The black van rolled to a stop within an alley between two tall warehouse buildings. Upon arrival, Nicholas and Arden surveyed the area, driving around in search of any security guards. Deciding they were alone, Nicholas parked the van a block away from their target location.
     In the back of the van, Jayda sat, handcuffed to a heavy, dark container. The lack of trust was obvious, and it wasn’t misplaced. She hoped to find an opportunity to escape, but her two captors remained one step ahead of her. She chose to bide her time, to wait for that perfect opportunity.
     Nicholas and Arden left the van, their eyes still searching the area.
     “There,” said Nicolas, nodding at nearby security camera.
     “The wire’s been cut,” Arden replied.
     “Let’s look around first, then decide.”
     The two split up; Arden heading right toward the waterfront and Nicholas heading left, deeper into the warehouse district.
     Several buildings away, a set of eyes watched the two hunters. The woman followed them with a set of binoculars. Eight stories below, the werewolf disappeared behind another building. She then moved the binoculars to the other hunter—the vampire. He, too, rounded a corner and disappeared.
     The woman’s long, auburn hair whipped around in the strong wind. She looked skyward, her golden eyes narrowing at the thick clouds.
     “Rain, rain, go away” she lightly sang, “This little girl would like to play.”
     Her sensitive ears picked up on faint plop of a rain drop. Her eyes lowered to the concrete ledge and saw the dark circle where the drop landed. Glaring at the spot, her eyes returned skyward as she remarked, “This isn’t the sign I was looking for.”

*          *          *

One Year Earlier

She was a wicked child, pulled from the belly of darkness and released onto the world by a monster more deceitful than she. Many knew her as truth, a means to end the feuds that incased the six bloodlines. But as the years zipped by like falling stars, the truth of her existence became myth. She was no longer a princess within the modern world but a peasant. Her name was Dianthia.

In the uninhabited lands of Arizona, safely tucked away from any large towns, sat the remnants of an old airport. Three hangers and one large building were all that remained. The mask was perfect.
     A black SUV rolled up to the one of the dilapidated hangers as the large doors opened on command. The vehicle continued inside. The interior of the hanger was nothing like the exterior. The placed acted like a parking garage, housing vehicles barely two years old. A few mechanics moved about the hanger, also doubling as watchdogs, guarded against any stray visitors.
     Four men stepped out of the black SUV, each dressed in fine attire. Across the room another group of men approached, their clothing was more military-esque. The leaders of each group shook hands and dove right into business.
     “How are things around here?” the man in the suit asked.
     “Excellent as always, sir,” replied the man in military garb. “I can show you around, fill you in on what was discussed over the phone.”
     “All right.” The man addressed the others and politely asked them to wait.
     The two men left the hanger through a backdoor.

Owen Hartley led the indomitable Jonas Reinhart down to the center of operations, well below the midday heat from above. The industrial cooling units kept the entire levels at a constant seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit.
     The facility was built fifty years ago on donated land and was one of three on the west coast. The east coast carried two other bases of operations. Each one was low key and housed no more than thirty test subjects at a time and a crew of fifty workers. Owen was the leader of this division, but it was Jonas everyone answered to.
     Their research encompassed many fields of study; from biological changes to werewolves and vampires, to the manipulation of human beings, both living and dead. In ancient times, The Brotherhood of Osiris was a society of necromancers who secretly honed their skills throughout the centuries. But the turn of the 20th century saw the rebirth of this once prestigious group. Though many liked to argue that the true Brotherhood of Osiris would never taint their teachings with modern devices, it was believed that the group split. Owen didn’t know much about the history behind the name. He was hired to do a job most would run screaming from. But Owen loved his job. He didn’t work in the research area, but he excelled within the team that captured new subjects.
     As they entered the corridor housing their “guests,” Jonas bypassed the small talk and went directly to the matter at hand.
     “The half-breed,” he said, walking beside Owen, eyes straight ahead. “Which room is she in?”
     Owen hid his worry as he answered, “Room 12.”
     Jonas eyed the room numbers and headed for the one marked 12. He slid back the small window and peered inside. “And how long has she be in the program?”
     “Uh…” Owen struggled with his reply. He couldn’t lie to this man. “Five years.”
     “Five years? The cut off for subjects is two years. Why have you extended her stay?”
     “She’s a dhampir,” he said, his words finding a new strength. “They’re rare. I thought we should keep this one around to do further testing if needed.”
     Jonas studied the form of a woman sitting in the center of the room, her back to the door and arms bound within a straight jacket. Her light, auburn hair was disheveled and swayed with her movements as she rocked back and forth.
     “I’ve been informed that you visit her often,” said Jonas, his eyes still on the half-breed.
     Owen’s stomach knotted. “I talk to her. Is that a crime?”
     “With the camera off?” Jonas looked at him, ready to hear more of his lies. “I heard that she hasn’t said one word since she came here. And yet she speaks only to you? Open the door.”
     Owen raised a clammy hand to the number pad and punched in the code. The door clanked open.
     Jonas stepped into the room with Owen forcing himself to follow.
     “Everyone within these walls is, for the lack of a better phrase, company property,” reminded Jonas. “It’s the whole pen in the company ink. Take out your gun, put it to her head and fire.”
     “Sir,” Owen choked out, “we don’t have to do this. I can explain.”
     “Explain?” He seemed baffled upon hearing the word. “There’s nothing to explain. Put the gun to her head and empty it.”
     “I can’t do that.”
     “That is an order. Kill her, or I will kill you and her.”
     Owen knew this wasn’t a bluff. He felt his hand remove the gun from his holster and ready the first round.
     The young woman continued to rock back and forth. As her head settled against the gun’s barrel, she stopped.
     “Kill her,” said Jonas.
     From underneath the messy, auburn hair, a smile formed on the woman’s lips.
     Owen closed his eyes and fired. A series of loud bangs filled the room and echoed in the corridor. The hot scent of spent gunpowder entered Owen’s nostrils. He opened his eyes and saw the half-breed’s body slumped forward, the blood pooling out from underneath her hair.
     Jonas glanced at the mess. “Get someone to clean this up,” he said as he turned from the scene. He stopped before entering the hall. “Oh, just a friendly reminder. The next time I find out that you’ve been spending too much time down here, I’ll have them castrate you.”
     Owen fought through the lump forming in his throat. “Yes, sir.”

A dark skinned woman in her late sixties walked down the corridor. Behind her walked a light skinned man in his mid thirties, pushing a metal gurney. They entered the number 12 room and began their work.
     The woman draped a white sheet over the dead subject and stepped aside as the man lifted the body onto the gurney. The woman then proceeded to clean up the mess with the cleaning supplies stashed underneath gurney. While she cleaned she began humming. The song was relaxing to the man.
     “That should do it,” the woman said, standing back to look around the room once more. “If they want anything better, then they should pay us by the hour.”
     The man kept his head low and nodded.
     The woman placed everything back underneath the gurney and stopped to look at the bloody sheet. She lifted the edge to see the shattered face.
     “Poor girl. You must’ve pissed off someone very important around here.” She lowered the sheet. “Let’s take her down to the furnace.”
     The woman led the way into the elevator and pressed the button for lowest floor. At her side, the man continued to keep his head low, swaying lightly in response to the elevator’s grinding cables. As the car slowed to a stopped, the woman placed her hand to the gurney’s side and guided it into the hall. The body jostled over the bumps and a small gasp came from under the sheet. The man pushing the gurney stopped walking. He leaned forward and tapped his caretaker on the shoulder.
     Without looking back the woman whispered, “Wait till we get to the furnace.”
     Carefully, the man continued to push the gurney, his eyes dropping down to the bloody sheet as he imagined he saw the chest struggling to rise, shuddering for each breath.
     On the farthest end of the corridor, two doubled doors sat, sealing off the heat from inside. The woman pushed open the doors and steered the gurney toward the back, mentally recalling the camera’s coverage of the room.
     “Maurice, dear,” she said, gesturing to the pile of discarded clothing and other bags of items waiting to be burned. “Please begin disposing of those, will you?”
     Maurice bobbed his head in acknowledgment as he began his job.
     Along the gurney’s edge, the woman slid her hand under the sheet and felt for the neck. Air escaping the lungs was common among the newly dead. She needed to make sure this was the case. Her fingers pressed into the soft part of the neck. She didn’t feel a pulse but she felt the unmistakable movement of the body attempting to breath.
     She removed her hand, her eyes going from the saturated sheet to Maurice. Would this be it, the tipping point to leave this place? She thought about the scenario that would give her the courage to leave, but the months flew by without any sign from the heavens. The poor girl under the sheet was at her mercy.
     Her eyes landed on the stack of old sheets ready to be burned. She grabbed all she could, still mindful of the camera.
     Maurice heard the woman call for him and helped her wheel the gurney to the front of the furnace. As he lifted up the body, an odd look came to him.
     “There is a body inside that needs disposed of,” she sternly said. “Be careful not to drop her. I don’t want to clean up a second mess.”
     Maurice wasn’t sure what she meant, but continued on, tossing the strange mass into the fire.
     “Now, let us tend to the laundry, then we can retire for the night.” She smiled.

“Can you hear me?”
     In the depths of unconsciousness, the pull of its weight began to wane. Lori felt no pain within her body, only the pressure—the damage so blessedly delivered to her by the human insect called Owen Hartley.
     “Come on, baby, let me know you can hear me.”
     The voice was that of a woman, kind and frightened.
     Lori struggled to move any part of her body. Her hand twitched.
     “That’s a good girl.”
     The pressure increased on her face, irritating to the bone. Her body was too weak to heal at the rate she was use to. For five years she was fed human food, with the occasional bag of medical blood. But the drugs they pumped into her weakened her the most. She knew their game from the first night she awoke in that prison. She had the upper hand. They thought they knew what they were toying with. She was an anomaly among anomalies.
     “You have a strong spirit,” the woman said. “I’m going to give you something to help you sleep. You need rest now more than anything.”
     Lori felt a warm hand on her arm and the sting of a needle. The drug from the syringe shot into her, carrying its own warmth. She didn’t fight it.

Gale sat back in her chair and recapped the syringe before tossing it into the trash. Her brown eyes settled on the gauze wrapped around the girl’s injured head. By the time they brought her to the house, the severe wounds were beginning to heal. Further exploring of the damage revealed no bullets left inside. Gale was thankful she didn’t have to dig around and cause more injuries.
     The tall man, Maurice, stood by the doorway, interested more in the paint peeling on the doorframe. Every now and then he would glance at the young woman on the bed.
     “She’s asleep now,” said Gale. “We’ll check in on her tonight.”
     Maurice gathered up the stained straightjacket and sheets from the floor and left the room, taking it upon himself to burn the evidence in a barrel behind the house.
     He and Gale were glad to be back home. They were permitted to visit the property to tend to their livestock once a week, and were always accompanied by a couple of Owen’s lackeys. Gale blamed herself for their involvement with The Brotherhood of Osiris. It was her dabbling in necromancy that made her a target. Beyond a few tricks with blood magic, she knew little of the art. Her mother was the true necromancer. She was also the one who donated part of their family’s property to The Brotherhood.
     But Gale chose to kept to the facade of obedient cleaning lady. She, in fact, demoted herself to the position. Her monthly pay was more than what her small farm could produce in a year. It was enough to keep her happy and quiet.
     But after seeing the casualty of The Brotherhood’s recent failed experiment, Gale knew she had enough. This was the sign she prayed for. She had to help this girl. Though The Brotherhood would come sniffing around, she planned a simple lie; three goats were about to deliver and she needed to be here in case anything went wrong. It would be her enough time to nurse the girl back to health.
     Gale placed her hand on the girl’s arm, her thumb gently rubbing, an action that calmed herself more than the girl. She chose to ignore the obvious. If The Brotherhood were to know the truth, then they wouldn’t think twice about killing them.

The pressure in and around Lori lifted as the drug lost its hold among her healing body. She brought her hand up to her face and pulled at the gauze. The fabric clung to the dried blood on her skin, feeling as though it had been glued on. She gave a stronger tug, using both hands this time. Free from the smothering fabric, she opened her eyes. The muscles behind them ached.
     A noise came from the corner of the room, drawing Lori’s attention. She rolled her head to the side and saw a man scrambling from the chair to stand. He backed away from her, frightened and calling out, his voice forming no words. He ran from the room, his thunderous footsteps fading as he left the house.
     Lori looked at the ceiling. Water damage shown along the edges of the walls, perhaps fueling the growth of mold hidden inside. The room also carried a damp smell. But it was a nice change to the sterile surrounds of her prison.
     More footsteps entered the house and moved into the room. Lori looked to her side once more and saw a woman with moving to the side of the bed. The man waited in the doorway, his head low.
     “All right,” the woman began. “Sit up so I can get a better look at you.”
     Lori struggled to find the strength to pull herself up. She was hoping the woman would help her, but the woman kept her arms at her sides, a stern and impatient gesture. Lori slid her legs off the edge of the bed and slowly lifted herself to sit.
     The woman placed a hand to Lori’s chin and inspected the wounds. Her face softened.
     “Almost healed,” she said, pressing her fingers into her skin and feeling the bones underneath. “I had to piece everything back together. It looked worse than what it was, honestly.” She addressed the man in the doorway. “Maurice, would you please fetch me a bowl of water and a rag?”
     The man shuffled out of the doorway and down the hall.
     “He’s a sweet boy, wouldn’t harm a fly.” She smiled. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours before. Such a light brown that they look golden. Dhampirs are full of surprises.”
     Lori’s body grew tense at the mentioning of the word.
     “Don’t worry,” the woman said, her hand dropping to her shoulder. “You’re safe here. No one knows you’re alive.”
     Lori shook her head as she spoke, her voice gravelly. “Someone always knows where to find me.”
     The woman slid a chair before her and sat down, taking her hands into hers. “You are safe here. No one will find you.”
     “You don’t understand. He will send someone after me. He can sense where I’m at all the time. You’re not safe if they find you with me.”
     “You’re not talking about Hartley or anyone with The Brotherhood, are you?”
     Lori picked up on the change within the woman. She was actually concerned more for Lori’s safety than her own.
     The woman continued speaking. “If this person can find you anywhere, then why didn’t he save you himself?”
     “They did something to me. The drugs. I was given something each day to keep my mind quiet—numb. But I imagine now that…” She looked away, her mind searching for another she hadn’t sensed in five years.
     “Who is he?”
     Lori returned her eyes to the woman. “My father.”
     “I take it that he’s not human.”
     She let out a small laugh. “As far from human as any creature can be.”
     “You don’t have to shield me from any truths. I’m not ignorant to the real world out there.”
     “What’s your name?”
     The woman sat back and flashed a welcoming smile. “My name is Gale, and you heard me address Maurice earlier. We are the only ones living here. Can you tell me your name?”
     “Laurel. But I’ve been going by Lori for a while now.”
     “Laurel is a very pretty name.”
     Maurice entered the room with the bowl of warm water and a rag. He sat them beside the woman and returned to the doorway. Gale then dampened the rag and began to wipe away the dried blood from Lori’s face, taking care not to aggravate the healing skin.
     “How soon should I be expecting a visit from your father?” she asked, rewetting the rag.
     “He found me this morning. Someone may show up in a couple of days. He’d most likely send someone to collect me.”
     “You don’t have to leave unless you want to.”
     “Thank you.”
     Gale addressed Maurice once more. “There’s that old hog outside, dear. Do you think you can have him fixed up for a nice supper? And save some of the blood, would you?”
     Without a word, Maurice disappeared down the hall and left the house.
     “I hope you don’t mind pig’s blood. It’s all I have to offer.”
     Lori swallowed at the echoing taste of animal blood, specifically pig’s blood. But she was in no position to turn away anyone willing to help. She would have to ignore her pride for now.