MY SUGAR MUMMY IS A BEAUTIFUL VAMPIRE

The warehouse district at midnight was a maze of shadows and echoing footsteps. Blake moved through the narrow alleys with Marcus at his side, both of them following coordinates that led deeper into Salvador's web of surveillance and control. Tonight's assignment was routine patrol—or so their briefing had claimed.

Blake suspected otherwise.

"You're quieter than most new partners," Marcus observed as they approached their checkpoint. "Most people feel the need to fill the silence."

"Most people haven't spent five years in the spirit world," Blake replied, scanning the rooftops for movement.

Marcus stopped walking. "You really were there, weren't you? I thought that was just a cover story."

Blake turned to study his partner. In three nights of working together, Marcus had proven competent, professional, and frustratingly unreadable. He followed orders without question but asked the kind of probing questions that suggested a mind working on multiple levels.

"Why does it matter?" Blake asked.

"Because the spirit world changes people," Marcus said. "Usually not for the better. And Salvador's been collecting vampires who've had contact with it."

Before Blake could respond, his radio crackled to life. "Unit Seven, we have movement in Sector 12. Investigate and report."

Blake keyed the microphone. "Copy, Control. En route."

They moved through the empty streets with practiced efficiency, their enhanced senses alert for any sign of threat. Sector 12 was industrial—old factories converted to apartment blocks, warehouses that housed everything from legitimate businesses to less legal enterprises.

"There," Marcus pointed to a figure moving between buildings two blocks ahead. "Alone, trying to stay hidden."

They followed at a distance, using the maze of loading docks and fire escapes to maintain visual contact without being spotted. The figure—a young human woman—moved with the nervous energy of someone who knew she was breaking curfew but had no choice.

Blake's radio crackled again. "Unit Seven, backup is en route. Detain subject for questioning."

"Copy," Blake responded, though his chest tightened with unease. Backup meant escalation. Escalation meant someone was about to get hurt.

The woman turned down an alley that Blake knew was a dead end. Marcus gestured for him to circle around while he approached from the front—standard containment protocol.

Blake moved into position just as the woman realized her mistake. She turned back toward the alley mouth only to find Marcus blocking her path, his uniform clearly visible under the streetlight.

"Evening," Marcus said calmly. "You're out past curfew."

The woman pressed herself against the brick wall, her heart hammering so loudly that Blake could hear it from thirty feet away. "I... I was just going home. Got lost."

"Without proper identification?" Marcus stepped closer, his hand moving to the taser on his belt. "That's a violation."

Blake emerged from the shadows behind her, completing the trap. The woman spun to face him, her eyes wide with terror that cut straight through his professional detachment.

She couldn't be more than twenty. College student, maybe, or recent graduate. The kind of person who should have been worrying about exams and job interviews, not curfew violations and blood quotas.

"Please," she whispered. "I was just trying to get medicine for my sister. She's sick, and the clinic was closed, and—"

"Medicine?" Marcus interrupted. "What kind of medicine?"

The woman's hand went to a small bag clutched against her chest. "Insulin. She's diabetic. Our ration got cut because we missed a donation appointment."

Blake felt sick. Salvador's system was so efficient that missing a single blood donation could mean death for someone dependent on medical supplies.

"Let me see your identification," Marcus said, extending his hand.

With trembling fingers, the woman produced a worn card. Marcus scanned it with his tablet, his expression growing more serious as information populated the screen.

"Sarah Chen," he read aloud. "Address listed in Sector 15. That's eight sectors away from here." He looked up. "Want to explain what you're really doing in this area?"

Blake watched the woman—Sarah—struggle with how much truth to reveal. He could smell her fear, her desperation, her growing certainty that this encounter would not end well for her.

His radio crackled again. "Unit Seven, backup arriving in two minutes. Status report."

Blake made a decision that would have consequences he couldn't yet imagine. "Control, subject is cooperating. Backup not required at this time."

Marcus shot him a sharp look but didn't contradict him.

"Sarah," Blake said gently. "The truth will serve you better than lies right now."

She looked between them, calculating odds that weren't in her favor. "There's a... a place. Where people can get medicine without going through official channels. I heard about it from a friend."

"What kind of place?" Marcus asked, though his tone had shifted slightly—less interrogation, more conversation.

"I don't know exactly. Just an address. Someone said they help people who... who fall through the cracks."

Blake knew what she was describing. A resistance safe house that had been providing medical supplies to families caught in Salvador's bureaucratic maze. If Sarah had the address, it meant the location was compromised.

"This address," Blake said. "You have it written down?"

Sarah nodded reluctantly, producing a small piece of paper from her pocket. Blake took it, memorizing the street name before handing it to Marcus.

"Unit Seven, requesting immediate backup," Marcus said into his radio, his eyes never leaving Blake's face. "We have a situation."

Blake's enhanced hearing caught the sound of vehicles approaching—still several blocks away but closing fast. Whatever choice he was going to make, he needed to make it now.

"Sarah," he said quietly. "When I tell you to run, you run. Don't look back. Don't stop until you're home."

Marcus raised his weapon. "Blake, what are you doing?"

"The right thing," Blake replied, moving between Marcus and the girl. "She's not a threat. She's a scared kid trying to save her sister."

"She's compromised a resistance cell," Marcus said, though his aim wavered slightly. "You know what our orders are."

The sound of engines grew closer. Blake could make out at least three vehicles, probably carrying a full enforcement squad. Once they arrived, any chance of containing this situation would disappear.

"Marcus," Blake said carefully. "How long have you been working for Salvador?"

"Two years. Since the alternative was watching my family disappear into the labor camps."

Blake nodded slowly. "And in those two years, how many Sarah Chens have you processed?"

Marcus's weapon lowered fractionally. "Too many."

"Then help me make sure this isn't another one."

For a moment that stretched like eternity, the three of them stood frozen in tableau—Blake shielding Sarah, Marcus caught between duty and conscience, Sarah pressed against the brick wall like a cornered animal.

The vehicles rounded the corner, headlights sweeping across the alley mouth.

Marcus made his choice.

He fired his taser—not at Sarah, but into the brick wall beside her head. Sparks flew, and Sarah screamed, collapsing to the ground in apparent shock.

"Subject down," Marcus called into his radio as the enforcement vehicles screeched to a halt. "Taser deployment successful."

Blake knelt beside Sarah, checking her pulse with exaggerated concern while whispering urgently in her ear. "Play unconscious. When they move you, you'll have a chance to run. Take it."

The enforcement team that emerged from the vehicles was larger than Blake had expected—eight vampires in full tactical gear, led by a lieutenant whose scarred face suggested extensive field experience.

"Unit Seven," the lieutenant called. "Status report."

Marcus gestured to Sarah's still form. "Subject was fleeing when cornered. Became combative during questioning. Taser deployment was necessary."

The lieutenant approached, studying Sarah with the kind of clinical interest that made Blake's skin crawl. "Unconscious subjects are harder to interrogate. Why not use restraint holds?"

"Subject appeared to be under the influence of something," Blake said smoothly. "Erratic behavior, possible drug enhancement. Taser seemed safer for all concerned."

The lieutenant accepted this explanation, though his eyes remained suspicious. "Bag her. We'll question her at the facility."

As the enforcement team prepared to load Sarah into one of their vehicles, Blake caught Marcus's eye. His partner nodded almost imperceptibly—when the opportunity came, he wouldn't interfere.

The opportunity came sooner than expected.

As two enforcement officers lifted Sarah's seemingly unconscious form, a commotion erupted from the far end of the alley. Gunfire echoed between the buildings, followed by shouts and the screech of tires.

"Contact in Sector 11," someone called over the radio. "Multiple suspects fleeing on foot. All units respond."

The lieutenant cursed, his tactical mind immediately prioritizing the larger threat. "Unit Seven, transport the subject to holding. Everyone else, with me."

Within moments, the alley emptied except for Blake, Marcus, and Sarah's motionless form beside their patrol vehicle.

"Now would be good," Blake said quietly.

Sarah's eyes snapped open. She rolled to her feet with surprising agility, her earlier terror replaced by focused determination.

"Thank you," she whispered, then sprinted toward the opposite end of the alley.

Blake and Marcus watched her disappear into the maze of buildings and shadows that had swallowed so many others seeking freedom from Salvador's order.

"Well," Marcus said after a moment. "That was interesting."

"Are you going to report what really happened?" Blake asked.

Marcus considered this, holstering his taser with deliberate care. "Report what? We responded to a disturbance, found no suspects, and were reassigned to a higher priority situation." He shrugged. "Nothing unusual about that."

Blake studied his partner with new respect. "How many others are there? People like you, working from inside?"

"More than Salvador thinks. Fewer than the resistance hopes." Marcus headed toward their vehicle. "Come on. We should check on that distraction in Sector 11."

As they drove through the empty streets, Blake reflected on the night's events. He'd expected his first real test to come from Salvador's forces directly. Instead, it had come from within—from the choice between following orders and following conscience.

He'd chosen conscience, and somehow, he'd found an ally in the process.

The radio chattered with reports from Sector 11—the disturbance that had drawn the enforcement team away was already resolving. False alarm, probably. Or perhaps another small victory for the resistance network that operated in the shadows of Salvador's surveillance state.

"Blake," Marcus said as they turned toward their next checkpoint. "That address Sarah had. You memorized it, didn't you?"

Blake nodded. "Someone needs to warn them."

"Already done," Marcus replied, tapping his radio. "Amazing how these communication devices sometimes pick up interference from old radio stations. Broadcasts all sorts of random numbers and street names."

Blake smiled—the first genuine smile he'd felt since returning from the spirit world. "Interference. I hate when that happens."

They completed their patrol in companionable silence, two wolves in sheep's clothing discovering they weren't as alone as they'd thought. When their shift ended, they parted ways with the professional courtesy expected of working partners.

But as Blake drove home through the pre-dawn darkness, he carried with him something more valuable than intelligence or tactical advantage.

Hope.

The system Salvador had built was impressive, thorough, and brutal. But it was also dependent on the cooperation of individuals like Marcus—vampires who had been coerced into service but retained their capacity for moral choice.

If there were more like him—and Blake suspected there were—then Salvador's perfect order might not be as unshakeable as it appeared.

Blake arrived at Nana's house as the eastern sky began to lighten. He found Rose already there, her own patrol having ended earlier. She sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, her expression thoughtful.

"How was your night?" she asked as he joined her.

"Educational," Blake replied. "Yours?"

"The same." Rose studied his face. "You look... different. Less tense."

Blake poured himself coffee, considering how to explain the shift he felt. "I think we might not be as outnumbered as we thought."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Before Blake could elaborate, footsteps on the stairs announced Celena's early rising. She appeared in the kitchen doorway wearing pajamas covered in mathematical equations—a gift from Nana that perfectly captured her dual nature as child and prodigy.

"You came back," she said, the same words she'd spoken every morning since their return.

"We promised we would," Blake replied, opening his arms for the hug that had become their morning ritual.

As Celena settled between her parents at the kitchen table, chattering about dreams and breakfast preferences, Blake felt something he hadn't experienced since entering Salvador's territory.

Optimism.

The war was far from over. They were still deep in enemy territory, still walking a tightrope between exposure and effectiveness. But they were no longer alone.

And sometimes, that made all the difference.