There was a jingle of metal against plastic. A hand held out an old 7-Eleven slurpee cup. The fingers belonging to the hand needed a good scrub in running water, and there was dirt underneath the nails.

The old man who was hunching over had probably seen better days long ago, and that included his worn, tattered clothes. He made his way under the overpass from busy North Broadway. People who were on their way home or wherever else usually passed him by without a glance, but a few dropped whatever change they could find in their pockets, and he always muttered, "Thanks," and "God bless."

He came to a halt twenty feet away from the glass doors of the Bryn Mawr red line stop, under said overpass, and leaned against the brick wall behind him. A smoke break was in order. So, he put the slurpee cup under his armpit—there was already a good amount of coins inside, maybe three buck's worth—and rummaged in the oversized pockets of his cargo jacket, using his other hand.

Obviously, he had more money than that, which he'd accumulated throughout the day, but he wasn't going to reveal it all if he wanted more. That was not how it was done. Had to show 'em far less than you actually had. A middle-aged man walked by and held out a dollar.

The bum said, like always, "Thanks. God bless," and, in addition, "You have a good night, sir." Then he pocketed the dollar, put a cigarette in his mouth, and prepared to light it with a bic lighter. Only no matter how many times he flicked it, it wouldn't light.

"Hey," he called out to a well-dressed businessman, who stood on the other side of the sidewalk. He looked like he was waiting. "Hey, man, you got a light?"

Cars passed by, honking.

"Hey, man!"

Elijah heard him. He just didn't realize that the homeless man was talking to him. He registered his presence when he heard the shuffling of feet, the jingling of coins, and the musty smell. He looked at the human as if he were an alien.

Then he blinked and saw the cigarette in his hand. The homeless man lifted it and said, "Got a lighter?"

The vampire shifted back slightly. Obviously not because he was afraid, but because the smell of a city street was interesting enough. Elijah wasn't too keen on the new notes, which seemed to be of...general uncleanliness, coupled with the smell of alcohol and whatever else that he didn't want to fathom.

So, Elijah haughtily said, "No. I don't."

The bum deliberately stared at him, not believing him. Putting the cigarette behind his ear, he tilted his head of matted hair and regarded the fancy man. "Got any change then?"

Elijah's gaze darted past him impatiently, to the glass doors, before returning sharply to the begging man. Again. "No. I don't."

The bum's expression was blank. He didn't move.

"Bullshit, man," he said after a moment. Elijah's eyebrows rose. "A guy like you has extra change. Bet a guy like you doesn't even live in this neighborhood. You from the Gold Coast?"

Elijah glared at him now. "Come on, man—" The persistence in the homeless man's gaze stilled all of a sudden. He didn't blink, and Elijah narrowed his own eyes, compelling him.

"You will go now." And an annoyed afterthought, "You're quite lucky I am not my brother."

"Who?" the man uttered. His mouth gaped slightly like a fish. Hypnotized, his head cocked the other way.

"Run along."

Obediently, the homeless man took a step back. Elijah straightened the lapels of his suit jacket even though they didn't need fixing. He didn't watch as the beggar proceeded robotically down the sidewalk, out the other side of the overpass, and into the night.

Elijah had looked up as he felt a rumble in the distance, stirring the air, vibrating beneath his feet through the asphalt. He glanced down at the Patek Philippe on his wrist and said to himself, "On time actually." The watch read ten past nine. The train slowed to a screeching stop so that its passengers could get off and head downstairs to street level.

In 1893, there was no Starbucks on the corner of Bryn Mawr and Winthrop Avenues, and no 7-Eleven or the UPS store further down. No hole-in-the-wall Thai places, or trendy, hipster breakfast joints.

Before 1889, this neighborhood of Edgewater was known to be "the only electric lighted suburb adjacent to Chicago," and was a part of the Lake View Township. Mansions, belonging to the elite, lined the shorefront. Then after 1889, Edgewater became a part of Chicago and quickly rose to the status of being one of the most prestigious communities. So, the homeless man was wrong. Elijah could've been part of this neighborhood, at least long ago.

During the year of the fair, he and his sister Rebekah were invited to this northern part of the city to attend a soiree, which was organized by none other than Marshall Field, who was perhaps the wealthiest man in the world in the 1890s. He was the founder of Marshall Field and Company, the Chicago-based department stores. To say that Rebekah was ecstatic was an understatement, for she loved parties and shopping, but that's a story for later.

Now, Edgewater was gentrified, and many students and young people lived there, with or without children. Renting prices were reasonable enough, and it was within walking distance of the beach. Parking was terrible, particularly in the summer, though that was name of the game in the city. Getting around town was what the El was there for.

The area off of the Bryn Mawr stop was generally safe, but at night, girls and young women usually used common sense so as not to walk alone, or if they did, they had to maintain constant vigilance. This was Chicago, after all.

The train started moving again. It was heading north toward its end stop, Howard. Loyola University was up ahead several blocks, and downtown glittered south in the night, the Loop seven miles away. The beach was just two streets over to the east.

A crowd pushed through those glass doors.

The train obscured Elijah's senses far more than automobiles ever could. He almost lost Liza for a moment, distracted by the grinding of metal that ground on his ears like nails on a chalkboard. He had moved behind one of the underpass's cracking columns so that she wouldn't see him. Then, as the noise from the tracks receded, he hurried out from under the bridge and deftly followed the girl, who'd already made it across Bryn Mawr, intent on turning left, which was north, onto Winthrop.

She was fast, not breaking her stride. The earbuds were still in, but her music was off. The set of her shoulders projected her instinctive caution. Even though she lit another cigarette, and Elijah caught whiffs of the smoke, he was glad to see that the girl was wary. She'd glanced back over her shoulder a few times, as she passed the breakfast place called Nookies, and the residential part of the street began.

Elijah expertly hid in the shadows as he followed her. He had a little over a thousand years to perfect this. One could indeed call it stalking, but he wasn't a pervert tailing some girl, so he most certainly didn't consider this stalking. This was investigating.

But he knew that when he'd finally reveal himself to her, whenever the time was right, there was a great chance of her reaction not being a good one. This he'd have to handle whatever way he could. And this was another reason why Elijah was following the girl alone. Not with any of his siblings.

This block or two of Winthrop mostly had courtyard apartment buildings. There were also a few worker cottages, but there were more classic Chicago graystones, which were either two level or three. Some appeared to be remodeled. Others kept the iconic gray limestone.

Liza, in particular, lived in a two level one, which was right next door to a tall building that used to be a hotel in the '20s. Present day, it was a residential apartment building. Sure, it might've dwarfed Liza's graystone, but her home was very quaint. She lived on the second floor.

Most graystones were very similar. This one had its wide stone steps to the right, leading up to a shared porch, and a wide bow of projecting, round windows to the other side. The first-floor windows were shielded by a small pine tree. The second-floor bay windows were rounded as well, curtains wide open, the light on, and above the porch, there was a balcony, a nice feature that allowed an overlook of the street.

The small front "yard" was fenced in and grew some sort of plant that was supposed to be decorative. The metal gate swung shut behind the girl, and she jogged up the steps.

The lower level was home to an elderly couple who owned the graystone itself. The Masked Singer was seen on the screen of an old television through the branches of pine. After Liza stepped inside into the small foyer, where her landlord's door was to the left of the stairs, she already heard the telltale sound of...paws upstairs.

On the second-floor landing, the door to that balcony above the porch was left again, and her own apartment door was directly ahead. The balcony was technically communal, but the old folks never went up there.

2B, read the metal characters directly above the peephole. The hanging little bell above the apartment number rang when Liza stepped inside her place. The sound of dancing paws grew only more furious with excitement. A roughly eighty-five-pound red Akita Inu assailed her with a half-destroyed teddy bear in his mouth.

A smile cracked across the girl's face, which was covered with a slight sheen of oil in the T-zone area, something that often happened when riding a subway car that was almost full to the brim with people. It might've been in the high fifties during the day, steadily cooling into the forties with the sunset, but subway trains perfectly insulated that cringeworthy BO.

"I'm tired, Ramsey," Liza said to her dog as she shut the door behind her. She hung her keys on one of the two hooks on the wall—on the other nail hung someone else's set—and gave the destroyed teddy bear a halfhearted tug before letting go.

The Akita's curled tail still wagged as he eagerly looked up at the human, his triangular, brown eyes hopeful. Liza shook her head and went past the canine.

Through the small foyer, in the parlor (or living room as they called it nowadays) was a pile of shit in front of the bay windows. Liza sighed, seeing it, and walked further into the apartment. Judging by the lack of smell, Ramsey must've pooped earlier in the day when no one was home.

"Hey, Ollie," she said. There was another girl there.

This girl sat on the dark gray Ikea couch, which stood with its back to the front door. She was watching that show Harlots that was on Hulu. Their television was a decently sized flat-screen, hanging on the wall directly in front of the cheap sectional. Before her, on the coffee table, which was also from Ikea, was a large plate of steak and mashed potatoes. Oh, and don't forget the bowl of chopped tomatoes and cucumbers, sprinkled with feta. For a girl of her petite size, it was hard to imagine that she could eat it all.

This girl responded with a distracted, "Hi."

Liza stepped past the couch, looking back at the headful of thick, wavy dark hair.

Judging by the way she spoke, even by that one syllable in Hi, Olympia Belugin was in a mood. And instead of following Liza through the rest of the apartment, Ramsey dropped the teddy bear and watched her go. But he didn't watch for long. Oh no.

He quickly went around the chaise part of the couch to sit directly before Ollie and the coffee table, and resumed watching her eat (which was what he had been doing before Liza got there) while Ollie kept her eyes glued to the television. In the show, Lucy Wells was at the opera with her mother, who was taking silent bids for her daughter's virginity. It was riveting, clearly.

The dining room was really an extension of the living space, with its own large windows that looked out into the lovely, narrow alley alongside the building. The dining table, which was hardly used, was from (guess?)—Ikea!

The first door on the right was Liza's room, and just as she turned the doorknob, she heard from Ollie: "Oh, yeah, and you forgot to do the dishes from last night. Thanks. Exactly what I need when I come back from work."

Liza closed her eyes and found no energy to offer up an excuse—which was that she had overslept and had to rush to work that morning. Hence the dirty dishes. Hence the poop. Still, she didn't answer Ollie.

She stepped inside her room, switching on the light, and crossed the floor to put her messenger bag onto her bed. The yellow bedspread and light blue walls were a little too obnoxious at the moment. The color choice hadn't been her choice. Rather, the room had been painted by the previous tenants before they had moved into this place a little over a year ago. The color yellow logically was supposed to brighten spirits.

Not so much now.

Leaving the light on, Liza left. The kitchen was in the back, as all kitchens were when graystones were built sometime during the beginning of the 20th century.

Ollie's room was right next door to hers, and their shared bathroom was directly across from both of their doors, between the dining room and kitchen. One of the few bonuses of living in such an old building was the fact that the landlords kept the vintage pedestal sink and the deep tub.

The back entrance, which had been originally used for receiving deliveries, from say, the milkman, was now where Liza often stepped out onto the patio for a cigarette. When Ollie was in better spirits, she too joined. Or she made enough steak for the two of them on their little grill. The lingering aroma from the food stirred the emptiness of her stomach, but Liza wouldn't dare to ask if Ollie would share. Not now.

The street outside was quiet, save for a few neighbors who were more than likely arriving home late and now searched for parking. They made circles around the block. When he'd noticed one of the cars for a third time, Elijah decided to step further into the shadows. He hid partway in the alleyway that separated the graystone from the newer, red-bricked house on the other side.

He was looking up along the corner of the home, that corner of the living room to be exact. There were moans coming from above. They sounded very much like ones that a lady might utter mid coitus. Regardless of who was moaning and then shrieking, he realized after a moment that whatever sexual activities that were going on in the girl's apartment were coming from a television.

After his previous search on the internet, he'd found out that Liza had a roommate. She was supposed to live with another girl. Considering that he still had much to learn about this Elizaveta Belov, he certainly had no idea who the roommate was. He couldn't see much of the apartment at all. He resorted to just listening. But after a moment, he did see Liza's face against the warm beige walls, what he could see of them at least. Mostly his view was of the ceiling and its original crown molding.

The downstairs folk were far too absorbed with figuring out who the masked singer, the rabbit, was to even bother looking out their windows. Plus, their eyesight would've probably been too poor to distinguish the lurker from the moving shadows of the pine.

Having gotten a plastic bag and some clorox wipes, Liza had stepped in front of the bay windows and then ducked down. She was cleaning up Ramsey's mess. Quick about it, she rose a few seconds later, only to disappear again.

Inside the apartment, she lingered behind the couch again. In her hand, she held the plastic bag containing the dog crap. Ollie didn't turn around. She stuffed a forkful of meat into her mouth.

"Did you take the wolfsbane I made?" Liza asked. Her voice was careful. "I know it turned out thick this time…"

Ollie spoke as she chewed. "No' 'et. I'm 'oing 'o 'omorrow."

"Okay," was Liza's reply. Letting out a soft breath, she turned to head back to the kitchen.

Ollie's delayed reply sounded before Liza opened the patio door: "Thanks...for the wolfsbane." It was a reluctant apology from someone who naturally had a hard time apologizing for things, but something about Liza's own tone sounded understanding.

"No problem, Oll." Liza left the plastic bag outside on the patio so it wouldn't stink up the apartment during the night and shut the door behind her.

Below, at the front of the building, Elijah stood very still. Had he heard correctly? Wolfsbane?

He was certainly no expert in mystical herbal remedies, but he knew for a fact that a concoction of wolfsbane was used only in one instance, and that was to subdue, to weaken, a werewolf.

Was that who this second girl was? A wolf?

Next, he heard the sound of clinking china and running water. Dishes. But the sounds were muted because they came from the back. Liza must've been washing said dishes per her friend's request. Although, it had been more like an order that would've come from someone's mother.

"Rams, get away. I'm not sharing," he heard Ollie's voice next.

Then came the sound of paws. He couldn't see this brief interaction, but this is what happened: Ramsey, ever persistent, jumped onto the couch beside Ollie, who turned to face him with unexpected yellow eyes.

There was a moment of silence between them, a stare down, and then the dog finally obeyed. He stepped backward, lowering his head in submission. Ollie said, "Go," and pointed the way.

Rams went, jumping off of the couch and trotting around it, tail a little low. He looked down the way to the other side of the apartment, where he could see Liza standing in front of the sink. The canine was at a loss as to what to do next. The forlorn teddy bear, which was lying where he'd dropped it, was an option.

Maybe. That was until something caught his attention.

His pointed ears turned back, he straightened, his tail went up in a tight curl, and he was moving to the front windows. Akitas rarely barked, only if there was a good reason to. Despite their size, they were far from Goldens or Labs. They were sneaky and very smart, and they didn't do anything without a purpose. So, when Ramsey sensed someone outside, and he released a low, rolling growl, Ollie tore her attention from the television and paused in her chewing, cheeks puffy.

Elijah took a small step back, hearing the dog. Old leaves crinkled underneath a polished shoe, and Ramsey's head peeked above the window frame. The man saw that the animal was very reminiscent of a large fox, or an orange husky, or a red wolf.

"Why are you freaking out, Ramsey?" Elijah heard Ollie ask, suspiciously, too.

Ramsey yowled at the dark. He didn't quite see Elijah, but the vampire had certainly been made. Ollie's face appeared in the window a second later. She too looked out to see who was there, lurking. She scanned the street, then the sidewalk, north and south. The front of the building, the fenced-in yard, if you could call it that.

"Who's out there, Rams? Huh? Who's out there?" A playful note entered her words. Her voice was slightly husky compared to that of Liza's smooth cadence.

Ollie was pretty, her hair darker, thicker, and slightly longer than that of her friend. Her face, rounder, had those slavic cheeks, too. But whereas Liza was fair, Ollie was warmer-toned. Dark, arching eyebrows framed her eyes, which were large and green.

As that green gaze surveyed the front of the building, Elijah deftly snuck away, going unnoticed, even as the dog still ruff'd.

"What's wrong?" he heard Liza call from the kitchen.

"Rams heard something outside," Ollie answered. "It's fine."

Then their feet were moving. Ollie returned to the couch, fell onto it backward. Liza stepped back to the sink. The dog retreated from the window once he sensed the vampire was gone—from the front of the house, at least.

The scandalous TV show was being rewound. It was harder to hear, while the sound of the sink grew louder now. Elijah blended into the darkness, creeping outside of the first-floor patio, looking up at the window of the second-floor kitchen.

Steam rose, fogging up the glass. He could see Liza behind it. Lifting an arm, she wiped her forehead with the back of her forearm. She had those yellow kitchen gloves on. Elijah took two steps back to better see her face. As unnerving as it was that her roommate was an apparent werewolf, he was there for Liza, after all. But what the hell did she have to do with his family? The fact that she'd brought up wolfsbane could've meant a couple of things. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, however. He wanted proof first. The most important thing was to proceed with caution.

Liza's brown gaze was set much like the expression that he'd seen on her face earlier that day, when he'd left the tea shop: pensive, somber. Her brows were drawn slightly, her lips pressed together, far from a smile, but not quite a frown either. She didn't appear to be one of those girls who were quick to smile, or easily amused. She might've been a deep thinker. She looked like something heavy was on her mind. Maybe not. He could've been wrong. This was only what he was assuming as he tried to read her features.

She was putting the dishes by the sink. Once she was finished, she shut the water off and took off her gloves. She hung them over the faucet, but before stepping away, she looked out the window.

Beyond the first and second floor patios, there was a short driveway and a small single-car garage beside it. An old, Ford sedan from the mid 2000s was parked before a much newer silver Mustang.

In front of the garage on a chunk of dead grass, there were a few pieces of patio furniture—nothing special, just two lawn chairs and a glass table. The place needed some sprucing up, but it wasn't too terrible. There was one of those round, unused charcoal grills near the lawn chairs. The whole area was surrounded by a fence, as were most of the backyards of these graystones. At the end of the driveway, on the other side of the gate, was the alley.

There were no milk men nowadays. Only garbage trucks on Tuesdays, and sometimes scavengers with their trunk beds in the evenings on Mondays before. The homeless were known to waddle past with carts as well. And bordering the alley were the above-ground El tracks.

Liza watched the tracks as a train—no, maybe two trains—neared, for the sound was louder than usual. Elijah too looked back, past the garage, and up at the rails beyond the back street. How the hell a person could get used to the noise was beyond him. When he glanced back at Liza, he saw that her attention was riveted on the train line. The rushing trains, going in opposite directions, snapped with electricity and clanged rhythmically against the rails. Yellow windows with silhouettes, which were sitting or standing, blurred past.

Her face was unreadable, almost in the way of Elijah's own natural physiognomy, everything there below the surface, yet all of it hidden. His own face usually obscured his thoughts, leaving most people floundering as they would try to figure him out. Liza was clearly far, far away now. Maybe there was something hypnotic about the sound of the train—because it did something to the girl. He didn't take his attention off of her.

The trains passed each other with a whoosh and sped to the south and north ends of the line. Even as the roaring receded, Liza kept her gaze there for a moment or two longer. Then, her eyes lowered to the yard.

Elijah shifted closer again to the first-floor patio, to make sure she didn't spot him.

There was a clink sound. When Liza had jumped, he tensed. She was turning around, and although Elijah had a harder time seeing her through the window now, he heard the girls.

"Jesus," Liza had gasped.

Ollie had brought in her dirty dishes. Liza obligingly took them and turned on the sink again.

"Sometimes I forget you're not a wolf after I'm around them all day at the daycare," Ollie said with a hint of dark amusement. There was a smirk in her voice, too.

Elijah heard Liza's heart rate go up as she scrubbed her friend's plate, foregoing the gloves this time. He wouldn't blame any human for being taken aback like that. The wolf's heart beat was steady. Of course, it would be. The vampire found himself on edge. He couldn't help it.

"I thought you said that every woman can find her "she-wolf," Liza quipped, sounding bemused. It was a reference to the Shakira song, which Elijah didn't catch.

"Well, yeah. But you know what I mean. You're so jumpy." Ollie laughed, a rougher edge in her throat.

Elijah took hold of one of the wooden balusters of the patio.

"Shut up."

"Can't I tease you? You have something smart to say all the time."

Liza was silent. She certainly wasn't acting sharp-tongued right at that moment. Ollie yanked the fridge open.

Liza's pulse skipped a beat. She turned off the faucet, added Ollie's now-clean dishes and utensils to the dish rack on the counter, and turned around to find the shorter girl chugging out of a plastic bottle of kefir. Liza crossed her arms and leaned against the sink. Ollie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gave her a look.

"Oh, don't be so sensitive."

Knowing better than to argue with a wolf, who was feeling the effects of the coming full moon, Liza forced a smile. She hid her face by turning around to get a glass out of a cupboard.

Ollie threw the now-empty kefir bottle into the trash can, which had a secure lid—so the dog couldn't get in. "I'm going to bed. Good night."

"See you in a couple days," Liza bid. Her tone now belied a relief that she couldn't help but feel. Ollie didn't take offense if she even noticed.

"I won't be bitchy then." Ollie's footsteps were already receding down the hall.

Liza was filling her glass with water from the fridge filter. "I know," she said.

However, they needed a break from each other. It was hard living with a friend. And female werwolves were bitchy twice a month, not once. Sometimes their time of the month coincided with the full moon, but not always.

Elijah was calmer but waited still. He heard, "Come on, Rams," as Liza stepped out of the kitchen, the lights going out. Ollie's door, the closest to the kitchen, closed shut.

Liza continued to speak to her dog: "No? You're not coming in? Fine then." The hallway light dimmed next. She stepped inside her own room, but there was no sound of the door closing, which meant she left it open.

But instead of following his owner, Ramsey stepped into the kitchen, not ready to call it a night. His part-time job of security dog wasn't over yet for the day. Elijah heard the growl. Then a scrape of paws at the back door. The vampire took this as his cue to finally leave. So, he vanished into the darkness, around the building, without making the slightest of sounds.

Sensing the reaper's movement, Ramsey ran out of the kitchen and bolted into Liza's room. She gasped as he skidded to the window, putting his paws up on the frame. He barked loudly and his snout pressed against the glass, fogging it up. Having taken off her shirt, in her bra, Liza quickly reached to yank the curtains shut.

Rams stuck his head past the fabric, anyway, and huffed out a low, threatening snarl that must've translated as, "I know you were there, asshole."

"Shut up, Ramses!" Ollie yelled through the wall.