Chapter One

They say things dwell in the darkness. They say such things should not be disturbed. Vincent had read thousands of accounts of these warnings over the course of his life, but he had yet to find out who ‘they’ were. ‘They’ seemed to be the people, and while they had the right idea (for the most part), they were also wrong about one thing: sometimes the things that dwell in the dark rise up to disturb others, and then you have to disturb them right back.

He’d been on this trail without rest for eighteen hours. Now it had led him here. In a short space of time a simple monster hunt at the docks had turned into some serious shit. Cinema had hit the country in a big way and sparked the imagination of the people. Now they saw monsters everywhere. A previous investigation of the docks had once uncovered a theatrical piece the Mafia were using to distract folk from a heroin shipment. Not so lucky now. Now it was the Mafia calling about monsters. That was when shit got serious.

Vincent had hoped this was just a case of rival gangs trying to give each other a taste of their own medicine. The problem was gang wars didn’t usually leave claw marks four inches deep or drain their victims of blood. Monsters kept him in business; that didn’t make them good. The docks had revealed traces of devils, and now Vincent had tracked their black magic here.

The cavern was enormous, and the pillars on the stage didn’t belong there. They were new. Clearly what the devils had been used to transport at the docks. Ancient Egyptian at a glance. Vincent knew all too well how many kinds of trouble that boded. He hid in the shadows and watched the cultists perform their ceremony. He needed to know what he was up against if he had any intention of intervening. Finally, of course, where there’s black magic, there’s a black mage.

An old man stood chanting at the head of the altar. Vincent recognized him. He recognized the girl tied to the altar too. She looked maybe fourteen or fifteen. He couldn’t remember. The worst part was watching her recognize her father holding a knife over her. That was the thing about the old wealthy families – they read the classics. Vincent was a professor himself, and he could respect the old legends for what they were, but as a Hunter he hated the way they gave rich idiots ideas – like sacrificing your daughter.

“Oh Great Sobek, hear me,” Phillips chanted at the head of the altar. “By this sacrifice come forth and show yourself to us.”

Vincent watched as Phillips raised the dagger. The girl on the altar finally realized what her father was really doing. Her confusion turned to genuine terror. She began to struggle and scream. This was usually the part where he intervened. Vincent took aim. He fired.

Phillips recoiled with a flinch as soon as he heard the shot. The bullet smashed into the dagger and the force tore it from the dark priest’s hand. Chaos erupted. Phillips yelled and dove for his sacrificial weapon. The cultists reeled and broke form. Vincent lined up his next shot. He fired again. The bullet tore clean through the rope on one of the girl’s wrists. Lucy felt her arm come free. She pulled herself up and started trying to untie her other hand. The cultists swarmed her.

Vincent went in. His coat billowed out as he charged the cult. He drew his sword as he ran. The steely rasp echoed in the cavern. The sound of his entrance was lost in the screaming and yelling. The fools didn’t realize he was there until he was on top of them. He burst into the fray. Revolver in one hand, blade in the other. He sliced through a robed cultist as he made for the altar.

On the other side, Phillips had recovered his dagger from the floor. The old man was rushing back to attack. He met Vincent’s eye across the fracas.

“You!” His snarl was lost in the chaos, but Vincent saw it. It wasn’t the only thing he saw. When he had been hiding in the shadows across the cave the silver clasps of the cultists’ cloaks had just been part of their traditional aesthetic. This close he could see the symbol engraved on them. It distracted him for a second. Enough to slow his next shot. Phillips saw it coming and dodged.

“GET HIM!” the old man screamed over the chaos.

Vincent rushed to rescue the girl. The cultists swarmed him, and he saw why they were causing so much of their own trouble. Only half the eyes staring at him were human. The devils he’d been tracking served as cultists too, and Vincent knew this cult. Some of them snarled beneath their hoods. Some let their hoods fall back to expose their nasty imp faces. Vincent came at them swinging.

He cut two of the vicious creatures down. They fell screaming and bleeding. It saved on bullets. Claws raked across the thick leather sleeve of his coat. Vincent decapitated the offending imp with a single strike.

Lucy could see him fighting off the monsters as she tore her second hand free. Phillips rushed them. The dark priest ran in, dagger aloft. Vincent grabbed a cultist by the back of the robe and threw them at Phillips. Lucy struggled up, her face a mask of horror.

Vincent leapt onto the altar and snatched her up. With one deft swipe of his sword he cut through the bonds on her feet. The cultists clawed at their ankles, but Vincent kicked them away. He cast one look back. Phillips was shoving cultists in his attempt to reach them. There was an unnatural hate in his eyes as he watched Vincent rescue his sacrifice. That didn’t bother the Hunter. He sliced at the crazed imps with one hand and scooped his other arm around Lucy. She clung on around his neck as he ran and leapt off the end of the altar.

Vincent put all his strength into that jump. They sailed over the crowd as Phillips roared in fury behind them. The old man tried to push his way through the cultists. Humans gibbered in terror as the imps went berserk. Phillips roared at them all. The imps didn’t even notice. One of them shoved the old man. He collided sharply with another cultist. Phillips felt his blade stab into the other man’s side. The force of the collision knocked them both onto the altar. Blood soaked into the old man’s robe. In fury, he stabbed the unlucky cultist in the chest again to silence him.

Phillips clambered off the altar, but the imps were already screeching excitedly. The body of the cultist lay dead across the slab. His blood spread out across it and began to drip down the other side. From the deepest shadows of the cavern, behind the ancient pillars, came an earth shattering roar. The sound shook the ceiling and dust rained down. Vincent knew he would regret turning to look. He did it anyway.

“Shit.”

From a shimmering ether between the pillars came the snout of a colossal crocodile. Followed by the rest of it. A manifestation of the Ancient Egyptian god crossed into reality. It was a far more horrifying monstrosity than myths made it out to be. Vincent realized he had many regrets, and no time for any of them. Sobek roared again. The sound was deafening. The great old one took a massive scaly step into the cavern and crushed a gibbering cultist underfoot.

Lucy stared on in absolute horror at Vincent’s side. He did not blame her, but his expression was less terrified and more frustrated.

“What is that?!” Lucy cried.

“Too much trouble for a Thursday,” Vincent replied with a weary growl.

Sobek started into the room. Before him was a buffet of mad cultists, all clamoring in his presence. The god crushed his followers with every step. With a hungry snarl, he lowered his jaws and began to eat them. Vincent quickly refilled his revolver. He placed himself in front of the girl, for all the good it did. She didn’t need to see this. Not that she could look away.

“Stay back,” Vincent warned her.

Lucy was standing with her horrified eyes as wide as saucers in her face and her fingers pressed over her mouth. He didn’t know if she was holding back vomit or a scream, but he appreciated that she was holding it back. Across the room her father watched the carnage unfold with an expression of triumphant righteousness.

“Behold!” Phillips roared over the cave. “A true God! Before man! Before time! And now, the Old Ones shall rise again!”

Vincent shook his head. Nutjobs. The world was full of them. The devils were shrieking and prancing in delight as Sobek devoured the screaming cultists. His massive jaws caught a dozen at once and snapped them in half. At least that was a fight Vincent didn’t have to worry about anymore. Unfortunately, he had traded it in for a harder one. At least he had a secret weapon…

Vincent aimed his gun at the god. He could see Phillips watching him with a scathing look. The dark priest wasn’t worried. Vincent lined up the shot. He looked up through a web of limbs and guts dripping over the floor from the monster’s fangs. Through the mess he could see Sobek’s eye glinting in the side of his face. He pulled the trigger.

Phillips scoffed at the edge of the cave. The bullet struck. With a sound like a bell it exploded in a giant rune of light. Sobek roared in pain as the holy silver bullet blinded him on one side. The god thrashed and howled. It had been a long time since he had manifested in a form that could feel pain. Phillips recoiled in horror at the sight.

“B-but you can’t...” the old man stuttered.

Vincent turned the gun on Phillips and shot him in the shoulder. He didn’t want to kill the old man – the dark priest was the only cultist left. Phillips cried out and clutched the wound. Things were suddenly not going his way. Vincent didn’t really feel like things were going his way either though. Sobek roared in pain and the sound was enough to crack the ceiling. Vincent flinched as the rocks above him cracked and stones rained down. If this wasn’t over quick that thing could bring down the roof on them.

Sobek swung around. His massive tail smashed over one of the pillars. Vincent’s eyes widened as he saw the oncoming carnage. Two imps rushed at him screeching. Vincent swung with his sword and cut them from the air. One of them lashed out. It cut him across the cheek as he gutted it. He leapt back into the fight. Sobek saw him coming with his good eye. The great beast turned to bite him. Vincent saw his chance. Another imp came for him. Vincent grabbed it and threw it at Sobek. The god snatched it in his jaws and crushed it.

Vincent ran and jumped onto the side of the monster’s face. He swung himself up and clambered over the rough, monstrous scales onto the creature’s head. Sobek roared and tried to throw him off. Vincent stayed crouched and held on. The scales were so large and coarse it was like rock climbing during an earthquake. Sobek shook him. Vincent got a feel for the movement. He steadied himself. Then unloaded four bullets into the monster’s head. 

“NO!” Phillips roared.

Sobek shuddered and Vincent kept his balance. The god roared. Another earthshattering roar. The cavern trembled. Vincent felt his expression drop as he realized what was about to happen. Sobek wasn’t dead. The monster reeled in pain and tossed his head violently. Vincent lost his grip. He flew across the room as Sobek cast him off. With a painful crash he smashed into the wall. Vincent groaned. Bloody and bruised, he struggled to his feet. Sobek’s good eye watched him move. The old god rushed him.

“No!” Lucy yelled, echoing her father. The girl snatched one of the candelabra from the ritual and stabbed Sobek in the tail. The monster had killed all its followers and there was no one to stop her. From the edge of the cave, her father’s expression of glee turned to fury.

Sobek growled in pain and turned on her. She had pierced him between his scales and couldn’t get the makeshift weapon free. Vincent saw his chance. Sword in hand he struck. He stabbed the monster through the neck. Even for a god the damage was starting to show. It didn’t look good. Phillips could see things were not going his way. Victory should have been his with the summoning of an old one, but this Hunter didn’t look like it was his first. Phillips fled.

The god smashed Vincent back into the rocks with his head. His tail smacked Lucy into the wall. She cried out as she was struck. Sobek went for her. He turned and charged with his misshapen, lumbering body. Vincent roared to his feet and stormed after the monster. He rushed in, sword raised, and attacked the same wound he had just made. His blade sank into Sobek’s neck and drew fresh blood. Sobek roared again. For the first time the sound was painful and pitiful.

Vincent latched onto the creature’s neck and hacked repeatedly at the wound. At this angle the beast couldn’t reach him, and it flailed. Vincent hacked and stabbed until the old god’s head was half severed. With a violent shudder, Sobek collapsed dead on the ground. This manifestation, for now at least, was finished.

Lucy was struggling to her feet again. Vincent sheathed his weapons and ran over to the girl. They were both blood-soaked and injured, but he helped her up.

“We have to go after your father,” he insisted. “He’s getting away.”

Lucy looked like she was going to agree as she stood. The teenage girl gazed over the cavern. She saw the corpses littering the floor. Pieces of human and devil were shredded across the ground under the mutilated body of the great old one. She nodded. Then she burst into tears and sank back to her knees trembling. Vincent turned from her and looked to the passage. He wanted more than anything to give chase.

Phillips was from one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the city – as the leaders of such cults usually are. That he had come to be part of the Order of the Black Dawn… it couldn’t be a coincidence. Vincent had seen Harold Phillips before. They had encountered each other around the university, and Vincent had to hand it to him: he had never suspected Phillips. The dark priest had kept his association well hidden. But the old man was long gone now.

With a sigh Vincent knelt down and put an arm around Lucy.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.” He picked up the traumatized girl and carried her from the cave.

* * *

 The estate was a giant mansion on the edge of town. The grounds were over one and a half square miles and surrounded with bizarre occult statues. It was a testament to the owner. Most people had no idea the professor’s outdoor collection served a practical purpose as well as an aesthetic one. The people who lived there did. They only lived there because they knew it was magically protected from the things that lurk in the dark.

At the front door an argument was brewing. A tall, dark-haired woman with a bob-cut and wide-legged trousers was barring the entrance against a skinny teenage boy. He stood nervously in front of her clutching a briefcase. His suit was neat, but it didn’t fit too well, and his woolen cap was pulled low over his big dark eyes.

“I ain’t telling you again, Tony,” the lady warned. “If the Master ain’t here – you don’t come in.”

“Miss Winifred–” Tony tried to protest.

He was cut off by the roar of a motorbike. The bike was gigantic, and possibly illegal. A thick cloud of smoke churned behind it as the steel and bronze contraption screamed up the gravel driveway. There were too many pieces to the bike. It wasn’t designed for transport: it was designed for monster hunting. Vincent skidded to a loud stop outside the front door and killed the engine. Lucy was curled up behind him with her arms around his waist and her face buried in his back. She let go as Vincent kicked out the stand and climbed off the bike. He slung his satchel on over his shoulder and scooped Lucy off the bike. The girl was still teary and fragile after everything that had happened. Her blood-stained nightshift was all that covered her, and Vincent bundled her up in his arms. She had no shoes and he carried her over the gravel to the doorway.

Winifred and Tony watched them approach. As soon as the boy glimpsed the face of the girl in Vincent’s arms his big eyes widened more, and he snatched his cap off his head in the presence of the lady.

“Is that–?” he whispered.

“You shut yer face,” Winifred warned him.

Vincent carried Lucy to the front steps and set her down. Fred stepped around Tony to come and greet them. She gave Vincent a knowing smile and showed no surprise at the sight of the girl.

“Good to see you safely home again, Sir,” she nodded. “I see we have a new guest?”

“We’re going to need a room set up–” Vincent began.

“Already done,” Fred cut him off.

“Some clothes and a bath–”

“Done.”

Vincent smiled wryly at the woman by the doorway. The look she returned was confident and amused.

“What would I do without you, Fred?” the Hunter asked.

“Let’s never find out,” Fred smiled. She stepped forward and the two kissed each other’s cheeks familiarly. As they turned to the doorway Fred moved to lead them into the house, and she remembered Tony on the steps with them.

“Also, Tony’s here,” she added as an afterthought, and motioned at him in case the boy’s presence wasn’t enough to make him visible.

“You don’t say...” Vincent hid a slight smirk as he eyed up the nervous boy on the stairs. He looked back to the woman at his shoulder. “Fred, if you could kindly show Miss Phillips to the guest suite. Tony, if you would follow me.”

“Of course, Sir,” Fred nodded. “Miss, if you would.” Fred motioned to Lucy and guided her through the doors into a large entrance hall. Lucy walked as though still in shock as she let Fred lead her into the house and towards the interior stairs. She looked down at the soft rugs beneath her feet and panicked.

“Wait, I-! I think I’m getting blood on your carpet...” she stammered in alarm.

“Don’t you be worrying about that,” Fred soothed. She put an arm around Lucy and guided her upstairs. “I’ve traipsed in worse than you have, dear.”

Vincent and Tony stood in the entrance hall and watched the ladies disappear up the stairs. Tony’s cap was scrunched up in his hands with the briefcase.

“Is that Lucy Phillips?” he blurted as soon as the women were out of sight. Vincent gave him a sharp look.

“That, Mister Segreti, is none of your business,” he warned.

Tony took the hint, but continued to glance at the stairs as Vincent led him deeper into the house. They wandered through halls filled with cases of ancient artefacts that only grew creepier with age. Tony always let his eyes wander in these corridors. He shrank down under the sinister pressure of the occult. It was enough to give anyone the willies.

Vincent led him into the back office. Tony hated this room. This was the room Vincent conducted his business in. The worst room in the house. With the worst artefact. Tony had no idea what it was, beyond the fact that it was a book, but the giant black tome was kept in a sealed glass case at all times. Every time Tony looked at it he went cold, and every time he was in that office he couldn’t help but look.

Vincent moved to the other side of his large mahogany desk. He motioned for Tony to sit across from him. The boy sank down in the desk chair like normal. He tried not to look at the book as he clutched his cap and briefcase. Vincent dumped the satchel on the desk with a heavy thump. The sound made Tony flinch, and he gave the bag a sick look. Vincent ignored him and began to speak as he flicked through some of the papers on his desk.

“I told you and your boss that I would contact you when the job was done, Tony.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Doctor,” Tony apologized. “I just... Mister Ferro was insistent. After what happened at the docks last night... Ferro demanded answers... You’re the only place I can get them. I thought you might be here...”

“The docks led me elsewhere,” Vincent replied curtly. “Things were bigger than Elia Ferro and his... business ventures.”

Tony huddled down nervously. Vincent had no love for the Mafia, but he had been working for them more and more of late. Ultimately, monsters were monsters, and money was money. Everybody needed protection from something. Even gangsters. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. It wasn’t his fault the family business was swallowing him either. Vincent relented and indicated the satchel.

“I found what was raiding Ferro’s shipments,” he admitted. “For the other 50% it’s in the bag.”

Tony opened the briefcase and carefully gathered up three thick stacks of cash. He sat the piles politely on the edge of the desk. Vincent moved to a decanter behind the desk as he watched the boy. He nodded at the cash and indicated the bag again. Tony closed the briefcase and very reluctantly stood to approach the satchel. Vincent watched his hesitation with some amusement.

“You need a quilt to help you open that?” he asked with a grin, indicating the whiskey in the decanter. Tony shook his head weakly. His face was slightly green.

“Doc, you ain’t got enough panther’s piss to make looking in these bags easy,” he muttered. Tony pulled the bag open. The severed head of one of the demon imps lolled up at him with its long tongue hanging out. Tony turned away with a grimace and covered his mouth. Vincent grinned at him.

“So Mister Ferro was right?” Tony muttered sickly. “We needed you to solve this voodoo bushwa. Old Phillips was involved, and he got Miss Lucy tangled in it?”

Vincent gave Tony a long look. Tony waited, completely oblivious to any point Vincent’s eyes were trying to make. Finally, the Hunter answered.

“Black magic. Not voodoo.”

Tony sneered at the distinction like there wasn’t any difference, but it clearly wasn’t the monsters holding his interest. His big dark eyes had shaken off his nerves and they shot up curiously at Vincent.

“Oh, piss! Did the old man get involved with those things? Did they kidnap his daughter? She looked a poor mess on your doorstep.”

Vincent gave him another long warning look, for all the good it did.

“Miss Phillips has seen things that would make you cry and piss yourself, Tony,” he replied. “She’s doing just fine.”

“I’m just sayin–”

“Too much,” Vincent cut the boy off. “You always do, Mister Segreti. She’s under my protection, so if you’re hoping to score points with your boss by digging dirt on the daughter of his rival – you can forget it.”

“No! I wouldn’t–!”

This time Vincent did manage to shut him up with a look. Perhaps the kid was finally getting wise after all. It was probably too much to hope for.

“If it’s about her pretty face I’ll set Fred on you,” Vincent warned. Tony smirked at the threat.

“Heh. Miss Winifred is a right bearcat, I’ll agree,” he shrugged. “But I’m not scared of her.”

“That’s stupid of you,” Vincent commented. “I am.”

There was something painfully telling in the direct look the Hunter shot his way. Vincent’s hard eyes looked straight through the boy. Tony turned slowly. Fred was standing in the doorway with her arms folded. She gave the room an amused look. Tony panicked.

“Miss Winifred–!”

“Let’s ankle, Tony,” she jerked her head at him. Tony hurriedly grabbed the satchel and followed her from the room. Fred’s long strides marched quickly back to the front door and Tony was forced to chase after her.

“I wasn’t giving any cheek, Miss Winifred,” he tried to defend as he rushed after her. “I just wanted to know that Miss Phillips was alright–”

“You’re a real charmer, Tony,” Fred drawled. “She don’t need you asking after her. Girl’s got standards.”

“It’s not like that!” Tony insisted indignantly.

Fred opened the front door to show him out. He stepped through and set his cap back on. From under the flat brim his big dark eyes peered back at her, innocent and sincere. The expression on his face made her want to roll her eyes. He was a cute kid, but he wasn’t the brightest of Ferro’s crew.

“Hey, Tony.”

“Yes, Miss?” he asked. She gave him a wicked grin.

“Go chase yourself, boy.” With that final smirk she shut the door in his face.

Tony watched the door slam shut and rolled his eyes at the fancy knocker staring him down. It wasn’t like he expected better from the Doctor and his freaks. Tony awkwardly and disgustedly adjusted the satchel on his shoulder and walked down the stairs.

Back inside, Fred’s sharp strides returned her to the office where Vincent was carefully stashing the money from last night’s job. Fred moved behind Vincent’s desk and poured a drink from the decanter. She gave Vincent’s back a long hard stare. She knew he knew she was looking.

“So things went alright?” she asked as the crystal in her hands clinked.

Vincent sighed as he straightened up and turned away from the safe in the cupboard.

“Phillips got away. But we got the monsters, and saved the girl.”

“That’s what I call a win,” Fred replied, holding out the drink for him. Vincent came over and took the glass from her gratefully. He downed it in a single gulp.

“Girl’s a fighter too,” Fred continued. “She’s going to be peachy eventually.”

“Her father tried to sacrifice her to summon evil,” Vincent countered. “I don’t know if she’ll ever be ‘peachy’, but she hit a Great Old One with a candelabrum, so she’s not to be trifled with.”

Fred looked surprised, but Vincent smiled at her over the glass. They both started to chuckle. The laughter ran between them like electricity for a moment as they chuckled at the absurdity of the situation. Fred recovered first.

“Alright,” she grinned. “We’re getting things sorted upstairs–”

“Later, Fred. I’m going back out.”

“Vincent, you can’t. Look at yourself!” she protested.

“I’m not going far,” he smiled. “I’ll be back soon.”

“You need a bath and a change and–”

Vincent kissed her forehead reassuringly and she stopped.

“You’re right, as always,” he agreed. “But it’s going to wait.”

“What can be so goddamn important–?”

Vincent cut over her again. “Make sure the girl’s okay,” he ordered.

Fred glared after him and folded her arms as Vincent walked away from her. She didn’t try and stop him. He wasn’t someone you stopped.

* * *

 Vincent left the house. He wandered out the back door of the mansion into the grounds. For the most part the grounds were immaculately kept by Fred’s staff, but they covered a large area, and there was a patch where the nearby forest encroached. Vincent looked back to make sure no one was following or watching. He half expected Fred’s disgruntled eyes to be watching him from a window. They weren’t. He ducked away into the trees.

The forest here was dangerous and overgrown. Fred’s staff were all rescue victims, like Lucy. They were people who had seen the darkness and had nowhere else to go. Vincent and Fred gave them a home, gave them work, and kept them safe. The staff were the kinds of people who knew not to venture into the woods. They kept the garden, they trimmed back the trees and the overgrowth, but they never ventured further.

It made Vincent’s life easier. He quickly checked again to make sure no one could see him, then he turned up a hidden path through the brush. The track was little more than a single line he had beaten through the overgrowth on his ventures this way. It made it easier to disguise. He trekked his way through the overgrown mess to a tiny shack in the woods, concealed from the outside world.

The shack was a run-down, rickety den. It looked like a strong shake would knock it over, but it was sturdier than it looked. Vincent opened the single door in the front and entered. Inside wasn’t much better. It was a strange occult room with several blankets and books and candles, but for the most part it was bare. The floor creaked as Vincent stepped inside and shut the door behind him. It left the room mostly dark, but there were just enough cracks of light to see by. He didn’t need more than that.

Vincent moved to the middle of the room and hauled open a secret trapdoor in the floor. You could never be too careful. He pulled out a small, waterproof trunk. Inside the trunk lay rows and rows of vials. He took one out and closed it up again. Quietly he moved two of the candles in front of him. One on the left and one on the right. He took a book of matches from the front pocket of his coat and lit the candles. The tiny flames danced and bobbed in the drafts of the shack.

He sat back slowly. Once he was comfortable on the floor he took up the vial, uncorked it, and downed the contents. He placed the drained vial back on the floor and sat with his hands empty and his eyes closed. Through his lids he could sense the flickering light of the candles as he sat and meditated. The light steadied. Vincent opened his eyes.

In this world his eyes were a swirl of darkness. It was the only way to see the things that lurked in the shadows of the Dreamland. All of eternity spun out as though he could see the galaxy. Strange horrors and creatures swirled at the edge of the void he waited in. He felt no fear. The Dreamland was a realm of shadows. It was the world that belonged to the darkness and all that lived within. From out of the void a stranger approached. Vincent wasn’t certain what they looked like. Humanoid. Shadowy. Even with the eyes of the dreamers he couldn’t focus on the man he met in the darkness. The man of many names. The stranger sat opposite Vincent and addressed him.

“Doctor Vincent Temple,” he spoke in a voice as smooth and rich as black coffee. “You have returned.”

Vincent met his gaze. “Our deal isn’t over...”