Advice is advice because you either take it or not.
Rain has a way of washing the world clean. But most of the time it just brings mud and slush.
I poured another mug of beer and slid it across the bar to the one conscious patron still clinging to his drink. There weren't many people at the pub, as we're talking about a rainy Wednesday night. The pub was nearly empty, save for two sorry souls warped enough to spend their free time here in the middle of the week, on an uncomfortably wet day like this. One was slumped in the corner, snoring softly, while the other made periodic pilgrimages to the shrine of the porcelain goddess to pour out his heart, his soul, and the contents of his stomach kneeling in front of her altar.
Settling into my usual spot by the window, I smoothed the rumpled red tablecloth, dotted with old stains and the occasional whiff of spilled beer. From my pocket, I fished out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, tapped one out, and lit it with a flick of my lighter. I drew in the acrid smoke, my eyes fixed on the raindrops racing down the fogged glass, their tiny paths blurring into each other.
I loved these rainy days because they were so uneventful. Most of the monsters had the good sense to stay indoors, curled up and out of trouble. The rain kept them at bay, leaving the world outside blessedly quiet. This kind of peace is extremely rare and dear to monsters.
But, as fate would have it, tonight wasn't destined to stay peaceful. The first sign of trouble came when a third patron crossed the threshold despite the not-so-pleasant weather conditions—an anomaly in the usual midweek lull. I raised my head and looked at the door.
A moment later, the pub's worn door groaned as it swung open, letting in a figure cloaked in a long coat, hood drawn low over his face. He paused for a moment, surveying the place. In the deafening silence, only the thuds of plump waterdrops falling from his coat could be heard. The next warning sign was that I didn't recognize him.
I stubbed out my cigarette, watching him as he approached. His steps were deliberate, his presence unsettling. He stopped in front of my table, a shadowy enigma in the dim light.
"Are you the bartender?" he asked, his voice low and unreadable.
I raised my gaze to the ominous figure in an almost annoyingly slow manner, letting the tension stretch between us. Beneath the hood, I caught a glimpse of his clenched jaw and the tight line of his lips.
"Yeah," I said with practiced indifference, pushing up from my seat. "What can I do for you?"
"I've come to do business," he replied, sitting down in the chair opposite me.
That was the third warning sign. I settled back into my chair, scrutinizing him with a raised brow. "Business, huh?"
"You're the informant, aren't you?" His voice was steady, but there was a flicker of uncertainty.
I gave a slow nod, my eyes scanning his pale features. The faint scar on his neck didn't go unnoticed.
"And what kind of information is a second-generation vampire after?" I asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.
His face hardened, tension coiling in his body like a spring. In that instant, he realized that he wasn't the one in control.
"A newborn, if I'm not mistaken," I added, my tone almost mocking.
His eyes betrayed a flash of confusion, a silent question he desperately tried to suppress. Poor newborn vampires can't even imagine how different they are from the older ones. Ancient bloodsuckers are cold, detached and they never let their instincts overwhelm them. New-borns are vulnerable, easy to deceive, but most of all, fun to play with.
"So," I pressed, "what business?"
The vampire composed himself, his voice steadier when he spoke again. "I heard you have a special client. They say the Demon frequents this place."
I laughed, though there was no joy in my voice, and when I stopped, I fixed him with a hard stare.
"The White Demon," I began with an ominous undertone, "is nothing more than a myth."
His fist hit the table, rattling the ashtray. "He exists," he insisted, his voice laced with conviction. "I saw him!"
"Nonsense." I dismissed him with a wave. "The White Demon doesn't exist."
"I saw him," he repeated, his eyes blazing with determination.
Silence enveloped the pub once more, broken only by the vampire's ragged breathing. I sized him up again, my gaze sharp and calculating.
"And if he does?" I asked, amusement coloring my tone. His eyes widened in surprise. "What business do you have with him?"
"I want to find him," he blurted, leaning forward.
"Plenty of folks come around here looking for the same," I said lightly. "They're all chasing shadows, asking about this so-called demon. They hope I can lead them to him. But if such a monster did exist..." I leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a whisper, "don't you think he'd be hunting the likes of you?"
The vampire recoiled slightly, the disbelief plain on his face.
"I don't know anything about this demon," I stated, leaning back. "What I do know is that those who ask after him tend to disappear, like they were never here to begin with."
"You're new to this world," I continued, my tone darkening. "There are things we don't question, things we turn a blind eye to if we want to keep breathing." I grabbed the empty mug and stood, heading for the bar.
"Oh, and one more thing," I added, glancing back over my shoulder. "That advice? Free of charge. But if you're not ordering, I suggest you leave. I don't tolerate monsters stirring up trouble."
With the vampire still seated, his eyes darted around the pub as if searching for answers in the dim light. His shoulders were tense, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. After a moment, he rose abruptly, the chair scraping against the worn floorboards.
I watched him as he stalked out, the door swinging shut behind him with a dull thud. Wise choice.
With the vampire gone, I bolted the door behind him, the lock clicking into place with a sense of finality. The pub was silent now, save for the rhythmic drumming of rain against the windows. I let out a long breath, glancing around the dimly lit room. The quiet didn't last long—it never did.
The bar was a mess of abandoned mugs and half-eaten plates, the remnants of a forgettable night. I moved through the motions, wiping down surfaces, collecting stray bottles, and setting the chairs on the tables.
Once the front was in order, I turned my attention to the back. The old wooden floor creaked beneath my boots as I made my way to the door leading to the alcohol chamber. I pushed it open, the cool air from within brushing against my skin.
The chamber was dimly lit by a single bulb, casting long shadows across the rows of shelves lined with bottles. But it wasn't the bottles that drew my focus. In the far corner, neatly lined up like parcels waiting for delivery, were the bags.
I approached slowly, my steps measured. The heavy canvas bags slumped against each other, their contents grotesquely still. Each one was tied shut, but the faint metallic scent of blood clung to the air.
Kneeling beside the nearest bag, I gripped the rough fabric and gave it a testing tug. The body inside shifted slightly.
"Time to take out the trash," I muttered under my breath, hoisting the first bag over my shoulder.
At the time, I had no idea that mere vampire was a harbinger of something truly ugly.
(...)
I hate mornings; they always come too soon.
A faint glow from the rising sun crept over the starless black sky, flooding the attic of the 13th apartment on 'D' Street with its invigorating but unwelcome light. My gaze lingered on the curtainless window for a while, soaking in the quiet stillness.
After half an hour of pointless staring, I finally dragged myself out of bed and began dressing. My eyes drifted to the other bed, just a few feet away. The quilt was twisted and crumpled in the middle of the bed, one pillow on the floor, the other barely hanging on. I sighed, shaking my head as I tidied up, wondering where the idiot had wandered off to this time.
I trudged to the bathroom, a cramped, two-meter-by-two-meter space that barely qualified as a room. I didn't spend much time there; it was too small and too damp. Unlike Alex, who luxuriated in the shower, indifferent to the rising water bill. The thought of those bills, all those zeros, made my fingers twitch with the urge to strangle him. I really need to make him pay for this.
I sighed deeply, looking at my reflection in the fogged-up mirror. My hair was a mess of black tangles, and I made a half-hearted attempt to smooth it down. The reflection stared back, its lips curling into a smirk.
"Good morning, Shay," the reflection said, its voice deeper and more sinister than mine.
"Leave me alone," I replied coldly, turning away. But the creature in the mirror wasn't done.
"I'll grant a wish if you release me," it purred, smiling innocently. But the glint in its blue eyes betrayed its slyness.
Bogeys couldn't cast spells, let alone grant wishes, yet Berry fancied himself a djinni. Never mind that djinni had disappeared a millennium ago. I gave him a pointed look, but he just stood there, mirroring my pose.
"Try something new, Berry," I muttered, grabbing a towel and tossing it over the mirror.
"Shay~," he cooed, almost purring, "Wait a minute! I'll grant any of your wishes, just tell me what..."
I slammed the bathroom door, cutting him off mid-sentence.
Berry had been here long before Alex or me. Trapped in that mirror, likely by some mage who'd had enough of his nonsense. He wasn't a constant nuisance, just occasionally attempting to convince one of us to set him free. Alex humored him sometimes, chatting about the old days. Me? I had neither the time nor the patience for his antics.
Our first meeting hadn't gone well. Imagine brushing your teeth, only for your reflection to grin slyly and say hello. I'd nearly choked on my toothbrush. It's been nearly two years since I moved into this tiny apartment's attic and got to know him. They say first impressions are the most important. I think there could be some truth In that because my irritation hadn't faded ever since.
Grabbing my school bag, I left the apartment.
Alex and I lived modestly, crammed into a tiny attic with a narrow hallway, one bedroom, a minuscule kitchen, and an even smaller bathroom. We wore second-hand clothes and lived on a tight budget. But it was better than before. We both attended school and worked in the afternoons. Life wasn't easy, but we didn't complain. Not once.
I stepped onto 'D' Street, a quiet road on the outskirts of
In the morning, just before the sun began to rise, the eerie silence made the street feel unsettling. It wasn't much different from other streets; despite the colorful houses, they all seemed dark and foreboding. The grayness of dawn and the huge chestnut trees, with their gnarled branches resembling skeletal fingers, sent shivers down the spine of anyone passing by.
Humans sensed the lurking danger here, their pace quickening, breaths hushed, hearts pounding. They glanced over their shoulders, ensuring no one followed. The unease they felt wasn't solely due to the place itself, for the village was rather ordinary with average residents, average houses, and average problems. So, why did humans sense lurking danger in the shadows? Well, perhaps it's because the danger truly exists. They were right to be cautious. Pécs was teeming with monsters.
The road abruptly veered left, but I didn't follow it; instead, I headed toward the old, abandoned pharmacy. My gaze swept the surroundings for a brief second. I glanced toward the end of the street, where the old, locked-up dormitory stood. No one knew why it was sealed off.
Anyway, as usual, humans are drawn to mysteries — in this case, mostly the younger generation. Many youngsters consider it the most amazing idea to break in and explore the old place, secure in the company of their gang. After all, what's the worst that could happen? They might encounter a couple of sizable rats, and then what? It doesn't seem like a big deal. They venture into the dense darkness of the abandoned building, only to never return.
Humans had no idea what creatures were lurking within. Ignorance is indeed bliss, but only until they succumb to their curiosity.
Every two to three months, a few idiots decide to try their luck, ensuring the monsters dwelling there don't experience a shortage of young human prey. Given these mysterious disappearances, you might wonder: Why weren't the police investigating?
Well, it's quite simple. In that place, humans have no power. Those who step across the boundary of the dormitory become, from that moment on, the rightful prey of vampires. The city administration readily acknowledged this fact. As long as the trouble was at the end of their yard and not in front of their doorstep, there was no problem, right? So, these sweet little vampires occasionally indulged in a young teenager or two. But then, why wasn't anyone searching for them? What about the parents?
Well, they would have a hard time finding someone they didn't even remember. I have no idea how the damned bloodsuckers do it, but whoever disappears literally disappears. As if they have never existed. There's no memory left, no object that was theirs, or a footprint they have left behind — nothing. They must have used some kind of magic since I remembered everything myself. So it probably doesn't affect those with monster blood.
The situation was alarming, but there was little we could do about it. Despite their ignoble nature, these bloodsuckers were rather cunning. They conducted their activities in the most reasonable manner, at least from the perspective of vampire society. Of course, if we were to seek a human's opinion on the matter, the situation would appear different. As long as noble vampires face no risk of human discovery, they won't lift a finger to halt the trash of their kind in their activities — they wouldn't want to risk breaking a freshly manicured claw, after all.
I hurried past the pharmacy before a pair of red eyes could peer through the boarded windows. Nearby, a daycare had opened, its walls adorned with colorful butterflies and painted letters. A peculiar choice, given that it was on the same street as the remnants of a rundown dormitory infested with vampires. It perfectly illustrates human ignorance.
But, if you asked me, humans were better off ignorant. Those who discovered the monsters either perished or became entangled in the darkness—there's no third way. Monsters are exceptionally adept at hiding their secrets. Monsters were masters at hiding their secrets. If a human uncovered them, they wouldn't survive long enough to tell anyone. As I pondered the potential for a world war with such depth, I arrived at the bus stop. Several humans were already waiting there.
I found my earphones and started some music. A shabby bus approached, screeching to a halt. I was the last to board, unsurprised to find no empty seats.
It was not at all surprising that there was no free seat left for me. Usually, there won't be any free seats left, even if I go to school this early. Eventually, I put down the bag on the floor, and then just enjoyed the music. On the verge of my thoughts, I could still feel the pull as the bus started.
I stood, letting the music drown out my thoughts.
At one stop, the scent of the forest—fallen leaves, moss, and soil—filled the air. A group of shapeshifters boarded, their laughter echoing. They went to my school, a year ahead. Well, yes, monsters went to school too, living among humans, blending in — at least the majority. Those who were not continued to hunt humans following the old laws of nature.
At the last moment, I grabbed my bag and got off the bus. Welcome to M. B. High.
I trudged up the stairs, muttering under my breath with each step. The gaudy goose-shit yellow glaze coating them did little to lift my mood, only serving as a visual attack on my eyes. By the time I reached the top, my internal monologue was a string of curses aimed at the entire institution. Still, I made my way to the unsightly closet—a curious mix of greenish-blue hues that refused to settle on a single color.
I swung the door open and greeted the others who had already gathered. Some sat in the closets, others leaning lazily against the stair railing. I shrugged off my coat and hung it on one of the upward-curving hanger hooks, its precarious balance a metaphor for my current mood.
I was acutely aware of Alex standing behind me. He'd been there for a while, but I didn't turn around. I could practically hear him assembling his thoughts, preparing for what would inevitably be a convoluted explanation.
Alex hadn't come home last night. The faint trace of perfume clinging to him spoke volumes, leaving little to the imagination. A simple message could have spared me a night of restless worry, but that would have been too much to ask.
"Hey," he finally managed, his voice hesitant after the long silence.
I met his eyes and saw the discomfort there. With a sigh that seemed to drain the frustration from my chest, I shifted my weight.
"Let's go," I said, grabbing my books and slinging my bag over my shoulder. Without waiting for a response, I headed off in search of our classroom.
You might think I was overreacting. But in our world, being a monster is inherently dangerous. That's why monsters usually band together in groups. For us, though, it's just the two of us.
There are two things I despise about school more than anything: the crowd and the noise. Both are in ample supply here. As I weaved through clusters of chattering teenagers, Alex, that sloth, finally caught up to me.
I stopped in front of room two-hundred-one, pushing the door open with a sigh. Inside, the classroom was filled with single-person chairs and tables grouped into clusters of four or six. I made my way to the corner by the window and claimed my usual seat. Alex followed, dropping into the chair across from me, propping his head on his hand, and staring into space with the practiced boredom of someone who'd rather be anywhere else. Meanwhile, I methodically arranged my books, tucking them neatly into my bag.
The bell rang, heralding the arrival of more students, each one dragging themselves in with the sluggishness of a Monday morning. The class roster consisted of eight boys and twenty-five girls—a fairly decent ratio, I suppose. Aside from Alex and me, only two others knew about the hidden, darker side of Pécs. One of them, Ben—whom I fondly referred to as Alice—had just walked in.
Our first encounter was memorable. It was the start of my second school year, and, as per my usual luck, I was late. (Naturally, I blamed public transport.) I was racing up the stairs, taking three steps at a time, when this human clumsily collided with me. Startled, I fixed him with my best death stare, deliberating on which agonizing fate would suit him for daring to bump into me.
I was already on edge, thanks to the full moon. Well, the monster stirring within me seemed oblivious to the fact of it being on the other side of the planet. As best as I could, I refrained from causing a scene on my first day and did not attack him. I merely glared at him with one of my expertly honed death stares.
Resisting the urge to lash out on the first day, I settled for glaring at him. What caught me off guard was his response: instead of cringing or fleeing, he smiled and extended a hand, calling me by my name. A seer—I pieced it together quickly. He helped me to my feet, and only then did I notice the book in his hand: Lewis Carroll's "Alice in Wonderland." Lacking his real name at the time, I dubbed him Alice, and the nickname stuck.
Alice is a seer and a cunning one at that. Not content with just foreseeing exam questions, he has the gall to sell them. Not that I'd ever need them, of course, but it's a level of audacity that's almost admirable. If he weren't human, I might even be proud. With a nod in my direction, Alice sauntered to one of the tables and settled in.
He was followed by Coffee and Jo. Coffee is a vampire—yep, a real one. And no, she doesn't burst into flames in the sunlight, thanks to some fancy spells. But Coffee isn't just any vampire; she's royalty. Most of the guys in class are completely smitten by her flowing night-black hair, piercing sky-blue eyes, and that face straight out of a dream—or a nightmare if they ever saw her fangs.
Now, you might wonder why a noble vampire would stoop to hanging out in a school with her walking snacks. The answer? Jo.
Jo, short for Johanna, is human, blissfully unaware that her BFF could probably turn her into a juice box. Their friendship is one of life's great mysteries, but without Jo around, I'm pretty sure Coffee would be hunting humans just like her ancestors. Jo's charm—long light-brown curls, a permanent smile, and those mischievous green eyes—makes her another favorite among the male population, much to Coffee's disdain. In any case, I wouldn't expect anything less from someone who managed to tame a monster—the allure of innocence is unquestionably treacherous!
In my humble opinion, once you're at the top of the food chain, why bother with veganism? Coffee still, true to her name, doesn't quench her thirst with human blood but with coffee.
I even got the blood replacement pills hidden deep in my bag from her when I was on the verge of biting off her pretty friend's hand. She senses the bloodlust of her kind to some extent, and since a minimal amount of vampire blood courses through me, she exposed me as well. Following that, she tossed a jar of brownish medicine at me with a disgruntled expression. When I inquired about what on earth she was doing, she grabbed my arm and hauled me out of the classroom. This was rather surprising because Coffee only talks when she has to. Especially with me.
Anyway, she explained that I would have regretted exposing her in front of the whole class, potentially leading to a bloodbath. I definitely didn't want to arouse her anger, and that's how my not-so-smooth friendship with the vampire princess kicked off.
We haven't talked much since then, but we always have lunch together. Initially, she explained this as "observation," and it somehow morphed into a habit. After all, it's not so bad to have a vampire ally, especially when you have some of their blood flowing in your veins.
Although she never took the initiative to talk to me since that day, she always answered my questions, and I could seek her advice as well. Like when I asked how vampires can, well, make more vampires the old-fashioned way. She launched into this tale about cursed humans turning into bloodsuckers. So they are very alive, capable of conception.
She supported this legend by mentioning that a vampire is incapable of suicide. Apparently, they can't even off themselves unless you get real creative with vampire venom and a stake. When suicidal individuals attempt this method on their own, their hands freeze in mid-air before the tip of the weapon can even reach their chest. Fun fact: their hearts do beat, just super slow—like they're always just a beat away from death.
Coffee also shared with me that noble vampires are born vampires. The ignoble ones are individuals whom the noble vampires intended to consume but who managed to survive. Vampires possess venom that enters their victim's bloodstream as soon as they are bitten. If a person doesn't succumb to this venom, they become a second-generation vampire, namely an ignoble.
Our chats also covered her coffee diet. Turns out, Coffee's bloodlust is barely kept in check by her pills. She didn't delve too deeply into the subject, but she said that since she is purebred, she needs other supplements, but the pills will do for me. Well, thanks... After that, I left her alone because she was making a face as if she had bitten into a lemon.
Of course, that didn't mean I didn't try to gather more information. So, during our next lunch, I hit her with the real questions: "Why do vampires still need blood?" "What the heck is in these pills that have made me go from 'bloodthirsty monster' to 'overcaffeinated vegan'?" And, "How in the world am I still kicking after more than a dozen years without much more than a half-drunk bottle of blood replacement and an occasional snack?"
Coffee, in all her noble wisdom, gave me the standard answer about it all being part of the "curse" that she and the other nobles fanatically believe in, but I completely disregard it. I didn't really care for the whole "curse" drama.
Well, Coffee's situation is a whole other mess. Despite all the pills and supplements, her bloodthirst never fully goes away—it just becomes something she can kind of live with, like an annoying itch that never really gets scratched. So, she drinks blood, but instead of hunting down some poor soul in a dark alley, she gets it from a hospital. Very civilized, right? I mean, if you're going to be a bloodsucker, at least be a responsible one.
On the other hand, my situation is easier since I'm only partially a vampire, so I can survive without drinking blood. In Coffee's opinion, I'm just vegetating this way, though. I wasn't in the mood to argue.
After that, we shifted to a more pressing matter: What happens to a vampire if they don't drink blood? The answer is delightfully simple: it's like stepping into the sun without any magical hocus-pocus. Their body dries out like a raisin left too long in the sun. Not a pretty picture, I'll tell you that.
Naturally, my curiosity got the best of me, and I asked about the whole "sunlight" thing. Coffee explained, in a voice that clearly said she was tired of explaining this to clueless monsters like me, that, for the sake of variety, this too was part of the "curse." However, the noble vampires, being the clever little immortals they are, have figured out how to beat it. That's how Coffee can stroll around in daylight, go to school, and not turn into a crispy critter.
On the flip side, the ignobles, who didn't get the noble-vampire's handy little workaround, prefer to do their hunting under the cover of night. Which, I guess, gives them an excuse to keep their fashionably pale look while avoiding any unfortunate sunburns.
In addition to all that, I had a million more questions, but honestly, they weren't as riveting. For example, I once asked Coffee about her cup size—big mistake. Never, and I mean never, give a vampire a reason to hit you. Their power is outstanding even among monsters—so powerful, it's practically illegal. I was lucky she didn't send me flying through the classroom window.
Simi, our philosophy and ethics teacher, finally shuffled into the room three minutes late—typical. He handed out some mind-numbingly boring tasks, as usual, but nobody was paying attention. It was honestly impressive how he could manage to be so irrelevant in such an artful way. With all the grace of a sloth on a lazy day, I just flopped down on the table and attempted to catch some z's. Philosophy? Ethics? Pfft. I was more interested in whether I could manage a nap without getting caught.