"Hey, so does this mean we're friends now?" I asked as Luca stepped forward and shook the vampire's hand. My hands were starting to shake, and I was having a hard time maintaining my killer posture. Plus, my heels were sinking into the grass.

This shouldn't be too surprising. I was holding a railgun, after all. A six barrel autoloading railgun I had kinda ripped off the side of Nightmare's hull. It's really meant for close-range ship-to-ship combat, and I was really, really hoping I wouldn't have to fire it.

Because we'd all be super dead. Luca wasn't kidding about this being a weapon of mass destruction. This gun fires 1kg slugs with a muzzle velocity of eight thousand metres a second. To anyone who hasn't taken a physics class, that is freakishly fast. Basically, if I fired the weapon, the recoil would hit me at about four hundred meters a second, and turn me into red mist. The explosion caused by the air turning into plasma as the slug fired might kill us before the shot actually hit the hill. Which would make an explosion big enough to kill us. And kick up enough rock shrapnel to kill us.

Oh, and it might blow up the super-capacitor banks powering the gun. Which would also kill us.

So, super dead.

"My dear, I believe we can reach an accord on the subject," the vampire, what was his name again? Something vampirish that made you think of some well-dressed, eerily pale man with graceful manners necking you in a candlelit dining hall. Preferably on a comfy chair in front of a fire. "You excel at escalating things to an absurd degree."

"Izzy, are you okay with putting that down gently?" Luca asked. "And seriously, let me know if you need some help."

"Aw, are you being chivalrous?" I asked, and wouldn't you believe I actually shifted my aim a little. At him.

"No," Luca said, and he held up his hands. Which really put those arms of his on display. Whatever he paid his personal trainer, totally worth it. "I just don't want to die. You're holding a weapon of mass destruction."

"You recognize it?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's a StraightShot 9400m. Lorenzo Corp product, and if you knew anything about the Lorenzo Corporation, you'd set that down really carefully," Luca explained.

"Are you saying I should have bought it from your company?" I asked.

"Obviously. Would these abs sell you an inferior product?" Luca asked. And I have to admit, those abs were pretty convincing.

"You made a line of flashlights that ran exclusively on solar power," I accused.

"Mass oversupply of solar panels, we had to do something with them. And I made a fortune," Luca rebutted.

"You made beard grooming products that caused permanent hair loss."

"Popular with the women in hipster communes. Made a fortune."

"You have a line of beer that keeps you from getting drunk."

"I know. Quietly marketed it to high school kids and released it on graduation day. Made a fortune in a single weekend."

"Your coffee puts people to sleep."

"Not a single lawsuit when people realized how good a full night's sleep felt. Made several fortunes on this one when I combined it with a nap bar."

"You sold a line of firearms that fired foam darts."

"I have a vault full of thank-you letters from law enforcement officers when I sold those exclusively to gangs and cartels. Still made a fortune."

"You made televisions and computer screens that wouldn't work unless the person watching them was getting exercise."

"Collectively, the world's population lost nine billion pounds last year. And I made a fortune."

"You made alarm clocks that went off two hours late, lunch kits that made you take ten minutes longer than your break, and high-heels where the heel fell off immediately after purchase!"

"People slept in, took longer lunches, and walked in comfort. And I made a fortune."

Dang it was hard to argue with that man. Being able to counter every argument with 'I made a fortune' is a forceful point.

"So, Izzy, would you set that cannon down gently? I believe Alcuard is about to explain this mysterious A Lien account," Luca said.

I nodded, slowly set the railgun down on the grass, and switched off the power supply. I also refused to admit it out loud, but I was going to check to see if my ship's weapons suppliers were really on the up and up. See if I ever deal with junk collectors in shady alleys ever again.

And no, I didn't scrimp on the important things. My oxygen scrubbers, the hull plating, the fusion drive, and the sound system are all top of the line.

"I am willing," Alcuard said from the shadows. "But I am deeply affected by my thirst. You have some sort of supply?"

"Right, sorry," Luca said, before he turned around, pulled a phone out of his tattered trousers, and pointed it into the air.

Look at that, tattered trousers. Alliteration. I am on a roll today!

Luca pointed his phone and pressed his thumb on the screen, and an ink-black sphere violently popped into the air in front of him. I jumped in fright, and very nearly kicked the railgun I had just set down.

Holy crap. Sparks and spit and engine exhaust. I was looking at a fucking portal. A sphere of folded space, connecting the spot right in front of that absurdly muscled trillionaire to potentially anywhere else in the universe. Even knowing he had the tech, it was an astonishing thing to see.

"Wormhole technology?" Alcuard asked. I looked over to see the vampire somehow looked even paler than usual, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

Huh.

Okay, the vampire was actually cute. I dig it.

"Mister Cardego, you had a wormhole device in your pocket the whole time I tried to kill you?" Alcuard asked. "You could have dropped me into the sun at any time."

Luca was busy at the portal and didn't respond to Alcuard's revelation. "Viviana, darling," he said.

"What is it?" someone shouted through the portal. Whoever it was had a distinctly sultry sort of tone, the kind of 'come hither' allusion that men seemed to believe was always directed at them, and just at them. For Luca, it might be the only tone of voice he ever hears from women. Like how the Queen of England thinks the entire world smells like wet paint. "Did you find the crash site?"

"I did. Do we still have the blood donations we collected for the Dr. Teresa Philip joke?" Luca asked.

"The blood of young virgin women? It's right next to the jars of children's tears in cold storage," the voice on the other side of the portal said. She paused for a long moment, then said, "that sounds really creepy when I say it out loud. Are you asking because the ship's pilot needs a blood transfusion? Because if that's the case, we should send you a proper medical professional. Or pretty much anyone other than you."

"What? I grew up in the woods. I'm as rugged as anyone comes in this day and age," Luca protested.

"Rugged? Your idea of roughing it is your smaller yacht," the woman retorted. Have to admit, whoever she is, I like her more now.

"I'm pretty sure sass isn't part of your job description, darling," Luca said, but he had a goofy smile on his face when he said it. Glad the guy could take a dig or two. "Might warrant a bonus. Just send the blood over. I'll share the story in a few hours."

"Alright," the reply came just as a small bag popped out of the portal and landed at Luca's feet. "Just be careful, okay?"

"You'd miss me?" Luca asked.

"Platinum bikini," the voice replied. I definitely had one eyebrow up in my hair over that one.

The portal disappeared in a flash of light and a...

A...

Was that a fart?

"That sound," I began to say.

"Don't say what you're thinking," Luca snarled at me wolffishly. "Don't you dare say it."

"Flatulence," Alcuard said. "That sounded exactly like a fart."

"Shut it, you mosquito in steampunk cosplay!" Luca barked.

"You should watch what you eat," Alcuard retorted.

"Go get a tan," Luca snapped. He reached into the bag, took out one of the packets of blood, and tossed it to Alcuard.

Alcuard opened the top of the bag, and with a contented sigh, started to suck on it the way a small child drinks out of a juice box. His relieved smile lasted just a moment, until he looked like that same small child had discovered the juice box contained prune juice. The vampire's face scrunched in disgust, and he held the bag as if were an unfashionable gift from a rich and elderly relative.

"What is this?" Alcuard asked.

"Blood of a virgin woman," Luca said, his smirk so large it was a wonder his head hadn't fallen off.

"It tastes like desperation, lust, and an unhealthy obsession with four teenagers singing on a stage. And icing sugar," Alcuard said. "It's like drinking cake. Seriously, I'm dead and you're going to make me diabetic."

"You know what they say about picky beggars?" Luca asked.

"No," I said.

"Exactly. Suck it down and tell us a story, vampy."

Alcuard scowled and sucked the entire bag back in a single hard swig. He then glared at Luca, and said, "an amendment to our bargain, one I believe Miss Bonny will agree to. First, tell me why you have the blood of virgin women on hand."

I frowned, bent down, and plugged the railgun back in. "Vampy's right. I really want to hear this one, Mister Cardego."