Abigail D'Angelo controlled her fear as she pushed open the doors of Neil Armstrong High School. She hadn't expected to be on the hunt when she came back to town to visit her sick mother. She stared into the dark school. It had been fourteen years since she strolled the hallways.

The last time had been to kill a vampire, too.

In some ways, the school looked unchanged since that bloody night, in others it was radically different. The same lockers marched down the hallway only painted a lighter blue instead of the puke green of her youth. The fliers on the walls proclaimed the upcoming Halloween Dance, still a staple of the school. The drinking fountains were different, made of white porcelain instead of stainless steel. Through the small, rectangular windows in the doors, she spotted the same lines of desks.

Memories flashed through Abigail's mind of that terrible night fourteen years ago when she helped kill her first vampire. She had been Abigail Talbot then. Her, Damien D'Angelo, Frank Smythe, and Nora Wendle had entered the school in a mix of bravado and fear to kill the monster that had put two of their friends into the grave and turned a third. Only Abigail and Damien had walked out. Vincent had torn poor Nora's head off and ripped out Frank's throat before Abigail managed to hit the vampire with holy water.

Burned by the holy water, Vincent lay stunned as Damien had beat the vampire's head to pulp with a silver cross the youths had stolen from St. Marks up the road from the school.

Abigail shook the memories away as her hands gripped her crossbow. I need to keep my focus. A white oak bolt was cradled in the weapon. Abigail had tracked the vampire to the school. They were often attracted to youthful vigor. Abigail's own best friend, Lynette, had been Vincent's first victim, transformed into a vampiress.

To this day, Abigail had not learned what happened to Lynette after Vincent died. Had another Knight Venator put her down, or was she still out there lurking in the shadows.

The hunter's ears were tuned for any sound. She walked on the rubber soles of her combat boots. Her red hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail and she wore black fatigues, the pockets full of the tricks and weapons of the vampire hunting trade.

The coppery tinge of blood tickled her nose. The vampire had recently fed.

Where are you hiding? Abigail entered the cafeteria. The scent of blood grew stronger and stronger, stirring memories of fourteen years ago. Abigail fought to keep herself from staring at the spot where poor Nora's head had been ripped off.

Stay focused. Abigail cast her eyes about the dark cafeteria for the vampire. He could be lurking under any of the tables that ran in neat rows across the large room.

It was stupid to hunt a vampire alone, but Abigail had killed over thirty in the last fourteen years. She had been trained and outfitted by the Jesuits and inducted into the Knights Venator. Every Knight knew on simple truth—sometimes you had no choice but to enter the lion's den alone. Her partner was in Albuquerque on a hunt while she had been forced to come back home and care for her sick mother the last two weeks.

Sound rustled behind her.

Abigail spun. Shadows moved. Her crossbow bolt fired.

Damien D'Angelo tried not to worry about his wife as he stalked through the abandoned warehouse. Abigail was a capable hunter, and the vampire plaguing their hometown sounded young. Abigail believed it was a newly changed undead that had slipped off the leash of its dam or sire.

Just like the vampire Damien hunted.

Heavy metal music thudded through the warehouse, booming from below. This vampire had no class or style. Damien gripped the sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun in his hands. It was loaded with rock salt. Vampires couldn't stand the touch of purity. Rock salt, blessed silver, holy water, and white oak could all cause the monsters pain.

Decapitation and sunlight were the only sure ways to kill one.

Damien found a set of stairs at the far end of the ruined building, half covered by a piece of plywood. It was a pathetic attempt to conceal the entrance to the basement and the vampire's lair. The entire warehouse was covered in a layer of dust, and sliding the plywood over the stairs had left behind drag marks. Of course, the footprints coming and going were an even clearer sign.

Why had you even bothered? Or are you just that stupid? Damien settled on the latter option.

This was the tenth day of the hunt. The vampire had killed two since Damien arrived, both young, pretty girls. This vampire was fast. Security footage at one of the attacks only showed the creature moving as a blur.

Each vampire would have a gift. It was always random if they would get mesmerizing gaze, enhanced speed, shapechanging, illusions, shadow walk, or one of the others. Damien had fought vampires displaying one of ten abilities and there were always rumors of new ones.

You never knew quite what you were getting when fighting a vampire. That was why Damien and Abigail had been trained by the Jesuit priests, inducted into the Knights Venator and outfitted with relics and weapons. Outside the warehouse, Father Augustine waited, providing Damien with support.

"Found the entrance," Damien reported over his Bluetooth as he kicked aside the plywood. "Communications might get spotty."

"Because of being underground," Father Augustine asked, his voice crystal clear. Once, they had used radios, but cell phone technology was far more practical.

"No, because the vamp's blaring heavy metal." Damien winced. "Pretty terrible shit. Not the good stuff I listened to."

"Yes, because rock in the Nineties made such a wonderful cavalcade of sounds."

Damien smiled at the priest's dry tone.