A loud slapping sound woke Veronica, and she jerked upright on the couch, startled. She cocked her head, listening for the arcane sound to repeat itself but nothing came.

  Moving her head from side to side, she stretched her neck. A sharp pain in her back reminded her why she should have slept in the bed last night.

  The apartment building, Palm Oaks (once a shoe factory that fell victim to a wave of new development) sat facing the bank of the Mississippi River. She’d considered a larger apartment, but the river view kept her there, despite the fact that in only a few days, she felt she’d outgrown the tiny space.

  She released an audible breath as she turned her head to look out of the window. The leaves on the trees that banked the edge of the river were in the middle of changing colors. Her gaze drifted near the red asphalt bike path to the old gazebo. Now weather beaten, its white paint cracked and peeled at the edges. Its once detailed walls were non-existent, destroyed by the harsh Minnesota weather.

  Yep, I’m in a great location.

  The apartment building was also located near many of the dance clubs and bars littering downtown Hennepin Avenue. The area seemed perfect for her. At night, the street came alive with tourists and Minneapolis citizens crowding the sidewalks along with young adults who bar hopped to relieve themselves from the job pressures of corporate America.

  Hennepin Avenue ran the length of two miles from east to west, beginning at the bank of the river and ending near the freeway. Its warehouse district rested near the eastern edge, close to Dark Sepulcher. With huge, boarded up vacant buildings, the district felt desolate and quiet until nightfall; except for the occasional police sirens in the distance. It agitated her that many of the buildings, part of original downtown Minneapolis, was shamefully left to rot in disrepair. Finally, the city decided to renovate half of the buildings, turning them into condominiums and businesses instead of tearing them down.

  Veronica stretched her arms overhead, then reached for the remote control on her coffee table and flicked on the TV. In her still groggy state, she paused on a breaking story about a house fire near the warehouse district. The camera crew panned on the ruins of the destroyed home behind the newscaster. The report showed a crowd gathering across the street from the fire, watching smoke escape into the sky from smoldering pieces of wood and debris.

  Before coming to San Diego, her best friend, Sean warned her about the fires. The Deamhan in Minneapolis now violated their Dictum— basic rules laid down by their ancestors centuries ago on how to survive in the human world without risking your privacy. Now they had turned a total one eighty from their rules which were simple, yet explicit: maintain secrecy, dispose of human remains, and respect the Ancients, the oldest of the Deamhan.

  She finally pulled herself from the couch. The bright sunlight crept through her window and blinded her. She twisted the window blinds to block the rays and smiled to hear and see the birds chirping outside her window. When she opened the window, the smell of wet leaves and dew entered her nostrils. Below, the sidewalk came alive with cyclists and rollerbladers. The Jubilee Coffee shop across the street spilled its patrons onto the sidewalk. The clear blue sky showed nary a cloud.

  “This is the Minnesota I remember,” she spoke to herself. “Beautiful scenery, ten thousand lakes…and Deamhan and vampires.”

  She wiped the morning sweat from her forehead. She thought about Sean Fechin, her best and only friend in The Brotherhood. He secured the secret documents about the Deamhan for her and supported her decision to go to Minneapolis. She yearned to hear his voice.

  She pulled the cell phone from her coat pocket and dialed his number.

  “So now you call,” he answered.

  “It’s only been a couple of days.”

  “Three, to be precise. Besides, you told me as soon as you arrived in Minneapolis you’d call.”

  She remembered. Their short conversation about her trip became clear as though it had happened yesterday. “Well, I had to get settled first.” She headed for the kitchen. “I still haven’t unpacked everything yet.”

  “What do you have to unpack? It’s not like you’re staying there forever.”

  “So now you’re my self-appointed protector.” The noise of rustling papers and Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon rebounded from the ear piece. “I thought you didn’t like Pink Floyd?”

  “What makes you think that? I’ve always like Floyd.” He grunted. “So, how is it up there?”

  “So far, so good”—she opened the door of her fridge to retrieve a carton of orange juice from the top shelf. “I guess.”

  “And Dark Sepulcher? Was it like I said it would be?”

  “Uh, I went last night.” She heard his audible gasp across the miles.

  “I thought you were going to wait a couple of weeks.”

  “I was, but I changed my mind.” She heard more clattering in the background.

  Sean lowered his voice. “So, what happened in there?”

  “They were everywhere.” She pulled an empty glass from the cabinet. “You should’ve come with me, Sean. It was unbelievable.”

  “I’m sure it was but you know I don’t have the stomach for that.”

  Veronica knew all too well. He didn’t plan to head out into the field as a researcher. He avoided danger like the plague. He was most comfortable sitting behind a desk.

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  “You know I don’t want to be anywhere near them.”

  “Yeah, you don’t have to tell me twice.” She heard the twinge of excitement in his voice. She pictured him sitting in a dark enclosed office, his back to the wall, his hand cupping his mouth, and his eyebrows raised in elation. “Well, I really didn’t think they’d let me in.”

  “They? The Deamhan?”

  “And the vampires.”

  “Well, did anyone recognize you?”

  “One Deamhan accused me of being a researcher”—she poured herself a glass of juice from the pitcher in the fridge— “so yes, I think they recognized me.”

  Everything she knew of Dark Sepulcher came from Sean’s excellent ability to obtain secret Brotherhood files. He’d taught her that the building that housed Dark Sepulcher had been through many facelifts in the past: a bar, a theatre, a hotel, and even a house of ill repute. Its vibrant history placed the building and surrounding structures in the historic district of Minneapolis. The building still maintained the look of an old two level warehouse, complete with a small upper level and fire escape stairs on the outside. It had been his suggestion that she begin her research there. He’d told her it was common knowledge that no researcher had ever stepped inside the venue. While there, they’d avoided the building at all costs.

  “You think so? Who was it? What happened? Were you hurt?” He shot questions as fast as pellets fired from a gun.

  Veronica sipped from her glass. “I should’ve been more prepared. I should’ve studied the documents you gave me.”

  “You didn’t read over them?”

  “Yeah I did, but not enough to remember everything.”

  “Veronica, you promised me you would.” His voice grew solemn. “You need to be more careful and more prepared.”

  “I’m fine.” She heaved a sigh. “But I think I’m going to need some more information.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “One of them, the Deamhan who accused me, went by the name of Remy. I recognized the name but I was wondering if you could find more information on him.”

  “Like his history?”

  “Yes, his history, anything you can. I’ll gladly take.”

  Sean hesitated. “It’s—it’s not going to be easy. They’re revamping the Archives here and moving the majority of the files to a secured location until they’re done.”

  The Brotherhood Archive was the most impressive part of the San Diego headquarters. It housed old researcher accounts about the Deamhan in the western hemisphere and other relics from past centuries. She reserved to comment, knowing her father used his position as President of the Midwest Region and his influence to keep every information they had secretive and hidden. It boggled her mind. Of course, it wasn’t coincidental that they decided to revamp the place just when she needed access to the information.

  “But that’s where you come in, Sean. You can get almost anything.”

  “Well, that might change,” his voice softened to a whisper.

  “What—what do you mean ‘it might change’?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. Let’s see. Remy, right?”

  “And Alexis. She’s a vampire.”

  “A vampire.” He blew out a pent up breath. “A vampire and a Deamhan at a club together? I thought they couldn’t stand each other.”

  “Well, they can’t, from what I saw.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll get started.” His voice suddenly took on a pleasant, professional tone. She heard more muffled sounds and the muted voice of a man in the background.

  “Veronica, I gotta go. Let me in on the inside scoop when you call back. You are going to call me back tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “And Veronica,” Sean said softly, “keep your cell on and be careful.”

  “I will.”

  “You should stay away from that club for a few days at least.”

  She glanced at the television. “Yeah, I have some sanctuary hunting to do. Bye for now.” She snapped her cell phone shut and sipped her OJ.

  ###

  “Who was that?”

  Sean rolled his brown eyes and he looked away from Kenneth Dearhorn. He refused to say Veronica’s name. He replaced his phone in the cradle, turned down the volume on the radio, and leaned back in his leather office chair, a gift from Veronica’s father.

  “I came here to tell you to not worry about Rick’s eulogy.” Kenneth leaned against the edge of his desk and he picked up his electric pencil sharpener, examining it.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m writing it.”

  Sean gripped the Styrofoam cup in his hand and brought it to his lips. The coffee had turned lukewarm. His eyes fixed on Kenneth’s tall medium build body and the mischievous smile overshadowing his hazel eyes.

  “I want to know how you managed to get Mr. Austin to approve for you to write a eulogy,” Sean asked, “especially since you didn’t even know Rick.”

  “No, you can’t know.”

  He wanted to smack Kenneth’s smile off his face. Scattered papers and desk memos about the recent increase of Deamhan activity in San Diego, and a report about the recent death of Rick Sorfield littered his large office desk.

  Rick’s body was found underneath the inner pass of the Interstate 5 freeway in Chula Vista. Large fire ants had eaten away his eyes, and larva filled his ears. His throat had been slashed, and his body was drained of blood. They’d identified him by dental records because his face was unrecognizable.

  Sean knew Rick. Unlike the majority of researchers, Rick didn’t have family in the organization. After being viciously attacked and nearly killed by a Deamhan, he’d decided to join The Brotherhood. They had competed for the more lucrative desk position after their formal graduation. He landed the job, and Rick ended up as a field researcher. He’d only been on the job six months before his murder.

  He breathed heavily. “Congratulations, I guess.” His friend didn’t deserve to die and this asshole has no right to write his eulogy.

  “I came here to see if you have any ideas on what should be in Rick’s eulogy.”

  “You can’t be fucking serious.”

  “Rick was Brotherhood. He was family.” Kenneth stood up and he walked around to the other side of the desk. “I might not have known him as good as you may have. However, I want to do my best in representing his legacy, if you know what I mean.”

  Sean rolled his eyes. There wasn’t anything he could do except agree. Kenneth held the lead researcher and he was the personal favorite of the President of the Western Division. Disagreeing or failing to participate meant disobeying his orders and nothing was worse than working in the backroom, filing paperwork and handing out mail for the remaining of his career. He had to play along, for now.

  He forced himself to smile. “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “Good.” Kenneth placed his hands on his hips. “Also, don’t leave after the funeral. Mr. Austin has asked to speak to you privately.”

  “Me?”

  Kenneth nodded. “So be on your best behavior.” He leaned over and whispered, “I know you were talking to Mr. Austin’s daughter.”

  Sean placed his fingers on the back of his head and he leaned back in his chair. “Now, why would she call me?”

  Kenneth laughed. “Why wouldn’t she call you? You’re her best friend. You know I’m going to find out anyway so you might as well tell me now.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “What would Mr. Austin think if he knew you were helping his daughter?” He straightened his jacket. “Just food for thought.” He gracefully walked out of the room.

  Sean rested his head on his desk. He tried to clear his mind. He knew the way Kenneth worked. He was sure that he already told his superiors about Veronica.

  He wished he had the courage to be there with her, in the mix, delving into hands on research, coming face-to-face with a Deamhan. He yearned for the experience but his fear of the environment dampened his desire.

  He turned up his radio, catching the intro of Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb.” He could relate. From his office window, he watched the cars rushing down the freeway below. “She’d better call me back,” he muttered to himself.

  The sun’s rays blinded his eyes. Another California day, gone.