Chapter 1

Mariana had been patrolling Forgotten Hollow for months now, yet she was no closer to solving the mystery of this forlorn little town than she had been when she arrived.

Travers, her Watcher, had sent her to find a vampire. Well, he always did, that was his entire job and raison d'être, but for this mission, she was after a specific vampire. A confrère of Dracula’s reputedly had settled down here, a rarity for a vampire as old and powerful as he must be. His appetite must be immense at his age, so why would he choose a small hamlet when he could easily disappear into a bustling city?

Even more puzzling, the death rate of Forgotten Hollow was lower than the surrounding towns. Mariana had expected to find a morgue full of bloodless bodies, but when she broke in, she only found a few grey-haired corpses waiting for their final pajama party.

She trudged down to the town’s pub, or perhaps it was a cafe. Either way, it sold drinks and light refreshments, and was open well past midnight, a rare luxury for a Slayer’s late hours. She shivered in her stays as the chilly fall wind cut through the night. Her split skirts were practical, designed to ease of motion, but not warmth. A hot cup of tea sounded not only lovely, but necessary.

The cafe was small, with worn furniture, but it was clean and the staff polite enough by Mariana’s standards. They seemed disinclined to chat which suited her perfectly. She pulled her hunting journal out of her pocket and began making notes while she waited for the waiter to bring her kettle for one over.

First, she went over the list of potential lairs, and crossed off the ones she’d checked before reviewing the others. Was it even worth investigating the remaining sites? Given the lack of evidence, perhaps there was no vampire here at all. It certainly didn’t seem likely that she’d find him lurking in some cave. Vampires like him wouldn’t settle for the usual nest most favored, but would seek a truly dark, grandiose place for their rest.

The sandy-haired server, looking as tired as Mariana felt, walked with dragging boots and slumped shoulders as he brought over her tea. His return to his post had the same sapped energy. When he sat though, he looked more awake, especially once he pulled his book back out and returned to reading.

Mariana smiled, a good book was an escape for her too. She hadn’t given him much of a look at first, but around the third time he scratched his neck, something caught her eye.

Two small puncture marks, unmistakable proof that a vampire lived here. But the man was here, alive, and clearly not a member of the night-walking undead. Was there a vampire here that didn’t kill?

The idea caused her brain to stumble in its tracks, as it were, or trip over its own feet. A vampire that didn’t kill! She could almost hear Hargrove’s laughter, his crisp accent dismissing her notions as girlish foolishness.

Perhaps she was, but this foolish girl happened to be a Slayer, and a Slayer looking forward to her twenty-third birthday at that. Not many of her kind made it to their twenties, but luck, training, and her own native wit had proved to be reliable. Mariana drank her tea quickly, barely noticing the warmth she’d craved, and put on her sweetest smile before approaching the man.

“Excuse me,” she said. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, her tongue dripped honey, she used her most dulcet tones to draw the lad in. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I couldn’t help but notice those dreadful bug bites on your neck!”

“Huh?” He looked up from his book in confusion, then looked at his hand as if he was surprised to see it scratching away. “Oh, those? I’m not sure where they’re from.”

“Oh dear, I have a balm that can heal quickly, but it only works for certain insect bites. Where were you when you were bitten?” Mariana knew this line would sound odd, but her years of hunting the hungry dead had made her quick-witted and ready to improvise.

“I’m not sure, I…” he paused and looked puzzled, a vague fearful confusion in his eyes. To a Slayer who knew her prey, this was a telltale sign of enthrallment. “I went to the old manse, but… goodness, I can’t remember why. No one’s lived there since Father Mears died.” He chuckled as if he couldn’t believe his own silliness.

The manse? That meant her vampire was living right next to holy ground. God! If she had been alone she would have smacked her forehead. No wonder she hadn’t found him. He was tricky. “Oh, that’s good! No marshes which means no risk of, erm, swamp fever! You won’t need the salve,” she said hastily, almost babbling. “Those will heal up quickly, I'm sure. Thank you for the tea, good night!”

The door swung shut on the last syllable and she quickly unfastened the button-seam of her split skirt to run at full speed. Though she tried to be careful, a few buttons went flying in her haste, and she cursed her poor luck and her grim duty.

It was a silly thing to think about as her feet flew over the ground at superhuman speed. She should think about her tactics, or pay attention to the terrain, but a familiar lament sang in her mind: there were so many ways she wasn’t allowed to enjoy her femininity. Though being forced to wear a corset sounded dreary, the idea of swapping her stays for something with a little more shape once in a while would be wonderful. What would it be like to wear pretty things with no practicality? Or to never run after another monster, to never chase a creature she ought to flee?

Duty above all, as Travers said. Duty was her lot and the only escape would be death. The thought loomed in her head, eclipsing her fancies of girlish pleasures, as it did before every kill. One day, some vampire would be a little stronger, or smarter, or crueler, or just plain luckier and that would be it. She would be ashes, and some unlucky young woman would be cursed with this task.

Mariana felt cold and hard as she skidded to a halt before the old manse, yet a fine coil of bitter pleasure rose in her like a charmed cobra from a basket. There was joy in slaying, in lashing out with brutal force. Her rage, her loneliness, her pain were tightly contained, erupting only when she could indulge in destruction.

Her sharp gray eyes scanned the building. No light showed, but with vampires that meant nothing. The dark was as easy to navigate for them as a sunny meadow was for her.

She moved with no noise, barely shifting the air. She passed through the front door so silently it was as if she was a ghost wandering these halls. The house was silent.

Mariana closed her eyes and reached out with her other senses: any sound, a smell, a faint vibration under her feet, anything that would guide her to her prey. They slammed open again when a small but distinct cry of pain was heard from the floor above.

Blast. He was here, and he had a victim. Did he have minions or did he work solo? Would rushing in save his victim’s life or would it doom them both?

Her feet flickered in swift silent steps toward the staircase, and down the hall. The cries were still going on. If the first cry had been made when bitten, Mariana estimated this human had a few minutes to live — barring vampiric whimsy and a broken neck. Light pooled from a door just cracked open at the end of the hall. Perfect.

She at least had the time to peer into the room. Her slim body, pressed to the wall, melded in the shadows and she craned her neck to see as much as she could.

No minions. This was a one-vamp operation. That made things easier, but it looked like he’d already drained several people! Bodies slumped against each other on a settee, looking pale and wan.

Damn it all! She’d been chasing down dead ends and red herrings for weeks! Why did the bastard start killing tonight?

A low voice, husky and soft, umber velvet and leather, with a trace of French in his English, spoke in the room. “Now, my pets, your reward for your generous donation.” Mariana nearly gasped aloud. The dead people on the couch rose and walked towards the voice!

A sound Mariana unfortunately knew well followed: the sloppy, slurpy sound of blood being sucked. It ceased after only a few seconds, and the voice spoke again. “Off with you now. I have business to attend to.”

Three people exited the room, a split second after Mariana had noiselessly slid into a hall closet. She peered out a crack to scrutinize these walking corpses.

They looked well, quite well. Even in the dark of the hall, their cheeks were visibly rosy, their skin looked fresh and clear, their posture was relaxed and upright. Though their appearance was normal, their movements were not. They stumbled with the clumsiness of the enthralled and moved with agonizing slowness. Mariana felt like she was stuck in that closet for hours, every joint going stiff and sore with tension.

Finally, the front door clicked shut behind the clumsy trio, and Mariana slipped out. In one hand, she held a stake, the other was wrapped in a rosary blessed by the Pope, while a velvet ribbon soaked in holy water protected her neck.

The caution: *memento mori* floated through her head. She was prepared, but she was still just a mortal going to battle an immortal demon. And one day, she would die.

One last breath before she stepped in, before the battle began. One last — “Mademoiselle, it is quite rude to lurk at doorways and eavesdrop. You are no common guttersnipe. Come in.”

His words had the weight and force of a command, yet Mariana didn’t feel supernaturally compelled. She waited another moment, then slowly and carefully stepped into the light.

The sight that greeted her was a shocking one – thrilling, if she allowed herself to admit it. An immensely fat man, shirtless, bearded, with long dark hair and sharp eyes, lounged on a throne-like armchair by a roaring fire. Mariana braced herself in a defensive position, stake up, fist raised. “So, you like to talk. Personally, I’d prefer to get this over with.”

He merely folded his hands on his vast belly. Mariana was fighting her curiosity. She’d never seen anyone this fat before. If he weren’t a vampire, she would have wanted to explore that bulk. The idea of a fat man’s warm embrace had occurred to her more than once over the years, and sounded more appealing every time it arose. To be warm, and comfortable, and adored… she pushed those thoughts away again and latched onto the cold fury that sparked in her heart.

“Ah, of course, you are a Slayer,” he said. He picked up a goblet, and swirled the dark liquid within, sniffing at it delicately. “I do try to avoid the attentions of your ilk, but I suppose I must have caught your eye somehow.”

“One of Dracula’s minions spilled the beans, just before he and his head went separate ways.” Mariana’s gaze slid around the room. No weapons, no skulls or bones, no splashes of blood on the walls. Nothing that she’d seen in other vampire lairs.

What there was, in generous heapings, was luxury. A massive fireplace with a roaring fire stood in the corner, with a gilt mirror on the mantelpiece. Velvet, silk, satin, and suede fabrics commingled in a riot of color and texture. Goblets of gold – no silver, of course – and plates of fine bone china surrounded the fat vampire, some with rich food on them. Fine paintings, portraits and landscapes and still lifes, adorned the wall. This didn’t look like a vampire nest at all. She’d been to a private hedonist’s club in Paris once, on business of course, and she wondered if she had just stumbled into another. “Do you want to get up and fight or will you make it easy on me?”

He sighed wearily. “I would rather do neither. Come, have some Battenberg cake. Mrs. Joyce brought it over tonight and it’s quite good.” He sliced a hefty chunk of cake and ate with open satisfaction.

Mariana felt entirely unsettled. This was not how her usual encounters went. Vampires who wanted to chat usually did so belittle her and delay their own end. They didn’t usually start eating sweets, much less offering them. “I think I’ll pass.” She lunged at him after that terse remark, but he surprised her by swatting her aside like she was a fly. “Damnation!” she groaned.

“Indeed. Really, have some cake. I try to kill as infrequently as possible, it’s just so much work.” He cut two more slices of cake and laid the smaller on a delicate porcelain saucer. His dinnerware was mismatched but all fine quality.

Mariana surprised herself by accepting the plate. The pink and yellow cake looked moist and fresh. The marzipan was dusted with powdered sugar, and, despite her misgivings, her mouth watered. When was the last time she had eaten something fine like this? Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure she’d even ever had cake. The Council had taken her from her parents when she was quite small. Perhaps her father had given her sweets, or her mother had baked pastries for her.

“Would you care for some wine? Or perhaps you’re a tea drinker?” He gestured at a table where both sat while sipping from his goblet. Steam rose from the kettle.

“Tea sounds…” What manners did one use with a vampire? She didn’t know much about manners either way. She was a killer, not a debutante. She settled for, “Lovely. Tea sounds lovely.”

“Excellent,” he beamed, and poured. The cup and saucer he handed to her had a dainty floral print around the rim. The evening was feeling increasingly surreal.

“Thank you,” she found herself saying to a vampire.

“You are quite welcome, my dear.” He grinned at her, a sight that unsettled her further. His fangs were still out, and his forehead still a mass of demonic wrinkles, but his smile seemed genuinely pleased. “I was truly hoping to have a peaceable outcome to our meeting. Please, sit.”

A dining chair slid across the floor and nudged the back of her legs. She lowered herself onto it, her eyes, wide with vigilance, scanning both her host and the room. “Would you care to explain what you’re trying to do here?”

The vampire put his hand on his chest and looked offended. Oh, now that was also quite distracting! He was fattened up so much that it looked like he had breasts, and quite large ones. They looked immeasurably soft, and again, Mariana salivated unwillingly. “I am trying to entertain a guest!”

“And those people who just left, were they guests too?”

He took a breath and exhaled slowly, narrowing his eyes in thought. “I am their patron, or perhaps they are mine. It is a mutually beneficial relationship, to be sure.”

She mirrored him, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head thoughtfully. “What does a vampire know of mutuality?”

His goblet thunked on the table. The fat vampire scowled, thickening the unnatural wrinkles distorting his brow. He seemed to draw patience from within, and he spoke with controlled, polite fury. “Mademoiselle, I will overlook your combative manner as I know you only deal with the worst of my kind. I may carry a demon within my breast, but it does not rule me.”

Mariana paused with her cup just at her lips. A memory surfaced, something she’d heard Travers say to Wyndham, something about a vampire cursed with a soul. “Do you have a soul? Are you him?”

“A soul?” he mused. “I don’t think so, but I have a mind.”

He placed one hand over his belly. He was so full and flush with blood that he glowed with vitality, warmth, with life despite his pale skin and eerie eyes — and the deep furrows of his demonic brow. “Other vampires are hunters. That’s fine I suppose, but I preferred to enjoy more leisurely pleasures. I think of myself as a farmer rather than a hunter.”

Her acceptance swung back to horror. “So you lure these innocent people here —”

“Spare me the moralizing. It’s a small town with far more concentrated evil than in a city. Do you know how many lecherous fathers and cruel mothers I drained before settling here? I let the swindlers and cheats live, but murderers? No, they all needed to go.” He patted his gut again. “They certainly added to my physique. But, the blessing of a small town is that no one is ever alone, no orphans need go without — especially since every citizen is suddenly in perfect health.”

“And why, exactly, are they all in perfect health?”

He smiled, baring his fangs. Despite his charm and the allure of his vast bulk, he was still a killer. “My dove, I had powers before I was turned and they didn’t fade with the change.” His smile faded, and he grew serious. “I am here to enjoy myself, to lead a quiet life filled with good food, good wine, and good books. My name is Henri, Mademoiselle, and, despite the circumstances, I am charmed to make your acquaintance.” He held a plump hand out, and she again surprised herself by placing hers in his grasp. His hand was warm from feeding, and softer than she’d imagined.

Unsettled, hungry, cold, and yearning for everything this creature was and had, she shook gently. “My name is Mariana Woods,” she said slowly, almost stammering with nerves, “And it is my pleasure.”

He raised his goblet to her with a small smile, and inclined his head. Mariana, suddenly shy and overwhelmed, lowered her head. She took a bite of the cake. It was sweeter than anything she had ever had.