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of,” she moaned, biting her lip with a groan of pleasure. “We are indebted to you. Our bargain will be honored. Without you, we are nothing.”
    “But you slaughtered innocent people,” Ted said, muffled when the raven-haired beauty to his left shoved her fingers into his mouth. “ Mmmuh —but you’re monsters. Ki-wuahs .”
    “Deep down you wanted the world to see us again,” the blonde insisted. “You wanted us to be alive when you wrote that screenplay, when you hired the models. You wanted to fuck every one of them… and now’s your chance .”
    “We won’t hurt anybody,” a strawberry-haired wanton said before she kissed the blonde on top of him, tongues mingling, fingers teasing flesh, nails raking blood between fits of delight, their kisses and masochistic sex worthy of any lesbian vampire tramp. “We only want to play. It’ll be fun. You’ll see. You can watch. I like it when you watch, Teddy.”
    “You’ll find my movies then.” He was unable to resist them. He relaxed and allowed their pleasures to bloom. “And you won’t hurt anybody else, right?”
    The blonde stroked him, playing with his hardening shaft until Ted was full, and then she took him between her legs, warm and wet and deeper than any woman he’d ever experienced. His argument was snuffed dead. Impulses and shudders ran throughout his body, bringing orgasms that weren’t real to life. Electric. Repeating. The sex was illusion. Manipulated by the ghosts of the dead who wielded magic beyond any living master’s abilities. But Ted didn’t know that. He couldn’t think past the four delectable beauties gratifying his every male impulse.
    He also didn’t see the fifth vampire exit his apartment and fly into the Chicago night.  

Chapter Two
    The Claims and Lost Possessions Branch of Chicago was a ten-floor skyscraper, a dark brown and black brick building. The building was unimpressive against the backdrop of dominating cityscape, compared to the Willis Tower and the John Hancock Center, and in the further horizon, Lake Michigan and the ever-glowing lights of Navy Pier. The branch was designed for acquired properties from the recently deceased, repossessed items from debtors and five floors of offices for the processing of the goods. An avid buyer could buy a dead man’s leather couch for less than a hundred bucks if the auction on the second floor had low attendance. The basement level was a different entity altogether. The hall, with its freshly waxed tiles, contained private storage rooms. Four keys were required to enter the premises. Each corridor harbored steel lock boxes by the hundreds. One key was designed for the entry door, another for the private room, and two for each individual lock box. Two guarded sentries roamed the basement floor at all hours. Security cameras scoped out every angle. And still, the auburn-haired vampire managed to slip through the shadows. She was in human form, clothed in a tunic and pleated pants she stole from a late-night raver bumbling out of the Excalibur nightclub. The monster had snapped the woman’s neck and heaved her into a dumpster. Not a single drop of blood had touched the outfit. Now she sought the reels that once belonged to Ted Fuller. It wouldn’t be long before Al Denning, the late-night security guard on the east wing of the basement floor, would cross paths with her, tossing his silver Maglite from hand to hand to keep himself occupied.  
    When Al Denning came upon the woman walking, two thoughts crossed Al’s mind:
    Why is this woman here so late?  
    She better have a key, or I’m giving her ass the boot.
    Al cleared his throat to soften his tone. Many investors and clients used the basement for a variety of reasons. The upper class stored jewelry and valuables, others spare cash, while others stored keepsakes and copies of wills or other official documents. The woman who was roaming about lost—perhaps she’d forgotten in which room her storage lock box was