The grenade exploded mid air, releasing a dense fog. It enveloped the area quickly, blocking everyone’s vision—supernatural or not. Screams and shouts could be heard.

“Fucking, bitch--”

“Closed your eyes!”

“Cover your mouth!”

“Run!”

Gunshots rattled off. Peter's eyes stung, and his throat burned like fire. Then he felt someone place a mask over his face. He turned to the person and saw that it was Zea who was also sporting, albeit a different one than his, a mask. The mask that Zea wore had the top half a very dark tinted glass and the bottom half a gun metal with a strange reflection.

“And, of course, you didn’t bring a mask,” said Zea, her voice muffled from the mask. “Just shoot.”

“But I can’t see,” blurted Peter. All he could see around them was the fog and the occasional dulled colors of the lights.

“It doesn’t matter. They’re all ECs!” barked Zea. She moved her geometric sword in an arc and it founded itself a couple of heads.

Peter didn’t need another incentive and started shooting.

Zea sliced and slashed as she dashed away. With Each swing, she took an arm or head. In the background, there were flashes of Peter’s shotgun going off. That should be enough distraction as she headed for her target.

Her target tried to be clever.

Zea found the door. With a kick, she sent the door flinging backward. She stepped in.

Her target didn’t know she had been watching them in her coffin.

Zea stood towering over a cowering Nova with her sword. Fog seeping from behind her like ghostly fingers. She pointed her sword, blood dripping at the tip, at Nova. “A projection won’t hide you from me,” she said.

“How did you know?” croaked Nova.

With one clean swing, Nova’s head fell and rolled on the ground until it stopped at Zea’s boots. Zea sheathed her sword behind her back before making a low whistle. A metal black prism emerged from the wall and landed on her shoulder. It was a mini drone that she had attached to her coffin before she made her trip overseas. She took it and tucked it into her coat. “You did well,” she said like a proud parent.

Then she noticed there were no more sounds except for the low, heavy bass music. The fight was over. She turned around and exited.

The fog had dissipated. Among the bodies and leaning on the shotgun, was Peter. His mask was gone. He was bleeding on one side of his face as well as a line of blood running along one of his arms.

“Impressive. You’re still alive,” observed Zea.

Peter smiled, a fang was missing. “Tha--”

Something sliced his cheek. He turned around in time to see a vampire slumped down onto his knees with a knife embedded in his forehead. It was an awkward position as it seems like the vampire was taking a nap on his knees.

Peter gulped. He didn’t really see Zea move, but he was sure it was her. He recognized from the handle of the knife as one of the ones that Zea packed under her coat earlier.

Zea walked up to Peter. She supported him up with one of her arms and took the shotgun from him at the same time. She lifted the shotgun. “I believe you meant to say ‘Thank You’.” Then she blew off the kneeling vampire’s head.

***

“Do you believe what Nova said? It’s far fetched,” said a semi-translucent image of a red haired woman with wavy thick hair and green eyes, floated on top of the coffee table.

The floating woman was dressed in a business suit, but it was tailored to accentuate her curves. She was also sitting in a leather chair in front of an antique dark desk, and her finger was tapping irritatedly over a couple of sheets of paper. She shuffled the papers and put them aside.

“We don’t have a choice,” said Zea, looking up at the floating woman. She sat in a couch across from the coffee table.

“I don’t like this. If such a spell existed, you know some asshole witch would have used it by now. And if they didn’t, they’d certainly would have leveraged it at least as a threat to keep our kind in place let alone auctioning it off like some memorabilia. It doesn’t make sense. This has to be a trap,” said the floating woman.

“Perhaps but what if it was true? If it falls in the wrong hands, our revolution would be for naught. There won’t be vampires to have one. I have once believed that something was impossible, and it turned out to be devastatingly true. I will not make the same mistake again,” responded Zea. Her voice had a tinge of rawness.

The floating woman sighed. “I would put my foot down if it weren’t for Drake going after it.”

Zea nodded. “If the scroll does what Nova said it does, he will undoubtedly use it to blackmail the council, and he is spiteful enough to use it if they don’t comply.”

“Truly this is the problem when you let bloodlines rule. There’s always at least one psycho,” said the floating woman. She flicked her hair. “Get the scroll. Destroy if you can. If not, just bring it back home.”

“And somewhere in that timeline I get to kill Drake?” asked Zea.

“In due time. Scroll takes priority. As you know, all other agents are currently out on missions so no one can assist you. Not that you need it. I am currently placing an escape route for you to quickly get back,” said the floating woman wearily.

Zea hid her grimace upon hearing about the other agents. The sting from the last operation where all of them were together, cut them down to only a handful and the new recruits, however paltry in numbers, were not ready for field work. Not by a long shot. “Send the details on my phone. Over and out,” she said.

“Stay safe,” said the floating woman softly before disappearing into a silver box that was in the middle of the coffee table.

Zea leaned into the couch and took in the suite she was in. It was furnished with the finest furnitures and decor.

After the Eternity nightclub incident, they went to a high end hotel where Peter had reserved a suite prior to their meeting. The vampire was too injured to move and dawn was nearly upon them, so she had him stay in the bedroom while she stayed in the living room.

“Uh, are you done conversing with Elizabeth?” asked Peter from the bedroom.

Zea let out a sigh. “Yes, Did you want something?”

A door opened and Peter entered the living room. His wounds were gone. Zea envied that. If she had received those wounds, it would take her twice as long.

“I want to join you,” declared Peter.

“No,” said Zea.

“But this is about our kind! Drake is a lunatic and a tyrant.” Peter was shaking as he moved to stand in front of Zea. “He doesn’t care about us. None of them care. We’re nothing but disposable pawns. Fodder for hunters who cull us night after night like we’re a pack of sheep. Food for the weres and, worst, test subjects for witches.”

“This will be heavily armed. Likely another trap. You barely survived last night,” said Zea.

“I held my own last night! Elizabeth said we have to fight for our rights. Only then can we be truly free and equal among the masters and lords of Council,” said Peter. He was flushed red, but his eyes blazed with righteous fury.

Zea crossed one leg over the opposite knee. She rubbed her chin. She had that look once, long ago. Idealistic. Naive as hell. “Tell me Peter, why did you join us?” She motioned him to a seat that matched the couch across from her.

He did so. When he sat down, he rested his arms over his knees. He looked down and stared at the cashmere rug for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

“I was turned five years ago. A loner. No living family. Perfect fodder. My sire was an older fodder. He didn’t care much for me and just turned me over to one of the training facilities. We were there for a week at most. Trained us on basic shit. Then we were shipped off. Some of us went to various vampire houses. Most of us were sent to another facility.”

Zea pursed her lips. “Five years ago, huh?”

“Yeah, we were to be a distraction. We were slaughtered. And not by witches, weres or hunters.”

“By House Viram. I commend you for surviving that. I heard many died from the Viram and Duceland conflict,” remembered Zea. She had read from the reports from her spies that the conflict nearly involved the vampire royalty.

Peter's eyes misted a tint of red. “I saw many friends die and for what? Two vampire masters with a petty argument? I realized that’s what we are all really to them. Just fodder,” he said sadly.

“And you’re not. That’s why you aren’t coming tonight,” said Zea as she stood up.

“But--” protested Peter.

“Last night couldn’t be helped. I would much prefer for those new to our cause to not jump into missions. You’re not fodder,” said Zea.

Peter smiled broadly. He puffed out his chest. “I am ready to die for the cause. For Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth prefers you alive. The cause will die if everyone in it dies,” said Zea. She crossed the room and went over to a desk. She pulled the drawer and picked up a laptop. “But I see you want to help. I don’t come over to Europe often so I would need a guide.” She turned to Peter. “Can you stay and just guide me?” she asked.

Peter stood up and saluted. “It would be an honor,” he answered proudly.