I

I

"The Vatican, our detestable enemy," said Thierry Darsus, the Count of Brussels. His voice echoed into the night, its timber refined with hundreds of years of age. A hint of dread flashed across the old vampire's deeply wrinkled face. He was dressed in black. The Methuselah held the main seat of Count Four, the crime syndicate that haunted the Four City Alliance's underground. He was certainly afraid of something.

"It was a pity about Carrel van der Verf and the Amsterdam brethren. However, I can't believe more than ten Methuselah were slaughtered by just one Terran. Honestly, I still can't believe it."

"Although it's a pity, it is an undeniable fact, Your Excellency," said Gie de Grandville, the Count of Bruges. He was dressed in white and spoke quietly. He pushed up his wire-rimmed glasses to hide his anxious expression. "According to eyewitness testimony, one priest alone butchered the Amsterdam brethren—probably in retribution for killing the church workers in Oude Kerk.

"Well, as for Carrel himself, I think he got what he deserved. This trouble started because that idiot killed a priest." It was Hans Memlink, the Count of Antwerp, who said this in a shrill voice. He stood between Gie and Darsus. This young, artistic Methuselah had not gotten along well with Carrel when he'd been alive. Hans wrinkled his nose, clearly not mourning the loss of his comrade.

"Really, when it comes to that idiot, he's still causing problems after his death! So, who's the guy who killed Carrel? Has he already returned to Rome?"

"It's unconfirmed. At present, Alliance police are following his trail, but nothing has been found of his whereabouts."

"The police, eh? Isn't it too heavy a load for them to carry?"

Memlink snorted. His slender fingers played with the rose tucked into the lapel of his crimson tuxedo. He gave an ear-splitting laugh. "Our opponent must have wonderful skills if he destroyed Amsterdam—however temporarily. Can he be caught by stupid fellows like the police?"

"Isn't saying 'stupid' going too far, Count of Antwerp?" a man protested. He was the one person among them who'd remained silent thus far. Ducked under unruly orange hair, his face, which was hard with anger, looked like that of a man in his thirties. With his chin thrust out like that, his features were stern and ugly. Despite this, his tall, muscular body was in good shape, and his demeanor was dignified and unassailable.

Glaring at the scarlet-clad vampire, the man spoke slightly louder, "In the first place, the trouble was started when a Methuselah stupidly murdered a priest in a church. I submit to you that we still are paying for it. I beg you not to forget that point."

"You want us to dwell on it? Isn't that presumptuous, Jan van Maylen?" Memlink asked in his nasal, alto voice. He bit off the petals of his rose. His long, curved fingernails eerily scraped together. "By whose influence was a third-class nobleman like you appointed Chief Inspector? I don't want you to forget that it was our favor that gave you such status—for the time being."

"I'm paying you more than enough in compensation!"

The confrontation was between three powerful Methuselah and one fragile human, but Four City Alliance Chief Inspector Jan van Maylen didn't flinch. He defiantly lifted his chin, glaring directly into Memlink's icy purple eyes. "Do you people have any idea how much trouble I take to cover up your crimes? Especially you, Count of Antwerp — the clean up after your 'artistic activity' causes me a lot of trouble! I'd like you to stop playing games in such poor taste!"

"P-p-poor taste? Hey, Maylen! How dare you — a filthy traitor — say such a thing?" Memlink's mood swings were famous among the Count Four. If this conversation hadn't been conducted by visi-phone, the impertinent Terran would have been cut to ribbons by now. Baring his fangs, Memlink shouted in fury, "Who was it, ten years ago, that came crying to us to steal the post of Chief Inspector from the Watteau family? I haven't forgotten that night, when somebody came begging, offering us inside information! And the commissioner's seat wasn't the only thing you stole from them. Your wife, that — "

"That's enough, Memlink. Now isn't the time for quarreling among ourselves."

Darsus checked his noisy comrade with his authoritative voice. Somewhat stumped, he turned back to Jan. "Chief Inspector, you, too, must settle down. I certainly understand your dissatisfaction. If the uproar over this incident becomes any more profound, though, the Alliance government will not turn a blind eye, I'm afraid. You should embark upon a regular investigation."

"If that happens, you won't just lose your post. Mister Maylen, we will share the same fate. For your own sake, hadn't you better quickly produce some kind of result?" Gie's grave voice calmed everyone.

Jan had to agree with his point, although grudgingly. "I understand that without being told. I promise I'll make every effort to investigate the priest; I will work without rest. As for you — please don't do anything conspicuous. Honestly, I can't handle any more disasters."

"Fine. If you discover news of the priest, please tell us at once. We want revenge for our brethren. If we don't deal with this ourselves, we'll lose face with our own kind. Well, how does this plan sound to the two of you?"

"Yes, no objections," Memlink said.

Gie murmured, "Do as you like."

Darsus gloomily nodded his agreement.

Memlink, whose "artistic activity" had been deprecated, kept his back turned and continued sulking, but he made no other comments.

Nodding conscientiously, the Methuselah wearing white turned back to the chief inspector. "Then, Commissioner, we will wait for good news. By all means, don't let him get away."

"Understood. If something happens, I'll make contact again."

As soon as the three vampires hung up, Jan violently ripped off the visor covering the top half of his face. He tossed it on the desk next to the visi-phone that the Count Four had given him.

"Monsters! Doing whatever they want!"

He clucked his tongue and kicked a chair. Stalking out to the terrace, he inhaled the scent of the ocean and sighed. A harbor where ships continuously came and went and a lively shopping district lined with narrow shops spread before him.

The city of Antwerp, occupying one corner of the Four City Alliance, was a historic port city. There, the sizeable commercial cities located in the Netherlands at the Germanic and Franc borders had preserved a loose union by forming a mutual alliance. The alliance was managed by an independent parliament formed of merchants and the noble bureaucrats who paid them. As the Alliance had no official police or national defense, mercenary nobles received commissions from the Alliance to carry out military matters as freelance agents. The Maylen family, headed by Jan, was one such set of mercenary nobles.

As mercenary nobles by birth, the Watteau family of Bruges had inherited the post of Chief Inspector. Ten years ago, they had been attacked by vampires in their residential castle, and the entire manor had been destroyed in one night. Directly after that tragedy, Jan—who was a junior inspector at the time—helped the chaotic Alliance regain its tranquility. Due to such distinguished service, he had been appointed the youngest chief inspector in history.

Lately, however, the government's stock in Jan had been crashing. After the Watteau family was wiped out, Jan hadn't been able to completely subdue the menace of the Count Four—the vampire tribal alliance that quickly took over the underworld. Already, one part of the parliament motioned to reshuffle Jan to a different position.

At a time like this, if the Vatican were to seriously intervene...

With a pained expression, Jan glanced down at the courtyard. His brown eyes took in the sight of a brilliant green lawn, a broad garden, and two shadowed figures laughing. He saw an impressive young woman with golden hair and a slender frame sitting beside a young girl, who was weaving a flower garland. Jan gazed absently at the two of them, taking in their shapely noses, kind smiles, and lively chatter. They resemble each other.

"If the Vatican ever were to find out that I'm working with the vampires, I'd be ruined. I'd lose everything—Rachel, Marie, everything."

"Father!" The high-pitched shout interrupted the chief inspector's gloomy thoughts. "Father, look! I made it!"

"What's wrong, dear? Why are you making such a gloomy face?"

Jan returned his attention to the courtyard below. His little girl proudly held up her flower garland.

His wife was looking up at him. She anxiously pushed back her hair. "You don't feel unwell, do you?"

"Hm? Ah, no, it's nothing, Rachel. Just thinking a little." Jan worked hard to smile at his wife, Rachel van Maylen, who furrowed her slender eyebrows.

"Next month is Marie's birthday party. I was puzzling over whom to invite. The mayor's wife, of course . . . parliament members, and the bank presidents. Well, it's a bother," Rachel said.

"Marie's birthday party?"

The little girl beamed. Both her golden hair, which was the color of sunlight, and her slender jaw were exactly like Rachel's. If she continued to resemble her mother in the future, she would be an extremely beautiful woman.

"Father, will you come to my birthday party, too?"

"Of course." With a smile so kind it seemed out of sorts with his ugly face, Jan nodded to his beloved daughter. He said confidently, "This year, I'll summon plenty of guests. I will have to go around and greet them, too. Yes, Marie, tell your mother to get a dress made. You should go into town and get a brand-new one."

"Really? Yay!"

The girl clapped her small hands and laughed; her voice sounded like a ringing bell. She danced a little, romping about mischievously, talking rapidly with her mother. Jan looked at the tranquil scene. / wish this everyday life could go on forever. . . .

"Well, as we've decided on a new dress, you'd better go quickly and shop. If you leave now, you can be back by this evening." Jan pushed off from the handrail and clapped his thick hands. "I also have business to take care of during that time. Let's eat dinner together tonight, Marie."

"Yes, Father!" The girl nodded vigorously, put on her flower garland, and ran off.

Smiling fondly, Jan started to return to his office.

"Um, dear?" His wife's anxious voice stopped him in his tracks.

When he turned around, Rachel was looking up at him with a slightly puzzled expression. "Are you that busy? Lately, you seem very tired. You’re not overdoing it?"

"No need to worry, Rachel." The wind ruffled his orange hair. Jan smiled wryly, making the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. "Lately, I've been a bit preoccupied with business matters, so I haven't gotten quite enough sleep. Don't worry."

"But ..." His wife looked very pale.

"It's okay. The work is mostly finished. The rest will be done once I sign some documents. If you don't mind, may I go shopping with you, too?"

"Eh? But you're tired—"

"When I see Marie's smiling face, my fatigue evaporates. Good, it's settled, then. Wait a little while longer. I'll be done here soon. When I am, the three of us will go out. When the dress is taken care of, we'll shop and wander around the city a bit. Yes, maybe the three of us should eat out; it's been a long time."

His wife opened and closed her mouth two or three times, as if she wanted to say something; in the end, she merely nodded.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Jan said, "Go get ready with Marie. I'll come down soon. Ah, have somebody get the horse and carriage ready. The city's full of danger these days."

"All right." She turned to obey him. As he returned to his office, she called out, "Dear, don't work too hard, all right?"

"I won't overdo it." He muttered to himself as he sat down at his desk: "As long as I don't lose you two." Propping his chin on his intertwined fingers, Jan listened to his daughter's and wife's lovely voices recede into the garden.

Talk about marriage proposals had come up, now that Marie was about to turn five. Jan wanted Marie to have a fantastic birthday party, which also would serve as her social debut. Jan himself was a third-class nobleman and had gotten engaged very late in life. He wanted his daughter to marry the son of a distinguished family when she was young, so together they could build a happy home. For the sake of her future happiness, he desperately wanted to avoid a scandal.

"Jan van Maylen?" called a voice as sharp as a steel blade.

Jan noticed that he'd carelessly left the terrace window open. A refreshing breeze blew in from the sea. Beyond the fluttering curtains, an ominous black shadow stood. It looked as if night itself had invaded.

"Who are you?" Casually, Jan slid his hand toward the sword at his hip. He was an excellent swordsman, as was expected of a mercenary noble. However, this stranger had slipped into his heavily guarded mansion. He couldn't be any old intruder. Watching very carefully for an opening, Jan slowly shifted the upper half of his body. "I don't meet people for the first time without an appointment. Go talk to my secretary."

"This isn't our first meeting," the intruder grated out.

The stranger carried a long iron rod in his right hand. Jan couldn't make out his features because the man was wearing a hood — but at any rate, the man seemed about Jan's age, perhaps a little younger. Jade-green eyes shone sinisterly from underneath the hood. Perhaps the flames of hell, if they could be frozen in time, would glitter this color.

"No, maybe it is our first meeting, Jan van Maylen — here, at least."

"Hmph!"

In a flash, Jan kicked back his chair and sliced his sword through the intruder's shadow.

There were no sounds of flesh rending or blood gushing. Instead, a high-pitched clash of metal rang out. Jan's favorite blade was shattered by the man's iron rod. Jan's eyes widened and he dropped his fighting stance.

"You broke my sword!"

When it came to swordsmanship, no one in the Alliance could best Jan. There might have been one man who could have beaten him; that man died ten years ago, though, so Jan could boast that he was unmatched. Jan was confident that he could defeat any vampire, let alone a mere man. Yet, he'd been bested so easily!

"As always, your movements waste too much energy, Jan."

The intruder quietly laughed at the chief inspector, who was frozen in shock.

The second Jan had drawn his sword, the stranger's shadow had slid out of his reach, moving in front of Jan's left hand. His opponent had expected Jan's attack, but Jan was in no position to realize that at the moment. Jan was in shock, his eyes wide open, as if he'd witnessed the resurrection of someone long dead.

"Hugue?" Jan recognized the man with streaming gold hair. "Hugue de Watteau! Why are you here?"

A strong wind swept passed the young nobleman, who was about to die of shock. The iron rod struck his chest; Jan was flung backward. He fell, screaming as his spine cracked. The chief inspector writhed in pain.

"It's been a while, Jan," Hugue coldly whispered. "Or should I call you Chief Inspector? I congratulate you on your advancement."

Jan looked up at the intruder's beautiful white face and golden hair. He saw the man's jade-green eyes, full of grief. It was unmistakably Hugue de Watteau, the eldest son of the Watteau family — and Jan's childhood friend. The one rival he couldn't beat.

He should have died ten years ago. How . . . ?

"Wh-what have you been doing for ten years, Hugue?" Jan barely managed to speak. "You didn't contact me. I've been worried this whole time."

"Worried?" Hugue's lips stretched into a smile. He stood at his full height. "Weren't you worried about yourself, Jan? Did you fret that I might take back the honor and position you'd earned by selling out my family to vampires!"

"Guh!" Jan gave out a strangled cry as he took a hard strike to the pit of his stomach.

Bottomless malice and hatred radiated in Hague's eyes as he watched Jan double over. "Painful? I'll bet. It's nothing compared to the kind of pain my family went through, though."

The young avenger's hand barely moved. His iron rod snapped apart. White light flashed, casting shadows across Hugue's face. The iron rod had a blade built into its center. He swung the weapon upside down and bellowed out his hatred and rage.

"This is revenge for my family. Die in pain, Jan van Maylen!"

"Wait! Listen to me, Hugue. I'm being used by Count Four!"

"I won't listen!" He thrust down his naked sword — and then froze.

A polite knock at the door and a woman's soft voice interrupted his attack. "Dear, may I come in for a minute?" The door opened. A slender woman stood in the doorway. "How is your work coming? Marie is sulking, saying, 'Isn't Papa ready yet?'"

"Keep out!" Jan cried, forgetting about the deadly weapon mere millimeters from his head. "Don't come in, Rachel!"

Hugue forgot all about Jan in that instant. "Rachel?" His expression changed from one of rage to shock.

"Eh?" Rachel wore the exact same expression. She was about to scream at the sight of the sword thrust at her husband; then, she paused in amazement when she glanced at the swordsman's face. "It can't be ... Hugue?"

---

---

"I'll hear the rest of what you have to say, Jan van Maylen!" Hugue twirled his blade up and then put it back into its sheath. "Tonight at ten, come to the place where you and I first met. Come alone. If you don't, I'll publicize everything about your ties to the vampires!"

"Ah! Wait!" Rachel cried. She had regained her senses as if a spell had been broken. Now, she screamed at the dark shadow that was running out onto the terrace. "Hugue! Wait, tell me—!"

"Stop, Rachel!" Jan managed to stand up in front of his wife, who was going to run after the swordsman. He held her back. "It's dangerous! Don't follow him! Don't follow him!"

"Why was Hugue—?"

"No! That's not Hugue!" Hugging his wife tightly, Jan said, "No, Rachel. He's a terrorist. He meant to assassinate me. When you suddenly came in ..."

"Terrorist? His face—"

"Yes, I was surprised at first, too. However, Hugue died ten years ago. How could a dead man come here? The terrorist happens to resemble Hugue, that's all." Jan prattled at his wife, who still couldn't be persuaded. He picked up the phone on the wall and said, "At any rate, I'll call somebody and increase the mansion's guards. He still might be nearby. Rachel, you stay with Marie. No matter what happens, don't take your eyes off her!"

"But . . . very well." Rachel was still far from calm; however, she nodded at the mention of her daughter. "I'll be with Marie. Be careful, dear."

"I love you, Rachel."

Watching his wife quickly leave the room, Jan picked up the phone and dialed with trembling hands. The scant time it took for the circuit to connect seemed like an eternity.

Hugue . . . I didn't believe you were still alive!

The expression his wife had worn when she'd seen Hugue ... What is that about?

It hadn't been shock. It wasn't an expression of longing for an old friend. Her eyes conveyed a raw feeling, tinged with heat—and the same expression had show on Hugue's face. They were lovers. . . .

A high-pitched nasal voice answered the phone. "Ja?"

"It's Maylen." He forced himself to breathe. "Is this a good time? I have important information about the death of the Count of Amsterdam."

He swallowed reflexively, the taste in his mouth as bitter as poison.