The morning sun was already high over Prague when Garrick and I made our way back through the winding streets toward St. George's Basilica. I'd barely slept after returning from the Ghost Council dinner. My mind was too full of possibilities, suspects, and the ticking clock that was Dorota's imprisonment. Every hour we delayed was another hour she spent trapped in a bottle, being slowly drained of everything that made her exist.

  I was starting to fall in love with this city by daylight. Tourist groups clustered around historic sites, their guides gesturing enthusiastically at Gothic spires and Baroque facades. Street vendors sold trdelník to anyone who'd pay the inflated prices (hey, no harm making a living off of willing tourists, but a Bourdainian tip for you? Go where the locals go, not the tourists, if you want to taste the best of things). Normal people living normal lives, completely unaware that beneath their feet and behind their walls, an entire supernatural community was navigating conflicts that could turn deadly.

  I'd been one of those normal people three days ago. Now I was walking into a vampire prince's lair to report on an investigation that I’m sure could get me killed if I said the wrong thing.

  "Nervous?" Garrick asked as we approached the hidden entrance.

  "Terrified," I admitted. "Samuel's going to try to read me. I know he’ll spot a lie."

  "Just stick to the truth. We don't know for certain who's responsible. We have suspicions, but no proof." He paused before the entrance to the alleyway that led to the brick wall passage to Samuel’s lair. "That's not a lie, Mac. That's just incomplete information."

  "Vampires are really good at spotting the difference."

  "Then we'll have to be better at presenting it."

  We approached the nondescript building near the Basilica, turning into the familiar alley where the hidden entrance waited. The narrow space was cast in shadow even at midday, the surrounding buildings blocking out most of the sunlight.

  "Well, well," a voice said from directly behind us. "The cosmic hero and his pet human return."

  I jumped. Again, and gritted my teeth to bite back the rage of this encounter that was starting to grate on my last nerve.

  The woman vampire stood there, the same one who'd been tormenting me since we arrived. She was pressed against the alley wall in a slice of shadow, her pale face split by that predatory grin that said she knew exactly how much she was getting under my skin.

  "For the love of fu—" I bit back the rest of the curse, remembering Garrick's warning about threatening vampires on their territory. "Do you have to do that every single time?"

  "I don't have to," she said, pushing off the wall and gliding toward us. "I choose to. Your reactions are... entertaining." She turned to the brick wall, her fingers moving in a blur so fast that once again I couldn't track the pattern even though I was watching for it. The section of wall ground aside, revealing the descending staircase into darkness. "The Prince is expecting you. Try not to keep him waiting."

  "After you, partner," Garrick said, gesturing me forward with a sympathetic look.

  The underground estate felt different in what passed for morning down here. The torches still burned in their metal cages, but the lounge area was nearly empty—just a few vampires lounging on cushions, smoking their opium pipes, existing in that state between sleep and wakefulness that seemed to be their default during daylight hours. They watched us pass with lazy interest, like cats observing mice that had somehow learned to walk upright.

  Dmitry—the male vampire who'd escorted us before—was waiting outside Samuel's office. He looked as fresh as he had at midnight, because of course vampires didn't suffer from lack of sleep. His amber eyes assessed us with the same predatory focus, though I noticed he didn't bother with the theatrics of suddenly appearing beside us this time.

  "The Prince is expecting you," he said. "You're late."

  I glanced at my phone. 11:47 AM. We'd been told to report within twenty-four hours of our initial meeting, which had been just after midnight. We were technically early. "Traffic," I said dryly.

  Dmitry's lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. "Go in."

  Samuel's office looked exactly as it had the night before. Same mahogany desk, same map of Prague with its mysterious pins and notations, same torches burning in their expensive metal housings. The only difference was Samuel himself, who stood at the window. The one window in this entire underground complex. He was looking out at... something. I couldn't see what from this angle…I assumed some part of his little underground lair considering how deep under Prague we were.

  "Garrick the Gallant," Samuel said without turning. "And Mac Sullivan. Tell me you have good news."

  "We have progress," Garrick said carefully. "We've spoken with Princess Katrina and the Ghost Council. We've examined the crime scene. We've found evidence."

  "Evidence." Samuel turned from the window, and I was struck again by how perfectly composed he was. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle in his suit, not a flicker of emotion on his aristocratic face. "What kind of evidence?"

  I pulled the cork from my pocket, which I had wrapped in a handkerchief. "A runed cork. Found at the scene of Dorota's abduction. It's used for trapping ghosts in bottles."

  Samuel crossed the room in three smooth strides and took the cork, examining it with the kind of focus most people reserved for priceless artifacts. His pale fingers traced the runes, and expression flashed across his face (but was gone as quickly as it arrived)...recognition, maybe?...or concern.

  "This is old magic," he said quietly. "Very old. The binding techniques date back centuries." He looked up at me. "What else have you learned?"

  Here was the dangerous part. The tight rope. At which point does his deception detection start going off?.

  "The Ghost Council believes the culprit is someone in your inner circle," I said, keeping my voice level and professional. Like I was reporting to Javi about inventory at The Crossroads rather than accusing a vampire prince's trusted advisors of supernatural murder. "Someone with access to knowledge about ghosts, their movements, their anchors. Someone who's been asking questions, watching, gathering information."

  Samuel's eyes narrowed fractionally. "They've accused one of my people."

  "They've observed suspicious behavior," I corrected. "We don't have solid proof yet. No smoking gun, no caught-in-the-act moment. Just circumstantial evidence, which is why Garrick and I need to dig further."

  "Circumstantial evidence starts wars, Mr. Sullivan." Samuel set the cork down on his desk with deliberate care. "Who do they suspect?"

  I hesitated. This was the moment—tell him about Konstantin, or hold back? If Konstantin was innocent and Samuel was guilty, naming him could get Konstantin killed to cover up the real culprit. If Konstantin was guilty and Samuel didn't know, we'd just tipped our hand and lost any element of surprise.

  But if we refused to answer, Samuel would know we were hiding something.

  "We're not ready to name anyone yet," I said. "We need more time to investigate. To separate suspicion from fact."

  Samuel moved closer. Not threatening, exactly, but suddenly I was very aware of the space between us—or lack thereof. He was maybe two feet away, close enough that I could see the absolute stillness of his chest (no breathing), the perfect smoothness of his skin (no pores, no imperfections), the way his eyes seemed to look right through me into my beating heart.

  "You're lying," he said softly, and I thought I saw his fangs starting to lengthen and sharpen.

  My heart rate spiked. I felt it—the sudden acceleration, the flush of adrenaline, the way my hands wanted to shake but I forced them to stay steady. Samuel would feel it too. Vampires could hear heartbeats, track blood pressure, sense the tiny physiological changes that betrayed fear and deception.

  "I'm being cautious," I countered, meeting his eyes even though every instinct screamed at me to look away. "There's a difference between lying and refusing to jump to conclusions based on incomplete information. We have a suspect. We're investigating. When we have proof, you'll be the first to know."

  "Will I?" Samuel tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was a puzzle he was solving in real-time. "Or will you take your findings to Princess Katrina first? Make your allegiances clear?"

  "Our allegiance is to the truth," Garrick interjected, and I was grateful for the interruption because Samuel's attention was becoming oppressive. "We're not taking sides, Prince Samuel. We're trying to prevent a war."

  Samuel held my gaze for another long moment. I could feel my pulse hammering in my throat, could feel the way my body wanted to either run or collapse, could feel the absolute certainty that if he decided I was lying, I wouldn't leave this office alive.

  Then he stepped back, and his fangs retracted.

  "Twenty-four hours," he said. "I want another update in exactly twenty-four hours. And this time, Mr. Sullivan, I expect you to have a suspect. A name. Someone I can question." He returned to his desk, dismissing us with the gesture. "Time is running out for Dorota. Every hour she remains trapped is another hour closer to her permanent death. I trust you understand the urgency."

  "We do," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

  "Good. Then I suggest you get back to work."

  We left Samuel's office and didn't speak until we were back on the streets of Prague, far enough from the Basilica that vampire hearing wouldn't pick up our conversation.

  "That was close," Garrick said.

  "Too close." My hands were shaking now that the adrenaline was fading. "He knew I was holding back something."

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  "But he didn't push. Which means he either respects your caution, or..." Garrick trailed off.

  "Or he already knows who we suspect and wanted to see if we'd figured it out." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to organize my thoughts. "Either way, we have twenty-four hours to find real evidence. Which means we need to investigate Konstantin. Today."

  "Agreed. But we can't just walk up and ask him questions." Garrick pulled out his phone—apparently cosmic heroes used smartphones like everyone else—and pulled up a map of Prague. "First, we need to find where he lives. Then we need a plan for getting inside without being detected."

  "Can you do that? Hide us from vampire senses?"

  "I can mask our presence, yes. Make us undetectable to supernatural perception." He glanced at me. "It's not pleasant. The magic has to wrap around you, interfere with how you interact with reality on a fundamental level. But it works."

  "How unpleasant are we talking?"

  "Ever had a full-body pins-and-needles sensation?"

  "Yes, and I’m not looking forward to it again."

  "Nobody does. But unless you want to try breaking into a vampire diplomat's residence without any magical concealment, it's our best option."

  We spent the next few hours gathering intelligence. Garrick had contacts—I was learning that cosmic heroes always had contacts—and by early afternoon we had an address. Lord Konstantin Vasile lived in Malá Strana, in one of the elegant buildings that lined the narrow streets below Prague Castle. Not as ostentatious as Samuel's underground estate, but prime real estate that spoke to old money and older power.

  We watched the building from a café across the street, nursing tea that had gone cold an hour ago. The building itself was beautiful old European architecture—four stories of cream-colored stone, tall windows with decorative ironwork, a heavy wooden door that probably dated back two centuries. Through those windows, I could occasionally see movement. Konstantin was home.

  "How do we know when he leaves?" I asked.

  "We don't. We wait and hope." Garrick checked his phone again. "Though vampires this old usually have routines. Business to attend to, appearances to maintain. He'll leave eventually."

  Eventually came at 4:37 PM, when the door opened and Lord Konstantin Vasile emerged into the shadows around the building.

  I got my first real look at him then. Tall, maybe six-two, with the kind of aristocratic bearing that made Samuel look almost casual by comparison. Dark hair pulled back in a style that was somehow both modern and centuries out of date. He wore an expensive suit in charcoal gray, and I could tell it was hand tailored by how perfectly it fit his lanky figure. He moved down the street with the confidence of someone who'd never questioned his place in the world's hierarchy. He stuck to the shadows as the sun made its slow way towards the horizon.

  "That's him," Garrick confirmed. "Let's give him five minutes to get clear, then we move."

  Those five minutes felt like hours. My leg bounced under the table with nervous energy. We were about to break into a vampire diplomat's home. If we got caught, guest rights wouldn't protect us. Samuel wouldn't protect us. We'd just be two idiots who'd made a fatal mistake.

  "Mac," Garrick said quietly. "You don't have to come inside. You could wait out here, keep watch—"

  "I'm coming." I met his eyes. "This is what partners do, right? Cover each other's blind spots?"

  He smiled. "Right."

  We crossed the street, and Garrick examined the door. No obvious security system, but vampires probably didn't need electronic surveillance when their senses were so acute. He pulled out what looked like a small silver tool, some kind of mix between a lockpick and a swiss army knife, and inserted it into the lock. There was a soft click, a shimmer of blue light, and the door swung open.

  "Cosmic lockpick?" I asked.

  "Actually, yes? How’d you know?"

  The interior was exactly what I'd expected: elegant, expensive, and distinctly European. Hardwood floors that gleamed even in the dim light. Artwork on the walls, originals, I'd bet, not prints, one of which I’m pretty sure was a Rembrandt (though I didn’t know art from sour cream). Konstantin’s furniture was antique without being completely ostentatious. Everything was tasteful, a bit restrained, and spoke to wealth that didn't need to announce itself, but couldn’t help letting his guests know he had money to spare.

  And the windows. All of them had a strange quality to the glass—slightly tinted, but not enough to be obvious from outside. UV blocking, I realized. Konstantin had modified the building so he could look out at the city during the day without risking exposure to sunlight.

  "Before we search," Garrick said, "I need to cast the concealment. This is going to feel weird."

  "Define weird."

  "Like your body is remembering it's made of individual cells and they're all complaining at once." He placed his hand on my shoulder. "Hold still."

  He spoke words in that ancient language again—the one that predated Latin, a series of guttural grunts, harmonic pitches and twists of the tongue that I was tempted to try myself simply because it sounded cool. The air around us shimmered, and then—Sensation.

  It started at the top of my head, like someone had placed an ice cube on my scalp. But instead of cold, it was pins and needles. Thousands of tiny pricks spreading down through my face, my neck, my chest. My arms erupted in goosebumps. My legs felt like they were waking up from falling asleep. Even my fingers and toes joined the chorus of uncomfortable tingling.

  “Holy sheeit…you weren’t kidding about weird. I think I have to use the restroom.”

  "Breathe," Garrick instructed. "It passes."

  He was right. After maybe thirty seconds, the sensation faded to a low background hum—still there, still slightly uncomfortable, but manageable. It was similar to the feeling I got on my neck when wearing wool sweaters (which is why I don’t wear them). A manageable pain in the ass, but not one I’d elect to have regularly.

  "We're hidden now," Garrick said. "Vampires won't be able to sense us. Their supernatural perception will slide right past us as long as we're careful and don't do anything too obvious."

  "Define too obvious."

  "Don't break things. Don't make loud noises. Don't bleed." He started moving through the apartment. "Let's search fast and get out of here."

  Konstantin's home was larger than it appeared from outside—four stories meant four floors to search, and we started at the top. The fourth floor was mostly storage and what looked like a study. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes in cyrillic script. The desk held papers, correspondence, and also what looked like official documents with wax seals.

  Garrick photographed everything with his phone while I examined the bookshelves more carefully.

  “Wow, even cosmic heroes have cell phones?” I smirked

  Garrick shrugged. “Evolve with society or get left behind it, my friend.”

  That's when I found them. Three books, bound in dark leather, with titles in Latin that I couldn't read but Garrick could translate: "Methods of Spiritual Binding," "The Nature of Spectral Essence," and "Vampiric Applications of Soul Magic."

  "Garrick," I whispered. "Look at this. If this isn’t a smoking gun…"

  He came over and examined the books more closely, and his expression darkened. "These are grimoires. Instructional texts on how to trap and drain ghosts." He pulled out his phone and photographed the spines, then carefully removed one and flipped through the pages. "This is it. This is exactly the kind of knowledge you'd need to—"

  He stopped. Tilted his head.

  "What?" I asked.

  "These books are new. Well, not new—they're centuries old. But they haven't been here long. No dust. The binding isn't worn from repeated handling. They're..." He trailed off, frowning. "I would think if he was using these to learn his current dirty work…they’d be more worn."

  Suddenly, we heard something from the third floor.

  A door opening. Footsteps.

  Someone was in the apartment.

  Garrick and I froze, staring at each other in horror. Konstantin must have come back.

  We moved as silently as we could toward the stairs, trying to figure out where the vampire was and how we could avoid him. But the footsteps were coming up the long steps, purposeful and deliberate, like he was searching for something.

  Or someone.

  "Closet," Garrick mouthed, pointing to a door on the fourth-floor landing.

  We slipped inside—a storage closet filled with coats and boxes and the smell of cedar. Through the narrow gap in the door, I could see the study we'd just been searching. Could hear Konstantin's footsteps growing closer.

  He appeared in the doorway. Even through the concealment magic, I could feel the predatory focus radiating off him. His eyes swept the room, pausing on the desk, the bookshelves, the window.

  "I knew you'd come for me eventually," he said to the empty room. His voice was cultured, precise, with an accent that suggested Eastern Europe filtered through centuries of diplomacy. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? That I wouldn't be prepared?"

  My heart hammered so hard I was certain he could hear it. The concealment magic was supposed to hide us, but we were maybe ten feet away from him, pressed into a closet, barely breathing.

  Konstantin moved into the study. He examined the desk, running his fingers over the papers we'd photographed. Checked the bookshelves, noting the slight disturbance where we'd removed and replaced the grimoire.

  "You've been sloppy," he continued, still talking to the empty room. "Leaving traces. Getting bold. Did you think your position with Samuel would protect you? That I wouldn't notice you following me around?"

  He was pacing now, getting closer to our hiding spot. Six feet away. Five feet. Four.

  My phone was in my pocket. One buzz or ring or any noise at any moment and we were dead. I'd meant to put it on silent. Had I put it on silent? I couldn't remember.

  Three feet from the closet door.

  Konstantin paused. Tilted his head, listening.

  Then his phone rang.

  The sound shattered the tension like glass breaking. Konstantin pulled out his phone, glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor changed. The hunting predator became a professional diplomat in an instant.

  "My lord," he answered. A pause. "Yes, I can return immediately." Another pause. "Of course. I'll be there within the hour."

  He lowered the phone, looked around the study one more time, and I could swear his gaze lingered on our closet for just a moment too long.

  Then he turned and left.

  We waited. Listened to his footsteps descending the stairs. Heard the front door open and close. Waited another five minutes to be absolutely certain he was gone.

  Finally, Garrick pushed the closet door open. "We need to leave. Now."

  We practically ran down the stairs and out of the building, not stopping until we were three blocks away and safely back in the flow of Prague's tourist crowds. Only then did I let myself breathe properly.

  "That was too close," I said.

  "Way too close." Garrick was still holding his phone, looking at the photos he'd taken. "But we have evidence. The grimoires. The books on ghost magic. Mac, I think Konstantin is our guy."

  I thought about what we'd found. The books, carefully preserved but barely used. The way Konstantin had talked—like he expected someone, but not necessarily us. The way he'd said "your position would protect you," like he was talking to an equal or superior.

  Something felt off. But I couldn't put my finger on what.

  "We need to set a trap," I said. "Catch him in the act. Because books aren't enough. Samuel will just claim Konstantin was researching on his behalf, trying to figure out how the trapping was done. We need to catch him actually attempting to trap a ghost."

  "The Ghost Council can help with that," Garrick said. "They can provide bait. Someone willing to play the role of a vulnerable ghost, separated from their anchor."

  "And we watch. Wait for Konstantin to make his move." I pulled out my phone to check the time and saw three missed calls from The Crossroads—from Javi. Guilt twisted in my stomach. I'd barely thought about home since arriving in Prague. "Yeah. Let's set it up for tomorrow night. Give us time to coordinate with Katrina and prepare."

  "Agreed. But Mac—" Garrick looked at me seriously. "This is going to be dangerous. If Konstantin is as powerful as the Ghost Council says, catching him in the act means confronting him. Are you ready for that?"

  I thought about Dorota, trapped in a bottle. About Yulia, already gone to the second death. About Petr and Polina and all the ghosts who just wanted to exist in peace.

  "Yeah," I said. "I'm ready."

  We headed back to the Augustine as the sun finished setting over Prague's spires and rooftops, painting the city in shades of crimson and amber. We needed time to coordinate a plan and help get us off the back foot. We needed an advantage and something that could tilt this little game of chess in our favor.

  Somewhere out there, a vampire was hunting ghosts. And tomorrow night, we were going to stop them.