CHAPTER 3
The First Victim
The rain had started again as Helena and Erik drove through downtown Munich. Heavy, penetrating rain that turned the streets into gleaming black mirrors. The BMW’s windshield wipers fought against the masses of water, their rhythmic squeaking the only sound inside the car.
Erik sat in the passenger seat, the box with the key on his lap, watching the streets slide past. Munich looked different now, after Helena had told him the truth. More threatening. As if something were lurking behind every façade, in every dark window.
“Where are we going?” he finally asked.
“The Institute of Forensic Medicine,” Helena replied without taking her eyes off the road. “On the other side of the Isar. A colleague is waiting for us there.”
“A colleague from the night watch?”
“No. A regular forensic pathologist. But one who… asks questions. Who recognizes patterns.” She took a turn too fast for Erik’s taste. “Dr. Martin Weber. Officially, he doesn’t know about us, but he suspects that something isn’t right with the cases. We have a… arrangement.”
“What kind of arrangement?”
“We give him answers his mind can accept. In return, he lets us see the evidence he can’t explain.” Helena smiled thinly. “A symbiotic relationship.”
They drove across a bridge. Beneath them, the Isar flowed dark and swollen with rain. Erik could imagine things disappearing in that water. Evidence. Bodies. Secrets.
The Institute of Forensic Medicine was a modern building of glass and concrete, nestled into the hillside. Brightly lit despite the late hour, a lighthouse in the darkness. Helena parked in a reserved bay, showed an ID to a guard, and they were waved through.
“Let me do the talking,” Helena said as they went inside. “Weber is… eccentric. He doesn’t like surprises.”
The corridors smelled of disinfectant—and something else. Something sweetish that Erik didn’t want to name. Death, he thought. That’s the smell of death.
They took an elevator down to the basement. The doors opened onto another corridor: white walls, harsh fluorescent light. At the end stood a door labeled:
AUTOPSY ROOM 3 – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
Helena knocked twice, then once, then twice again. A code.
The door opened.
The man who let them in was in his early fifties, tall and gaunt, with snow-white hair and rimless glasses. He wore green surgical scrubs and latex gloves. His eyes, behind the lenses, were alert and intelligent.
“Helena,” he said in greeting. His voice was deep, with a slight northern German accent. “Punctual as always.”
“Martin. This is Erik Schönwaldt. He’s working with us now.”
Dr. Weber studied Erik with a look that seemed to see through him while dissecting him at the same time. “The man from the Black Forest,” he said at last. “Helena told me about you. Falkenstein Castle.”
Erik nodded stiffly. “Nice to meet you.”
“We’ll see.” Weber turned and walked into the room. “Follow me.”
The autopsy room was exactly as Erik had imagined it—and worse. Stainless-steel tables, glaring light, shelves of instruments that looked too precise. And in the center, on one of the tables, under a white sheet, the outline of a body.
“The latest victim,” Weber said as he approached the table. “Sophie Hartmann. Twenty-four years old. Student at LMU. Found three days ago in her apartment in Maxvorstadt. Her roommate came home and found her in bed. Dead.”
He pulled back the sheet.
Erik forced himself to look.
Sophie Hartmann was—had been—a young woman with short dark hair and a narrow face. Her skin had the unnatural pallor of death, but something more as well. A translucence, as if one could see through her. Her lips were bluish, her eyes closed and sunken.
“Cause of death?” Helena stepped closer, professional, composed.
“Officially? Acute heart failure due to extreme anemia.” Weber picked up a file and flipped through it. “Hemoglobin level at discovery: 3.2 grams per deciliter. Normal would be twelve to sixteen. She practically had no blood left in her body.”
“How is that possible?” Erik couldn’t tear his eyes away from the corpse. “I mean… with that much blood loss, there would have to be blood everywhere.”
“That’s the mystery.” Weber stepped closer to the body, pointing at various places. “No external bleeding. No internal bleeding that I could find. The blood didn’t go anywhere. It’s… gone.”
“Show him the wounds,” Helena said quietly.
Weber nodded. He carefully turned the corpse’s head to the side, brushed the hair away.
There, on the neck beneath the left ear: two small puncture marks. Round, clean, no bigger than needle pricks. But deep. Erik could see where they led into the carotid artery.
“Twice,” Weber said. “Always twice. All five victims had the same markings. Precisely placed. No trembling, no slipping. As if someone worked with surgical accuracy.”
Erik leaned closer. The wounds looked like… bite marks. Exactly like Lukas’s. And yet different. Cleaner. More controlled.
“Tool or teeth?” Helena asked.
“Impossible to say.” Weber moved the lamp closer. “The edges are too smooth for most tools. But also too precise for human teeth. And look at this.”
He took a magnifying glass from his pocket and handed it to Erik. “At the edge of the left wound. Do you see it?”
Erik held the magnifier over the puncture site. At first he saw nothing but damaged tissue. Then, almost invisible, a tiny filament. Not fabric. Something else.
“A hair,” he whispered.
“Not a human hair.” Weber sounded triumphant, like a teacher whose student had given the right answer. “I analyzed it. The structure is unusual. Too smooth, too strong. And the DNA…” He broke off, shaking his head. “The DNA makes no sense. It doesn’t match any known mammal.”
Erik straightened and handed the magnifier to Helena. She examined the wound herself, her face expressionless.
“What’s your theory, Martin?” she asked.
Weber pulled off his gloves and tossed them into a waste bin. “Officially? A new form of parasite. Something that drains blood without leaving traces. Maybe a species of tick we don’t know yet.”
“And unofficially?”
Weber looked at her for a long moment. Then he went to a shelf and took out a jar. Inside, preserved in formaldehyde, was the hair.
“Unofficially,” he said quietly, “in thirty years of forensic medicine I’ve seen a lot. Murders, accidents, diseases. I thought I could explain everything. But this…” He put the jar back. “This follows no logic I know. And the worst part is: it’s not the first time.”
“What do you mean?” Erik stepped closer.
Weber went to a computer and typed something in. Files appeared on the screen. Many files.
“In the last five years,” Weber said, “there have been twenty similar cases in Munich. Not all identical, but all with extreme blood loss, no explanation. The authorities filed them as ‘unsolved.’ Too difficult, too strange. Nobody wants to deal with them.”
Helena stepped beside him. “Twenty? I thought there were only five in the last three weeks.”
“Those are the acute cases. The obvious ones.” Weber scrolled through the data. “But if you look closer, you see a pattern. Every few months, a death. Always the same symptoms. Always the same wounds.” He looked at Helena. “Whatever this is—it’s not new. It’s been here. For years.”
Erik felt his stomach tighten. For years. Vampires in Munich, undetected for years.
“Why now?” he asked. “Why have five people suddenly died in the last three weeks? What changed?”
“That’s the right question.” Helena turned away from the computer and went back to the body. “Martin, did you find anything else with this victim? Anything unusual?”
Weber hesitated. “Define unusual.”
“You know what I mean.”
Weber sighed. He went to a refrigerator, opened it, and took out a Petri dish. Inside was a small piece of tissue.
“I took this from the wound,” he said, placing the dish under a microscope. “Normally, you’d find bacteria in wounds like this, maybe saliva if it was a bite. But here…”
He stepped aside and let Erik look through the microscope.
Erik saw… something. Cells, he thought, but they were moving. Pulsing. As if they were alive, even though the woman was dead.
“What is that?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” Weber said, frustrated. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It behaves like a virus, but it’s too large. Like a parasite, but it has no recognizable structure. And the craziest part…” He took the dish back. “It dies when exposed to sunlight. Instantly. Within seconds.”
Silence filled the room.
Helena and Erik exchanged a glance.
“Sunlight,” Erik said softly.
Weber looked back and forth between them. “What? What does that mean?”
“It means,” Helena said carefully, “that your parasite theory isn’t entirely wrong. It’s just that this parasite… is more intelligent than you think.”
“More intelligent? Helena, what the hell are you talking about?”
Helena took a deep breath. “Martin, I’m going to tell you something, and you won’t believe me. But I need you to listen.”
Weber folded his arms. “I’m listening.”
“What killed these people isn’t an animal. Not a normal animal. It’s…” She searched for words. “It’s something very old. Something that exists in legends—but also in reality. Something that needs blood to survive.”
Weber stared at her. “You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“Helena, you’re a scientist. You can’t seriously—”
“I was a scientist,” Helena interrupted. “Until I saw things science couldn’t explain. Until I had to accept that there is more between heaven and earth than our school wisdom can imagine.”
Weber laughed incredulously. “You’re quoting Shakespeare to tell me that… what? That vampires are real? That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Erik interjected. His voice was calm but firm. “Dr. Weber, you yourself said this follows no logic you know. That you’ve never seen anything like it. What if the reason is that you’re looking with the wrong logic?”
“And the right logic would be vampires?” Weber shook his head. “No. No, that’s nonsense. There has to be a scientific explanation.”
“And what if the scientific explanation is that some legends are true?” Helena stepped closer. “Martin, I’ve known you for ten years. You’re one of the best forensic specialists I know. You see things others overlook. But sometimes, to see the truth, you have to be willing to accept the impossible.”
Weber was silent for a long time. His gaze drifted to the body, to the microscope, back to Helena.
“Suppose,” he said finally, “just suppose you’re right. What then? What do you do against… against something like that?”
“You hunt it.” Helena’s voice hardened. “You find it, and you stop it.”
“And how?”
“That,” Erik said, tapping the box under his arm, “we’ll figure out.”
Weber rubbed his eyes. “I… I need a moment.”
“Take your time.” Helena briefly placed a hand on his shoulder. “But while you’re thinking: is there anything else? Any clue we might have missed?”
Weber went back to the computer, almost mechanically. “The locations,” he said. “All five victims were found in their apartments. No signs of forced entry. No signs of a struggle. As if they were… invited in.”
“Vampires need an invitation,” Erik murmured. “That’s how it is in the stories, right?”
“In some,” Helena confirmed. “But not all. And the stories are often distorted. Still, Martin, you’re right—if there are no signs of forced entry, it means the victims knew their killer. Or let them in willingly.”
“There’s more.” Weber opened another file. Photos of Sophie’s apartment. “The scene was strangely arranged. The roommate said Sophie would never have made her bed like that. But when she was found, she was lying perfectly arranged. Hands folded over her chest. Almost like…”
“Like in a coffin,” Helena finished.
“Yes.” Weber looked uneasy. “And one more thing. We found this in the apartment.”
He showed them a photo. On Sophie’s bedside table: a single red rose, and next to it a card.
“What does the card say?” Erik asked.
Weber took an evidence bag and handed it to Helena. She opened it carefully and pulled out the card.
The handwriting was elegant, old-fashioned. Just four words:
Thank you for the gift.
Erik felt a chill run down his spine. “The gift. The blood.”
“Not just the blood.” Helena turned the card over. On the back was a symbol: a stylized eye with a vertical pupil, surrounded by a crown.
“Do you recognize the symbol?” Erik asked.
Helena nodded slowly. Her face had gone pale. “Yes. That’s the seal of the Council.”
“The Council?”
“A gathering of ancient vampires. The eldest. The most powerful.” Helena’s voice trembled slightly. “If they’re here, if they’re becoming active in Munich…” She broke off and took a deep breath. “Then it’s worse than I thought.”
Weber looked between them. “What does that mean? What is the Council?”
“Trouble,” Erik said quietly. “Big trouble.”
Helena put the card back into the bag and returned it to Weber. “Martin, I need you to keep this secret. No one can know about this symbol. Can you do that?”
“Helena—”
“Please.”
Weber sighed. “All right. But I want updates. If you really are… hunting, I want to know what happens.”
“You will.” Helena turned to leave, then paused. “And Martin? Be careful. If the Council is really here, no one is safe. Not even during the day.”
They left the autopsy room. The corridor outside suddenly seemed too bright, too loud. Erik could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights, the drone of the ventilation.
In the elevator, Helena said, “We need to get back to headquarters. The team has to know.”
“The symbol,” Erik said. “You recognized it. How?”
Helena looked away. “My father had the same symbol. As a tattoo. On his chest.”
Erik remembered. The vampire in the subway depot. Konstantin. Helena’s father.
“You think he was part of the Council?”
“I don’t know. He never talked about it.” Helena’s voice was controlled, but Erik could hear the pain beneath it. “But if he was, if the Council is behind this… then this is personal. Very personal.”
The elevator doors opened. They went back to the car, through the rain, which had intensified again.
As they got in, Erik asked, “What did Weber mean by ‘as if they were invited in’? Do vampires really need an invitation?”
“Some do.” Helena started the engine. “It depends on age, on power. Young vampires are bound by rules. They can’t enter a home without permission. But older ones…” She turned onto the street. “Older ones have ways around those rules. And the Elders—the Council—they don’t follow any rules at all.”
“How many are on the Council?”
“No one knows for sure. The numbers vary. Some say seven. Some say twelve. I’ve heard it could be even more.” Helena’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “But one thing we know: they are centuries old. Some millennia. They’ve seen empires rise and fall. They’ve survived wars, plagues, everything. And they are unimaginably powerful.”
“And now they’re here. In Munich.”
“Yes.”
“Why? What do they want here?”
Helena was silent for a moment. Then, “I don’t know. But whatever it is—it’s big. The Council doesn’t move without reason. And if they’re starting to kill so openly, leaving symbols behind…” She shook her head. “They want us to know. They want us to be afraid.”
“Mission accomplished,” Erik muttered.
They drove through the dark streets of Munich. The city looked peaceful, oblivious. People in lit windows, living their lives. Restaurants, bars, normal life.
But Erik saw the shadows now. The dark spaces between buildings. The figures that moved too fast to be human.
“How many are there?” he asked suddenly. “How many vampires in Munich?”
“Hard to say. We estimate… maybe twenty. Thirty.” Helena turned into a side street. “Most live peacefully. Drink animal blood, keep hidden. We have a kind of… armistice with them.”
“And the others?”
“The others hunt.” Helena’s voice turned cold. “And we hunt them.”
They stopped in front of an inconspicuous building in the old town. From the outside it looked like an old bookshop, closed for the night.
“We’re here,” Helena said.
Erik got out, the box under his arm. The rain had eased into a fine drizzle. The street was empty, quiet. Only the sound of water rushing through the drains.
Helena went to the bookshop door and knocked three times. A pause. Then twice. Then once.
The door opened from the inside.
A man stood there. Tall, muscular, early forties, with short-cropped gray hair and a scar running from his left eye down to his chin. He wore black combat gear, and weapons hung from his belt. Many weapons.
“Helena,” he said. His voice was rough, as if from too much whiskey and too many cigarettes. “And this must be the new guy.”
“Erik Schönwaldt, this is Marcus Wolf,” Helena introduced them. “He runs our field operations.”
Marcus looked Erik over with a weighing gaze. “Falkenstein Castle, I hear. Alone against an old vampire. Either you’re brave or you’re stupid.”
“Probably both,” Erik said.
Marcus suddenly grinned. “I like that. Come on in, rookie. Time you met the family.”
They stepped into the darkness of the bookshop.
And into a world Erik had never thought possible.
CHAPTER 4
The Berger Family
The bookshop was small and cluttered. Shelves stretched up to the ceiling, crammed with books whose spines were barely legible in the dim light. It smelled of old paper, dust, and something else—incense, perhaps, or herbs.
Marcus led them through a narrow aisle between the shelves, past a cash register that looked as though it hadn’t been used in decades. On the back wall hung a heavy curtain. Marcus pulled it aside, revealing a door made of solid oak.
“After you,” he said to Erik and opened the door.
Beyond it was not, as Erik had expected, a storage room. Instead: a spiral staircase leading downward. Stone steps, worn smooth by countless feet, illuminated by flickering lights embedded in the walls.
“How deep does it go?” Erik asked as they descended.
“Three levels,” Helena replied ahead of him. “The top two are offices and training rooms. The lowest one is the archive.”
“And beneath that are the old catacombs,” Marcus added. “From the Middle Ages. Munich sits on a labyrinth of tunnels. Most people don’t even know they exist anymore. Perfect for us—and unfortunately also perfect for the ones we hunt.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs. A long corridor stretched out before them, with doors on both sides. Modern lighting now—LED strips along the ceiling. The contrast between ancient stone and modern technology was unsettling.
Helena opened one of the doors. “Conference room. The team should already be waiting.”
The room was surprisingly spacious. A long table of dark wood stood in the center, surrounded by chairs. On the walls: whiteboards filled with notes, photos, maps of Munich marked with symbols. And monitors—several of them—showing different parts of the city. Surveillance cameras, Erik realized.
Two people were seated at the table.
The first was a woman in her mid-thirties with long black hair and Asian features. She wore thick-rimmed glasses and had a tablet in front of her, which she was reading. When she looked up, she smiled warmly.
“You must be Erik,” she said with a slight American accent. “Helena’s told us about you. I’m Yuki Tanaka.”
“The historian,” Erik said, recalling Helena’s description at the café.
“And mythologist. And occasionally translator for languages that have been dead for a thousand years.” Yuki stood and shook his hand. Her grip was warm and firm. “Welcome to the Night Watch.”
The second person at the table was a man probably in his mid-fifties, with graying hair and the face of someone who had smiled a lot—laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. He wore a black sweater and a crucifix around his neck. But it was his presence that impressed Erik most: a calm, a stillness that seemed to emanate from him in waves.
“Brother Thomas,” Helena said. “Our spiritual advisor.”
The man stood and nodded to Erik. “Just Thomas is fine. I left the Church a long time ago.” His voice was gentle, almost melodic. “But faith… faith never left me.”
“Thomas used to be an exorcist,” Marcus explained, dropping into a chair. “One of the best. Until he saw things the Church couldn’t accept.”
“The Church knows a great deal about evil,” Thomas said quietly. “But not everything. And what it doesn’t understand, it banishes.” He smiled faintly. “I was banished. But the work… the work goes on.”
Helena took a seat at the head of the table. Erik sat down next to Yuki and placed the box in front of him.
“Status?” Helena asked.
Marcus leaned back. “No new incidents in the last twenty-four hours. But surveillance picked something up.” He pointed to one of the monitors. “Cameras at the Viktualienmarkt, this morning at four. Take a look.”
He pressed a button on a remote. A video played on the screen. Black and white, grainy, but clear enough. The deserted market, stalls lost in shadow. Then, at the edge of the frame: a figure.
It moved too fast. One moment it was there, the next blurred, then sharp again. Not like a human running. More like a still image skipping frames.
“Vampire,” Marcus said unnecessarily.
The figure paused, turned toward the camera. Just for a moment. Long enough to make out a face. Female. Young. Beautiful. And the eyes—
“They’re glowing,” Erik whispered.
“Tapetum lucidum,” Yuki said. “A reflective layer behind the retina. Cats have it. And vampires.” She tapped on her tablet. “I ran her face through our database. No hits. Either she’s new in town, or she’s been very good at staying hidden.”
“Or both,” Helena murmured. She suddenly looked tired, older. “Marcus, where was she heading? Were we able to track her?”
“Lost her on Giselastrasse. Too many blind spots.” Marcus shook his head. “But the direction was clear. She came from Schwabing.”
“Schwabing.” Helena frowned. “Yuki, any reports from Schwabing? Suspicious activity?”
Yuki scrolled through her tablet. “Nothing in the official channels. But…” She hesitated. “There is a forum post. One of those conspiracy theory sites. A mother claims her baby is behaving strangely. Sleeps only during the day, screams at night. She thinks it’s… cursed.”
“Cursed,” Marcus repeated skeptically. “Sounds like postnatal depression.”
“Normally I’d agree.” Yuki zoomed in on something on her screen. “But she mentions something else. Two small wounds on the baby’s neck. The doctors said they were insect bites.”
Silence fell over the room.
Erik felt his stomach tighten. “How old is the baby?”
“Six weeks.”
“Where in Schwabing?”
Yuki typed. “She doesn’t give an exact address, but she mentions the English Garden being within walking distance. And the Klinikum rechts der Isar.”
Helena and Erik exchanged a glance.
“The Klinikum,” Erik said. “That’s the hospital from the report. The neonatal ward.”
“What report?” Marcus asked, confused.
“I read a report,” Helena improvised quickly. “Three weeks ago, a night nurse reported an incident. An open window, a baby with bite marks. It was classified as insignificant.”
“Three weeks ago,” Thomas said quietly. “That was when the deaths began.”
“It fits the timeline,” Yuki confirmed. “If a baby was bitten, it could be part of a larger plan.”
“What kind of plan?” Erik asked. “Why would a vampire bite a baby?”
“Creation,” Thomas said softly. Everyone looked at him. “It’s an ancient practice. Very rare, very forbidden among most vampire clans. A child bitten at such a young age doesn’t transform immediately. Instead… it grows up with the darkness inside it. Becomes something between human and vampire.”
“A dhampir,” Yuki said. “Half human, half vampire. In folklore they’re often hunters, using their abilities against vampires. But in reality…” She shook her head. “They’re tools. Slaves to the one who created them.”
Erik thought of the baby in the report. Lukas. “Can we reverse it?”
Thomas nodded slowly. “If it’s caught early enough, yes. There is a ritual. Difficult, dangerous—but possible.”
“Then we have to find the baby.” Helena stood. “Yuki, can you track down the mother? From the forum post?”
“I can try. Give me an hour.”
“Do it.” Helena turned to Marcus. “Prepare a team. If we find the baby, we’ll need protection. The vampire who bit him will feel the connection.”
“Understood.” Marcus stood, checked the weapons on his belt. “We’ll go lightly armed. No heavy firepower. It’s a residential area.”
“And Erik?” Thomas looked at him. “What about him?”
“He’s coming with us.” Helena’s voice brooked no argument. “He has a right to see what we’re dealing with. And…” She glanced at the box. “He has something we might need.”
All eyes shifted to the box.
“The Soul Key,” Yuki said in awe. “May I?”
Erik nodded. He opened the box and took out the key.
In the LED light of the conference room, it looked unremarkable. Just an old iron key, rusted and heavy.
But when Yuki took it in her hand, something happened.
The key began to glow. Faint at first, then brighter. A warm, golden light emanated from the engravings.
“Incredible,” Yuki whispered. She turned the key, examined the markings. “These symbols… that’s alchemy. And this here…” She pointed to a series of characters. “That’s Hebrew. Very old Hebrew.”
“What does it mean?” Erik asked.
“‘Opener of the paths between life and death.’” Yuki looked up. “This is no ordinary key. It’s an artifact of immense power.”
“Could it help with the ritual?” Helena asked.
“Possibly.” Thomas had stepped beside Yuki, studying the key as well. “If the barrier between the child and the darkness must be broken… yes, this could work.”
“Then we take it with us.” Helena turned to Erik. “Are you ready?”
Was he ready? Erik didn’t know. But he thought of the baby, of Lukas, of a life that had barely begun and was already threatened by darkness.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m ready.”
An hour later, they were sitting in two cars. Helena, Erik, and Thomas in the first—an inconspicuous gray VW. Marcus and Yuki in the second, a black SUV with tinted windows.
Yuki had found the family. Anna Berger. Twenty-five years old, married to Michael Berger, twenty-eight. Son Lukas, born October 12. Apartment in Schwabing, Clemensstrasse, third floor.
The drive took twenty minutes. The rain had stopped, but the sky remained overcast, a gray lid smothering the city. The streets were wet, reflecting the streetlights like liquid silver.
“What do we tell them?” Erik asked. “The parents? They’ll never believe us.”
“We tell them the truth,” Helena replied. “Or enough of it that they’ll listen.”
“And if they don’t let us in?”
“Then we convince them.” Helena’s voice was firm. “I’ve never seen a mother willingly sacrifice her child, Erik. If she truly believes something is wrong with her son, she’ll listen.”
They parked a street away to avoid drawing attention. Clemensstrasse was quiet, Gründerzeit apartment buildings, well maintained. Balconies with flower boxes, even now in November. Normal families, normal lives.
“Number eighteen,” Yuki said over the radio. “Third floor, right.”
They approached the building. Marcus and Yuki stayed outside, watching the surroundings. Helena, Erik, and Thomas went in.
The stairwell smelled of cleaning solution and coffee. Somewhere a child was crying. Not Lukas—too old, too strong—but it reminded Erik what was at stake.
Third floor. Right. A nameplate on the door: Berger.
Helena rang the bell.
Nothing. They waited. Rang again.
Then footsteps. Slow, hesitant. A woman’s voice: “Yes?”
“Mrs. Berger? My name is Dr. Helena Konstantin. I’m… I’m here because of your son.”
“What do you want?” The voice sounded exhausted. Afraid. “Are you from child services? We haven’t done anything wrong, I swear—”
“We’re not from child services.” Helena’s voice was gentle. “We’re here to help. Please, open the door. Just for a moment.”
A long pause. Then the sound of a lock turning.
The door opened a crack. A woman peered out. Young, with blonde hair tied into a messy ponytail. Dark circles under her eyes. She wore a bathrobe and looked as if she hadn’t slept properly in days.
“What do you want?” she repeated.
“May we come in?” Helena asked. “It’s about the wounds on Lukas’s neck.”
Anna Berger froze. Her eyes widened. “How… how do you know about that?”
“Because we know what caused them,” Helena said, meeting her gaze. “And we can help.”
Anna opened the door wider. She looked from Helena to Erik to Thomas. “You believe me? You don’t think I’m crazy?”
“No,” Erik said softly. “We don’t think you’re crazy.”
Tears welled in Anna’s eyes. “No one believes me. The doctors, my husband, no one. They all say it’s normal, it’s just a phase. But I know something’s wrong. I see it in his eyes when he looks at me. That’s not my baby. That’s…”
“May we see him?” Thomas asked gently.
Anna nodded and stepped aside. “He’s sleeping. He always sleeps during the day. But at night…” Her voice broke. “At night he’s wide awake. And he screams. And his eyes…”
She led them through the apartment. Small but cozy. Photos on the walls—a young couple, happy. Wedding pictures, vacations, the first ultrasound image. A normal life, Erik thought. Or once it had been.
The nursery was at the end of the hallway. The door stood half open. Anna stopped in front of it, as if afraid to go in.
“May I?” Erik asked.
Anna nodded mutely.
Erik opened the door quietly and stepped inside.
The room was dark. Curtains drawn, no light except a faint nightlight in the corner. In the center stood a crib, and inside, beneath a blanket, a small bundle.
Erik stepped closer. His heartbeat quickened.
The baby lay on its back, eyes closed, breathing calmly. It looked like any other baby. Small, vulnerable, innocent.
Then Erik saw the wounds.
On the neck, beneath the left ear. Two small marks. Not fresh, but not healed. Dark, almost black. And around them, on the delicate skin, a fine web of veins. Too dark. Too visible.
“He won’t drink anymore,” Anna whispered behind him. “No breast milk, no bottle. Only… only when I…” She trailed off.
“Only when you what?” Helena asked gently.
“Only when I put my blood in it.” Anna’s voice was barely audible. “I cut myself, out of desperation, and a drop fell into the milk. And he… he drank. For the first time in days. And I knew…” She began to sob. “I knew my baby… that he…”
Helena took Anna into her arms and held her while she cried.
Thomas had stepped beside Erik. He studied the baby with an expression of deep compassion. “It’s early,” he murmured. “The transformation has only just begun. We still have time.”
“How much time?” Erik asked.
“Days. Maybe a week.” Thomas took a small crucifix from his pocket and held it over the baby.
Lukas’s eyes opened.
They were not brown, as they should have been. They were red. Bright red, glowing in the darkness.
The baby looked at Thomas. Looked at the crucifix. And began to scream.
It wasn’t a normal baby’s cry. It was piercing, unnatural, a sound that cut to the bone.
The ceiling light flickered. The nightlight exploded in a shower of sparks.
“Out!” Thomas shouted. “Everyone out, now!”
They stumbled out of the room, Helena dragging Anna with her. The door slammed shut behind them as if caught by a gust of wind.
The hallway suddenly turned ice-cold. Their breath formed clouds.
“What’s happening?” Anna clung to Helena. “What’s happening to my baby?”
“The darkness is reacting,” Thomas said. “The vampire who bit him—he feels us. Feels that we’re here.”
“Then he’ll come,” Helena said. “Marcus!” She spoke into the small headset in her ear. “We have contact. Prepare yourselves.”
Marcus’s voice crackled back: “Understood. Yuki sees something on the rooftops. Movement. Multiple figures.”
“Multiple?” Helena’s face went pale. “That’s not good.”
A crash. The front door, downstairs in the stairwell.
Then footsteps. Fast. Too fast.
“Lock the door!” Helena ordered.
Erik ran to the apartment door, turned the key, shoved a chair in front of it. It wouldn’t help much, he knew—but better than nothing.
“Back way out,” Thomas said. “Is there a rear exit?”
Anna nodded numbly. “The fire escape. From the balcony.”
“Good. Get your baby. We’re leaving. Now.”
Anna ran back toward the nursery. The screaming had stopped. Silence. Too silent.
Erik followed her, just in case—
Anna stood frozen by the crib.
The crib was empty.
“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no. Where is he? Where is my baby?”
At the window, behind the curtains, there was movement.
Erik tore the curtains open.
Outside on the balcony stood a figure. Female. Young. The face from the surveillance video.
In her arms: baby Lukas.
The woman smiled. Her teeth were too white, too sharp.
“You shouldn’t have tried to take him from me,” she said. Her voice was melodic, almost sing-song. “He belongs to me. I chose him.”
“Valentina,” Helena whispered behind Erik. “Give us the child.”
“No.” Valentina stepped back, balancing on the edge of the balcony. Three stories above the street. “He is my gift. My contribution to the Council.”
“The Council will fail,” Thomas said. He had stepped forward, crucifix in hand. “In the name of—”
Valentina laughed. “Your symbols have no power over me, priest. I am old. Older than your god.”
She jumped.
Just like that. From the balcony, three stories down, the baby in her arms.
Anna screamed.
Erik ran to the balcony and looked down.
Valentina landed on the street. On her feet. Perfectly. As if she’d merely stepped down a stair.
She looked up at him and smiled once more.
Then she ran. So fast she blurred.
“No!” Anna tried to climb over the railing. Erik held her back.
“Marcus!” Helena shouted into her headset. “She has the baby! Heading south, down Clemensstrasse!”
“We’re on it!” Marcus’s voice replied, then the roar of an engine.
They ran out of the apartment, down the stairs. Anna stumbled, sobbing, but Helena kept her upright.
Outside, the SUV was waiting, engine running. Marcus at the wheel, Yuki beside him with a laptop.
“Get in!” Marcus yelled.
They piled in—Erik, Helena, Thomas, Anna. The car shot forward before the door was fully closed.
“Where is she?” Helena asked.
“Tracking phone signals in the area,” Yuki said, typing frantically. “Vampires sometimes use stolen phones to communicate. If we’re lucky… there!” She pointed at the screen. “One signal, moving extremely fast. Nymphenburger Strasse, heading west.”
“That’s toward the park.” Marcus floored the gas. “She wants the trees. Damn it.”
They tore through the streets, ignoring traffic lights, horns blaring behind them. Anna sat slumped, crying softly. Erik felt helpless.
“Why?” he asked aloud. “Why does she want the baby?”
“The Council,” Helena replied. “Thomas was right. A half-transformed child is a powerful tool. It can do things normal vampires can’t. Cross boundaries. And…” She hesitated. “It can be used as a sacrifice. For a ritual.”
“What kind of ritual?”
“One we don’t want to find out.”
They reached the edge of the park. Nymphenburg, the old royal park, stretched out before them. Dark, vast, confusing.
“She’s in there,” Yuki said. “The signal’s gone static. She’s waiting.”
“It’s a trap,” Thomas said.
“Of course it’s a trap,” Marcus growled. He grabbed a weapon from beneath his seat, a large silver pistol. “But we don’t have a choice.”
They got out. The wind had picked up, tugging at their jackets. The park lay before them like a black sea.
“Anna, you stay here,” Helena ordered.
“No!” Anna grabbed Helena’s arm. “That’s my baby! I’m coming with you!”
“You’ll only—”
“I’m coming!” Anna’s voice broke. “Please. I can’t… I can’t wait here and do nothing.”
Helena looked at her for a long moment. Then she nodded. “Stay behind us. No matter what happens.”
They entered the park.
The trees swallowed the light. Only the moon, half-hidden by clouds, offered some orientation. Their footsteps crunched on gravel, then on leaves.
“I hear something,” Thomas whispered. “Ahead.”
They followed the sound. Crying. A baby crying.
Lukas.
They reached a clearing. In the center, standing on an old stone fountain, was Valentina.
She held Lukas aloft like a trophy.
“You came,” she said. “Good. I wanted witnesses.”
Around the clearing, between the trees, shadows moved. Many shadows.
“We’re surrounded,” Marcus muttered.
Valentina smiled. “The Council sends its regards.”
The shadows stepped into the light.
Vampires. Five, six, seven. Men and women, all with those glowing eyes, all inhumanly beautiful and absolutely deadly.
“Give us the child,” Helena said. Her voice did not tremble. “And we’ll let you go.”
“Liar,” Valentina said. “But it doesn’t matter. You will all die tonight. And the child…” She looked down at Lukas. “The child will open the gate.”
“What gate?” Erik asked.
Valentina looked at him. “The gate to eternal night, of course. When an innocent life is sacrificed, in the right place, at the right time… we can extinguish the sun. Forever.”
“That’s madness,” Thomas said.
“That’s evolution.” Valentina’s eyes glowed brighter. “Humanity has had its chance long enough. Now it’s our time.”
She lifted Lukas higher.
The baby screamed.
And Erik knew: she had no intention of waiting.
She was going to kill the baby now. Here. In front of them.
Without thinking, Erik reached into his pocket. The Soul Key was there, cold and heavy.
He pulled it out.
The key exploded with light.
Not the warm, golden glow from before—but blinding, searing brilliance, like lightning, like the sun itself.
The vampires screamed, recoiling, shielding their eyes.
Valentina stumbled, nearly dropping Lukas.
“Now!” Marcus roared.
He fired. The crack was deafening. A silver bullet struck one of the vampires in the shoulder, and it howled.
Chaos erupted.
The vampires attacked. Thomas swung his crucifix, murmuring prayers. Helena had produced a flamethrower; small jets of fire licked outward.
And Erik stood there, the key in his hand, and the light grew brighter and brighter, until it hurt to look at.
A barrier formed. Just like in the subway depot, like at Falkenstein Castle. A ring of light that enclosed them, that kept the vampires at bay.
Valentina screamed. “What is that? What do you have there?”
Erik didn’t know. But he tightened his grip on the key and focused.
“Give me the baby,” he said. “Or I’ll expand the barrier. And you’ll burn.”
Valentina stared at him. Hatred in her eyes. But also… fear.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” she hissed. “You don’t know what the key is.”
“Then explain it to me.”
She laughed—a cold, bitter laugh. “The Soul Key. Forged by the alchemists of Prague. It doesn’t just open doors, hunter. It opens souls. And if you keep using it…” She smiled cruelly. “It will open yours too.”
Erik hesitated. Just for a moment.
Valentina used it.
She threw Lukas.
Just like that. Threw the baby into the air, over the barrier.
Anna screamed and ran forward.
She caught Lukas, stumbled, fell to the ground. But she had him. She had her baby.
And Valentina used the distraction to jump. Over the barrier, over all of them, landing behind them.
“Retreat!” she shouted to the other vampires.
They obeyed instantly, vanishing between the trees so fast they were little more than shadows.
Within seconds, the clearing was empty.
Only they remained—panting, exhausted, but alive.
Anna sat on the ground, clutching Lukas to her chest, crying and laughing at the same time. The baby cried too, but it was normal crying now. No unnatural shrieking.
Erik lowered the key. The light faded.
His hands were shaking.
“Nice work, rookie,” Marcus said. He sounded impressed.
But Helena looked worried. “Erik. How did you do that? With the key?”
“I… I don’t know. I just thought I had to stop them, and…” He looked at the key. It looked normal again. Just metal. “What did she mean by ‘it opens souls’?”
Thomas stepped over to him, studying the key with a grave expression. “It’s a warning. The Soul Key is powerful, but it demands a price. Every time you use it, you open a door. Not just outward. Inward as well.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” Helena said quietly, “that you have to be careful. The key could change you. If you use it too often…”
She didn’t finish the sentence.
She didn’t have to.
Erik understood.
The key was not just a weapon.
It was a danger.
To his enemies.
And to himself.
Chapter 5
The Night Watch Headquarters
The drive back was quiet.
Anna sat in the back of the SUV, holding Lukas tightly against her chest and staring out the window. The baby had stopped crying and fallen asleep—a deep, peaceful sleep Anna hadn’t seen in him for weeks. The red glow in his eyes was gone. The wounds on his neck looked paler, less threatening.
But Erik knew: it wasn’t over yet.
“What happens now?” Anna finally asked. Her voice was hoarse from crying. “With Lukas? Is he… is he healed?”
Helena turned around from the passenger seat. “Not yet. The light of the key slowed the transformation, but it didn’t stop it. We have to perform the ritual.”
“What ritual?”
“A cleansing ritual. Very old, very powerful.” Helena’s voice was gentle but firm. “It will sever the connection between Lukas and the vampire. Remove the darkness from him.”
“Is it dangerous?”
A pause. Then: “Yes. It’s dangerous. But without the ritual…” Helena let the sentence trail off.
Anna closed her eyes and pressed Lukas closer to her. “What do I have to do?”
“Trust,” said Thomas from Erik’s other side. “Trust us. And pray. If you can.”
“I’m not religious.”
“You don’t have to be. Prayer is… hope given words. And we’ll need hope.”
They reached the bookstore shortly before midnight. The streets were empty, the city asleep. Only a few windows still glowed with light.
Marcus parked in a side alley. They got out quickly, alert. Erik felt eyes on him—unseen gazes from the darkness. The vampires were watching. He was sure of it.
“Quickly, inside,” Helena murmured.
They slipped to the bookstore door. The same knocking pattern: three times, pause, twice, once. The door opened immediately.
Yuki stood there, tablet in hand. “I’ve been researching the Council,” she said without greeting. “You need to see this.”
They went inside, past the shelves, through the curtain, down the spiral staircase. Anna followed hesitantly, clutching Lukas protectively, her eyes widening as she took in the underground complex.
“Where… where are we?” she whispered.
“Somewhere safe,” Helena replied. “That’s all that matters right now.”
They led Anna into a small room next to the conference room. A sofa, a blanket, a lamp. Spartan, but cozy.
“Rest,” Helena said. “We’ll prepare everything. The ritual will take several hours.”
“When?”
“Before sunrise. That’s important. The first light of day will strengthen our work.”
Anna nodded tiredly. She sat down on the sofa and laid Lukas beside her. The baby continued to sleep peacefully.
“Will he suffer?” Anna asked softly. “During the ritual?”
Thomas knelt beside her. “I’ll make sure he feels as little as possible. I promise.”
Anna looked at him, searching his face for deception, for false reassurance. But all she found was genuine compassion.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
They left Anna alone with her baby, closing the door quietly behind them.
In the conference room, Yuki was already waiting, her tablet projected onto the large monitor. Old texts, drawings, photographs filled the screen.
“What did you find?” Helena asked, dropping into a chair. She looked exhausted. The hunt, the confrontation—it had taken its toll.
“The Council of Elders,” Yuki began, tapping her tablet. The image changed to an old copper engraving. Seven figures around a table, all in robes, all with glowing eyes. “It’s first mentioned in the 12th century, in a manuscript from Constantinople. A gathering of the oldest vampires in Europe, founded sometime around… well, the sources disagree.”
“What don’t they disagree about?” Marcus muttered. He pulled a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet and poured himself a glass. “Anyone?”
Erik nodded. His body was still tense, adrenaline coursing through him. The alcohol might help.
Marcus poured two glasses and handed one to Erik. “To your first hunt, Rookie. You did well.”
“I had no idea what I was doing,” Erik said, taking a sip. The whiskey burned, but pleasantly.
“None of us ever do,” Marcus said dryly. “We all improvise.”
“Marcus,” Helena admonished. “Not now.”
“What? It’s the truth.” Marcus leaned back. “But yeah, boss. Sorry.”
Yuki cleared her throat. “So, the Council. Some sources say it was founded to keep peace between vampire clans. To establish rules, divide territories. A kind of… vampire UN.”
“Sounds civilized,” Erik said.
“It sounds that way. It isn’t.” Yuki swiped to the next image: a faded medieval painting. A burning city, people fleeing, and above them all—shadows with red eyes. “Other sources claim the Council was founded with a different goal: world domination.”
“Of course,” Marcus sighed. “Why not.”
“The idea,” Yuki continued, “was to create a world where vampires no longer had to hide. A world where they were the dominant species. And humans…” She hesitated. “Humans would be livestock.”
Silence filled the room.
“That didn’t happen,” Erik said finally. “Obviously.”
“Because they were stopped,” Thomas said. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “In the 14th century, there was a war. Vampire against vampire. The Council tried to enforce its vision. But others resisted—those who believed vampires and humans could coexist without one enslaving the other.”
“Who won?” Erik asked.
“No one.” Thomas’s face was grave. “The war ended in a stalemate. The Council withdrew, went into hiding. For centuries they were silent. Some thought they’d been destroyed. But…” He gestured at Yuki’s screen. “They were just patient.”
Yuki switched to a more modern document. “In the last twenty years there have been rumors. Sightings. Meetings in Prague, Istanbul, Budapest. The Council is reforming. And this time…” She looked at Helena. “This time they’re more organized. Stronger. And they have a plan.”
“The Eternal Night,” Helena said. “Valentina mentioned it. They want to extinguish the sun.”
“How?” Marcus asked skeptically. “That’s impossible. Even with magic—the sun is… the sun.”
“Not the real sun,” Yuki explained. “Just the light over a city. It’s a ritual described in ancient grimoires. The ‘Great Dimming.’ If it’s performed at certain power sites, at the right time, with the right sacrifices…” She scrolled to a diagram. A map of Munich with marked points. “Then it might actually work.”
“How long?” Helena asked. “How long would the darkness last?”
“That’s unclear. Some texts say days. Others say… forever. Until the ritual is undone.”
“And how do you undo it?”
Yuki shook her head. “It’s not written anywhere. Presumably because no one who tried survived to record it.”
“Fantastic,” Marcus muttered.
Erik studied the map. “These points—what do they mean?”
“Ley lines,” Yuki replied. “Energy lines that run through the earth. Ancient cultures knew them, built sacred sites along them. Stonehenge, the pyramids, many cathedrals.” She pointed at the Munich map. “Munich lies at a nexus of several ley lines. That’s why the city was founded here. And why it’s perfect for the ritual.”
“Where exactly are these points?” Helena asked.
Yuki zoomed in. “Frauenkirche—that’s the center. Then Viktualienmarkt, the English Garden, the Isar at Ludwigsbrücke, and…” She stopped. “Nymphenburg Palace.”
“Where we just were,” Erik said.
“Exactly. The Council is already testing the sites. They’re preparing.”
Helena stood and walked to the map, touching the marked points. “When? When would they perform the ritual?”
“At the summer solstice,” Thomas said. “June 21st. The longest day of the year. When the sun is strongest, the darkness is also most powerful. The paradox of balance.”
“That’s…” Helena calculated. “Seven months.”
“Seven months to stop them,” Yuki confirmed.
“Or seven months for them to get stronger,” Marcus countered. “Valentina escaped tonight. She knows we’re aware now. The Council will prepare.”
“Then so will we.” Helena turned to Erik. “You did something extraordinary tonight. With the key. How did you do it?”
Erik looked at his hands. They were still trembling slightly. “I… I just thought about stopping them. And the key… reacted.”
“It reacted to your will,” Thomas said, stepping closer. “The Soul Key is not an ordinary tool. It’s an extension of its bearer. Your intention, your emotion—they flow into it.”
“Valentina said it opens souls,” Erik remembered. “What did she mean?”
Thomas and Helena exchanged a look.
“The key has two functions,” Thomas finally explained. “The obvious one: it opens doors, barriers, paths between worlds. But the second—more dangerous one…” He hesitated. “It also opens the soul of its bearer. Exposes it. Every time you use it, you give a piece of yourself to it.”
“And what happens if I give too much?”
“You become part of the key,” Thomas whispered. “Your soul, your consciousness—they become trapped within it. And the key becomes… more alive. More powerful. But you…” He let the sentence fade.
Erik felt a coldness spread in his chest. “I would disappear.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Erik looked at Helena, his voice sharper than he intended.
“Because you would have used it anyway,” Helena replied calmly. “To save the baby. And that was the right choice. But now you know. And now you have to make a choice, Erik.”
“What kind of choice?”
“Whether you continue to carry the key. Whether you’re willing to take that risk.” Helena stepped closer. “No one will blame you if you say no. We’ll find other ways. Other tools.”
Erik pulled the key from his pocket. The metal felt warm, almost alive. He could swear he felt a pulse—like a heartbeat.
He thought of Clara. Of the castle. Of the choice to go back when he could have fled.
Some choices were simple.
“I’ll keep it,” he said. “But I’ll be careful.”
Helena smiled faintly. “I hope so.”
“Good,” Marcus said, raising his glass. “Then we have a plan. Erik is our secret weapon. Yuki keeps researching the Council. Thomas prepares the ritual for the baby. And I…” He grinned. “I’ll get bigger guns.”
“And I,” Helena said, “will visit an old contact. Someone who might know more about the Council.”
“Who?” Yuki asked.
Helena hesitated. “Someone who was once part of it.”
Silence.
“You don’t mean—” Marcus began.
“Yes,” Helena said flatly. “I have to talk to my father.”
“Your father is dead,” Erik said, confused. “In the subway depot. Konstantin. You told us.”
“Konstantin is dead,” Helena confirmed. “But he wasn’t the only vampire in my family.”
She walked to one of the whiteboards and pulled down a photograph held by a magnet. An old black-and-white photo, yellowed at the edges. A family: a man, a woman, two children—a boy and a girl.
“This is my family,” Helena said quietly. “Taken in 1962. I was five years old. The girl.” She pointed to the small figure with dark hair and a serious face. “My brother Dimitri was eight. My parents—Konstantin and Maria.”
“What happened?” Erik asked.
“In 1970 my father disappeared. Just like that, one night. My mother said he was on a business trip. But he never came back.” Helena’s voice was controlled, but Erik could hear the pain beneath it. “Years later I learned the truth. He’d been turned. Became a vampire. And eventually… so did my brother.”
“Your brother,” Yuki repeated softly. “You never talked about him.”
“Because it hurts.” Helena put the photo back. “Dimitri was turned in 1985. At twenty-three. I tried—tried to save him, to bring him back. But he…” She shook her head. “He didn’t want to be saved. He embraced the darkness. Joined the Council.”
“And you think he’s still alive?” Thomas asked.
“I know he is. I saw him two years ago. In Vienna. Just briefly, from a distance. But it was him.” Helena’s hands clenched into fists. “If the Council is active in Munich, then Dimitri is here. Somewhere.”
“And you want to find him,” Erik said.
“I have to. He knows the Council’s plans. He could tell us exactly when they’ll perform the ritual, who’s involved.” Helena took a deep breath. “It’s a risk. But it might be our only chance.”
“He’s your brother,” Thomas said gently. “That makes it dangerous. Emotionally dangerous.”
“I know.” Helena looked at each of them in turn. “But I can do this. I have to.”
Marcus set his glass down. “Then we’re coming with you.”
“No. I have to do this alone. Dimitri would never talk to me if I showed up with a whole team.”
“Helena—”
“This isn’t negotiable, Marcus.” Helena’s voice was steel. “I’m going alone. But first…” She glanced toward the door behind which Anna and Lukas waited. “First, we save the baby.”
The next hours passed in preparation.
Thomas transformed one of the basement rooms into a ritual site. He drew symbols on the floor with chalk—complex geometric patterns threaded with Hebrew and Latin letters. In the corners he placed candles, thick white ones that smelled of incense.
Yuki prepared the required ingredients. Dried herbs—sage, rosemary, vervain. A small chalice of holy water from a well in Lourdes. And something that made Erik uneasy: a small silver blade.
“For the blood,” Yuki explained when she noticed his look. “The ritual requires three drops. One from the mother, one from the child, and…” She looked at Erik. “One from the bearer of the Soul Key.”
“From me?” Erik suddenly felt very uncomfortable.
“The key is part of the ritual,” Thomas explained. “It will create the barrier that draws the darkness out of the child. But it needs a connection to you. Your blood will establish that connection.”
“And if something goes wrong?”
“Then the darkness will touch you as well.” Thomas looked at him seriously. “That’s why it’s important that you stay strong. Focused. The darkness will try to enter you. You must resist it.”
“How?”
“Think of something good. Of light. Of love.” Thomas placed a hand on his shoulder. “You have the strength, Erik. I saw it tonight. Trust yourself.”
Erik nodded, trying to feel the confidence Thomas radiated. But all he felt was fear.
By four in the morning, everything was ready.
They brought Anna and Lukas. The baby was awake now, but calm, looking around with wide eyes.
“Will it hurt?” Anna asked for the third time.
“Only briefly,” Thomas assured her. “And then it will be over.”
They laid Lukas in the center of the circle on a soft blanket. Anna knelt beside him, holding his tiny hand.
Erik took his place opposite, the Soul Key in his hand. Helena, Marcus, and Yuki stood outside the circle—observers, protectors.
Thomas began to chant. Ancient words, in a language Erik didn’t understand. Latin, perhaps—or older. The air in the room changed, growing dense, heavy.
The candles flickered, though there was no draft.
Thomas picked up the silver blade. “Anna. Your hand.”
Anna held out her hand, trembling. Thomas moved quickly, making a small cut on her fingertip. Three drops of blood fell into the chalice of holy water.
Then he turned to Lukas. “Forgive me,” he whispered.
He pricked the baby’s finger. Lukas cried—short, sharp. Three drops fell into the chalice.
“Erik.”
Erik extended his hand. The blade was cold, sharp. The cut was quick but painful. Three drops of blood joined the others.
The water began to glow. Faintly at first, then brighter—a golden light.
Thomas raised the chalice over Lukas. “In the name of the light older than darkness. In the name of the lives that outlast sacrifice. In the name of love stronger than death.” He poured the glowing water over Lukas’s forehead. “I command the darkness: leave this child!”
Lukas screamed again. This time, it didn’t stop.
The air in the room turned icy. Erik saw his breath, saw the others shivering.
And then he saw it.
From Lukas’s body, from the wounds on his neck, something began to seep out. Not blood. Something darker. A black, oily substance that writhed as if alive.
“The key!” Thomas shouted. “Now, Erik!”
Erik raised the Soul Key. It began to glow instantly, brighter than ever before. Light poured from it, filling the room, striking the darkness.
The black substance hissed like water on hot metal. It tried to retreat back into Lukas’s body, but the light held it, dragged it out.
“Resist it!” Thomas’s voice was barely audible over Lukas’s screams. “Don’t let it return!”
Erik focused. But the darkness had a voice. It whispered in his mind.
Let go, it said. Let us return. The child belongs to us.
“No,” Erik forced out.
You are weak. You are alone. You cannot defeat us.
“I am not alone.”
He saw Anna bent over her son, tears on her cheeks, but her face full of determination.
He saw Thomas, praying relentlessly, his voice an anchor in the chaos.
He saw Helena, Marcus, Yuki—all ready to fight, to protect.
And he thought of Clara. Of her smile, just before she died. Of her words: For all of us.
The light from the key exploded.
The darkness screamed—a high, piercing sound that made Erik’s ears ring. Then it dissolved into smoke, into nothing.
Lukas’s screaming stopped.
Silence.
The baby breathed. Calmly. Evenly.
The wounds on his neck were gone. Only smooth, pink baby skin remained.
His eyes opened. Brown. Normal. Human.
Anna sobbed and pulled Lukas into her arms, holding him tight.
“It’s over,” Thomas said softly. “He’s free.”
Erik lowered the key. His hands shook so badly he almost dropped it.
Helena caught both the key and Erik, who suddenly felt very weak.
“You did it,” she whispered. “Well done.”
Erik smiled faintly. Then everything went black.
He woke up in one of the small rooms, on a narrow bed. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious.
Helena sat beside the bed, reading an old book.
“Welcome back,” she said when she noticed he was awake.
“How long?” Erik croaked.
“Three hours. The sun is up.” Helena set the book aside. “How do you feel?”
“Drained.” Erik sat up slowly. His body felt like he hadn’t slept in a week. “The baby?”
“Healthy. Completely healthy. Anna went home with him. Marcus and Yuki are accompanying her, making sure no one follows.”
“And the darkness? Is it really gone?”
“Thomas checked. Yes. Lukas is a normal baby. He’ll have a normal life.” Helena smiled. “You saved a life, Erik. Your first as part of the Night Watch.”
“It doesn’t feel like a victory,” Erik said quietly. “Valentina escaped. The Council is still out there.”
“That’s true. But tonight we proved they’re not invincible. That we can stop them.” Helena stood. “Rest a bit more. When you’re ready, there’s something I’d like to show you.”
“What?”
“Your new home. If you want to stay, of course.”
Erik thought about it. His old life—the apartment, the job, the normalcy. It felt like a dream now, like something that belonged to someone else.
This—the Night Watch, the hunt, the darkness—this felt real.
“I’ll stay,” he said.
Helena smiled. A real, warm smile. “Then welcome to the family, Erik Schönwaldt.”
She left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Erik lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, processing everything.
His life had changed. Irrevocably.
But maybe that was okay.
Maybe it was exactly what he needed.
A purpose. A mission.
A chance to do something good.
He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.
And this time there were no nightmares.
Only darkness.
Peaceful, silent darkness.
Part Three in English Language follows on January, 7th.