A light projected the shadows of two people onto the cavern wall, and Lucy whirled around to find herself face-to-face with a middle-aged man who looked like he had seen a lifetime’s worth of trouble and then some. In one hand he held a lantern, and in the other was a short wooden dowel. She concluded that he must have been following her, but wouldn’t she have seen his light? Before she could ponder this any further, he spoke again.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“My name is Lucy,” she replied, trying to put on a brave face. Her gut instinct told her that this was not somewhere she wanted to be just now. “I’m looking for Vincent.”

She half expected him to deny knowing anyone by that name, but instead he said, “How do you know Vincent?”

“I helped him about a year back,” she explained. “He was hurt, sitting in the alley outside my apartment, and I helped him get home.”

“Ah.” He tilted his head upward and looked down at her suspiciously. “And what do you want with him now?”

“I…” she began. “Look, there’s some real weird stuff going on in the city right now. I’m not safe and I thought he might be able to help me. I’m not here to expose him, or betray your community to the cops or anything. I’m just…I need help. Please,” she begged.

With a nod, the man backed away, never letting her out of his sight, and tapped out a series of rapid beats on a pipe affixed to the wall behind them.

“Wait here,” the man instructed. “He’ll come.

Vincent had only just returned Below after spending the night searching for Lucy when his ears perked up at the sound of his name being broadcast on the pipes.

Vincent–Lucy at old 18th St. station entrance–needs help.

It had been a strange day, he thought. First meeting Isaac, and now this. What were the chances?

He had started looking near her apartment and went on from there. A curious–and concerning–sight had greeted him just outside her door. A figure, crouched behind a trash can, lying in wait. But when Vincent had drawn near and removed his hood–not a tactic he was fond of, but an intimidating one nonetheless–he could practically see the face behind the dime store mask grow pale as it turned and fled.

His search had been fruitless, and it was only when day was dawning and more people were hurrying about on the street that he had returned. If her meandering Below was indeed fate lending a hand, he wasn’t about to complain. Lucy was alive and would be kept safe, and if Father protested…well, Vincent would cross that bridge if and when he came to it.

Lighting the lantern he kept on a table near his chamber entrance, he turned and made his way to where she was waiting.

Never in her wildest imagination had Lucy thought she’d be glad to see someone like Vincent. But Vincent was a far cry from that thing outside her apartment. She hoped he would help her, if only to return a favor.

She leaned against the wall opposite the stranger who’d caught her and seemed reluctant to let her out of his sight, staring glumly at her now-useless flashlight.

Another light made its way from the opposite end of the tunnel.

“Lucy?” a deep voice asked.

“Vincent!” she cried with a start. “God, am I glad to see you!”

She almost hugged him, but held herself back. They had only met briefly once before, and Vincent had been injured…what if he wasn’t as harmless as he had been then?

“I’ve been out looking for you all night,” he replied kindly. “Catherine told me that you were looking for your friend.”

“Tammy,” she said. “She just…I dunno…up and disappeared. I think those vampire guys got her–the same ones that have been outside my apartment, watching my every move. I can’t go home. I don’t have anywhere else to go…so I came here. I took the bus,” she added. “And I got off a block or two from the old station. I don’t think they followed me. Last I saw them was when I got on.”

“You were wise to come here,” he told her. “As you can see, we’re well guarded.” He cast a displeased glance at her captor, adding wryly, “I only hope Cullen didn’t give you too much trouble.”

Lucy bit back a snide remark, instead replying only, “No. Not much.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said brightly, offering his arm to her. “You’re just in time for breakfast. Then we’ll see what we can do about finding your friend.”

Lucy was led into a cavernous room overflowing with books, where Vincent introduced her to his father–an ordinary human man, if a bit stuffy and self-important, she thought–and explained her predicament. She couldn’t help but notice the looks exchanged between the two, and wondered if he had disobeyed some unspoken rule by bringing her here. That Cullen guy hadn’t seemed too keen on her being down in the tunnels either.

Nevertheless, Vincent and his father were gracious hosts, offering her a seat at a large round table and calling for food to be brought. When another man arrived with a large tray, he was accompanied by a gaggle of curious children hovering in the doorway. She knew she hadn’t imagined hearing kids laughing!

“Thank you, William,” the old man said. “Tell the children they may talk to our guest later–we have pressing business to discuss just now.”

Over breakfast, Lucy explained all that had happened in the last week–the vampires, how she’d been arrested just for trying to find her friend, and how the police didn’t seem to want to really do anything to help either of them.

“Vampires.” Vincent’s father scoffed with a bark of sardonic laughter. “You really expect us to believe such nonsense?”

His son, who Lucy had concluded must be adopted, was quick to jump to her defense. “Well, I’m not sure they’re actually vampires,” he said. “But they certainly want their would-be victims to think so.” Earning a confused look from the elder man, he elaborated. “Catherine and I had an…altercation with two of them yesterday. I assure you, Father, these people are a very real threat. We must do everything we can to help.”

With that, he got up and retrieved paper and a pencil from the desk at the far end of the room and asked Lucy to describe Tammy. He began a meticulous drawing, and a short time later showed her the completed sketch and asked her if it was accurate.

“Incredible,” she remarked. “You know, you could make a killing as a courtroom sketch artist.”

Vincent smiled and shook his head. She wondered what he was thinking about. But she didn’t ask, and he didn’t say anything. As soon as the first sketch was done, he began making a copy.

“So, who are you going to show these to?” she asked.

“I’m going to send one to Catherine,” he said. “And the other is to show to our Helpers–we have a whole network of people Above who provide us with food and supplies. One of them might have seen Tammy.”

“And,” his father interjected, “we’ll send word out on the pipes, as well. It may not be as accurate as a picture, but it will spread the message farther.”

“You’re safe here with us for as long as you wish to stay,” Vincent assured her. “And if your friend is still out there, we’ll find her.”

Lucy couldn’t help but notice the conspicuous absence of the words Don’t worry.

Working on Sunday was unusual but not out of the question when workloads were heavy. This Sunday found Catherine in the office along with several others. She unwrapped the sandwich carefully selected for her by Sammy to find that it contained more than the usual short missive. Neatly wrapped in wax paper and nestled between the turkey and cheese was a small package about a quarter of an inch thick. Inside was a folded sketch of a woman in her late 30s or early 40s, alongside a note in Vincent’s handwriting–

Lucy is safe with us. I was able to make two sketches of her friend Tammy Phillips–we’re circulating one among the Helpers, and have sent word out on the pipes. Give this copy to the police.

Bold move, Vincent, she thought. But she knew he didn’t have nearly as many compunctions about helping the legal system Above as Father did. She wondered why the police hadn’t asked for a picture or offered a sketch artist of their own when Lucy voiced her concerns over Tammy’s whereabouts.

Thank God that Joe wasn’t around, at least. Concealing this special delivery hadn’t been easy.

She put the note in her pocket, the sketch in her purse, and headed down to the police precinct. On her way out, she passed Joe standing at the coffee machine.

“Hey, where are you going?” he asked.

“Out to lunch,” she replied flippantly.

“I’ve heard from Lucy,” Catherine told Mike Juarez. “She’s staying with friends, and one of them drew this sketch of Tammy. They dropped it off and asked me to bring it here.”

She handed over the sketch and watched as Mike’s eyebrows met his hairline. “Impressive,” he said. “Yeah–I think I’ve seen her around late at night once or twice. Long time ago though–maybe a year or two. I’ll circulate this around, see if anyone’s seen her. But tell me something, Chandler,” he mused. “How is it that these poor unfortunate souls always seem to end up flocking to you?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Must be my charm and personality.”

“Don’t push it, Missy,” he warned with a laugh. “And really–don’t go investigating on your own. I mean it. These guys are dangerous.”

If only he knew…“Thanks for the concern, Mike.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, still examining the sketch. “Oh, and Chandler?” he asked as she was about to leave.

“Yeah?”

“You owe me another calzone.”

It had been an unusually busy day, Henry thought as he took the trash out that night. Everybody who had come to the restaurant today was celebrating something–a birthday, an anniversary, a promotion–and for the first time in what seemed like forever, he and Lin had found themselves short-staffed.

But none of their customers had complained about the service or the food, so he considered it an overall good day.

That was, until he discovered the moaning heap behind the dumpster and almost couldn’t believe his eyes.

It was her, he was sure of it. A lot more battered and bruised, but it was her–the woman in the picture that Geoffrey had shown them just that morning. Tammy Phillips. She was a friend of a newcomer Below, and she was in some kind of trouble–Geoffrey hadn’t elaborated, but stressed the point that if any Helpers were to see her, they should send word Below. Her friend Lucy was nearly out of her mind with worry, and the Helpers had been asked to keep an eye out for her.

He hadn’t expected that she’d be found so soon, especially not conveniently dumped in an alley behind a restaurant owned by someone who had been told to be on the lookout. It was almost as if whoever had done this had wanted her to be found. Specifically by one of them.

If her assailant knew about the Helpers, or the world Below…he shuddered to think how many people might now be in danger.

Upon closer inspection, he saw that she was bleeding profusely from four deep wounds just above her collarbone, two on each side. They looked like marks left by–

fangs.

Henry knew of only one person who could possibly leave marks like that, and he would never…

Right?

Ashamed of himself for suspecting Vincent, however briefly, he knelt down by the woman’s side and prodded her shoulder gently. “Miss? Can you stand?” he asked, trying to determine whether or not it was safe to move her.

Tammy, however, only responded with a long, low moan like a wounded animal.

In the next instant, he became aware of the distinct, unpleasant feeling that he was being watched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move. No, not something. Someone. He heard the sound of shoes scuffing on pavement as the mysterious figure retreated.

Safe or not, he needed to get her inside.

Carefully, he lifted her up, noticing how cadaverously thin she was beneath her coat. She barely weighed anything, her eyes and cheeks sunken and her skin unnaturally pale and glistening with sweat. And she was cold.

“Lin!” he called as he backed his way into the door and shuffled inside. “Call an ambulance!”

Lin came running from the back. “What–oh my God!” she cried, watching as he laid the woman down in a booth. No sooner had she picked up the phone than Tammy awoke with a start, suddenly lucid.

“No,” she protested weakly, tossing her head back and forth as if she were in the throes of a nightmare. “No ambulance! No hospitals! They’ll take me again, they’ll take–”

And then she was out cold.

“Lock the doors,” Henry instructed, pressing a clean napkin to Tammy’s deep puncture wounds. “There’s someone out there watching us. I think he was the one who did this to her.”