Sofye put the corn dog stick on the paper plate and licked the sticky sauce from her fingers.  Taking a sip of lemonade, she started on the thick fries with no hesitation.  Eliza hid her grin and felt good about life.  Sofye was a pleasing brown and slightly weather roughened.  She'd unhesitatingly stepped on the scale, when they came into the shopping plaza, even though she'd not looked at the reading.  She had gained 20 pounds over the past few months, and was looking almost healthy.  Eliza had been receiving regular reports on Sofye from Otaktay, never less than one email a week and sometimes more.  Otaktay was a fascinating person, and sometimes she'd write to him just to talk.  She'd never told him what she was and she wondered if he knew or suspected.  Eliza mentally shrugged and watched Sofye finish her fries.
    "What now, Mom?  We go shopping?"
    "Yes, Daughter," Eliza pronounced it like "Dotter."  "We go shopping, now.  You have definitely been hard on  your clothes.  Have they been dragging you through mud," she giggled at her own funny. 
    Sofye pouted.  "Only once, when I fell off the horse and my foot got caught in the stirrup."
    Eliza turned an even paler shade of pale and opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to say she was not quite sure what.  Sofye's wide grin and her attempt to control her giggles registered before Eliza actually said anything too silly or trite.  "You . . . "  She hissed, grinning.  She sighed, shaking her head.  "You had me going there for a minute, but Otaktay would have told that!" 
    Taking the last drop of lemonade, she stood.  "Ok, Mom, we go shopping now?"
    Hand in hand, strolling through the late night, almost deserted shopping center, neither realized the scrutiny that was focused on them.  Again, Sofye surprised Eliza with how quickly she made clothing decisions.  Less surprising and far more disturbing was her desire to buy clothing that was far to small for her.  Eliza had asked her to try on something to see how it would look on her and when she came out it was just far too small.  Not only has Sofye gained weight, she was far more muscular and toned than she'd been back in September.  Eliza has sighed in exasperation and chosen the same article two sizes larger.  She was actually not ready for the argument that ensued.  While she was changing, Eliza had gone through Sofye's clothing selections and discovered that all of them were the size that she'd tried on that had been too, too small. 
    Sofye came out of the dressing room, looking sullen, with a distinct pout, but the tasseled jeans fit her perfectly.  "Now, that looks better," Eliza enthused.
    "Whatever," Sofye muttered.
    Eliza felt a rush of irritation wash over her.  She held up one of Sofye's other selections.  "Try this on.  I want to see how it fits."
    "I don't want to.  I don't feel good.  I want to go home, now," Sofye said.
    Eliza sighed.  "We are not buying these things until I see how they fit.  Now, you try this on so I can get an idea of what's going on, here."
    "Don't want to.  I want to go home," Sofye mumbled as she started to walk away.
    Eliza could feel herself flush and feel her fangs begin to descend.  "No!" she rebuked herself.  The argument that ensued was short, sharp and unpleasant and left both them near tears.  Each selected item was exchanged for an item of the proper size and each selection seemed to depress Sofye further.  The cheerful mood had evaporated, leaving both sullen and gloomy.

    The cab arrived within 15 minutes of Eliza's cell phone call.  The April chill of the late evening air bothered neither of them.  Eliza liked it rather cool and Sofye had gotten used to wilderness winter weather and far less luxurious accommodations.  Once outside, Sofye's mood seemed to lighten a little, but Eliza couldn't switch that quickly. 
    "You mad at me," Sofye asked in a small voice, when they got settled in the cab.
    Eliza gave her intersection to the cabby and then turned to Sofye.  "No, Darling, I'm not mad at you.  I'm mad, but not at you."  Eliza was seething, but not at Sofye.  Her mind roiled with images of Sofye, tied over a grave, being violated in various ways.  She remembered what they'd done to her, the second time.  She was burning with shame and pure hatred for them and what they'd done.  "I'm not mad at you," she whispered, holding up her hands and staring at them, wondering why they weren't bloody. 
    Sitting in silence, they didn't notice the head lights behind them that slowed as they slowed and turned where they turned.

    The aroma of ginger tea had them both in a better mood.  Sofye was pleased with the concessions that Eliza had made to "modern" civilization.  There was a computer with a DSL internet connection tucked in one corner, a small microwave oven in the kitchen nook, but there was, however, no TV.  Still, it was home and Sofye was glad to be here.
    She had tried on all of her purchases and not once mentioned size, which was perfect, now.  Eliza was puzzled.  It was like the whole thing had vigilantly happened. 
    "You going hunting, tonight, Mom?"
    "I don't have to go out, tonight.  I'd rather stay here and spend some time with you.  It has been far too long since you've been here.  "
    Sofye looked at Eliza and wrinkled her nose.  You're too skinny.  You tell me to eat, and I've been really trying, but look at you.  You have not been eating right have you?"
    Eliza bit back a sharp retort and looked down at her breasts and stomach.  Sighing, she admitted to herself that she'd not been hunting as regular as she should.  Even though her investments had taken a beating, after five years of untouched appreciation, they were still fatter than she needed, unlike herself. She still didn't need to work and had been only half hearted, if that much, in finding an appropriate job.  There were other ways an enterprising vampire could find cold hard cash.
    "Ok, ok, you're right.  I'll go out and get a snack in a couple hours, alright?"
    Sofye looked irritatingly smug, but she said nothing except a subdued, "Ok."
   
    As she left her apartment, and after a couple of blocks, realized that she was being stalked.  Her hunter's instinct caused the short hairs on the back of her neck to stand up.  She never altered her pace.  That would have given a clue that she was aware of "them."  Becoming hyper vigilant, her senses screaming alert, she isolated a parked car.  The side windows were tinted, but she could smell a tobacco aroma emanating from it.  Eliza hated the smell of tobacco and associated it with the violent underclass that she was used to finding in alleys and feeding on.
    With a steady pace, she walked to the middle of the next block, wondering if they would follow her.  They didn't move.  She turned into a dare alley and sprinted through it.  She heard an engine start and the squeal of spinning tires.  As she expected, the automobile pulled parallel to the alley and the tinted window rolled down.  A man's face appeared in the window, peering into the dark alley.  Eliza, well hidden from sight, burned his features into her mind.  Unable to spot her, the car accelerated and she could hear it screaming around the corner, racing to the opposite end of the alley, where she was.  Stepping out of the alley, she resumed her casual walk, as if she was totally unaware of everything except her destination.
    The long dark car rounded the corner and slowed, as if the driver was unsure of what to do.  As Eliza neared the end of the block, the driver of the "mystery" drifted to a stop near the middle of the block.  Unnoticed to Eliza and the car's occupants, a nondescript, beat up brown car came around the turn and drifted to a stop, on the other side of the one way street.  It was not a very noticeable vehicle, and with it's lights off, even less noticeable. 
   
    Eliza was getting frustrated.  She'd been walking for nearly twenty minutes, now, and the car was still following her, at a barely discernable distance.  If her senses had not alerted to their presence, earlier, she may not have even noticed them.  Whoever they were, they were certainly ruining her hunting and she didn't want to lead them back to her apartment.  She could be a random target of opportunity and they may not know her.  She became aware the car was coming closer.  It went through the intersection, proceeding straight, as she crossed the street.  She watched the tail lights make a right at the next intersection.  "Good riddance to bad rubbish," she muttered but then realized what was happening.  Her sensitive hearing revealed that they'd gone around the block and come into the alley she'd be passing, towards the middle of the block.  "Let the games begin," she thought, walking a little faster to get to the alley where she figured they'd be waiting. 
    Detective Burns cursed.  His "brown bomb" had bombed again.  He pounded the dash again and lights came on.  This time, the turning of the key actually started the engine.  "I have got to get that fixed.  Now where the hell did they go?" 
    For the past week, he'd been staking them out.  Watching, waiting, not sure what was going to happen, but confident that something would.  This could be the pay off, and he didn't want to miss it.  Not only did he want to be there to lay the weight of the law on them, he was seriously concerned about that lady's safety.  The car belonged to Deacon Joshua, of the Liberated Light Temple.  The Deacon had some very strong political support, so Burns was being very careful, but he knew something rotten was going on.  He just didn't know what.  When the three "goons" got into the "church" Town Car, he got a tingle.  This was going to be it, he just knew it. 
    There was no sign of the long black car, as he slowly rounded the last turn he'd seen them make.  They'd been following that lady, but he didn't see her either.  He got a sinking feeling in his stomach and wondered if another body would be found at Baynard's, killed and mutilated by wild "dogs." 
    Then he saw it.  About two blocks up, in the alley, something was going on.  He saw a large man come flying out of the alley and land heavily on his back.  As he struggled to rise, a small person did a somersault out of the alley, standing, she kicked him in the face.  Turning she met a rushing attacker.  Grabbing his lapels, she pulled him forward.  She allowed herself to fall backwards and kicked him over her body, causing him to flip.  She held onto his lapels so that he landed on the hard concrete is a clearly painful manner.  A third man came rushing out of the alley.  The lady kicked with both legs, catching him in he knee.  Detective Burns could see it bend the wrong way, and two blocks away, could hear the scream of anguish. 
    With a practiced move, he flipped his blue light on the roof of the car and turned it on.  Down shifting, he roared at maximum brown bomb speed to the site of the altercation.  He slammed on his brakes and jumped out of the car, firearm in hand.  What he saw made him realize that he probably needed an ambulance rather than a gun.  Removing his radio from his belt, he called for the paramedics and then began investigating.  "Miss," he called.  "This is the police.  Are you ok?"  Looking around, there was no sign of her.  "Where is she?" he wondered.  Peering into the alley, there was no sign of her there.  The long black car, lights out, engine off, could be seen blocking the alley, at the other end.  "Where the hell is she?"
    The ambulance arrived and Detective Burns got very busy dealing with the situation.  From thirty feet up, in the shadows, shrouded by her black leather coat, Eliza watched what was going on.  "Damn him!" she thought.  "Damn him.  Now, I can never be sure if it was me they were after of if it was just my 'luck' that they singled me out."
    As the ambulance drove off with it's bloody cargo, Detective Burns was scouring the area for the lady he'd seen.  She had vanished so completely, he began to wonder if he'd ever really seen her.  "This is crazy."  He shook his head, almost as if to shake off the confusion he was feeling. 
    On the flat top of the ambulance, Eliza shifted her attention from Burns to remaining inconspicuous. She'd tried to time her dramatic descent to a moment when she was totally unobserved, and apparently, she'd succeeded.  The attempt to cloud Detective Burns's mind and confuse him, was her final shot at remaining anonymous. The trip to the hospital was not as bad as she'd feared.  Most of the damage done to the men was superficial and the ambulance was in no screaming rush.  A block from the hospital, she slipped to the ground, painfully skinning her knee, which elicited a very unlady like expletive.  Once again, under the cover of darkness, her wild sprint through the alleys to beat the ambulance to the emergency room was unnoticed. 

    The three were in the same room with one bed remaining unoccupied.  There was a police guard on the door, but no one had been guarding the ventilation system.  The man grunted with pain.  His eyes flew open and widened with disbelief.  The needle point dagger, poised over his right eye, quelled any thought of resistence.  The face of an enraged vampire was not encouraging, either, and additionally, nor  was the excruciating pressure on his more private parts, but the frightening blade at his eye froze him.
    "We're going to have a nice civilized little chat, aren't we?" Eliza hissingly whispered, applying more pressure to that sensitive area. 
    A low groan escaped him, but he managed a weak nod.  "Please . . . please . . ."
    Eliza eased the pressure.  Opening her eyes wide and staring into his, "Who sent you?" 
    Panic showed on his face. Despite the physical pain, the thread of the dagger at his eye and her mental influence, he remained silent.  Anger flushed through her.  Her fangs descended and talons formed on her hands.  She held up her right hand for him to see, paralyzing him with her mind.  With a wicked grin, she reached under the sheet, covering him, and touched him.  Smiling a wicked smile, she licked her lips, carefully stroking her fangs with her tongue.  She looked down and projected an image into his mind, and image that would remain, unspoken, with him forever.
    "The Deacon.  The Deacon sent me."
    "He sent you after me?"  Eliza felt his will break. 
    "No, anyone.  Any female.  Anyone for Saturday's sacrifice."
    "Sacrifice?  Where?" she hissed.
    His mouth opened, but no sound came out.  His mouth moved but there were no words.  Eliza growled at him and let him feel her strength and talons.  He moved his mouth slowly, as if he was trying to say something very clearly, but no sound came.  She stared at his lips and tried to understand.  Voices!  Time to leave.  Putting the dagger to his throat and glaring, she silently communicated her message to him.  Eliza quickly retraced her entrance route and was back on the street, her visit unknown except one and she doubted it he'd be telling anyone about her. She chuckled.  "Who would believe him?"

    Detective Burns sucked on the end of his pen.  Reviewing his notes, he was trying to fit it all together.  Last April was when it started, or when he became aware of it, he mentally amended.  Then, again in June.  "Yep, I'm onto something," he mused.  "Most definitely onto something!"  His hospital interview with the three men was decidedly unsatisfactory.  One had simply refused to talk without a lawyer present.  The second one had babbled some story about a demon attacking them.  Burns shook his head and wondered what the deacon was feeding them.  "Some line of crap," he mused.  The third was just totally non responsive.  His eyes were glazed and focused in a fixed stare that seemed to terminate on infinity.  He looked drugged, but the doctor has assured him that there was no sign of drugs in his system or on his person when admitted.  He'd placed him under arrest for failing to obey the lawful order of a law officer, i.e., refusing to identify himself.  No, it wouldn't stick, but it was a way to hold him for further questioning. 
    Opening the bottom drawer of his desk, he slid out a bulky sheaf of papers.  He spread them on his desk, revealing newspaper clippings and copies of newspaper articles.  The spanned several decades and all revolved around Baynard's Burial Plots.  A second row formed, parallel to the first and all were articles about the Liberated Light Temple. 
    Thirty years ago, a young evangelist had come to town.  Many claimed he had the fire in his belly and spoke the truth for all to hear.  Others thought he was too "far out," but everyone who met him liked him and his "church," the Liberated Light Temple, was accepted as part of the community.  During that year, as the temple was being built, there was shift in the crime statistics.  The nature of the number of the old crimes did not change but there was a statistically significant increase in crimes against women.  At the same time, Baynard's Burial Plots seem to become the recipient of a disproportionate share of murder victims or "accident" victims. 
    Many of those accidents were buried in the middle of the paper with almost no comment and there was never a follow up article.  With the dates in the newspaper, he'd gone to the police files.  After not being able to find any investigation reports on the first three, that he could find no reference to the next ten was no surprise, and it was a clear sign that treading softly could be wise for the "new guy" on the block.  He had the suspicion that he was in the middle of a thirty year cover up, and for any cover up to last that long, it has to be well funded and well placed. 
   
    The squad room was dim, but the smell of brewing coffee was welcome.  Detective Burns threw his damp newspaper on his desk and removed his rain coat.  He grimaced and hung it up on the coat rack next to the coffee area.  As he was pouring his coffee, another detective came in and headed straight for the coffee pot. 
    "Hey, Sam.  Hope you saved some for me"
    Sam Burns grinned.  "This stuff is battery acid.  Scott must have made it.  He's the idiot that likes to put three packs in."
    Greg made a face but poured a cup anyway. "Well, at least one cup of this stuff gets you going!"
    "Yea, going to the head!"  The both laughed and walked back to their desks.  They often worked as a team and their desks were facing each other. 
    "Greg. . ."  Sam Burns hesitated and looked around.  "What do you know about this Baynard thing?"
    It was Greg's turn to look around.  Seeing no one in the office other than themselves, he still lowered his voice before speaking.  "Sam, that's not something you want to be getting involved with.  Careers have been lost because of that.  You've only been here a couple of years, and haven't seen what a shit storm that can bring." 
    He looked around again and lowered his voice even more.  "Rumor has it that the Mayor and the Deacon are tight and the Deacon is ass hole deep in dealings around there.  The Baynard family sold that land to the Deacon years ago and moved out of town.  There was speculation that they'd received an offer they weren't going to refuse."
    "But. . ."
    "Sam, no buts.  You could lose your job or. . ." his lowered voice took on a husky tone, "or worse."
    Laughter preceded the opening of the squad room door and the entrance of more of the day shift.  Sam sipped his coffee and mulled over what Greg had told him.  They weren't really partners, but they did work together and had a good relationship.  He'd clearly felt he was taking a risk speaking of it.  Nodding to himself Sam thought, "My momma didn't raise no fool.  This child is going to tread very carefully!" 

    Detective Burns killed his lights and pulled the automatic transmission into second gear.  The preternaturally bright stars and almost full moon made head lights unnecessary, and the brown bomb would blend nicely into the rugged land surrounding Baynard's.  He idled around the perimeter, allowing his senses to absorb the "flavor" of the place. He was on edge.  There was something about this place that really rubbed him the wrong way.  He'd seen combat and it reminded him of brittle, metallic tenseness that he'd felt just prior to an ambush. 
    He realized that his hands were shaking, just like they'd done before going on the mission.  He grimaced and raised them from the wheel and shook them.  At less than ten miles an hour, the car would not careen out of control.  "What the hell is wrong with me." he mused.  "I'm acting like an idiot.  It's not like me to let a damn graveyard spook me, this way." 
    The shadowy figures that appeared from the surrounding trees and the sound of automatic fire was less of a surprise than it should have been.  His reflexive stabbing of the parking brake and rolling from the car was a move so smooth and quick that you'd think it had been practiced.   The line of bullets that sought his rolling form spurned him to greater concealment efforts.  He finally reached the edge of the road and rolled into the drainage ditch.  He hardly felt the shock of the near icy water and it didn't slow his retrieval of his 9mm auto. He fired two quick shots to demonstrate that he was armed and the quickly changed position.  The muzzle flash would have pin pointed his location.
    "Shit!"  His radio was not in the radio holster on his belt.  It hurt to drive with it on, and he'd removed it and put on the passenger seat.  "Now what?"  He wondered.  Patting his coat pocket, he was relieved to find that his spare clip was there.  Not exactly standard issue, it was longer than issue and held enough rounds to save your live in some situations.  Still, a hand gun against automatic weapons was not a good situation. 

    Detective Burns was not the only one wondering what was going on.  Eliza had been digging, just as Burns has been, and uncovered similar information.  Scouting the Baynard property before the full moon had seemed like a good idea at the time.  Now, she wasn't so sure.  The sound of automatic gun fire was a clear indication that someone had ill intent.  Moving at full speed towards the sound and then relying on the smell smokeless powder to lead her the rest of the way, she could see what was happening. 
    Four men armed with military style rifles had formed a semicircle and were approaching a drainage ditch.  She recognized the car, and even over the smell of the gun powder, she could smell the excitement and fear of the men.  A flash and a pop, the man on her left spun, cursed and went down.  "You OK, Luke?" One of the men yelled.
    "No, I ain't ok, but I'll live," was the reply, followed by a grunt.  "Bastard just nicked my leg."
    "You want we drag you outta here?"
    "No, take care of business, first.  I'll be ok."
    "Yes, sir," was the sharp reply.
    The three stood up at the same time and fired towards the ditch.  They took three running step and hit the deck together.  Each has fired two burst of three and there was no answering fire.  Since, even with her night vision, she hadn't seen Detective Burns, she figured they hadn't hit him.  He was probably trying to escape.  "He's trying to escape, if he's got any sense," she thought. 
    "You in the ditch!  You are trespassing.  Throw out your gun and come out with you hands up.  Eliza saw then shoulder their weapons and it was clear that if he showed himself, their intent was to shoot.
    From the far right, a series of shots sounded.  One of the standing men went down hard and didn't move. The second spun but landed firing.  The third calmly took aim and prepared to fire. 
    A high pitched screech rent the air, Eliza's scream, and she was running full speed towards the men.  The standing man got of two hasty shots towards Burns and both spun toward Eliza, firing.  She felt bullets tug as her cape and a burning pain, next to her right breast, hurt like a nest of angry bees has landed on her.  She hit the standing man hard, knocking the gun from his hands.  She ripped his throat out and rolled, wanting to avoid getting shot again.  The wounded man had stopped shooting when she'd gotten too close to his companion, but was firing again. 
    Dirt hit her in the face and the ricocheting round painfully hit her shoulder.  A click and cursing signaled that this contest was over. 
    Burns was down, bleeding from a scalp and shoulder wound.  He was unconscious and breath steadily.  Eliza easily picked him up and carried him to his car. 
    The next day, the morning paper had an inside story of a Detective Burns, being assaulted, but able to drive to the emergency room, where he passed out and was found by in incoming ambulance.  The article ended by decrying the level of violence in such a small down and promising to follow up with more details as soon as the detective was able to be interviewed.