In the gloom, Alex saw the galley kitchen was littered with dirty dishes and a couple of old pizza boxes. There wasn’t much furniture—a massive flat-screen with a gaming system, a couch, and a recliner. A second later she realized someone was in the chair, huddled in the dark.

Alex raised the salt sword, but the thing moved quickly, with the same horrible speed she’d seen in Linus Reiter. Vampire. Her fear rose up to choke her. The monster hissed and knocked the sword from her hands.

But then the vampire was on the floor. Darlington towered over it, horns out, the bands at his neck and wrists glowing. Alex was alight with flame.

Turner had his gun drawn.

Darlington seized the salt sword, then hissed as it burned his palm.

“D-D-Darlington?” said the monster. “That you, man?”

Darlington hesitated.

Alex yanked one of the blankets down from the window. The thing shrieked and shrank back. “Tripp?”

“Alex! Guys, oh God, don’t look at me, I’m so gross.”

Tripp was in the same dirty polo shirt and blazer he’d worn to their first descent, a backward Yale sailing cap on his head. He was shockingly pale, but other than that he looked like Tripp. Well, that and the fangs.

Alex stood back, still wary.

“Is that Tripp?” Dawes asked. “Or is it his demon?”

Turner kept his weapon raised. “He’s definitely not human.”

“Shit,” said Tripp, taking off his cap and running a hand through his dirty hair in a gesture Alex had seen countless times. “I knew something was wrong. I haven’t taken a shit in … I don’t even know how long. And every time I try to eat, I have some kind of seizure. And…” He looked up guiltily.

“I think he wants to drink our blood,” said Dawes.

“No!” Tripp cried. But then he licked his lips. “Okay, yes. I just … I’m so hungry.”

“Can we get him some rats or something?” Dawes suggested.

“I’m not going to eat rats!”

Alex peered at him. “If this is the demon, Tripp’s body has to be somewhere. Or what’s left of it.”

Not Tripp’s eyes darted guiltily to the corner of the kitchen, to what looked like a pile of rolled-up pieces of paper. A husk. Just like the one she’d seen in the Black Elm basement—the husk of the real Tripp Helmuth’s body.

Darlington’s demon form hadn’t receded. He was still on high alert, his eyes glowing gold. “That thing sucked Tripp dry. That’s all that’s left.”

Tripp—or the demon—backed away, baring its fangs. “I couldn’t help it.”

“You’re a killer,” Turner said.

“We’re all killers!”

“I’m not arguing semantics with a vampire,” Darlington snarled. “You know what we have to do.”

He was right. Alex had tangled with one vampire, and that was more than enough. But this demon didn’t seem like a threat. It seemed feral, weak, and

… a little dopey.

Her eyes scanned the apartment; aside from the husk of the body in the corner, it looked messy but ordinary—laundry on the floor, dishes in the sink.

The only part of the loft that appeared clean or well organized was the big

chair and gaming setup. Photos of Tripp’s family and friends had been arranged carefully around it, some figurines from games she didn’t recognize.

She thought of Linus Reiter’s vases and bottles of liquor and bouquets of hyacinths. Did all vampires like to nest?

“Darlington’s right,” said Turner. “This thing is a menace. And we’re responsible for its presence here. We need to put it down. It’s dangerous.”

“I don’t think he is,” Alex said slowly. “What have you been doing for the last week, Tripp?”

“Just playing video games. Watching old episodes of Ridiculousness.

Sleeping a lot.”

“What have you been eating?” Dawes asked, her voice strained.

“Bugs mostly. But they’re a delicacy in some countries, right?”

“What if we didn’t kill him?” Alex asked.

“You have to be kidding,” Turner exclaimed. “He’s a loaded weapon.”

“He’s barely a squirt gun.”

“It could all be an act,” Darlington growled.

“Should I put on some tunes?” Tripp asked. “I have this amazing Red Hot Chili Peppers double album—” Maybe

they should kill him.

“He’s…” Alex wasn’t going to say harmless. “He’s Tripp. Maybe he got the personality right along with the life force.”

Darlington shook his horned head. “Or it’s all an act and he’s contemplating killing us all.”

“Are you?” Dawes asked.

Tripp winced. “A little bit?”

But an idea had taken root in Alex’s mind. “Tripp, call your seabird.”

Tripp licked his knuckles, and a silvery albatross rose from behind him, circling the room, with a bright, piercing cry.

“It’s still there,” marveled Dawes. “How can that be?”