There were walkways over all the pools—rusted metal grates that were elevated about five feet over the surface. I got a running start and leaped over the onrushing waves, landed with a solid thump of feet on metal, and started running against the tide, heading for the far end of the body of water.

The waves collapsed and churned in confusion, as if a school of piranha had turned on itself, and then reversed course to race after me. I felt the shuddering slap as the liquid hit the metal. Smaller waves were trying to leap up and grab hold ahead of me, but they didn’t have momentum and I was hauling ass; the best any of them did was to throw droplets on my shoes, and I kicked those off as I ran. I made it to the end of the walkway. There were two choices here—off onto the ground on the other side, and from there over the fence, or a switchback that ran another, identical walkway at an angle across the next pond.

This one wasn’t quite as murky, and it was smaller; the water was an eerie bluish jade color, completely opaque. It was as still as stone, too, as I vaulted onto the catwalk that angled over it. The draug weren’t slopping over into this pond. I thought they’d chase me … but they stopped at the concrete barrier. Even the waves curled back on themselves rather than fall into these still waters.

I slowed, and stopped. It couldn’t be. I looked ahead; at the next angled intersection between catwalks was another divider, another pool. The water there was clearer, and it almost boiled with activity just like the last pool.

But here, in between … there was nothing. I took a breath, and immediately wished I hadn’t; this whole area reeked of human waste and something else, something sweetly rotten that might have been the draug. No way I could pick out one individual component from the general stench.

I needed a sample of the water the draug seemed to avoid … and I had something to put it in. Eve’s latest gift to me, which I wore on a chain around my neck … a blood vial. Some Goths were into it, keeping each other’s blood as either mementos or trophies, but she’d gotten it mainly because it was, as she put it, my “break glass in case of emergency” supply. It was Eve’s blood. I’d never really planned on drinking it, because it was just a taste, really, but this was a true emergency, after all.

I uncorked it and drained it in one small gulp. The taste of her essence exploded on my tongue in a rush, and I felt my pupils contract and my fangs come down in response. It’s hard to describe what it feels like, except that it’s a whole lot like wanting something you know isn’t good for you. Craving, lust, hunger, fear, all balled up inside a sense of wonder, because you can actually feel the person the blood came from, at least a little. The fresher the blood, the sharper that sensation.