Chapter 1: Rent Day

Asher lay in the mess he called a room. Business was rather slow today, and the sun made sitting outside unbearable.

The tiny space could barely be called a room, but Asher didn’t mind, he had a roof over his head, and that was all that mattered. He took a glance around and sighed, he should probably get up and do some cleaning. Clothes were scattered across the floor like fallen soldiers. A half-eaten piece of bread sat on the windowsill, slowly hardening into something that could probably be used as a weapon. The mattress he sprawled across had more lumps than a poorly mixed cake, and the single thin blanket was permanently twisted into a shape that no longer resembled a rectangle.

Asher stretched both arms above his head until his shoulders popped, then let them flop back down with a dramatic sigh. One arm covered his eyes against the harsh light leaking through the cracked window. The ceiling above him had a large water stain that, if he tilted his head just right, looked like a smiling face. He tilted his head, and the face still smiled at him.

"At least someone in this room is having a good day," he muttered, then chuckled at his own joke. "You’re welcome for the free entertainment, Ceiling Friend."

He was just beginning to sink into that pleasant half-asleep haze when the noise outside shattered it.

Heavy boots. More than one pair. The sound of someone kicking something metal. And then a familiar, irritated voice barking orders that carried easily through the thin walls.

Asher’s eyes snapped open.

"...Oh no."

He sat up so fast the room spun. Two months! He was two full months late on rent. Of course the landlord would choose the hottest, most miserable day of the year to finally come collect and collect rent.

Asher scrambled off the mattress, nearly tripping over a pile of old newspapers he had been meaning to throw away for weeks. His heart was already racing as he lunged for the small window. He shoved it open with both hands, the wooden frame protesting with a loud creak, and swung one leg over the sill.

He was halfway out, already planning which alley to disappear into, when a large, calloused hand clamped around his ankle like an iron cuff.

"Got him!" a rough voice shouted.

Asher yelped as he was yanked backward with zero ceremony. He tumbled into the room in a graceless tangle of limbs, landing hard on his back with a thud that knocked the air from his lungs. For a second he just stared at the ceiling again, his ceiling friend was still smiling. Traitor! He cursed inwardly before turning to meet the man who had grabbed him.

"Afternoon, Landlord!" Asher chirped the moment he could breathe, pushing himself into a sitting position and flashing his brightest, most charming smile. "What a lovely surprise on this beautiful, scorching day. You look... healthy. Very healthy. Have you been eating well? Exercising? Your aura feels extremely... motivated today."

The landlord stood in the doorway like a particularly angry boulder. Thick-necked, permanently scowling, and flanked by two equally unimpressed men who looked like they had been hired purely for their ability to lift heavy things and ignore pleas for mercy.

"You’re two months late, Brown," the landlord said flatly.

"Technically," Asher replied, raising one finger, "it’s only one month and twenty-nine days if we consider today still incomplete. Also, inflation? Very real. The economy is tough on honest fortune tellers—"

"Pay up," the landlord repeated, "or we take something of equal value."

Asher pressed both hands together in a pleading gesture, still smiling. "What if I offered a free fortune reading instead? Limited-time offer. Extremely accurate. Mostly. I’ll even throw in a complimentary prediction about your love life. Or your finances. Or whether that mole on your neck is going to cause problems later. Very thorough service."

One of the men snorted. The landlord’s expression did not change.

"Go inside," he ordered his men, "and take anything that looks like it might be worth something."

"Hey—wait!" Asher scrambled to his feet as the two men pushed past him. "That’s my stuff! You can’t just—some of those things have sentimental value!"

No one listened.

Asher followed them into the room, hovering like an anxious bird as they began ransacking the place with zero care. Drawers were yanked open. His small collection of mismatched cups was knocked over. One of the men picked up a cracked hand mirror, examined it, and tossed it aside with a grunt of disgust.

"That’s antique," Asher insisted weakly. "Very rare. Extremely cursed. You don’t want that one."

They ignored him.

Minutes later the men returned to the doorway carrying their meager haul: an ancient radio that only worked if you kicked it in exactly the right spot, a handful of worthless scrap metal Asher had been collecting for no clear reason, and a tarnished medallion he had found in a gutter three years ago and kept because it looked vaguely mysterious.

The landlord examined the items with open disappointment, turning the medallion over in his thick fingers. "Barely worth the trouble," he muttered. "But it’ll do." His eyes then narrowed as they landed on the small wooden table in the corner. "Grab the crystal ball too."

Asher’s cheerful mask finally cracked.

"Not the ball," he said quickly, stepping forward with both hands raised. "Please. That’s my livelihood. My partner. We’ve been through a lot together. You can’t just take it—it’s basically family at this point."

One of the men picked up the crystal ball without hesitation, and without care made his way towards the door.

Asher lunged after him. "I’ll pay next week! Double! Triple! I’ll predict every single one of your futures for free for the rest of the year!"

The landlord shoved him aside with one heavy hand. Asher stumbled back, hitting the wall hard enough to rattle his teeth.

"You’re lucky I’m leaving you the room," the man said coldly. "Next time, there won’t be one."

Then they were gone, the door slamming shut behind them.

Asher remained where he was for several long seconds, staring at the empty table where his crystal ball used to sit. The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have. He let out a long, slow breath and forced a crooked smile onto his face.

"Well," he said to the empty room, "at least I still have a roof. And all my limbs. And Ceiling Friend. That’s... something."

He pushed himself off the wall, ready to retreat back into his sad little space and pretend the last ten minutes had never happened, when a calm voice called out from behind him.

"Asher Brown."

Asher didn’t turn around. He simply raised one hand in a lazy wave over his shoulder. "Sorry, closed for the day. Crystal ball got repossessed by the local loan sharks. Come back never. Or tomorrow. Tomorrow works too if you bring snacks."

The footsteps behind him did not stop.

A cool hand closed around his wrist, firm, and far stronger than it had any right to be.

Asher spun around, already preparing another cheerful refusal... and froze.

He knew that face.

A month ago, this same face had come to him to get his fortune read. It had been an odd day, and he had considered this man odd. But oddness was something Asher dealt with on a regular basis. As long as he got his money, he didn’t particularly care. He couldn’t exactly remember what he told this stranger, but he remembered how the man had simply dropped the pay and had left without saying a single word, and Asher had assumed he would never see him again.

Now he was back.

Asher’s mind immediately leapt to the worst possible conclusion.

Oh no. He came to punch me because the prediction was wrong?

He let out a nervous little laugh that sounded only slightly hysterical. "Haha... fancy seeing you again. Look, if this is about the fortune, I did say ’mostly accurate.’ The word ’mostly’ is doing an incredible amount of heavy lifting in that sentence. Sometimes the universe just... improvises, you know?"

He tried to tug his wrist free, but the grip didn’t budge. Not even a fraction. That strength wasn’t human. And the realization sent a cold trickle of real fear down Asher’s spine, though he still kept the smile plastered on his face.

"Okay. Uh. What exactly do you want from me? Because if it’s a refund, I can offer store credit. Or a free reading once I get a new ball. Or I can just... disappear very quickly if that helps."

The stranger’s voice was calm, almost polite, but there was something underneath it that made the air feel heavier. "I’m taking you with me. You’ll serve as my royal advisor."

Asher stared at him for a full three seconds. Then he burst out laughing.

The sound came out sharper and more incredulous than he intended. "Royal advisor? Me?" He pointed at himself with his free hand, gesturing from his messy hair down to his worn shoes. "I just got robbed by my landlord for an old radio and a shiny rock. I am the opposite of royal. I am anti-royal. I am the person royal people hire to clean the floors they walk on. Who even are you?"

The man smiled, a smile way too beautiful than anything Asher had seen before. Then his lips parted and he spoke.

"Marcel Thorne," he said, as if the name alone should explain everything. " The Vampire Lord."