The plane touched down at JFK Airport just after noon, and the first thing Rui noticed was the familiar smell of New York—exhaust, pizza, and the faint sweetness of joss paper from Chinatown. Dao Feng stretched as they walked off the plane, his face tired but relieved.
"Home at last," he said, grinning. "I missed Lao Guo's soup."
Ye laughed, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "He's probably already making it. I texted him we were coming."
They grabbed their luggage and walked to the taxi stand, where Mike was waiting—his usual SPU jacket, a coffee in his hand. He hugged Rui, then clapped Ye and Dao Feng on the back.
"Welcome home," he said. "Thought you'd never get back. We've had three small cases—haunted doll, a ghost in a laundromat—but nothing major. Until this morning."
He handed Rui a folder, his face serious. "Vampire remnants. Broke into Lao Guo's funeral parlor last night. Stole the Xuanqing Whisk. Left a note: 'Meet us at the abandoned church in the Bronx. Come alone, or the whisk gets destroyed.'"
Ye's jaw tightened. "Vampire remnants? Working with Zhou Lin?"
Mike shook his head. "Zhou Lin's in a maximum-security prison in Chengdu. Li Na texted me this morning—he's not going anywhere. These are new. Probably heard about the whisk from the ones we fought in China."
They drove to Lao Guo's funeral parlor, the taxi weaving through Manhattan traffic. The shop was closed, the windows covered in newspaper. Lao Guo was inside, pacing behind the counter, his face pale.
"I'm so sorry," he said, when they walked in. "They broke the back door—used some kind of acid. I heard a noise, but by the time I got there, they were gone. The whisk was on the shelf, right where I left it."
Ye walked to the shelf, running his finger over the dust. "Yin energy," he said, his voice tight. "Western Yin—vampire. They didn't even try to hide it."
Rui touched her jade pendant—it was glowing faintly blue. "I can hear them. Whispering. They're in the church. And they're scared—scared of the whisk, but also excited. They think it can make them stronger."
Dao Feng crossed his arms. "The whisk can control Yin energy. If they use it wrong, it could turn them into something worse than vampires. We have to get it back."
They left the funeral parlor, heading to the Bronx. The church was abandoned, its stained-glass windows broken, its steeple leaning to one side. Graffiti covered the walls, and the front door hung off its hinges.
"Stay close," Ye said, pulling out his peachwood sword. "Vampires are fast. Aim for the heart—holy water or runes will slow them down, but only a direct hit will kill them."
They stepped inside, the air thick with the smell of rot and incense. The church was dark, the only light coming from a few holes in the roof. In the center, five vampire remnants stood around a table. On the table, the Xuanqing Whisk glowed faintly, its silver bristles dimmed.
"Welcome," their leader said—a woman with long black hair, wearing a tattered black cloak. Her fangs glinted in the dim light. "We've been waiting for you."
Ye swung his sword, pointing it at her. "Give back the whisk. Now."
The woman laughed. "Why? It's perfect. With it, we can control the Yin energy in New York. Turn everyone into vampires. This city will be ours."
She lunged at Rui, but Ye pulled her back, swinging his sword. The blade cut the woman's arm, and black blood oozed out. She screamed, stepping back. "You'll pay for that!"
The other vampires charged, their fangs bared. Rui threw a handful of holy water, hitting one in the chest. It screamed, dissolving into smoke. Dao Feng swung the Xuanqing Whisk—wait, no, the whisk was on the table. He grabbed a metal pipe from the floor, swinging it at a vampire. The pipe hit its head, and it fell to the ground, stunned.
Ye ran toward the table, but the leader blocked him. "Not so fast," she said, pulling out a dagger. "You want the whisk? Fight for it."
They clashed, sword against dagger. Ye was faster, his movements honed from years of training. He cut the woman's chest, and she stumbled back. "It's over," he said. "You're outnumbered."
The woman grinned, pulling a match from her pocket. "Am I?" She lit the match, throwing it at a pile of gasoline cans in the corner. "The church is rigged to explode. In two minutes, we'll all be dead. But at least I'll take you with me."
"Run!" Ye yelled.
Rui grabbed the whisk from the table, and they ran toward the door. The vampires chased them, but Dao Feng swung the metal pipe, hitting the last one in the back. They burst outside, and the church exploded—flames shooting into the sky, debris flying.
They fell to the ground, coughing. The whisk was still in Rui's hand, its silver bristles glowing bright again.
"We got it," she said, her voice shaky.
Ye helped her up, his face smudged with ash. "You did. Good job."
Mike pulled up in his SUV, his eyes wide. "Are you guys okay? I saw the explosion from down the street."
"We're fine," Dao Feng said, standing. "The vampires are gone. The whisk is back."
They climbed into the SUV, driving back to Chinatown. Lao Guo was waiting for them, a pot of soup on the stove. He took the whisk, carefully placing it on a shelf behind the counter.
"Safe at last," he said, smiling.
That night, they ate soup at the funeral parlor, laughing and talking about their adventures in China. Lao Guo told stories of Chinatown while they were gone—how the elders had burned joss paper for them, how a stray cat had moved into the antique shop.
"You know," Ye said, looking at Rui, "Master invited us to Xuanqing Mountain for the summer. To visit, to relax. No cases, no spirits. Just… peace."
Rui smiled, her heart warm. "I'd love that."
Dao Feng fake-gagged. "Can we not talk about your mushy plans while I'm eating soup?"
They laughed, and for a moment, there were no vampires, no zombies, no seals. Just family, and soup, and the quiet comfort of being home.