It was cold in the street. Less pulled his fur cap further down over his ears and tightened his wool scarf around his neck. The wind made the sign hanging above him squeak as it swung on rusty rings. The sign once bore a carved image of a rose, painted in bright colours, but by age and vandalism it now depicted just a thorny vine. He shivered and hunched into his coat, hoping to find warmth there. His contact was late but he didn’t want to take his hand out of his pocket to check his watch. He glanced up to look at the moon – as if he could tell time by it, which he couldn’t – but it and the stars were obscured by the thick pollution of Chinese industry.

Finally he heard Wu and his ragged crew approaching. Wu hadn’t liked arranging for business to be done in town but Less didn’t much care for the evil man or for what he liked. He had eventually agreed, of course, the greedy bastard.

“Why you want to meet here?” asked Wu once they were in whispering distance. He gestured left and right to the houses – shacks, really – that lined the street. “So many people. They could talk. Bring army.” He should know. The muzzle of his own PLA-issued QBZ-95 assault rifle bobbed behind his head as he moved.

“People stay away from here. Bad luck,” said Less. The locals knew he appeared from time to time to make deals in the market. Though the locals were happy to trade and take his American money, the derelict shop that housed the gate to his Hollow was shunned. It suited him.

The group of about 20 people stood a few paces off, wary of both Wu and Less. The lead bunch set down two large insulated coolers. Wu gestured to them with the side of his head. “They not happy with payment.”

Less moved toward the sorry lot. He had expected a good feed from the desperation of the would-be immigrants but it seemed their experiences had burned away their emotions. They were broken and empty, like the promises of Wu and his lot as he sucked them dry. It gave Less a bitter taste at the back of his throat.

“I’m sure they happily handed you their life savings,” said Less, annoyed, as he motioned for the men next to the coolers to lift off the lids.

Wu snorted – his harsh laugh. “Some had gold fillings! Why you want that?”

“None of your concern.” Wu was clearly disturbed by the clear bags of blood nestled in ice in the coolers. Less had no idea why a couple dozen litres of blood could make a man who jangled tooth fillings in his pocket, and was responsible for so much more suffering and misery, feel queasy. The truth was it made Less just as nervous but not because of what it was. What it was for chilled him to the bone. Vampire food. After the interrogation of Frank and the discovery of the dismembered undead in the subway, Less had decided he needed some sort of currency when dealing with the creatures. His normal smuggling activities had slowed while he took care of his duties ruling the Desert Duchy. Still, it hadn’t taken long to find Wu and his gang of human traffickers with a herd of desperate Chinese men, women and children more than willing to add a litre of blood to the cost of making it to the promised land. He hoped having this supply would prevent him from relying on a fresh supply of live rats.

“What now, bro?” asked Wu. “You keep them here until transport?” The man looked dubiously at the shop, clearly wondering if this decision would allow the authorities to catch up with him.

“They will be gone by morning,” said Less as he looked at the people in the crowd. They hadn’t even started their journey and already they were thin and pale. Wu had clearly kept them locked away while waiting for his side of the payment. They looked at him, some with hope, and some with fear. It helped him do what came next. He beckoned the immigrants to the shop, crowding out Wu. He opened the door to the shop and with it the gate to the Hollow. An earthen tunnel, supported by thick, age-blackened beams was beyond. They hesitated, but Less urged them forward into the pool of light provided by the lantern he had left on the old hand-operated rail-car he had driven here. Wu couldn’t see past the crowd and Less took the opportunity to deal with him.

Less turned to face Wu. “You’ve made a lot of people suffer,” he said as he gathered his faerie magic and assaulted his mind with the powerful contract of Fleeting Winter. Less felt Wu resist – he had locked away whatever sorrow he felt for the people he smuggled into other countries. He had told himself so many times that these people willingly took on the risks that he forced upon them. Less battered at these locked doors and within seconds he had pulled them away.

Wu’s face crumpled and he fell to his knees wide-eyed. Memories of children’s cries being cut off as he slammed and locked the shipping container’s doors. He had doomed them to several weeks with only the food and water on their persons, a lack of air, and no way to deal with the inevitable sewage. He had preyed on their desperation, robbed them of their life’s possessions. Promised them paradise and then stuffed them away. It didn’t matter if they made it to Europe or America, or if they died, or were caught. They would not be back and could never hold him to account. Wu’s head hung forward, his arms limp at his sides, and his body shook with sobs. His assault rifle had swung around on it’s sling and fallen to the ground in front of him. Less drank his fill of the powerful emotions sloughing off man before making sure the immigrants had loaded the blood coolers onto the rail car.

Less returned one last time to the small figure of Wu. He didn’t say anything as he ripped away any possible refuge or positive emotion Wu could find in the money he had taken or false hopes he had given his clients. Wu could now only face the gaping abyss of horror that he alone had dug. Less walked to the shop and plugged his ears against the rifle shot. Without looking back he closed the door behind him.