There was a Vampire Order consulate in most major cities around the globe and Los Angeles was no exception. After leaving Fiona to her latest training session with Mallory, I retrieved my Land Rover and headed toward the city. There was never a good time to drive into LA during the day, so I prepared myself for the agonizing slow-moving traffic.

When I had made the appointment, I’d learned that the regional consul I’d met years ago, Bertram Lovell, was no longer there. His successor was Gideon Brent, a name I had never heard before. He didn’t seem to be very familiar with me either, which was probably a good thing.

I parked in an underground lot in the heart of downtown, then walked a few blocks to the small shop where the consulate was located. The skyscrapers were blocking out most of the sun as twilight approached. Most of the business people were hurrying to get home or to happy hour. Many of those left loitering on the sidewalks were vagrants preparing for the night.

I entered a street-level entrance of one of the downtown high-rises, then continued through a small door with a sign overhead that said, “Books Aren’t Dead!” The B.A.D. Bookstore was an eclectic, eccentric shop of used books and collectibles. There were monuments and furniture all constructed from old hardbacks, and mazes of bookshelves. Several specialty vault doors could be found around the perimeter of the shop, which led to themed rooms.

Suitably, the horror vault was where I needed to go. Once it was free of patrons, I stepped inside and pulled the vault door closed. A lock on the inside kept more patrons from venturing in. An antique chandelier hung overhead, the key to reaching the consul. I tugged on the chandelier and the chain extended a few inches, which caused one of the bookcases to slide to the side and reveal a secret staircase.

The staircase wasn’t lit, but I could see just fine as I descended into the underground. When I reached the bottom, I entered a small waiting room with the consul’s executive assistant. The doorway to the consul’s office lay just beyond the assistant’s desk. The only frame to adorn the wall had a picture of a crow flying through an oversized full moon and the maxim: “Corvus oculum corvi non eruit.”

A crow will not pull out the eye of another crow.

The maxim was the sole visual identifier that this was a Vampire Order consulate. Everything else about the waiting room was bare. The Order operated under the guise that vampires should work together and look out for one another, but of course, that wasn’t true. The Order was just as corrupt and propelled by self-interest as any governing entity.

“I’m Matthew Mercer and I have an eight o’clock appointment. I know I’m early and would appreciate it if Gideon could see me before my appointed time,” I said to the young male assistant. He almost looked too young to be a vampire, but I knew a human wouldn’t be allowed to work in a vampire consulate.

“Come in, Mr. Mercer. Come in,” bellowed a deep voice from the office.

“I guess, Mr. Brent will see you now,” the assistant said, but I was already on my way into the office.

The man sitting behind the desk was large, with suitably large features, had shiny black hair, and was wearing a blue pinstriped suit. His dark lavender tie was loosened so the top button of his shirt could be undone. His cheeks reminded me of those from a hound dog and his smile was shark-like and sharp. A smoking cigar sat in an ashtray; he reached for it upon seeing me.

“Mr. Mercer. Mr. Mercer. How may I be of assistance, my dear boy?” the large man boomed boisterously. “Please, shut the door.”

I did as he requested and took a seat across from him in one of two leather chairs. “Some human friends of mine have been targeted by Order peacekeepers and I’m here to appeal for their safety.”

“I’ve reviewed your file. Matthew Mercer. Catherine Mercer was your maker; you were turned in 1950 at 21 years old. I assume you took her name, even though there is no documentation of the two of you being married.”

“That is correct,” I said. “She was killed before we could wed.”

“Before becoming a vampire, you were convicted of killing two teenagers and committed to Sisters of Mercy Psychiatric Hospital, which was where you met Catherine Mercer. To reintegrate with human society, I assume it was suggested you change your name.”

“Yes. It was best to leave my old identity behind.”

“You were born Matthew Sanders, son of Richard and Lily Sanders, from Tucson, Arizona, both of whom died in an automobile accident in 1947.”

“Also correct,” I said, even though that whole part of my backstory had been fabricated, so it didn’t look like I’d appeared out of thin air when the Order came digging. When I’d been arrested in 1949, I’d seemed like a raving lunatic with no history. But once I was sentenced to Sisters of Mercy—thanks to Frederick—the human correctional system seemed to completely forget about me. Once I was turned into a vampire and learned about the Order, it seemed important to finalize a plausible past.

“You now own and operate Sisters of Mercy, the place where you were once held, and you are an alleged member of the infamous True North Society. You have no prior strikes to your vampire record and have been in good standing for the past half a century.” He looked up at me. “Good job. Besides the potential connection to the True North Society, it seems you have an exemplary record. Though I would like to get confirmation regarding your involvement with the True North Society.”

“Maybe I don’t want that confirmed in my record,” I said.

“Then what about man to man?” He was going to be insistent, I could tell.

When I thought about how much time was left, it almost wasn’t worth fighting to keep the secret any longer. What were we hiding from anymore? Just because people learned we officially existed, didn’t mean we’d lose the power and connections amassed over the past decades. We were too close to the end. It simply didn’t matter anymore.

“Yes, I am one of the founding members of the True North Society,” I finally said.

“Not just a member, but a founding member,” Gideon chuckled. “I suppose you’ve kept your plate pretty full. I have an important man in my midst.”

“Not that important.”

“You do realize the True North Society is accused of multiple vampire assassinations over the years, though the members have been elusive. Now you’re confirming you’re one of them?” Gideon’s laughter was gone now, replaced by a cold, hard stare.

“We have our interests, the same as you,” I said. “We are not murderers.”

“And now you want to appeal for the safety of some of your human friends… It seems your loyalties are deeply divided. Do you side with your secret society or your kind?”

“That’s not a simple answer,” I said. “I regularly help my kind, which is a big part of Sisters of Mercy.”

“And the Order thanks you for your service—along with your regular and timely payments,” Gideon said, his expression softening again.

“But I am also loyal to the secret society I built, determined to keep my members safe.”

“A minute ago, you said you were one of the founders, and now you’re saying you are the one who built it. How integral are you to its genesis?”

“I was its genesis,” I stated, boldly.

“So, a vampire started the elusive True North Society.” Gideon rocked back in his chair and took a big puff from his cigar. “That is something the Order would be interested in learning.”

“Can my friends be granted amnesty?”

“Who are your friends, so I can look into why they were targeted?” Gideon set the cigar back in the ashtray and scooted his laptop closer.

“Susan and Fiona Winter,” I said.

Gideon began typing away at the keyboard while I sat back and waited—impatiently. I wanted to know why Susan was targeted but was confident he wouldn’t provide that information to me, though I planned to ask anyway.

“Seems your friend Susan has gotten herself into a fair amount of trouble,” Gideon said, finally looking up from his screen.

“What has she done?” I asked.

“She has quite a bit of outstanding debt and is suspected of killing a peacekeeper.”

“Why on earth would she have any debt to the Order?”

“That’s what you’re concerned about? We’re more concerned with the disappearance of Martin Harner. Are you familiar with him?”

“What if I told you it wasn’t Susan who killed him,” I said, feeling my heartbeat speed up as the consul’s dark eyes bore into me.

“I’m listening,” Gideon said, leaning forward and steepling his hands. “Who might have done such a thing?”

“I did,” I blurted out without hesitation. “I did so not knowing he was a peacekeeper for the Order. He was going after Susan’s daughter Fiona—who was innocent—in an attempt to get Susan’s attention. I didn’t learn who Martin actually was until it was too late.”

“I see. Anything else you’d like to confess?”

I swallowed hard, a part of me feeling I was signing my own death warrant yet understanding enough of the future to know I wouldn’t die today. “There was another peacekeeper investigating Martin’s disappearance. He also intended to kill Fiona to send a message to Susan. I killed him before he was able to do so.”

“And you knew he was a peacekeeper before you killed him,” Gideon said, coldly.

I nodded. “And that is truly why I am here. To plead amnesty for my friends and put myself at the mercy of the Order.”

“You do realize how serious this is, do you not?”

“I do.”

“And this all began due to outstanding debt, which has yet to be paid.”

“If the Order will allow, I will pay the outstanding debt. Just tell me what is owed.”

“It’s no meager sum of money.”

“I can come up with it,” I insisted.

Gideon reached for his cigar and took another long drag, rocking as he contemplated everything discussed. His face revealed very little and was soon veiled in a cloud of smoke, giving him a sinister aura.

“Your clean record until now will not be overlooked. These are serious requests and infractions, but I think the Order will also be interested to hear about your connection to the True North Society.” Gideon paused to scratch his stubbly face. “I will plead your case to the Order and then contact you with their decision. Until then, any further action against Susan and Fiona will be suspended.”

I knew that was the best I could hope for and let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I didn’t have to worry about any more official attacks against Fiona and her mother until my fate had been decided. That bought me some much-needed time—though how much, I didn’t know. Judging by Assembly meetings, I had several days to a week. Hopefully, that would be enough time to secure Fiona’s and Susan’s safety regardless of the outcome.

“Thank you, Mr. Brent,” I said, stood up, and offered my hand. “I’ll eagerly await your call.”