"You need answers that Raffi can't give you."

Twenty-four hours without meds, and inner-August manifested before his eyes, convincing him to go out. Zeke was unsure if the urge sprang from necessity, or from boredom, but decided it didn't much matter.

Old leads could engender new leads. That's what his life as an investigator had taught him. Everything was connected.

"Start at the vamp-club, on Spruce Street."

August's idea held plenty of merit. Zeke wished he'd thought of it first.

His problem was, he couldn't quite remember where it was. Wandering Spruce Street was less than smart, as he'd found out the hard way.

From working another case, he knew of a psychic call-in line, Odin's Opines.

A source had recalled using the line, and how it had predicted their vamp encounter. At the time, Zeke had scoffed at the mention, and had cut it from the story. Seeing his deletion, Martinez had added it back in, citing the "human dumbass" element, and how that would appeal to other dumbasses. The mention had also resulted in an ad deal with Odin's Opines, which had probably been his editor's intent all along.

"Here's the number," August said, pointing at the internet search on Zeke's phone.

After dialing and chatting up what the initial recording promised to be a "bonafide psychic," Zeke cut through the pleasantries.

"If I wanted to meet a vamp, or choose from an assortment, what's the name of the best club on Spruce Street?"

The voice on the other end of the line switched from breathless to taken aback. "What?"

"Vamp club. Spruce Street. What's the name and what's the building number?"

"Sir, why would I know that?"

"You're a damn psychic."

There was a pause. Then, "Let me put you on hold."

Pleasant elevator-music filled his ears while he waited for the operator.

After a few moments, a man's brusque voice asked, "This is Tony. You lookin' for vamp company?"

"Sure am, Tony. Spruce Street company, in particular."

"Ah, a man who knows what he wants, but not where he's goin'. Happens to you often, don't it, Zeke?"

A tingle started at the base of his neck. "How'd you know my name."

He could hear the smile in Tony's voice. "We're psychic, 'member? You got a pen?"

Properly mollified, Zeke took down the info and hung up, having spent $14.99 per minute for a total of seven minutes.

"Costly, but well worth it," August noted.

Like Tony suggested, Zeke withdrew cash from an ATM. He made sure to do so from a shitty little kiosk in a nearby convenience store, the kind without a camera.

Near dusk, he strolled along Spruce Street, checking the numbers on the buildings until he came to the 1800's. He stopped when he got to 1803.

"Tony said 1802."

Yet, there was only 1803 and 1801. In between, a narrow alley waited.

"Might as well check it out," August suggested, pointing down the alley.

"Oh yeah, 'cause alleys have worked out real well for me lately," Zeke said.

But he ventured into the space anyway, the slim space overshadowed by the two buildings flanking it on each side.

Behind a dumpster, he found a graffitied door, guarded by a young woman. She scrolled on a phone, clad in a schoolgirl outfit and black lipstick. She couldn't look more disinterred in life, or in who came and went.

However, when Zeke reached for the metal door handle, she sneered in his direction.

"The fuck you think you're doing?"

He held out his arm. "I'm watermarked. Check and see."

Her black-lipped sneer turned up into a smile. "You're new, and there's a new-dude fee." She held out a palm, turning her attention back to her phone.

Zeke took out his wallet, placing a small stack of his money into her waiting palm. She didn't check the amount, but when he reached again for the door, she called out.

"More, asshole."

He sighed, and returned to his wallet. He added more notes to the stack, then more, and finally, she nodded at the door.

"Have fun, old timer."

August snorted at the designation, nudging Zeke and repeating, "Yeah, old timer."

Inside the dimly lit hall, a score of more youths lounged, backs against the dirty walls. Zeke strolled until he reached an open room. The ceiling resembled a warehouse, with steel beams and hanging lights. There were couches and beds, some empty, some not, with a few couples embracing on the concrete floor. To Zeke's "newcomer" eyes, the scene was not far off from what he'd seen in one of his favorite films, Eyes Wide Shut.

"Dear Diary, at my first orgy...," August teased.

"Not here for that. Besides, they're all kids."

Even in the darkened room, the youth on the faces thrown back in ecstasy was very evident. Tech songs blared over hidden speakers, and the pounding music covered up the moans and groans of the groups half-clothed on the couches nearest Zeke.

He spied a lone character waiting at the bar and approached. She appeared about 16, and like the girl at the entrance, looked bored.

She pretended not to see Zeke standing next to her, even after he said, "Hello."

He tried again, louder. "Hello there!"

"Uh, hi." She rolled her eyes, chewing gum. "Got any money?"

He happily flashed the last of his twenties.

"Can we go somewhere quieter?"

She nodded, and grabbed his arm. They walked across the wide room, no one remarking on their departure. She led him to a room, and closed the door. Once inside, it was pitch dark, and her slim hands worked over his pants, her lips fastening on his neck.

"Hang on." Zeke fumbled for the switch, stepping away from her once light flooded the room.

A water heater hummed behind the girl. She had taken him into the utility closet.

"Classy," August said.

"What are you doing?" The girl sounded irritable.

"I'm not here to be bitten. I just have a few questions."

She crossed her arms over her ample breasts. "Like?"

"This your body, or just someone you bit?"

"What the hell?"

From his pocket, he grabbed for his father's watch, the one he had stolen from his parent's bedroom. It was gold, diamond-encrusted, and he hoped the teen bloodbag found it appealing.

She took slight interest in his outstretched hand, the watch gleaming in the light. Finally, she shrugged.

"Whatever you're into dude."

Her skin started to bubble and stretch. Her adorable nose elongated, and her slim body filled out by a couple hundred pounds. Her long blond hair retracted to short black curls to match the newly grown black beard.

Zeke stumbled back onto a crate behind him. The middle-aged man, looking not so fetching anymore in the mini-skirt and tank top, plopped on the empty crate next to him.

"You know," he began, "it's kind of a relief to be myself for a bit. Takes effort to hold a new form, especially one so much smaller than mine."

Not knowing what to say, Zeke said nothing. He was still processing how the svelte smooth legs were now covered in little black hairs.

"Want to fuck?"

Politely as possible, Zeke declined the offer. Then, he took a breath and switched into professional mode.

What. Where. And how?

"How often can you change?"

Another shrug, this time with bulky shoulders. "Whenever, but it can take time to learn a new form."

"Have you always been able to do this?"

The girl-man stared at him. "You a cop?"

"Just a reporter."

The man smacked his lips. "Kay, I'm cool with that. I heard someone named 'The Mayan' shared her secrets, and it's been spreading. It's easier for us to...operate this way." He gestured to his form.

"Then you can do things, like drain people, and not get caught?"

"Unless we get sloppy, lazy, or don't know what we're doing."

"Where can I find the Mayan?"

Shrug.

Sensing the interview was over, August asked, "Can you switch back to the girl?"

"Sure, man."

Suddenly, the bloated form shrank back to the much more pleasant one. Zeke cleared his throat, taking a new interest in the body that he'd dismissed as "too young."

August was telling Zeke how technically, the girl was of age. And he might as well have fun, since he'd paid.

"And it wouldn't be gay."

August had brought up many fine points.