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moment if it could be a flashback. A scent from his memories. It wasn’t unusual for addicts to have those, but the odor was too fresh. Too real.
    Harriet.
    He breathed in again, steeling his stomach against the sweetly putrid perfume. There was no way to pick out Harriet’s scent. Not now.
    Circling the block three times and staying out of the sun, panic threatened to overcome him. The constant wail of sirens didn’t help his anxiety. Grasping for some sort of calm, his craving gnawed at him. One bite of someone on downers, then he’d be able to think.
    No. No one but Harriet. No one else would ever be able to compare.
    Kiral took off at a run. Cafés and restaurants. Maybe she was out for dinner with her grandmother. They could even be picking up a few things from the store.
    A few minutes turned into half an hour and then an hour. Why couldn’t he find her?
    The sun had disappeared in the west. Night brought more sirens, screams, and fires. Smoke billowed up from all four corners of the city. Perhaps Harriet went to help. He’d only shared the bite with her, but she was a compassionate soul. She’d helped him after all.
    She wouldn’t be able to bring her grandmother, though. Kind as the crone was, she couldn’t get around in emergency situations. Unless she was already out mourning the dead.
    Check the apartment again.
    Kiral’s body went rigid as he turned toward home. The coppery aroma of fresh blood grasped him and led him half a block in the opposite direction.
    A tall apartment building sat five feet from a much shorter and newer one. A shimmering pool of blood looked black as none of the streetlights could reach it. Kiral was motionless. His fangs pinched his lower lip.
    He blinked as a ripple went through the puddle. For a few seconds, he thought it was beckoning him closer, to lick up the blood as if he were a dog. When it rippled again, he caught sight of the drop that had caused it. He tilted his head back, looking up to the source.
    A man’s body hung half off the fire escape. It twitched as two of the ugly black creatures wrestled to yank off his head. The spine was the only thing that connected it, and with a loud crack, the monsters managed to decapitate the poor fellow. The body fell and slammed into the pavement near Kiral’s feet.
    The urges to flee and feast warred within him. Kiral bared his fangs as the beasts peered down at him. Their eyes flashed red, and then they laughed. Like hyenas with a bad smoking habit. Taking the head, the monsters climbed up and out of sight onto the rooftop.
    Their laughter and retreat unnerved him more than the headless body at his feet. Red eyes like the dealer Marc had saved him from. Kiral reached to grab the lowest rung of the fire escape, but yanked back his hand.
    No, it would do him no good to give chase. They had nothing to do with him. Harriet. All that mattered was finding her.
    His blood lust demanded he feed. Kiral turned and ran home. He needed to see Harriet was safe. She was his sun and moon. One taste could burn and quench him. One touch could save him from himself.

CHAPTER 7
     
    Harriet had to be on time. Her old bones creaked as she forced herself up the stairs. It was after sunset, but she refused to believe Kiral left his apartment. So many people were dying she couldn’t save, but she could stop one death.
    She’d thought she’d be screaming all night, but it seemed one vision after another after another confused the curse. Which death should she go mourn? All the better for Harriet, but for the dozens of people who were dying, there was nothing she could do. Each one deserved her wails.
    Stumbling on one of the stairs, Harriet startled when she heard someone run up behind her. She tried to push herself up, but her body failed her.
    Marc wrapped an arm around her middle. She didn’t doubt he could crush her without knowing it. He always made her feel small, but safe.
    “Harri, what are you doing out? It’s dangerous in the city