Sayre ambled a couple steps. He focused his body. He held out his left hand with the ring around his middle finger. His eyes fell to it and the little gem within the gold. It flashed.

Sayre lifted his eyes to the hallway. I know you’re here. He peeked into a janitor’s closet, into an empty arts and crafts room. He used his ring like a beacon, until it led him back to the street.

With a sigh, he stepped out. A horrible icy chill pulsed down his back. It rent his heart—a thing that was in fact beating like a normal human, and as such spiked with anxiety—and his spine. He spun in place and moved farther from the building to glance at the roof.

Still, nothing.

He studied the shadows.

Nothing.

Sayre clenched his fists.  He knew it was there. He knew it.

“Sayre?” Howard called from the building. “Why don’t you come in?”

“I saw it,” he said to the city he still surveyed.

“Okay. Saw what?”

Sayre patted at the journal—wait. Where was the journal? Sayre felt the rest of his pockets. He whipped towards Howard, who clearly didn’t have it.

“Shit,” he cursed.

Sayre bound at full speed back into the building, shoving Howard aside and into the cafeteria, where he climbed atop table and bench to the shouts (and single cheer) of the occupants. He jumped to the floor where he and Howard had been sitting moments ago, then dipped to look beneath the table. 

“Fuck!” The hand Sayre had used to brace himself slammed against it. It broke, caving in twain at the spot.

Howard’s eyes widened. He dropped his hands on Sayre’s shoulders and led him away. “Come now, friend,” he said too loudly. “We’ll talk in my office.”

Sayre allowed this, until they were behind a private door, then he ripped himself out. “The journal is gone.”

“How is that possible?” Howard kept walking down the narrow passageway, a darker lane littered with boxes and stacked chairs.

“Has a man in a tophat frequented here?”

Howard’s eyes sharpened in confusion. “A…tophat? No.”

“Are you sure?” Sayre pressed.

“I’m pretty damn sure.” Howard unlocked the door to his office. “This is the only room I’ve been able to afford. We’ll be safe here.”

They moved into Howard’s office—an already dated room, with wooden paneled walls, a thick shaggy rug, a wooden desk, and various religious icons. A large window, peppered with flyers and light catchers spotted the room. It smelled like wood, wet dog, and a thousand years of lectures Sayre didn’t feel like entertaining.

He gestured about it all anyway. “This is an interesting disguise.”

Howard snorted. “Yeah. No one would suspect the local holy man to crave man-flesh. It has its perks, too. I’ve a whole pack of people who count on me, and the actual pack is useful for the baseball team. I feel like a shepherd.”

“You’re a wolf.”

“Satisfied guard, I like to think.” Howard beamed about the room, then fell into his chair. He kicked his feet up on the desk. “Who better to protect the flock, than something with fangs?”

Sayre rolled his eyes. “There isn’t going to be much of anything for you, Howard, if we don’t figure out what happened to that journal.”

“How do you mean?” Howard’s brow twisted. His feet planted on the floor. 

Sayre dug his fingers into the back of a leather chair before Howard’s desk. “I don’t think we took care of it—”

“No,” Howard whined.

“ —and I think—”

“Please, no.”

“ —I think it’s back.”

Howard slumped into his chair. “Tell me this is an elaborate prank. Tell me you’ve fucked off for decades, and the fact I haven’t seen you in almost fifty years, is because it was all leading up to this joke, this prank, right here?”

Sayre remained stalwart. “You know that’s not me.”

“Then…then…” Howard’s gaze drifted worriedly around the room, “Does that mean—?”

“She died for nothing.” Sayre squeezed harder.

“Oh…Sayre, I…” Howard stood and wrapped his arms around Sayre, despite the vampire’s protests. “Let me—”

“Get off me!”

“Accept my—”

“Never!” Sayre distanced himself from the werewolf and fixed his jacket and hair. “Don’t. Just…don’t! Okay!”

Howard stepped closer. Sayre pointed a deadly finger. “You can talk to me. I am a grief counselor.”

“No!” Sayre called on the Old. He bore his fangs. His eyes burned black and red.

Howard stopped in his tracks. “You’re only proving my point.”

“We don't have time for this. We have to find that journal! It’s the only way we’ll be able to track this thing. It’s the only clue—”

A knock came across the door. Howard and Sayre both stilled.

Clearing his throat, Howard stepped a little closer. He bent towards a baseball bat leaning against a wall. “I’m with someone at the moment, come back a little later.”

The knock came again.

Howard shifted his eyes to Sayre. A seriousness came across them. “Like old times,” he muttered, then reached for the door.

Sayre sunk into a shadow, disappearing from sight. 

“Oh! Father Paul! I’m sorry to bother you!” squeaked and chirped a pre-teen girl. Her jean jacket was many sizes too big for her body and extended beyond her small fingers.

“It’s all right,” he assuaged, placing the baseball bat gently behind the door.

“There is a man in the cafeteria that keeps asking for you. He gave me this, and told me to give it to you. I told him I’d take him to see you, but he put on a weird hat and walked away. Honestly, he looked like Mister Scrooge—y’know? From The Christmas Carol?”

“Did he now?” Howard tried to hide his panic, but Sayre could hear his pulse jump with unease. “What was it that he gave you?”

The girl lifted a plastic bag with the words ‘THANK YOU’ written repeatedly on them. Howard took it from her and held his breath as he opened it. The sigh of relief that billowed out of him with “Oh thank fucking God, it’s just banna bread,” could have lifted him to the moon. 

The girl went wide-eyed, then laughed. “You’re real funny, you know that Father Paul?”

“Our little secret?” He smiled and winked, and closed the door. His forehead fell into it. His shoulders slumped forward. To Sayre, he grumbled, “I think I remember why I stopped spending time with you. I was always afraid you were going to send me to an early grave.”

Sayre stepped out of the shadows. “Bread?”

Howard lifted it high and rattled the bag. “She probably meant, Mr. Pelanos. He makes a mean banana bread, and has a fondness for dressing like he’s in a Dickensian play. Works out that he also is a part of some Living History bullshit.” Howard drifted to his desk once more, and sank. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Sayre. Y’know that?”

“This is serious.”

Howard rubbed his face. “I’ll keep an eye out. Tophat. Shadow-fucker. Got it.” He sighed, rubbed his face once more, then ripped into the bag and plastic around the homemade banana bread. He broke it in half with his bare hands. A piece lifted in offering to Sayre, but Sayre shook his head. “Suit yourself,” he said, then dove into it.

“Like a dog,” Sayre chided under his breath.

“I’ll keep you posted. We’ll figure this out. We have to” —he gulped— “I’m not doing this again in another fifty damn years!”

“If you live till then.”

“Ha!” Howard snorted, now angry. “So incredibly fuckin’ funny. Hunting me down like this, to scare me half to fuckin’ death. As if I didn’t spend all this time getting my life to something calm and fuckin’ peaceful. No.” He took another bite, but continued on his tirade. The rest of what he said was unintelligible.

Sayre let his head sink. His hand curled in his pockets. His left thumb spun the ring. “I didn’t know it would be you. I’m not here because I want to be.”

“Oh! Thanks! That doesn’t hurt any less.” He took another bite. 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know that.”

“I can’t help it!” Howard squeaked like a puppy. “You know how I get when I’m stressed.” He gruffed, then shoved the last of the bread into his mouth, chewing, chewing, chewing, until a large gulp and cough cleared him. He wiped the crumbs away. “It took a long time to get this place where I could just relax. That’s all I want. No more fighting, no more howling at the moon. I just want to garden, and eat banana bread, and be alive!” Howard stood and exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry about… It was awful how things played out, and I’m sorry. I know you were happy—”

Sayre growled. “Stop.”

“No.” Howard stepped closer. “You were! For a moment, I was right there with you. I was right there believing all the impossible things with you.”

“Stop.”

“You are going to have to come to terms with it one day, Sayre, and I’m here for you when you do.” Howard moved even closer, despite the snarl of Sayre’s fangs. “However many years of you being a vampire, and you did the single most human fuckin’ thing possible!” Howard dropped his hands on Sayre’s shoulders. His brows pinched together. His eyes were warm. “You fell in love. Don’t deny it. I know you. …You fell and—”