Not until Wednesday night.

“And keep it around … I dunno’, 89-96? I want it believable. Just drop off any assignments that you genuinely think MATTER in my mailbox, and I’ll do those when I get to ‘em. Okay?” Your economic professor nods slowly as you instruct them. “Good. Do something nice for yourself tonight, though. Like, nothing that hurts someone else, in case you’re secretly horrible, but I dunno’. Whatever helps you relax. We cool?” She nods again before you make a brushing motion with your hand, and she starts making her way back to her car.

“That all of ‘em?” Eva asks, sitting on the hood of the car next to you. She swings her legs as she speaks, keeping an eye out for campus security or anything else that would throw a wrench in. While you’re just wearing a tank top and jeans, she has a jacket on and a something longer-sleeved. You consider for a moment if you should probably wear one for appearances even though the cold doesn’t get to you.

“Yeah, I did most of them Monday. Thank fuck it’s still Fall, I don’t want to imagine how annoying it’d be to catch them all in summer.”

“Well, late nights abound, babes.” She hops down, turning to face you. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay going alone tonight? I can push a little harder …”

“Eva, you’re running yourself ragged. It was fine Monday, but you running on my blood for two days in a row … you’re telling me you don’t feel tired?”

“Don’t want to lie,” she groans. “Okay, I’ll go get some actual sleep tonight. But next semester, afternoon only classes. I don’t want to leave you out there by yourself. I mean, if you find Savina …”

“When.”

“When you find Savina, do you even know what you’re going to say? And what if she doesn’t want to be found? I’m pretty sure she knows more about how this stuff works than we do, and if you can’t take her alone …”

“I’ll be fine,” you say as confidently as you can, which is about three times more confident than you feel. All the same, the concern does help keep you grounded. “If I see her, I’ll just try to tail her or see who she’s talking to. Not going to engage. It’s not exactly a lifelong dreams of mine to get torn to pieces by shadow-monsters in some dingy alley.”

“Okay …” Eva seems ****, but also clearly doesn’t want to argue. On top of that, her eyelids have been fluttering every few seconds basically for the last hour. “But text me when you get there and when you leave. Or if you see her. I won’t be too tired to kick someone’s ass if you need me to.”

“Noted … still nothing about Atlee or Kurt, though?” Eva shakes her head.

“No. I mean, we haven’t had any rush announcements, but we’re coming up on the end. Are you going if we have another?” You also shake your head, vigorously. “Yeah, me, neither. That place creeps me out now. All the fucked-up shit that must have happened there … I’m keeping an eye and ear out, but no one’s mentioned anything for the past three days.”

“That’s kind of good, but kind of horrifying.”

“Oh, I hate it, a lot. But it’s better than the cops kicking down our door and dragging us to jail, so I’ll take it for now.” Both you smile weakly before you hug her tightly and tell her to get a good night’s rest. After making sure she clears the door into your hall, you pop open your car’s door and plug in the address of Blue 8, a dance club downtown.

Traffic isn’t bad, but it’s dinnertime on a Wednesday night, and Northwoods isn’t exactly Miami. The last two places you looked into had a steady stream of college kids, but none of them recognized Savina’s name or description. ‘Maybe she left town …’ you tell yourself. You can’t decide if that thought is comforting or horrible. The idea of her creeping around, watching you, is unwelcome, but so’s the idea that you’re probably never going to get your questions answered. All you know for sure is to avoid pale, tall European-looking men with spiky blonde hair and glasses. If Savina risked telling a human about her “ex,” he probably wasn’t the kind of guy you want to get trapped in a locked room with.

After (grudgingly) paying for parking, you take a look at Blue 8’s front. The building is old brick, probably used to house an artisanal whatever back in the day when Northwoods was still a name on the map. Now, it’s just one of way too many clubs and breweries, catering very intentionally to Workwick College. It’s nice to see the area being built back up, but it really doesn’t seem like you need so many places to drink and less, y’know, grocery stores or pharmacies. Whatever. Not the time.

You approach the bouncer directly, earning you some glances from the surprisingly long line outside. A quick word and a glance secure your entry without any fuss, letting you move into the club immediately. From the bolted-down chairs at the tables on its outskirts and the catwalk hangs over the dance floor, textile feels right. You can just see some Dickensian foreman staring down at rows of tiny hands stitching things together and screaming down to work harder whenever one of them fell asleep or got distracted or accidentally fused a strip of patchwork with their hand.

Vibe aside, it’s pretty lively in Blue 8, far more than Rucker’s or Rodney’s Love Shack the nights before. Though you’re fairly certain Rodney’s Love Shack does most of its business behind closed doors. You try to drink in the crowd, looking for familiar faces, but that quickly shoots your line of thought in another direction. Drink. ‘God, I guess I am SOME kind of junkie,” you think with a rueful smile, Atlee’s harsh words jumping back into your mind. It still elicits some panic, some nightmares, nothing as vivid as the one you had Sunday … but it’s getting easier to push past. Still, the loss of control worries you. You didn’t feed Monday or Tuesday, and even though you were full-up after the party Sunday, you can feel the hunger gnawing at you now. Worse, you can feel the leash you’re keeping the voice on getting weaker whenever your thirst stirs.

Your eyes affix in the corner of the second floor. It could be the light, it could just be making out, but that guy has been buried in that girl’s neck for a second now … and she looks VERY into it. Vampire? Maybe. Could be worth checking. But if you’re still hungry, the sight and smell of blood, possible physical conflict if he thinks you’re intruding … it might not be safe. A glance to the bar to look for a quick bite- ‘Oh my Goooooooooooooood,’ you reprimand yourself for a Halloween TV host-worthy pun- immediately draws your attention as well. Namely, the goth girl absolutely eye-banging you while she sips her drink. She smiles, seeing you notice her attention, and waves. She does look good … but you could lose track of your lead …