I sort of figure that this can’t possibly be as bad as what Theroen just described.”

“I assure you it won’t be.” Theroen at last looked at her, then glanced down the street again. The first houses on the outskirts of the small town were approaching, windows dark and dead. Two supposed that in the day the town must look quaint and picturesque. She wondered when she would see daylight again, how long it would take before her body was equipped to cope with it, as Theroen had told her it would be. For now, she supposed it didn’t matter. Theroen and Melissa had adjusted to life under the moon. So would she.

Strains of music in the air. Two listened, but couldn’t pinpoint the source. “Where’s that music coming from?”

“You owe me fifty dollars.” Theroen was grinning at Melissa.

“Fuck. Fuck! I totally thought it’d be at least another half mile.”

“What are you talking about?” Two questioned, bemused.

“I heard it about a mile ago. Theroen, probably back by the cars. We made a bet on when you’d hear it, while you were thinking about Theroen’s story and not paying attention. I didn’t think your ears would get that good, that quick.” Melissa shrugged.

“There is a bar. It is the only place you’ll find anyone awake at this hour, without invading homes.” Theroen gestured down the road, toward the center of town. “I think there you will find a suitable...”

“Client,” Two muttered. Theroen raised an eyebrow, and she shook her head. “Never mind, Theroen. Old memories.”

“I know those well. This man... you’ll know him. You’ll sense him. Trust me.”

“And why is he suitable?”

“You wanted someone who deserves death, yes?”

Two nodded.

“He beat his wife to death, two years ago, for breaking a glass while cleaning the kitchen. She was six months pregnant with their first child. He beat her to death with a chair leg, and then drove across three states to dispose of her body. He lied his way through the investigation and came out clean. She is still considered a missing person.”

“How do you know this?

“I read the paper, and I read minds. I was curious. I parked my Ferrari, went to the hill that I took you to on the night you met me, and sat concentrating until I had all of the information I wanted.”

“Why didn’t you kill him yourself?”

Theroen shrugged. “They are mortals. What does it matter to me? Besides, as Melissa mentioned previously, I prefer to drink from women.”

“Is this the wrong way to start, Theroen?”

“There is no wrong way. There is only the thirst and the blood. Is this what you wanted, Two? If it is not, I can happily lead you elsewhere, but I thought here you might find some respite from guilt.”

Two nodded. “This will work, Theroen. Are you sure I’ll know him.”

“You will sense that darkness in him, I believe. For me it shines out like a beacon.”

Two took a deep breath, steeled herself. “Okay then.”

She headed for the bar alone.

* * *

The bar was everything Two would have expected from this small, old-fashioned town. Yellow wood glowed mellow in the dim lights, dented and scarred and shined by decades of service. A television in the corner, above customer’s heads, was attached with screws that were maybe two years -- maybe three -- from pulling out of the water-stained plasterboard. It was playing old reruns of Sanford and Son with the volume turned down. A few ailing tables were scattered near the far end of the building, most empty. Someone was asleep at one of the wall booths, and three or four men were clustered near one end of the bar.

The reaction to Two’s entrance was immediate, their stares like a physical force pressing against her. The sensation reminded her of her pool hustling days. She grinned, glanced around, moved toward the bar, away from the cluster of men.

“Help you?” The bartender looked late fifties. His voice was all Jim Beam and Camels. Dark, scraggly hair, three days of stubble. Not the one.

“What’s your best red wine?”

“Mmm. Nothing you’d probably consider good.” At least he was honest. Two smiled at him, looked to the beer taps.

“Just a Molson, then, please. Short.”

“Do I need to card you?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

The bartender turned away, grinning. She watched the glass fill with the amber liquid. The idea of actually drinking it seemed a foreign concept to her now. After the blood, everything else had lost its appeal. Two doubted she would be able to stomach it,