Three faces appeared against the starry expanse of space, one per each wall: the severe face of the Warlord, a middle-aged vampire with jet-black hair on the right; the serene face of the female Hierophant on the left; and an old vampire in the middle. His hair was pure white, his skin wrinkled, and his eyes probing. He looked ancient, like the space behind him. It had to be Justice, the chief judge of the Holy Anocracy’s highest court. The vampires roared in unison. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. The vampire delegation turned as one and formed a line on the left side of
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