Hospitals are often warrens of passages, corridors, and tunnels that sprawl, knot, and tangle. A person could find a disused spare room—an old OR, storeroom, office, or meeting space—where they could likely dwell for years without anyone noticing, or even caring to notice. Sister Grace Epiphany (known as Luna to her friends) knew of an old morgue in St. Tony’s Memorial Hospital, which she used in a semi-professional capacity.

She was also a very ancient vampire by the name of Lilith, and she had need of a morgue. Fifteen years ago, Lilith had faced a disaster – the vampires were aging, getting sicker, and barely able to move about. Though immortal according to mythology, age, opioid abuse, and a toxic environment had rendered some vampires comatose, and the rest decrepit and handicapped. Most were barely able to climb a flight of stairs without exhaustion, and some were essentially bedridden. Her experiments with estrogen had been a remarkable success, and since then she had run a coven and clinic to rejuvenate vampires. Although highly successful, it was the kind of thing she needed to operate on the sly without public awareness. Sneaking in damaged and decrepit vampires was easy, as her tasks went, but discharging them boisterous and lively as a bag of weasels was an entirely different thing. The latest group of patients from the old countries were proving to be especially lively, but she kept a lid on them, and they were well out of sight.

Jesse L. Strong was an investigative stringer for the West Side Tribune and had earned a name for himself with groundbreaking stories, including uncovering a plot to install condom vending machines in the girls’ restrooms at the local high school, exposing doctors conspiring to give free drug samples to uninsured individuals, and revealing an attempt by the public health department to implement a free needle-exchange program. His incisive articles had nipped these and other iniquities in the bud, earning him an award and a small plaque at a Heritage Club recognition event.

One of Jesse’s methods for garnering leads was to liberally seed the ecosystem with informants. With ample funds from several billionaire-backed political action groups, Jesse could generously finance this network of informants. A lead from a clerk in the hospital stores administration caught Jesse’s attention: a seemingly mundane detail, but significant—the hospital was using 60% more doses of HRT per bed than even the women’s hospital across town. Something was clearly amiss, and Jesse instinctively knew what it was—”gender-affirming” care for transitioning male-to-female transgender patients. It was a tantalizingly juicy find, and Jesse was determined to run the sting and be part of the big reveal.

Jesse and his camera operator, Bob, staked out the hospital. Initially, they were looking for large numbers of men in drag visiting the primary care clinic without any visible signs of injury. This, however, proved harder than expected, and after two days of fruitlessly tallying suspiciously effeminate men, they changed their approach. Unfortunately, sending his assistant, Debby, undercover to identify overly masculine women in the restroom failed almost immediately. Debby attempted to lift the skirt of a highly muscular woman in the women’s restroom. The woman, who turned out to be on the college women’s rugby team, took offense and floored Debby with a single right hook to the nose. She then dragged Debby out by the scruff of her neck and called for security. Fortunately, Jesse managed to diffuse the situation with a few hundred-dollar bills, and Debby was quickly whisked away for medical treatment for her broken nose.

Jesse had better luck on his third attempt when a pharmacy tech accepted $500 to check where the HRT packs were being routed within the hospital. For another $500, the tech revealed that a large number of these packs were being sent to a clinic located in the same building as a disused morgue in the old wing. Jesse immediately knew he was onto something big. However, finding the clinic proved difficult, and the tech just pocketed the cash and shrugged. Additional money only confirmed that a disused morgue existed in a basement beneath one of the hospital’s old wings. More cash secured Jesse a key to the service tunnels connecting the wings at basement level. The first stop was the old west wing, but all they found was a hot, dusty passage crammed with steam pipes and piles of broken equipment. By the time they reached the basement and a disused parking area, they were sweating, dirty, and exhausted.

They returned the following morning, refreshed after a shower, cocktails by the hotel pool, and a steak dinner with a bottle of passable imported red. Rejuvenated, they ventured from the west-wing sub-level garage through a tunnel that was cooler but cluttered with old stackable tables and chairs, likely cleared out when an auditorium was converted into a clinic. Progress was slow, and there were no signs of the old morgue or the transgender clinic they were certain they’d find. Nursing bruises and blisters from their efforts, Jesse and Bob repeated the shower, cocktails, and steak routine, then slept soundly, dreaming of busting the transgender clinic the next day.

The tunnel from the north wing to the east was much easier to navigate. It was clean, with very little clutter, and Bob was the first to note that this might mean it was used regularly. Jesse could feel in his bones that this time, they were going to be successful. They checked every side door along the way, finding clean storerooms stocked with new equipment, linens, and cleaning supplies. Bob rolled the camera for footage while Jesse narrated excitedly. This was going to be a major story! As they approached what must be the East wing basement and the transgender clinic, they slowed down and crept forward cautiously. In his head, Jesse rehearsed how he would burst into the clinic.

In a comfortable yet clinical setting, five vampires from Eastern Europe were receiving their seventh day of infusions and feeling quite lively. Mira had regained her dark, lustrous charm and energy, while Luka, Dragomir, and Dimitri felt as if they were 20 rather than 200 years old. Milos, who had been wheeled in on a gurney, was now sitting up and cheating at cards. When they had first arrived, none could manage a flight of stairs, but by the end of day seven, Mira could leap over three beds, and her sense of humor had returned. It was nearly time for the evening meal, and they were placing bets on what Lilith had prepared. Milos bet on roast beef, extra rare; Luka was content with anything as long as there was ice cream and hot chocolate sauce for dessert. Dimitri guessed pasta and meatballs, while Dragomir, who had arrived barely able to stomach broth, craved steak and liver pot pie with gravy. All eyes turned to Mira just as the door burst open, and Jesse and Bob made a dramatic entrance. Mira clapped her hands in delight, exclaiming, “Oh Lilith, you ordered live takeout and a floor show!” before leaping at Bob, who barely had time to register what he was seeing through the viewfinder. With five hungry, rejuvenated vampires, the floor show didn’t last long, and Jesse managed only a small, surprised shriek as they descended on him with fangs and claws. The irony of his life was that the first true scoop he had ever uncovered would never see the light of day.

The cleanup and organization were just another day’s work for Lilith. The group of vampires was discharged to a safe house while awaiting their flights home, a secret sanitation crew worked its magic, and a sterilization robot blasted the rooms with ultraviolet light to eliminate any pathogens Jesse and Bob might have brought in. Tracking down the informants who leaked the information was time-consuming, but reporting them through the facility’s InfoSec portal was simple. However, Lilith kept a list of names and addresses—just in case she needed to augment the food supply for the next batch of patients who, as she noted with a smile while checking the electronic records, were coming from an area historically known for headhunting. It seemed fitting, she thought, as she added the informants’ addresses and descriptions to the menu options for the next group of patients.