London.
Blade took off the Plate Armor.
Frey stared at the man before her, pressing her lips together.
Finally, she opened her mouth and said, "You're not him."
Across from them, a bearded man in a suit looked up and asked, "Do you know me?"
"No, it's just..." Frey tightened her grip on her weapon. "You look a lot like him."
The man remained silent, touching his face.
His expression was weathered, and his eyes held stories.
His melancholy air convinced Frey that this was not that man.
The three of them sat around a newly lit fire.
"Let's get down to business," Blade said. "I'm Blade. She's Frey."
"And you," Blade said, removing his sunglasses and looking at the man opposite him, "who are you?"
"Me?" The man opened a can.
"My name is... John."
"I'm looking for someone. To kill them."
He had missed them after all.
There was nothing John could do, either. His target was immune to magical tracking.
And that protection was far more powerful than a drop of blood.
The drop of blood he had condensed dispersed again.
It left him unable to find his target.
The vampires had been wiped out.
John's only gain was still the blood left behind by that injury.
It made sense. There had been two large-scale armed clashes in a row, complete with fire support.
The vampires were thoroughly spooked now.
Cauper's death had changed the situation among London's vampires.
The Vampire Council had stayed out of it and reaped a windfall.
John left with Martha.
Martha reminded John of Moaning Myrtle, a ghost at Hogwarts who loved to cry.
The two looked somewhat alike: the same glasses, the same tendency to cry, and, well, the same lecherous streak.
The difference was probably that Martha didn't spy