from the greenery and a rhythmic crinkling sound.

He walked around it, seeing Guillermo crouched behind it, hyperventilating into a brown paper bag. His panicked aura swelled and deflated with every breath. Colin had seen Guillermo break down countless times, him being a naturally anxious person, but this was on another level.

Colin approached him with his hands in his pockets, playing with a piece of lint. "What's goin' on?"

Guillermo looked up at him and began to wring the bag in his hands. He was sweating profusely, voice shaking as he said, "I didn't - it was an accident, okay? You have to believe that I would never do it on purpose."

"Okay, sure, now what'd you do?"

He grimaced. "I opened the door and, the Baron, he-"

He started hyperventilating again and brought the bag back to his lips. Colin stiffened. He tried to see if he could still sense the auras of his roommates back in the house, but he sensed nothing. Were they too far to feel, or had the Baron finally given up on them and done as he'd promised should they fail to conquer the New World?

Annoyed and starting to panic, Colin snatched the bag out of Guillermo's hands. "What are you talking about?"

"The Baron - he was in the foyer. I didn't think he would be, because it was daytime and everyone's always asleep then, y'know? I thought he was in the attic. But I'd just come back from getting groceries and I opened the door and he-" Guillermo was near tears by this point. "The sun! It was daytime and I'd opened the door too wide and now…"

Colin didn't say anything. Guillermo swallowed. His voice sounded small. "He burned up. Just burst into flames, right there. He's dead, Colin Robinson."

A few moments passed in silence. Nothing could be heard except the sounds of leaves rustling with the wind and Guillermo's quick breaths.

Guillermo rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, then looked up at Colin. "I'm totally fucked, aren't I?"

Colin still said nothing.

And then he smiled.

A disbelieving chuckle escaped him. "He's dead. The Baron's dead."

Guillermo slowly nodded, eyebrows knitted with confusion. "Why do you sound happy about it?"

Colin didn't respond. Dropping Guillermo's brown paper bag on the ground, he walked away and headed toward the house's front door, still smiling.

The Baron was dead. One major problem in his life had been solved in the blink of an eye, with nothing but the mistimed opening of a door. Sure, there was still an unidentified monster out there and Joan was MIA, but at least the Baron was out of his hair. Figuratively, that is.

When he walked into the foyer, feeling lighter than he had in months, he saw the Baron's corpse lying on one of the rugs. It took the form of a large mound of ash, burnt, crumbly limbs making it appear even bulkier. Colin was briefly taken aback. He'd never seen a vampire's corpse before. There was no blood or gore like there was with humans, but it was still gruesome to look at. Is that what the familiars of the dead vampires had come home to? This is what they saw lying in their yards?

He approached the corpse, bending down to get a closer look with morbid fascination. He scanned the pile of ash for any recognizable features, eventually finding what he thought looked reminiscent of a badly burnt face. It was hard to tell, but Colin thought he could make out the Baron's high cheekbones.

"Man, that's totally embarrassing, isn't it? Getting done in by a human? And not just a human, a familiar."

Would there be more dignity in dying at the hands of a slayer?

He heard the sounds of his roommates arguing in the sitting room. When he entered the room he was struck by their distress. It was frantic, scratching at the walls and repeatedly colliding with itself. It tasted sharp and metallic and kind of hurt to taste, like licking a knife. He smacked his lips with distaste.

"This is your stupid familiar's fault, Nandor. I knew he was going to fuck us over at some point, I knew it!"

Suppressing a growl, Nandor said, "We wanted to kill the Baron anyway, remember? I don't see what the big deal is. It was an accident, the Baron's dead, and now we've got what we wanted."

"The big deal is that your familiar killed a vampire, Nandor. And not just any vampire, the Baron! That's enough to execute him," Laszlo said, lying on the sofa.

A spike of panic shot through Nandor. "What are we talking about, execution? Psh. No one knows what happened, we'll just hold a funeral in his honor and nobody has to be executed. He can be buried next to the pond. With the froggies and the ducks."

Nadja hissed with frustration. "If we don't report what happened and the council finds out, we are dead."

"But you heard Laszlo! They'll kill Guillermo!"

"So?" Nadja screeched.

Colin drained some of their anger, eyes glowing a bit as he did so. Finally noticing his presence, they all turned toward him.

"Oh, hello, Colin Robinson. As you can see, everything has gone to shit," Laszlo said matter of factly.

"Yeah, I saw. I didn't think the Baron could get any crispier but that pile of dust back there is proving me wrong."

Nadja's hands curled, claw-like. "Now is not the time for jokes! Can you get through this idiot's skull and make him understand that we have to turn Guillermo over to the council?"

Nandor looked at him, a pleading energy reaching out to him. It made him think of the first time Joan gave him a ride home, when her aura practically pulled at him, coaxing him into following her into the car.

They probably should turn Guillermo in to the council, Colin thought. Nadja was right. If the council somehow found out they'd known about the Baron's death and didn't report it, there would naturally be some questions. They would have a very large target on their back, especially considering how high alert the council was now that there was something out there killing vampires left and right.

Right. There were vampires dying in the daylight, burned up into nothing. Some even burst into ash with no warning.

"Actually… I might have an idea."

Laszlo sat up, intrigued.

Colin settled into his unofficially assigned seat, crossing his legs. They all looked at him expectantly. He said nothing, just waited and waited and waited …

Nadja huffed. "Ugh, Colin Robinson, what? What is this idea you have?"

He smiled, savoring Nadja's impatience. "I heard through the grapevine that a few vampires have recently passed. Spontaneous combustion, or something like that, anyway. Vampires just exploding into dust." He emphasized his point by wiggling his fingers in the air, imitating the implosion of a dust cloud. "We'll just say that's what happened to him. No biggie."

A few beats passed. "Other vampires are dead?" Laszlo said, voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Colin nodded. Maybe he should have dropped that information with a little more tact, but it was trivial compared to the full truth. There was no way in hell he was telling them about how the other vampires had died. The biggest source of their fear had just died and even now he could start to feel the original essence of the house - calm, detached, boring - return. He wasn't ruining that atmosphere now with the truth.

Nadja sat down next to Laszlo, hands fisted in her skirt. "Why don't we know about this sooner? Is it witches? It's witches, isn't it, it's always witches!"

Colin shrugged. "No idea what it is, but as far as the council is concerned, it got us too. Right, Nandor?

Nandor's eyes were blank for a few moments as he processed Colin's news. He blinked a few times as he came back to himself. "Right. Yes, the Baron exploded and Guillermo was nowhere near the house when it happened. He was out getting Tide sticks and human groceries."

"Are we safe?" Nadja wondered aloud. "What's the cause? What if we blow up into dust?"

"I'm sure the council is working on it," Colin said. His roommates didn't know that he was on the council. He preferred it that way. If they knew, he was sure they'd be hounding him for information about the meetings, or expecting him to actually attend them. He didn't need or want that kind of attention from them

Laszlo slapped his hands on his knees and stood up, smothering his own nerves under a flood of confidence and pure will. Like Colin, he was typically more difficult to phase. "Alright then, it's decided. Colin, since this was your idea you will tell the council of what's become of the Baron and tonight we will bury him by the pond. Gizmo will dig a plot for the Baron. And Nadja and I will focus on not exploding."

The rest agreed, though an uneasiness remained in the air. Laszlo and Najda left the room followed by Nandor who shot him one look of appreciation for intervening. Then Colin sat in silence.

He bided his time reading the newspaper, waiting for night to fall. He focused on the energies of his roommates moving throughout the house. Their fear was quickly fading and the almost bored listlessness that came with being immortal was growing. The Baron was dead; they were free.

When dusk fell, Colin went to the backyard and found Guillermo still having a panic attack behind the topiary. He told him about the plan to lie to the council, threw a shovel into his hands, and told him to get diggin'. Guillermo asked him why he hadn't told him about the plan sooner, instead of letting him worry himself sick for the last few hours. Colin shrugged. He'd been having a nice night, quietly reading his newspaper as his roommates slowly began to relax.

The funeral started just as the first stars came out. Guillermo had quickly finished burying the Baron (he had plenty of experience burying bodies) and the others had changed into more elaborate, darker outfits. Colin remained in his standard sweater and khaki pants. They each took turns speaking about the Baron, his influence, and his surprising proficiency in the bedroom.

As the others spoke, Colin heard a rustling sound above he looked up he saw a raven, head tilted down at him. Its eyes had a knowing shine to them. It tapped its claw against the branch it was sitting on then tilted its head back in a beckoning motion. Ah, a council raven. He was being summoned.

It was Wednesday, the day of the week the regular meetings were held. He never attended those, so it was… concerning, that they'd choose to actually summon him for this one. They forgoed texting him, too, and went straight to the ravens. This must be serious, then.

Did they already know what had happened to the Baron, somehow? How could they? It had only happened a few hours ago, and no ravens had shown up before now that could have relayed the information back to them.

As Nadja began singing a funeral song she knew from her homeland, Colin took a few small steps toward Guillermo. The raven moved from side to side on his branch with impatience.

Nadja's warbling voice nearly drowned Colin's out. "Hey, can you drive me to the business center on Quincy? It's kind of an emergency."

Guillermo, hands crossed in front of him in respect, looked confused. "Now? What about the funeral?"

Nadja's singing suddenly became unbearably loud as she reached what Colin assumed was the end of the song, except no, she kept going, somehow getting even louder than before. Put off, the raven screeched once and flew off into the night.

"I don't think they'll notice."

Shrugging, Guillermo pulled his car keys out of his pocket and quietly walked away, Colin following close behind. Guillermo asked him what they were leaving for, but Colin pretended not to hear him. If even his roommates didn't know he was part of the vampiric council, then there was no way in hell he was telling Guillermo of all people.

The car ride was quiet, awkward, and comforting. Guillermo was still nervous, his anxiety twisting around him in narrow orbitals. It was the same kind of nervousness he always had instead of the pure terror he felt earlier, and Colin was grateful for the return to an emotion he'd always enjoyed draining.

When they reached the building, Colin quickly left the car and headed for the entrance, hoping that whatever this meeting was about didn't involve the Baron. He was going to have to lie to them about what happened anyway, but he didn't think it'd have to happen tonight.

"Wait," he heard Guillermo cry out, "How long are you going to be?"

He kept walking. "Why? Got anything better to do?"

Then he was in the elevator, shuffling his feet a little nervously as the muzak played. When the doors opened and he made his way through the dusty, stone corridors a rank smell invaded his nose. It was musty and coppery, like an ancient penny dipped in motor oil. As he was considering what that smell might be, his question was answered as he rounded a corner and nearly tripped over something large on the floor. His hand reached for the wall to steady himself and when he pulled it away it was smeared with something so deeply red it was almost black.

Blood…?

And then he looked down at what he almost tripped on and cried out.

It was Paul, slumped against the wall with a gaping hole right where his heart was supposed to be. His eyes were open, unseeing, and Colin felt cold because he sensed nothing from him. Not a single emotion or blip of feeling. He was gone, even more empty that Biff was lying in that hospital bed. And somehow even more empty than the Baron's corpse was, which didn't make much sense, but here was Paul and he was dead and nothing really made any sense at all.

Was it dignified? Was dying like this better than burning in the sun?

Colin felt something wet start climbing up his throat, and to his horror, his mouth opened and he retched.

Well, that answered one question he'd always had. Energy vampires apparently could vomit.

He turned around, ready to run straight toward the elevator, get back in the car, and tell Guillermo to gun it. Just as he took one step forward, the Guide appeared, a few ravens flying off down the corridors with her entrance.

"Come on," she said, voice shaky as she gently pushed Colin forward, forcing him to step over the corpse. She merely floated above it, her skirts ghosting over Paul's blank face.

"The meeting can't start until you're all there. There is much to discuss," she said in careful monotone, but her eyes were wide and she was practically pummeling him with her frenzied alarm.

"What the fuck is going-"

"Everything will be discussed in the meeting!" she yelled. He kept silent as she practically dragged him to the meeting room.

She led him down the halls, her eyes trained straight forward into the darkness. Her gaze never strayed, even as they passed more corpses, their blood splattered in arcs across the stone walls. It was mostly various guards, a few servants, but there were some council members among the bodies, too. Evan was dead, as was Kiefer, Danny, and Tom. Each of them had holes in their chests, some of them having scorch marks, too.

Colin tried to do as the Guide did and school his features, but it was difficult. Sidestepping the bodies of people who were meant to last forever was disturbing, even for him. Not to mention, there was a horribly familiar energy permeating the air. His left hand instinctively closed, as if to grip a mug.

When they finally reached the meeting room, he saw only a handful of the council members. There was Tilda, of course, in the center of the room. She was the stiffest he'd ever seen her, jaw set tight like she was trying not to grind her teeth, but at least she was there instead of out in the hall with a gaping hole in her torso. Brad was there, too, an angry and smug energy beating through him. There were five other vampires present, but Colin had never bothered learning their names. Tilda, Brad, and two of the no-names had blood stains on their robes, some having the same burns that had been on the corpses outside.

The Guide left, saying she would alert what was left of the guards that all council members had arrived. Colin's stomach dropped when the door closed behind her.

"Well," Tilda began, foregoing the cold smile she usually had, "Now that we're all here we can get started."

Tilda circled the room with her hands clasped tightly behind her back. "Six days ago we held a meeting in which we discussed the disappearances and murders of notable vampires. I say murders because now we know, without a shadow of a doubt, that that is what it was. Murder. Theo the Reckless, Garth the Pontificator, Delilah of Themes, Sir Wil-"

"And the Baron," Colin interrupted, immediately regretting it as Tilda's gaze pinned him. He couldn't help it. Energy vampires were born to have bad timing.

"Really? The Baron, too?"

He nodded, nearly swallowing his tongue. "Earlier today. Burst into ash."

She closed her eyes and let out a long, slow breath. "He was a good one, too. A shame."

She shook her head, refocusing. "We have lost so many of us, so many powerful, influential vampires. Eternal lives cut short by a monster. Before, it only struck during the day, but at tonight's weekly council meeting, we were attacked. For those of you who weren't here when it happened, I'm sure you saw the evidence of it out there in the halls."

One of the others growled a little in confirmation.

"We were able to restrain it before it could kill the rest of us. I'm sure by now you're all wondering what it is that's diminished our numbers so greatly."

"Yes," Brad hissed with a large dose of smugness. "What could it be?"

Tilda leveled him with a deadpan glare and turned back toward the rest of them. "I thought they were a thing of centuries past, something more myth now than reality. But I was wrong. Because the thing that tried - and nearly succeeded - to wipe the council out of existence tonight, was a slayer."

Two large vampires (guards, Colin thought) suddenly burst through the heavy wooden doors, dragging a human by the arms with them. The human struggled, trying to plant her feet onto the stone floor, but she found no purchase and kept slipping as they pulled her deeper into the room. She was brought into the center where the light was brightest, illuminating her dirtied, bloodied form. There were bleeding bite marks scattered across her arms and deep purple bruises, some new and some old.

Her head faced the floor and her tangled hair obscured her face, but Colin could sense the pure rage from her without any expression to confirm it. She was an ocean of savage ferocity, waves of violent need crashing over and over and over so much she must have been drowning in it. He instinctively took a step back because he'd seen this once before and he knew what this was and that just couldn't be possible, because that meant-

Tilda stepped closer to the woman, nose upturned in disgust. The slayer looked up at her, hate burning in her eyes.

And then he was choking on air, because it was Joan.

Of course it was Joan.