The corridor looked like a scene from a muted action movie. A fresh hole gaped in the ceiling. Clouds of white dust hung in the air and settled on everything, including Verchiel. He stood before the heap of debris, his sword drawn and his body tensed for attack.

Someone wearing grimy coveralls dropped through the hole. Around his waist was a belt of pale yellow bricks in varying sizes, wrapped in electrical tape. It was Jorge.

Three more vampires landed behind him. In ...