Chapter 17 : HUNTING GROUNDS
Two days until the meeting. Two days to prepare for a negotiation that could reshape the coalition's future—or end it.
I gathered the council in the main chamber: Jenny for military assessment, Edgar for vampire intelligence, Ruth for operational support. The maps spread across the stone table showed St. Michael's Church and the surrounding terrain. I'd sent Ruth to scout the location the previous night.
"Old Catholic church," she reported. "Abandoned since the eighties. Highway 12 runs past it about half a mile out. Surrounding area is wooded—decent cover for approach and retreat. Interior is mostly intact. One main entrance, two side doors, no windows at ground level."
"Defensible," Jenny observed.
"For her," I corrected. "Vampires do well in enclosed spaces. Limits our mobility advantages."
Edgar leaned over the map, his dead eyes tracing the terrain features. "St. Michael's. I remember when it was active. The congregation died off around 1982. No one's maintained it since."
"You know vampires," I said. "What should I expect?"
"Theater." Edgar's tone was flat. "Catherine has survived two centuries by being smarter than her enemies. She'll test you—try to establish dominance through atmosphere, through subtle intimidation. The church is deliberate. Sacred ground means nothing to her, but she knows others believe it does."
"What does she value?"
"Blood. Territory. Status." He counted them on corpse-pale fingers. "She has plenty of the first two. She's meeting you because you're an unknown—new status in the regional hierarchy. Old vampires collect power the way humans collect art. You're a potential acquisition."
"Charming."
"Be grateful. If she saw you as a threat instead of an opportunity, she'd have sent an army, not a scout."
Jenny paced behind us, restless energy that never quite settled when vampires were discussed. "What do we offer her? What's our leverage?"
I'd been working on that question for two days. The answer had come from an unexpected direction—the glamour work I'd been doing for the coalition.
"Documentation," I said. "Cover identities. The tools to survive in the modern human world."
Edgar's eyes sharpened. "Explain."
"Old vampires have a problem. They've been using the same methods for centuries—compulsion, intimidation, brute force. But the human world has changed. Digital records. Background checks. Security cameras everywhere. The old tricks don't work as well as they used to."
I pulled out samples of the documentation I'd created for coalition members. "I can build identities from scratch. Real enough to survive investigation. Comprehensive enough to let someone integrate into human society without leaving a trail hunters can follow."
"And you think Catherine needs this?"
"I think Catherine is smart enough to see its value. Her nest has been holding the same territory for two centuries—that means maintaining cover, managing human attention, adapting to changing circumstances. I'm offering her tools to do that better."
Edgar considered. "It could work. Vampires pride themselves on self-sufficiency, but the smart ones know when to accept help."
"And if she's not interested?"
"Then we've learned something about her priorities." I rolled up the documentation samples. "Either way, we come out ahead."
The rest of the preparation was tactical.
Jenny would accompany me to the meeting itself—Catherine had specified one companion, and having a werewolf alpha at my side sent useful messages about inter-species cooperation. Ruth would position a backup team two miles out. Far enough that Catherine couldn't accuse us of violating parley terms. Close enough that extraction was possible if things went wrong.
"Communication protocol?" Jenny asked.
"Bond only." The mental connection between us was untraceable and instantaneous. "If things go south, you'll feel it. Get us out."
"And if things go really south?"
"Then you take the coalition and run." I said it matter-of-factly. "Edgar has the administrative knowledge. You have the military capability. Between you, you can keep things running."
Jenny's jaw tightened. "I'm not planning your succession."
"Plan for everything. That's how we survive."
The night before the meeting, I found myself alone in my quarters, sharpening the silver knife I'd carried since the Wendigo hunt. The blade caught firelight, edge gleaming.
Jenny appeared in the doorway. "You know that won't help much against old vampires."
"It helps me focus." The rhythmic motion of stone against steel was meditative. Calming. "Everything ready on your end?"
"Backup team briefed. Extraction routes mapped. Contingency plans for six different scenarios." She settled onto the stone bench across from me. "What aren't you telling me?"
"About Catherine?"
"About any of it."
I set down the knife. The question deserved a real answer.
"I'm improvising," I admitted. "Building this coalition, recruiting allies, establishing territory—I have a vision of where it should go, but the path changes constantly. Catherine is an opportunity I didn't plan for. Could be the best thing that's happened to us. Could be the worst."
"That's not comforting."
"You keep saying that."
"You keep failing to comfort me." But there was a smile tugging at her lips. "What's the real goal tomorrow? Not the official negotiation—what do you actually want?"
"Information." The answer came easily because it was true. "Catherine has been in this region for two centuries. She knows things—about hunters, about other supernatural factions, about threats I haven't even identified yet. If I can establish a relationship, even a limited one, I gain access to intelligence that could take years to develop otherwise."
"And you're willing to trade our glamour services for that?"
"Gladly. Information is worth more than any other currency in our world."
Jenny absorbed that. The bond carried her thoughts—concern, determination, something else I couldn't quite name.
"Get some sleep," she said finally. "Tomorrow's going to be long."
"I'll try."
She left. I picked up the knife, resumed sharpening. The blade didn't need more work—it was already razor-sharp—but the motion helped.
Midnight tomorrow. An abandoned church. A vampire who'd survived longer than some nations.
I checked my reflection in the blade. Sebastian Morrow looked back. Then I let the glamour drop, and my own face emerged—the face that belonged to a monster building an empire.
Two masks. I'd need both tomorrow.
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