We are barely out of the shower and only half-dressed when there is an angry knocking at the door. It sounds like whoever is knocking is about to break down the door and could easily do it. Damon’s hair is still wet, and he’s not fully dressed, but he walks casually to the door, holding his gun, and looks through the peephole as I towel dry my hair and watch from the bedroom door.

“It’s Vincent,” he says, not sounding pleased.

“Well, let him in,” I say, surprised Vincent didn’t decide to go through Damon’s balcony like he had mine.

Damon opens the door and Vincent is standing there, looking pissed. He lets out a hiss, showing his fangs at Damon before he spots me and tries to make himself look more human.

“I see you two have been keeping busy in a time of crisis,” he snarls.

“Jealous?” Damon says, always there to poke the bear with a stick.

My cheeks flush because I know that Vincent is completely aware of what Damon and I were just doing. He still just stands in the doorway without barging inside like I expect him to.

“Aren’t you going to come in?” I ask.

“I can’t,” he says, the frustration showing on his face.

“My door has runes on it; nothing supernatural can enter. Faye blessed the door for me so I don’t have to worry about uninvited visitors,” Damon says, not hiding the glee from his voice.

“It’s most annoying.”

“Could your apartment keep Elric out?” I ask.

“Yes, but that doesn’t keep him from harming others,” Damon says with some reluctance. He knows what we have to do, and neither of us looks forward to it.

“We need to talk and form a plan,” I say. “I think that means we need to go into my apartment.”

I don’t want to go in there. Damon comes to my side and squeezes my hand. I towards the door and Vincent, who is looking as arrogant as he can manage. He won’t look me in the eye, and I’m at once okay with that and also slightly disturbed. Somehow I feel sorry for Vincent, and I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t feel badly for a vampire, but something deep inside of me wants to reach out and embrace him. He’s not doing a good job of hiding all his emotions, and I can sense an undercurrent of jealousy beneath his masked face.

“Does he keep the nightmares away?” he asks quietly when I come close to him.

“We weren’t exactly sleeping in there,” I say, trying to be cheeky, but that damn blood rises to my cheeks. Vincent’s hand hovers at the door like there is an invisible force field there. He wants to touch me; a part of me wants him to. Damon is suddenly behind me, putting his arm around my waist, drawing me to him as if marking me as his property. I don’t like that. I pull away, walking through the door and brushing past Vincent.

“Come on, we don’t have much time before he kills again,” I say as I head towards my apartment, and the two men follow me.

When I open my front door, Vincent freezes, one foot over the threshold, looking around as if seeing things no human eye could. Then he looks at me, and I can see him struggling with his emotions again before looking down at the floor.

“I am sorry. I did little to protect you. I didn’t think he would come if you weren’t here.” His words come out a rasp. The apology is heartfelt, and I feel like I should acknowledge it, but I don’t know what to say. I touch his shoulder instead. He looks up at me, and there are tears in his eyes. I can almost see the human he was.

“His death will be apology enough,” I say softly.

Vincent gives a curt nod and stands up straighter. Damon is busy laying out all sorts of weapons on my kitchen table. Swords, knives, guns. On the blades, he begins to pour some of the holy water from Faye, which makes Vincent hiss and take a step back.

“You two have a plan then,” he says.

“Yeah. We talked to a witch today. Apparently, I can call up the girls Elric has killed, and they’ll lead me to him. I don’t have to be asleep to do it. I just need to say their names,” I tell him.

“So you’ll be going straight to the werewolf?” Vincent asks.

“With you two as backup,” I say.

“I do not like this plan,” he addresses Damon.

“Neither do I, but nothing else has worked,” Damon says. “He killed her dog to get at her, who knows who he will go for next?”

“I want the nightmares to stop,” I say.

That gets Vincent. He starts pacing my apartment. It’s difficult for my eyes to follow his movements. He is moving so quickly he seems to blur. He’s not working on acting human, or maybe he’s just displaying to Damon how powerful he is.

“Stop,” I tell him. He freezes mid-step and looks back at me.

“You’re making me dizzy watching you.”

“So your plan is that we let Amy take us to Elric, then we both work to kill him,” Vincent says.

“Our plan,” I interject.

“You are not equipped to fight a werewolf,” Vincent says. “When the fight starts you run.”

“I’m not a runner,” I protest.

“He’s right, Amy, because if he catches you—”

“He has us as well. He’s found a weakness and he will draw it out. I would prefer locking you in Damon’s apartment and hunting him down,” Vincent says.

“But you can’t find him,” I say.

“No, I can’t, which is the only reason I’m letting you do this.”

Letting me do this? Well, apparently his arrogance is back. I hate that he is talking about me like I’m just property of his, a little toy that intrigues him, that he doesn’t want to get broken. But then again, he’s a vampire, and I’m just dinner.

“Are we all okay with this so we can start the hunt?” Damon says as he starts to place the blades on him. The sword is strapped to his back. He has two guns at his waist, with a clip full of silver bullets. I’m not sure where all the knives have disappeared to.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” I say, but my gut begins to sink. I feel a tingle of fear crawl up my spine. I’m about to do something truly dangerous with only police training and a few days’ exposure to the supernatural. It seems wildly insufficient. I’ve never even killed an animal before, never hurt a human, and here I am about to go out and slaughter a werewolf. Looking at both Damon and Vincent, I imagine they will do the majority of the slaughtering. I just have to believe in their abilities.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and the visions of those dead girls come easily. I reach out a hand to one in my mind and say her name.

“Jane,” it comes out a weak whisper. The room suddenly becomes icy. I watch both men tense up. I open my eyes, and there she is before me, a decaying angel.

“You must free us,” she says.

“I’m trying. You have to take me where he is,” I say.

“Is she here?” Damon asks.

“Something is here,” Vincent mutters.

“I will show you, but I cannot help you,” she says. She reaches out a hand that is skeletal, rotted, with tendons clinging to it. Why do the ghosts of the dead seem to decay quicker than their actual bodies? It is a question I will have to ask Faye another day.

I take Jane’s hand, and I feel her veins wrap tightly up my wrist like snakes. I try to pull back, but I can’t move. She begins to walk, and I am forced to follow, my two guards trailing behind me, though it is only Damon’s steps I hear.

“Help us,” Jane whispers as the cold chill of death makes a hole in my heart.