A whistle is blown. There are charging feet behind me. I turn. The original two from the Civil Night Patrol, plus the rest of the local militia, are bearing down on me. Just a normal night out for anti-vampire thugs, I presume. That’s when I’m pulled into an alley.
“Quick. In here.” I follow her, through an opening in the alley wall, which slides back into place behind us. We clatter down metal steps.
She stops to light a flickering torch, which reveals a curved brick ceiling, a narrow path where we stand, and the flowing water next to it. Great, I’m in a sewer. Worse still. I’ve been saved by fog girl. This is worse than the itches that garlic give me, in those hard to reach places.