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was a vampire. The barking got louder as I neared the end of

the old house. As I rounded a corner, a little white and brown terrier made a dash for my feet,

nipped at my shoelaces, then raced back to the door. He might not be able to talk, but he was

doing his best to tell me something was seriously wrong inside.
I peered through a window, but I couldn’t see anything more than a washing machine that had

walked halfway across the tiles and, beyond that, a basket half-filled with clothes. I flared my

nostrils, drawing in the air, sorting through all the different aromas. Again, nothing seemed out

of the ordinary.
And yet the little dog was frantic.
I scooped him up and held him one-handed, then opened the screen door and tested the door handle.

Like the front door, it was locked. A punch in the sweet spot just above the lock soon fixed

that, but as the door swung open, the smell hit.
Something was dead inside.
Or someone, given the terrier’s reaction. He had relaxed a bit now that I was holding him, but I

could still feel the tension in his little body.
I walked around the wayward washing machine. A clock ticked softly in the silence and the air was

warm—a fact that wouldn’t have helped preserve whoever was dead.
The small hallway beyond was shadowed. There was a toilet to the left and an open doorway to the

right. The source of the smell also seemed to be coming from that way.
The terrier started wriggling as I walked into the large kitchen-dining area. I gripped him a

little tighter, not wanting him to shake himself loose and disturb whatever evidence there was to

be found.
Sunlight streamed in from the window above the sink, lifting the gloom. A small table had been

set for breakfast—which for this vampire was a packet of synth blood that now smelled off and a

cup of coffee that had long gone cold. The fridge held milk and more synth blood. Obviously,

Gateway wasn’t servicing enough customers at Dante’s to keep himself fed.
I closed the fridge door then followed my nose, and found Gateway’s body sprawled stomach down in

the hallway. He was barefoot and wearing a towel around his middle, suggesting he’d just come out

of the shower. His skin was pale and his body lean, his ribs and spine clearly evident. My gaze

rose further and my stomach sank. Someone had separated his head from his neck, and the blood had

pooled around his head like a dark, dried-out halo.
Which meant there’d be no ghost hanging about to help.
I swore softly and spun around, walking back to the kitchen and closing the door behind me before

releasing the little terrier and dragging out my phone. As the little dog whined and scratched at

the door, I called my boss.
“Riley,” Jack said. “How goes the investigation?”
“No one saw anything, no one heard anything, and no one knows anything. And unfortunately, we

have another beheaded vampire on our hands.”
He swore softly. “Where?”
“In a house a few streets away from Starke’s club. The victim’s name is Henry Gateway, and he’s

been dead for a couple of days, if the dried blood is anything to go by.”
Jack paused. “I don’t know him.”
Something in the way he said that prickled my instincts. Jack might not know him personally, but

he knew him. So why wouldn’t he say that?
“He serviced blood whores at Dante’s.”
Jack snorted. “Now, if there’s one vampire I wouldn’t mind seeing dead, it’s that

bastard.”
“You know Starke?” It surprised me, although I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe it was just the

fact that Starke didn’t seem like the sort of vampire that would normally come under Directorate

scrutiny. But I didn’t know a whole lot about vampire society or how they socialized, so they

very easily could have known each other on another level.
“He has a long history of seducing women and running less-than-stellar establishments,” Jack

said, distaste evident in his gravelly tones.