Thom opened his eyes and blinked upwards, waiting for his sight to re-establish itself.

Or should that have been Richard?

His mind was in disarray.

He sat up slowly, allowing the sheet to fall off his face, which made the whole sight issue much easier. He was lying on a wide table. To one side was another body and on the other, a third. Both were covered in sheets, both of which were stained with blood.

His teeth itched at the very thought, but he did not react. He remained poised as his thoughts reeled in an identity crisis.

Was he Thom or Richard?

Finally, he reached out to one of the other sheets and pulled it back to reveal a face that was familiar. This, at least, compelled his rather confused mind to jump into gear.

The body was Frankie, the janitor of the Lair, and he was Thom, however, he was also Richard. When Jonathan had bitten him, his lover must have awoken his sleeping memories. That of course begged the question, how long had he been dead?

"It seems my progeny's family are a little dysfunctional," he said, using the sound of his own voice to centre himself.

In this situation, Richard's knowledge was far more useful than Thom's, but he needed Thom's memories of events to make sense of everything. With that in mind he made a conscious choice and mentally merged the two.

It could quite easily have driven him mad.

However, Richard, at least, had had centuries to perfect his cognitive abilities and, although he had to sit there for a while and put his mind back in order, it was not an impossible feat.

"If you are Frankie," he spoke to himself again, looking down at the body he had revealed, "then you must be Sheriff Trout."

He pulled back the other sheet to find that he was right. Only then did he hear it—the faintest of heartbeats.

"And not quite dead yet, Sheriff," he said, shifting down the table so he could climb off it.

They were in a storeroom with no windows, but he could feel that the sun was up outside even though he couldn't see it. He also noticed a third body wrapped in a sheet and stuffed into the corner of the room. Clearly the residents of the Lair had yet to take out the trash, which was overall a good thing as far as he was concerned.

Children could be so problematic.

His current predicament was entirely his own fault and it was time to start sorting it out. At least he had the fact that someone had finally gotten around to biting him to be thankful for, otherwise his previous life might never had reasserted itself. Reincarnation was a tricky business.

Walking along the side of the table, he pulled the sheet all the way off of Sheriff Trout and dumped it on the floor. The two bullet holes in the sheriff's torso were very obvious, so he wasted no time in ripping the man's shirt open to give him a proper view. The holes were small, given that they were entrance wounds, but they had clearly done large amounts of damage. He doubted the sheriff would live long without help.

Given their current predicament, it would not be good for the sheriff to expire. The man might have been a little overbearing, but Trout had tried to help Thom, and he did not forget things like that.

He allowed his fangs to descend before skewering his thumb on one of them. Reaching out as blood began to well from the wound, he allowed it to drip on first one wound and then the second. Little tendrils of smoke rose from the holes as he concentrated on them, using his blood as a conduit for his power.

Eventually Sheriff Trout groaned and moved. Thom pulled his hand back and waited for the man to open his eyes. It was only a few seconds.

"Welcome back, Sheriff," he said and smiled, "I would suggest you just lie there for a while."

He didn't really expect his advice to be taken, however. Sucking his finger, he walked around to the other side of the table and pulled the sheet off of Frankie, fully expecting the sheriff to try and move. It didn't take long. Trout tried to sit up and collapsed back to the table with a loud groan.

"Your wounds are still healing," Thom said, considering Frankie's corpse, "lying still really is the wisest option at the moment."

"What the hell is going on?" was the unimpressed response.

"We are still in the Lair," Thom replied, placing his hand on Frankie's chest. "You were shot, and I was bitten, but I have rectified the first issue. Frankie," he focused on the corpse under his hand, finding the taint of vampires that Frankie's position had given him and calling it forth, "it's time to wake up."

Frankie arched up under his hand, head falling back, mouth opening and long fangs descending as corpse became vampire under his command. When he had met Damian, he had never guessed where that association would lead him, and he enjoyed the feeling of power being back in his veins. Like called to like, but it had been a close thing, Frankie had had only just enough vampire power within him to call him back. Damian had to have bitten Frankie at some point in the past, probably to cement his control of him.

Falling back on the table, Frankie collapsed with a gasp, opening dark eyes which immediately flicked to Sheriff Trout.

"No," Thom said, before Frankie could act on instinct—waking up the first time could induce the hunger, "we'll find you food later."

Frankie looked at him, frowning in confusion. He sympathised, it had to be difficult to understand what was going on. He was fully aware Frankie would be able to feel power coming from him which, as far as Frankie was concerned, he should not have had.

"My name used to be Richard DeVere," he said quite simply; "Damian was right. I have been bitten and reclaimed my power. Do you understand who is master now?"

The poor creature's eyes opened wide in what appeared close to abject terror, but Frankie nodded anyway. Thom smiled at him.

"You have no need to fear, Frankie," he said and removed his hand. "I am not going to hurt you, I merely wish you to understand."

Sheriff Trout chose that moment to sit up, grimacing all the way.

"Sheriff, you would be more comfortable lying down," Thom said and shook his head.

"And easier to eat I suppose?" was the rather unsurprising reply.

"I have no intention of eating anyone, Sheriff," Thom replied, moving over to the body on the floor and pulling back the sheet to reveal the Sheriff's deputy. "Death is not a required consequence of vampire feeding. It is my curse which has caused all this death and I intend to rectify it. I created Damian, but in my enthusiasm, I did not explain everything before I made him a vampire. He reacted badly and chose to slay me. In my last moments of life, I cursed him, for which I am truly sorry, and his immortality came at the cost of other's lives. I forgive him. The curse will be lifted, and I am sure we can arrange things so they are much more civilised from now on. I just hope he can forgive me."

Trout was sitting there clutching his side and looking very dubious.

"Deputy," Thom turned his attention to the other corpse, the vampire taint was not faint in this one, "come back. I do not believe you wish to die."

The deputy's eyes snapped open, staring straight ahead. The man blinked once and twice and finally looked at Thom.

"Welcome back," he said and stood back up, "just sit still until you have adjusted."

"You really expect me to believe that crap?" Sheriff Trout clearly hadn't finished with him.

He sighed and turned back to the man.

"Sheriff," he said, taking a step towards Trout, but halting when the man shied away, "why would I heal your wounds if I intended to eat you, or let anyone else eat you for that matter? You were mostly dead, but quite edible."

That shut Trout up for a little while as Thom walked over and tried the door. It was not really a surprise that it was locked. With a twist of his wrist there was a clank and the lock gave, allowing the door to swing open.

"Is this some trick?" the sheriff seemed to be in a quandary.

"Not at all, Sheriff," Thom said, turning around and looking Trout directly in the eyes. "I intend to put right what I caused as well as I am able, which includes allowing you to leave once you are in a fit state to drive. I have no quarrel with you, Sheriff, and I hope to demonstrate that you no longer need have a quarrel with us."

"People have been dying," Trout said pointedly.

"And if you persist in a quest against us, more will die as well," Thom replied, hoping that he could get his message across. "A truce from both sides would be far more useful, don't you think?"

The sheriff tried to stand up and almost collapsed onto the floor.

"Frankie, if you would be so kind as to help Sheriff Trout," Thom said, turning and checking outside the door.

"Don't touch me," he heard Trout hiss and turned back, putting his hands on his hips and glaring.

The sheriff was all but falling over, only standing up because of a death grip on the table, and Frankie was hovering, looking worried.

"Sheriff, you cannot walk," he pointed out, "and the only exit is through the bar, which from my brief stay here, I know is that way. I would suggest you accept the help which is offered if you wish to leave."

"Why would you let me do that?" Trout responded, still not letting Frankie get close to him. "I could come back with an army with stakes."

Thom had had enough and looked directly at Trout, allowing his full power to come to the surface.

"That would make me very angry," he said, allowing the magic he controlled to alter the timbre of his voice, "and you don't want to do that."

He let the power fade as quickly as it had come.

"I am not anything you could understand, Sheriff," he said, calm again, "and I make a much better friend than foe. I could pack up this coven and take them elsewhere, but that would be inconvenient. I will guarantee there will be no more mysterious deaths and you will keep our secret. Think how useful it would be to have friends like us."

The sheriff did not look convinced.

"It is up to you, Sheriff," Thom said, turning back to the door, "but, as I have pointed out before, if you return with a mob, people will die. It will not be us."