Last time, on-
"No!" screamed Jack, "we are not doing this again! How have you run out of ideas by chapter five, you hack?"
***
As soon as he walked through the door, Jack was accosted by a pale woman in a blazer.
"Excuse me, do you have a moment to hear about our lord and saviour, Count Dragula?"
"No habla ingles," said Jack.
She smiled. "Oh, sorry. ¿Tiene un momento para hablar sobre escuchar señor y salvador, el conde Dragula?"
He stared at her, his mouth hanging open. They were in a foyer, wide and smooth, with tinted windows and a reception counter along the back wall. There were chairs and sofas against the walls, screens set on the walls screaming about some kind of blood drive. It smelled of lemons and floor polish.
He walked towards the reception desk, ignoring the frantic Spanish from behind him. It was long and high, made of wood and chrome, with silver letters reading 'Nightcorp' fixed to the front.
There were three vampires behind it, sitting on high chairs, talking on the phone or tapping at computers. The closest to Jack was an olive-skinned man with black hair and a fine suit, red eyes focused on his screen.
Most vampires had those eyes, for whatever reason. It was one of two distinguishing features; creatures whose existence had been myth had evolved to resemble humans, so as to stay that way.
The other was the sparkle. A bioluminescence which had made the perfect lure, since anything shiny is universally recognised as 'free loot'.
Jack leaned on the counter and tapped his foot. "Oi, Sparkle-toes."
He stopped typing, turning to Jack with a venomous glare. "Do you say that an angler fish sparkles? Do you see me glowing right now? How far do you need to push this? It's basically plagiarism, at this point."
"Ssh!" Jack dived over, clamping his hand round the receptionist's mouth. "The Intellectual Property Office has ears everywhere."
As his head snapped back and forth, he noticed a red mark on the vampire's throat. He eased off the desk. "What happened to you?"
The receptionist shifted his jaw. "Unruly visitor."
"Ugh," said Jack. It wasn't uncommon for people to gang up on helpless vampires and ghouls. Even the Nightcorp headquarters wasn't immune to attacks.
He thought it was ridiculous. The donation and distribution system for blood and corpses was a backbone of the British economy, and everything was consensual. People got paid. The world had evolved, and if no-one was hurt or exploited, what was the harm?
"There a problem here?" The gruff voice belonged to a ghoul: a short and flabby creature with no neck and rows of vicious teeth. Ghouls could use magic to blend in, but in that building, why bother? It had sidled up beside him without him noticing.
He backed away with raised arms, his heart deciding that his mouth was the perfect location for a holiday home. There were more ghouls, prowling in the corners and by doors, and the vampire from the entrance was staring a hole through him. "No, no problem. Just need to check in for an appointment."
"Donor or convert?" The receptionist tapped a few keys, looking him up and down. "From the dead eyes, and the air of general despair, I'd wager a convert. We can resurrect your vitality, but unfortunately, not your fashion sense."
The security ghoul sniggered, and Jack sputtered, looking down at his outfit. "Screw you, cool, casual, and a little bit messy is a classic protagonist aesthetic! Besides, I'm not here to become one of you, just to talk to your boss."
The receptionist gulped, his spine snapping straight. "Mr. Blofeld?"
"That's the one."
"And what's your name?"
He told him, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he was surrounded by six ghouls. Two of them picked him up by the arms, dragging him towards the elevator bay in the corner, whilst the others moved in pairs in front and behind.
"Wait! Do you really get paid enough for this kind of strenuous physical labour? Stop letting them exploit you, revolt against the zeitgeist! Demand a fair wage!"
One of the ghouls behind him chuckled, poking an elbow into his back. "Doesn't seem that strenuous to me."
He grunted. "That's not the point!"
With a ding, the elevator doors opened, and he was carried inside. One of the ghouls pressed the button for the top floor, and they all stood silently.
Jack's knees were wobbling. "So, lads, and possibly ladies-"
The same ghoul from before elbowed him again. "We have six genders, you ignorant cretin."
His eyes widened as he examined the security unit. "What, so one of each?"
The ghoul slapped him in the head. "That's none of your business, now shut up!"
The rest of the ride was suffocating, until another ding and the doors opened to a corridor with white walls and pale carpet. Jack savoured the air, even if it tasted of air freshener and hair gel.
They passed a few vampires and ghouls as they walked towards the back of the building, sitting at desks or having meetings. Jack was more interested in wondering what kind of 'unruly visitor' would have blown all the doors off.
***
She wasn't about to give up on her sister.
Her mother had banished her, and the Blackwells controlled England, Wales, and most of Western Europe. At least where the Circle was concerned. She could have gone to Scotland, but the McCann heir would have never let her live it down.
So, aside from starting over on a different continent, she had a single choice. The city which had rejected the Families, time and time again, until they'd all collectively thrown their hands up and said, "well, sod you, then."
It also happened to be the location of Nightcorp's headquarters. Although London was the capital, Blackpool had become the most popular place for companies dealing in the paranormal. Less magic politics.
It was a short flight, less than an hour. She could have gone quicker, had she altered the direction of her gravitational potential energy rather than producing air currents, but the sensation of falling would have turned her into a castigated deer.
She touched down outside the Nightcorp building, a black steel skyscraper with tinted windows. It was sharp, and angular, giving off a sinister and mysterious air; almost as if it were a den of monsters, hiding from the light.
It was natural. Vampires had astonishing UV sensitivity, and couldn't go out in the sun without protection.
The ghouls, on the other hand, didn't care about the sun. They just wanted to be naked. She shuddered at the thought. The creatures called themselves civilised, yet didn't understand the importance of clothing. It baffled her. Little doggie jumpers aside, clothes are something that separates people from animals. An indicator of higher evolution.
You don't see eagles wearing crocs, do you?
She pushed it aside, and strutted through the double doors, affixing the female vampire standing in the entranceway with a cutting stare. She needed to find her sister.
If the New Bloods were vampires, or at least had vampires in their ranks, then the most likely to know something would be the boss vampire. It was her only lead.
"E-excuse me..." The vampire at whom she was staring was battling against the impromptu dancing of her jaw. She was pale, at least half a foot taller than Lydia, with straw-like hair and a fascination with her own feet. "Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and saviour, Count-"
"No, I most certainly do not. Where is your chief executive?" Lydia sneered.
The woman took a step back, hunching her shoulders. "Um, in his office, I'd assume."
Lydia took a step forward, her eyes never leaving the vampire. "And where is that?"
She met Lydia's eyes for a second, tearing her gaze away as soon as she did. "D-do you have an appointment?"
Lydia said nothing, using her glare to convey her answer.
"I-I think you need the reception desk!" The woman ran off, disappearing into the depths of the building. It was no matter.
She strode forward, noting the ghouls and vampires cringing in the corners and to the sides. They all stayed rooted to their spots. It was only natural.
She had cultivated a confident stride that was too practiced to be natural, but too natural to be practiced. She was clear and frank in her speaking, and her gaze shied away from nothing. It took effort, but it was worth it. Nobody was bothering her. They all knew their place.
Of course, anyone with a lick of magical sensitivity could sense how powerful she was. The vampires were scared, but the ghouls were terrified.
She reached the reception desk, an affronted gasp escaping her lips when she realised that it came up to her forehead.
An olive-skinned face with black hair popped over the counter, looking down at her with a slanted expression. "Can I help you?"
Her eyes bore into his. "Yes. I need to speak to your chief executive."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but I expect he'll want to see me."
The receptionist rolled his eyes, typing on an unseen keyboard. "Yeah, I'm sure. What's your name? Let me guess, it starts with a 'k' and rhymes with 'Darren'."
She clicked her tongue, drawing in quintessence and creating an updraft beneath her. As she floated up, the vampire's brows escaped his forehead, looking for a better life elsewhere. She smirked. "Lydia Blackwell."
He stuttered, almost falling off his chair. "You have no power here!"
Her smirk became a grin, and she propelled herself forwards, landing in the man's lap. Vampire or not, he was still a man, and his reaction was predictable. Whilst he was deciding what to do with his hands, she wrapped a hand around his throat and squeezed. "Is that so?"
He shook his head, his eyes wide and primal. "I can't do anything without an appointment."
She squeezed harder, and she heard him choke. "You know, I could just use magic to stop the air from entering your lungs."
"T-top floor, opposite side to the lift bay! Ack!"
She let him go, patting his cheek and flying over to the elevators. One opened as she arrived, and the ghoul inside immediately ran for the exit. She set down in the lift, watching a bunch of employees standing by the bay, trying their utmost to look like they hadn't been waiting.
She stepped out to frenzied stares, which she ignored. She strode through the building, using kinetic blasts so as to not waste time opening doors, and smiling at all the people who avoided her eyes.
Eventually, she came to a heavy wooden door with a nameplate reading 'Silas Blofeld, CEO'. She blew it open.
The office was large, full of potted evergreens and motivational posters. There was a desk in front of a full-wall window, with a heavy computer monitor atop it, and filing cabinets along the left wall. It smelled of paper and aftershave.
Behind the desk was a man around six feet tall, stocky and wide, with a diminutive chin and a massive nose. His hair was like its own lifeform, puffy and frizzy and constantly bouncing. His hands were planted on his desk, his mouth trying to form words without producing any sounds. "Wh-security! What the hell are you doing? What is-"
She used the force. By which I mean, the force of gravity, altered to anchor him on the wall, as opposed to the floor.
Shame on you. You know what you thought.
It was almost as if he flew, but his toupee didn't. The wig bounced a couple of times before settling.
He cried out as she approached, snarling and growling. "This is unacceptable! You can't just waltz in here and do as you please, just wait until the Police hear about this!"
She grinned mirthlessly. "But what's a bigwig without his big wig? It's time you and I had a talk."
"That's not even remotely funny!" screamed Silas.
***
The office door was missing too.
Jack sighed. The ghouls dropped him on his feet, assuming a formation between him and the newly-constructed entranceway.
He looked at Silas, who was slumped behind his desk with an ice-pack on his forehead, and a bloody nose. Usually, the man looked simultaneously ancient and ageless, but that day he looked as if he'd aged twenty years anyway. His Italian suit was torn, and his toupee flat and lifeless, as though it had been trodden on.
"What happened to you?" said Jack, raising his eyebrows with an awkward glance at his head. "You, uh... your wig."
Silas scowled, adjusting the hairpiece until it looked as natural as it could, which was about as much as a Starbucks in the stone age. "Thank you. And it's a long story."
He gestured at his security detail. "Is that long story the reason for my cruel and inhumane treatment up to now?"
Silas straightened, his wig bouncing angrily as he stared at Jack, his mouth agape. "No, that was because we can't allow you to have free rein in this building."
Jack put a hand on his chest, his upper lip curling. "What are you talking about? Wasn't it me who got rid of that family of rats in your ventilation system? The ones that blinded three separate exterminators?"
Silas' nose twitched. "And nearly killed all of us in the process!"
"Well, I did warn you about the toxic gas!"
"Yes, thirty seconds before you released it!"
Jack cleared his throat. "Look, the point is, you owe me a favour."
"Debatable, but go on."
He removed Hannah's picture from his pocket, passing it to Silas. "Friend of mine got taken by some vamps. Thought you might know something."
Silas examined the photo, narrowing his eyes. "Nope, never seen her before. Sorry."
Jack stepped closer, leaning on the desk. "But you don't seem all that surprised about vampires taking people, which makes me wonder."
Silas pursed his lips, clasping his fingers. "Nightcorp does not represent all vampires, only the majority will to co-exist with all the other self-aware races of this planet. There are bound to be rogues, every now and then."
Jack sighed. "Such a political answer tells me that you know something, and I ain't leaving until you tell me what it is."
Silas sighed in reply. "And when I tell you, what then? Trust me, Jack, this is above your pay grade."
He smiled. "Sounds exactly like the kind of thing worth doing."
Silas rubbed his forehead, wincing. "What is it to you? Is it really worth risking your life for?"
"The girl in the picture," said Jack, "I lied. It's my client's daughter."
Silas shrugged. "So tell the truth. That you can't complete the request, because you don't want to end up dead."
Jack's nostrils flared, his stare piercing through Silas. "How? How do you expect me to look into that woman's eyes, and tell her that I didn't do everything I could, but I gave up anyway? To consign her to that empty agony? It might not mean much to that big picture you love so much, but it means everything to her."
Silas cradled his head in his hands, resolve finally broken. "Fine. First of all, they call themselves the New Bloods."