Betty was stunning, if one were to describe her like a gentleman should: tall, long-legged, slender, dark-haired, with a sweet face and little devils dancing in her brown eyes beneath long lashes. And if we drop the gentlemanly pretence… well, Betty had an arse to die for, and breasts like, well, I don't have much to compare with, but among the ones I had touched, hers were the firmest by far.

And Betty also came with very vivid associations, of bedroom joys. I hadn't actually got to experience that for… well. In fact, I hadn't had any since she dumped me.

Oh, hell. Not now. Not now.

My self-control wavered, and I felt a flush of desire surge up from deep inside.

"So," she said coyly, glancing toward the dancefloor where Ellie and Finella were spinning around, "have you found someone? The redhead or the brunette?"

"Just friends."

"Oh, sure," she smirked. "That's very convincing."

"It's the truth."

Why was I defending myself? Damn it, stop that. Here I go again — dancing to her tune. Haven't I learned anything?

"Do you fancy asking a girl to dance?"

Yes! Yes, and everything that came after it too!

And then what? Rinse and repeat.

Betty had one trait I'd always struggled with, she chased status. She would've made a fine warlok, but her spiritual heart never responded, no matter how many years she spent meditating. And for an ungifted girl in this world, options were limited. Marriage was one of them. I was barely seventeen when she was already picking out baby names. And now that I was eighteen, I still wasn't ready for any of that. Wouldn't be for at least five more years. On this one, I was taking cues from Burke. He was twenty-three, travelling the world, and not even thinking about settling down.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I managed to say, ignoring the scream of protest from my libido. "You do remember what a terrible dancer I am."

Betty didn't get a chance to answer, another body barged into the conversation.

"You talkin' to my girl, you twat?"

John Kink, direct descendant of old man Kink, was drunk as a lord. Wobbling on his feet, bloodshot eyes glaring from beneath heavy brows, and reeking of rye moonshine. Clearly, punch hadn't been his only drink of the evening.

"Johnny, piss off!" Betty snapped.

"I'm not after your girl, Kink," I said mildly, raising both hands. "We were just talking."

He didn't believe me. Or maybe that didn't matter anymore. He lunged to shove me, missed, got tangled in his own feet, and crashed to the floor. From there, he continued cursing me with gusto.

"Pathetic," Betty muttered.

I didn't like that. Truth be told, I understood the poor sod. I'd had my own dose of tears and misery after our breakup, kept well hidden from everyone except Logan. Speaking of, where the hell was he?

I bent down to haul John to his feet, but he yanked away with a shout of "Get your filthy hands off me!" and promptly landed back on the floor. By now, we'd gathered quite the audience. Enough that the elders decided to step in.

"What's going on here?" asked Albert Logg, pushing through the crowd.

"He's nicking my girlfriend!" John bellowed from the floor, jabbing a finger at me.

I raised my hands again, palms out.

"I wasn't even trying."

"There's been rather a lot of you lately, Kinkaid," said Logg, narrowing his eyes.

"At least this time he's not being accused of murder," someone muttered.

"Ah, standard stuff," Simon added, turning up just in time. "We already got banned from one club in Farnell because of him."

"Need I remind you who started that fight?" I asked.

Honestly, Simon and his bloody mouth.

Finella gave him a quick, well-earned cuff to the back of the head, partially salvaging the situation.

"They banned us from The Tear because of you," she said.

"And if it weren't for Duncan," added Ellie, "that warlock would've scraped you off the floor like jam."

"Albert," I said, "just look at him."

John finally managed to get to his feet and gave himself a sloppy dust-off. Albert grabbed him by the collar and marched him out of the barn like a sack of grain.

"Home. Now. You drunkard."

The crowd began to disperse. Only a few of us lingered: close friends, a couple of dancers, Sally, and the lads who'd been paired with the girls. Simon had apparently lost his partner somewhere in the scuffle.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" Ellie asked, casting an appraising look at Betty.

"Betty McLal, these are my friends: Ellie Sheridan, Finella Flower, Simon Kettle."

I skipped the titles. We weren't at a formal reception, and besides, only the baronet had one to boast about.

"So what was all the fuss about?" Ellie asked.

Her dance partner, Charlie Kinkaid, filled her in. No real cousin of mine, our shared blood probably dated back centuries, but the surname stuck.

"John thought Betty was getting back together with Duncan."

"Oh really?" Ellie said, glancing at me. "You never mentioned that."

"Duncan's a gentleman," Betty chimed in, folding her arms just below her chest, pushing it up even higher. "He doesn't gossip idly. He only shares secrets with people truly close to him. Looks like you're not that close."

"I wouldn't say that," Simon cut in with a nasty smirk. "Especially after her birthday, when..."

Finella stomped hard on the toe of his shoe. The baronet let out a wail and began performing a one-legged hop that was almost impressive. Not quite Ellie's level, but close.

"You broke my bloody toes, you maniac!"

"I warned you several times not to run your mouth. Not my fault it's the only way you listen."

"Well now I'm curious," Betty said brightly. "What did happen at your birthday party?"

She gave me the big-eyed, innocent look.

"Loads of things," I said. "Barbecue. Club. Pub…"

Stolen story; please report.

I held her gaze, kept my face blank, even though the memory of the brothel made my heart beat faster. Ellie wasn't quite as composed, her face flushed bright red.

"Sounds like quite the night," Betty murmured. She could tell I wasn't about to elaborate, so she cast one last line into the water.

"Seems Farnell knows how to have fun. Maybe I'll drop by sometime."

I didn't answer. That was the last kind of guest I needed turning up in Farnell.

Betty held the silence for a beat, then smiled sweetly.

"Well, it was nice catching up, Duncan. Let's do it again sometime. Don't mope, go enjoy yourself." With that, she spun and sauntered back to the dance floor.

Charlie invited Ellie for another dance, but she was still blushing and politely declined. Sally, quick on the uptake, linked arms with both girls and led them outside for some "fresh air."

Simon, without ceremony, flopped half his bodyweight against my shoulder for support. He slipped off his shoe and started poking at his injured toes.

"Did you see that? Crazy woman! Hm… Doesn't feel broken."

"Shame," I muttered.

"Alright, what is it now? Look, the rest of them might not notice, but we both know she's into you. You were her first…"

I spun around sharply, and Simon's hand slipped off my shoulder. He had to put his injured foot down to steady himself, which led to a fresh round of hopping and swearing.

"Oh, you big damn hero, that's what you are!" he shouted. "Her first hero, ever since that little hunt in the slums."

"How do you know about that?"

"We brought it up at her birthday, in the pub," Kettle replied, grabbing my shoulder again as he started wriggling his shoe back on.

"What hunt?" asked Charlie and a few of the others.

"Vampire messing about," said Simon. "Duncan took him down."

"Enough with the stories," I cut in.

"Story? This isn't a story! Getting out of that vampire lair, that's a bloody story!"

"Simon!"

"The clan should know its heroes! So, picture this..."

"I'm not joking!"

"Mate!" Simon flung an arm around my shoulders, turned me around, and fished something from his pocket. He handed me a torn scrap of paper.

It's necessary.

Signed — Bryce

"I know what not to talk about," Kettle assured me solemnly.

I rolled my eyes and told the lads to treat Simon's tale like a recruiter's promise and a free drink, never at face value. I didn't stick around to hear the rest; my nerves were fraying. I needed fresh air too.

Outside, I found the girls easily. A group of lads was smoking nearby, but one glare from my cousin was enough to keep them at bay. Did I want to approach? I wasn't sure anymore.

Uncle had hinted something about Ellie's feelings for me. I'd thought he was joking, so I ignored it. Then came the vampires, study, all the rest. And now Betty had proven that physical needs were a thing. But Ellie, she wasn't Betty. She was a proper lady and a gifted shifter. She could handle a cleaver…

And right now, I didn't want a lady. Definitely not a lady. Even that redhead from the brothel in Pubset would do. Simon probably knew better places, but asking him would be risky. He'd either blab or try blackmail.

Maybe I should visit Betty?

No — bad idea. Nothing but trouble down that path. Must be nice, being like other lads — date one, sleep with another, no guilt at all. But I couldn't do that. If I started something, I'd have to commit. Probably for ages.

Still, I walked over to the girls. Would've felt rude just standing there staring. But standing with them and saying nothing was just as awkward. And it got even worse once we went back into the barn.

We knew something was off the moment one of the smokers called to his mates not to miss the show. Simon had gathered a huge crowd. Bloody hell, he even dragged in the musicians, they'd stopped playing just to hear him.

"And then Duncan goes, and I remind you, he's in nothing but boots, rest of his gear's torn to shreds, and he says: 'Take off your jacket and shirt.'"

The barn roared with laughter. Simon basked in it and carried on.

"I was a bit worried, to be honest, but he convinced me it was just to cover himself. He ties 'em round like a kilt, makes grenades out of stones and reservoirs, and off we go — to save the children."

"You're skipping ahead," I cut in. "If I recall, there was still an operation to remove the shard."

"Oh, that wasn't important."

"It was hilarious, though," I said. "Baronet Kettle took a stone shard to the arse and spent the whole mission holding one cheek in with his hand —"

Another wave of laughter exploded across the room.

"Had to cut it out! Oh, and did he mention the part where he slept with the nest's Mother?"

The last comment had a mixed effect on the younger crowd: some admired the boldness, others called it idiocy, and a few didn't believe it at all. Simon tried to deny it, but the girls backed the story in perfect harmony. He then claimed he had a few things to say about them, but that line of attack was cut short when Finella conjured a fireball in her palm and Ellie's eyes flared, just as she pulled a cleaver from beneath her skirt.

Simon wisely decided to return to telling my story. He told it in full, and I have to admit, he made me look like a proper hero. Probably what my uncle had asked him to do. I wonder what Bryce promised him in return.

It's hard to say how the night would've ended, because all of a sudden, Simon became everyone's new best friend. For some of the details he let slip, the crowd looked ready to keep him drunk till morning. Even the disapproving ones couldn't help but be curious: what was sex like with a vampire who'd lived for more than three hundred years?

To prevent an extended, consequence-laden binge, the elders eventually escorted us home themselves.

"What did Uncle promise you?" I asked.

"Thirty times watching Clap."

Clap was a rather tricky short-range teleportation spell. The caster's figure would be wrapped in a web of fine electric arcs, and the next step would launch them straight ahead in a blink, provided nothing blocked the path. Sometimes, one Clap was all it took to end a fight. It had certainly been enough for Valentine.

I didn't think thirty viewings would be enough for Simon to master it, but even so, it was bound to help. Sorcerers understood magic differently from warlocks and wizards.

I was planning to start the next morning at noon, but Uncle had other ideas. He showed up before sunrise, pulled up in the pickup, bypassed the warding spell like it wasn't there, came up to the second floor, and shook me awake.

At first, I didn't believe it was really him. I reached under my pillow for the pistol, but he disarmed me in a flash, shoved a small pot of Aunt Ellie's stew into my hands, and gave me five minutes to make it disappear.

Ten minutes later, I was dressed in a workman's coverall and rubber farmer's boots.

"You're off to see Sean," Uncle said. "Then on to the burial site. Dig up the vampire's corpse, get it into the crate, bring it back to the lab."

"Where does he live?"

"Fifty-nine Donald Street."

"Which district?" I asked. Avoc wasn't exactly a village, and I wasn't a cabbie who knew every address by heart.

"Vogeltown."

"Why me?"

"You wanted to be involved, here's your chance."

More like everyone else who knew about the problem was busy. Uncle was keeping things close to the chest, and this was grunt work. No need for special skills, just hands.

"Cheers," I muttered.

"Don't dawdle. We've got general drills this afternoon."

That made my ears perk up. Clan-wide drills were held about once a year, to make sure everyone knew their role, listened to their commander, didn't get in the way, and stayed sharp. But this time, the energy felt different. Something was brewing. I could feel it in my gut.

Before stepping outside, I instinctively activated my rear-view spell, standard practice by now. I kept a constant awareness of what was behind me. It had become a habit and no longer triggered headaches. Just a glance or two every couple of minutes, without even turning my head. The rear window of the pickup made it easier; much better than mirrors, really.

I'd barely crossed the district line when a cab latched onto me — too obviously to be covert surveillance. At that early hour, the streets were mostly deserted, just milkmen, postmen, and the usual delivery vans. I took four tight turns in a row just to be sure. The cab vanished after the third. I did another loop, saw nothing, and continued toward Vogeltown.

Despite his family issues, Sean Feron clearly wasn't hurting for money. His house was a tidy two-storey brick place with a greener-than-average lawn, no doubt magically enhanced. A newspaper tied with string and a couple of milk bottles sat on the porch. I hadn't even come to a full stop when Sean stepped outside, dressed in a matching work coverall with a satchel slung over his shoulder. He quietly locked the door behind him.

Instead of climbing into the passenger seat, he waved me off and took the wheel himself. I didn't argue. Better than being told what to do at every corner.

Sean did a small circuit of the neighbourhood before turning back onto the road I'd arrived on. A cab passed us going the opposite direction. We brushed past each other without incident, but I couldn't help myself.

"Do cabs usually crawl all over Avoc this early in the morning?"

"Half six," Sean said. "Prime time for cabs. Soon you won't be able to swing a stick without hitting one. You were supposed to arrive earlier."

"I thought one might've tailed me."

Sean slammed the brakes and twisted to face me.

"Thought it might have, or it did?!"

"I don't know. It vanished after three turns."

"We're not going anywhere!" he snapped, and swung the pickup around.

"What do you mean, not going?!"

"I need to be sure you didn't lead someone to my home. To Sharon. To the baby. Vampires are one thing, werewolves are far more impulsive. If they spot a target, they might not resist."

"So the one we took at the station wasn't the only one?"

"Ask your uncle," Sean muttered.

"Hold on, slow down. There wasn't a cab near your house. I guarantee it. No one saw you get in. Spotting a driver on the move is no small feat, I didn't see the cabbie's face, and I've got better eyes than most shifters. Grew up guzzling potions — you know that. Let's head to the centre, find a police box, call Bryce, have him keep an eye on your precious household. Better than turning back if there really was a tail."

I talked him into it. Sean hit the accelerator, and five minutes later, I was dialling Uncle from a red phone booth. After that, we sped toward the pastures outside town like we were being chased. The shovels and corpse crate nearly bounced out of the truck bed with every bump.

Sean dug the grave himself, like a man possessed. No arguments over who got the dirty job. He didn't need help until he reached the body.

Under the seat I had rope, two pairs of long rubberised gloves, and a bottle of potion that turned any stench into the scent of pine forest. In the crate, there was a large tarp we wrapped the corpse in before trying to lift it, otherwise, we'd never have gotten it out in one piece. I handled the smells. Sean was in too much of a hurry to get back home.

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