Count your age by lessons, not years. Count your life by achievements, not cheers.
I hoped that this year, everyone had finally forgotten about the damn twenty-fourth of October. But life had a different plan for me. At lunch, Jo handed me a large bowl of cocoa-filled pancakes, placing a blue candle in the center. The flame flickered gently in the air.
"Happy Birthday!" she smiled brightly.
In truth, my birthday wasn't until the next day, but since it was Saturday, and I'd turned down all the usual birthday nonsense, Jo decided to celebrate it a day early during our lunch break on Friday.
I grinned and kissed her on the cheek, feeling Coffee's sharp gaze burning into the back of my head. I thanked Jo and blew out the candle.
"Did you make a wish?" Jo asked eagerly.
"Yes," I lied, and she beamed at me, none the wiser.
At first, I didn't like Jo—and not just because she was human. However, because of her association with Coffee, I had to tolerate her presence for the sake of the vampire girl.
Whenever she asked me something, I mostly grumbled or muttered vague responses. If she tried to strike up a conversation, I gave one-word answers. But this stubborn human girl didn't seem to care. She smiled effortlessly, as if she didn't even notice my rudeness, and that only made me more irritated.
One rainy afternoon, I found myself standing outside the school, lost in thought for a few minutes. The weather wasn't the problem; I just couldn't bring myself to move after flicking my cigarette away. Maybe I just wanted to savor the peaceful rhythm of the raindrops for a moment, undisturbed, calm. But of course, life had to ruin it.
"Shall we walk together for a while?" Jo asked, holding out her umbrella with a sweet smile.
I pulled my lips into a mocking half-smile. "I don't mind the rain."
With that, I turned to leave, but despite my clear rejection, she ran after me and held her umbrella over my head. When I looked back, she was smiling again, and I couldn't suppress a deep sigh. In the end, I didn't even thank her for waiting with me at the bus stop.
I kept this up until Coffee pulled me aside one day.
"Why can't you be a little kinder to her?"
"Your friend, not mine."
Coffee's eyes flashed with sharp intensity, but that only fueled my resolve. I smiled.
"I just hate hypocritical humans," I said, leaning closer. "They'll be kind to you until they see your fangs. Then 'friendship' or not, they'll put a stake in your heart."
I punctuated my words by tapping my finger over Coffee's chest. The vampire girl immediately seized my wrist.
"Johi wouldn't turn against me even if she found out," she hissed, her voice sharp.
I raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Why are you so sure?" I chuckled.
Coffee pressed her lips into a tight, determined line, and I figured that would be the end of it. I yanked my hand from her grip, but she spoke again before I could walk away.
"I know because she found out before."
Coffee's voice was so quiet that a human would have been unable to hear it, yet her words echoed loudly in my head. I was so surprised that I stopped between two steps and only turned back to the vampire girl after a second.
"What?" I asked, struggling to process.
"You heard me," she nodded. "It happened six months ago, after we left the cinema. Some men started following us, and... well, you can guess what they wanted. When I knocked one out, another pulled a knife."
"They stabbed you?" I asked, now completely serious.
Coffee nodded. "I think maybe six times."
We both fell silent for a moment, processing the weight of her words.
"Did you lose control?" I asked, cautious.
She nodded slightly, her face betraying a hint of shame. But I knew better. When a monster is attacked and severely wounded, primal instincts take over. It's just how it works.
"Did they see your fangs?" I pressed.
Coffee shook her head. "Just my eyes, but that was enough. One of them ran off, but the other... he tried to stab me again while shouting that I was a monster."
I pursed my lips. It was a familiar story. It always ended the same way when humans saw us for what we truly were.
"I'm sure Johi saw it too," Coffee added softly.
"So, what happened next?" I asked, feigning indifference.
"Johi jumped in front of me."
My eyes widened. "She did what?"
"She jumped in front of me," Coffee repeated, her voice heavy. "And they cut her arm."
"Did you... did you taste her?" I blurted out in shock, completely ignoring the part of the story about what happened with the attackers. I was sure that even if the attackers had gotten away, Coffee's father would have hunted them down mercilessly.
Coffee nodded slowly as I pulled a long face.
"She offered it willingly," she added, almost defensively. "Don't draw the wrong conclusion."
"So, you told her you were a vampire, and her first reaction was to offer you her blood?" I asked, incredulous.
Coffee met my gaze with a determined stare. "She was worried I was going to die."
I couldn't help but grin. "But you wouldn't have died. You just didn't bother to enlighten her on that, did you?"
Tut-tut, Coffee.
"I only drank the blood that flowed out of the wound freely!" she snapped, clearly flustered.
I shrugged, my grin widening. "If you say so."
"You see now, don't you?" she growled, her frustration mounting. "Johi is different."
"Yeah," I muttered, still unconvinced. "I get it."
"You think I'm lying?" she demanded, her voice rising.
No, I didn't think she was lying. Coffee wasn't the type to share personal details unless she absolutely had to. Still, I only believed what I saw with my own eyes.
"You took her memories, didn't you?" I asked, wanting to be sure.
Coffee nodded. I thought so too—the human girl would certainly not torture her best friend with her food if she knew that Coffee was a vampire.
Despite Coffee's story, my opinion of Jo, my least favorite little human, didn't change overnight. It took many more months of her persistence before I finally grew tired of constantly bullying her.
I was sitting on a bench, hidden behind some bushes, puffing on a cigarette, trying to distance myself from the annoying humans. Or so I thought—until Jo plopped down beside me.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, my tone as unfriendly as possible.
"I saw you from the window," she confessed. "You looked lonely."
"I wanted to be alone," I replied, making it clear her presence was not welcome.
"Do you always want to be alone?" she asked, genuine curiosity in her eyes.
I rolled my eyes. Alex was the class teddy bear—the heartthrob, the center of attention, the one everyone adored. So, when I had had enough of the idiot humans bustling around us (actually just around Alex), I disappeared from the close proximity of the classroom.
"Everyone knows I'm not good company," I shrugged.
"It doesn't matter to me what others think of you," she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "The important thing for me is what I see when I look at you."
For a moment, I thought maybe this was the same line that had reassured Coffee that night.
I grinned grimly. "So, what do you see when you look at me?"
I expected the girl to say something similar to what other people said. Most either fawn over my looks or make some snide comment about my personality.
"You're lost," she said, her voice calm but unwavering.
The cigarette slipped from my mouth and hit the ground. I stared at her, wide-eyed. But she just smiled, a teasing glint in her eyes. I snorted, retrieved another cigarette, and lit it.
"Where'd you pull that bullshit from?" I scoffed.
Jo stretched lazily, as if she hadn't just dropped a bomb on me.
"We're all lost," she continued. "We're all looking for our place in the world."
I chuckled, taking a deep drag. When I looked back at her, I caught her staring at me, her eyes wide, like I had just revealed a secret she wasn't prepared for.
"What? Intrigued by me?" I teased, flashing her a flirty grin.
"Not really," she said, but her ears were flushed red beneath her light brown curls.
She lowered her gaze to the ground, and I couldn't help but smirk.
"Too bad," I said, making her look up at me again.
Her green eyes widened in shock, her lips parted slightly, and her face flushed red, like a sweet, juicy strawberry. I blew the cigarette smoke wickedly into her face. When she jumped up with a quiet scream, I laughed.
(...)
Rumor had it that the White Demon was somehow connected to the amulet thief. But no one could say for sure how—if they were even connected at all. Some whispered that the White Demon might be the thief himself, while others dismissed it as pure nonsense. The truth, however, was shrouded in uncertainty, hidden beneath layers of ambiguity. Still, everyone knew where the legend had originated from.
As soon as the pub closed for the night, I made my way to Hird. I wasn't in any rush—monsters like me don't hurry to save anyone. I did everything at my own pace.
I opened the door without a sound and stepped into the kitchen, where the apprentice mage lay crumpled on the floor. His phone rested beside his hand, its screen cracked but still functional. That was the only reason I was there. I crouched beside him, and after a moment, he cracked open his eyes, his gaze distant and unfocused, as if haunted by unseen horrors. When his eyes finally locked onto my face, I could see the fear in them.
"Do you know where they took him?" I asked.
The mage nodded shakily, his body trembling. He slowly pulled himself into a sitting position.
"What happened to you?" I asked, though I wasn't really interested in the answer. He just shook his head and remained silent.
His already pale face had taken on a sickly greenish hue, but I didn't push him for more. His condition wasn't important to me.
"I need a map," he said, motioning vaguely toward their room.
I figured I'd find the map while he tried to pull himself together. I walked into the room, and as I searched for the map, he called out weakly to 'look on the shelf'. I hurried over to the bookshelf and scanned it for any sign of a map or atlas. When I didn't find anything useful, I began rifling through the books instead.
One of them caused a folded sheet of paper to slip out. It was a crude map of the city of Pécs, but instead of streets, it mostly focused on the sewer system. I assumed the mage had drawn it himself.
"Does this really lead to the Weasel?" I asked, raising an eyebrow in doubt.
"Snoop magic," he muttered, barely audible.
After that, I had no doubt. One does not have to be a mage to know this kind of magic, which is of very dubious origin and is on the verge of black magic. The guy sighed deeply and closed his eyes. His face seemed smooth, yet tense.
He spread the map on the floor and began muttering in a strange, almost lyrical language. It sounded like he was casting a spell, and after minutes of repetition, he suddenly fell silent. Then, raising his right hand, I noticed the blood dripping from his fingers. A pool of crimson had already gathered around him, staining the floor and his clothes. A dark magic ritual always required a sacrifice, and the mage was no exception.
His hand trembled as he extended his index finger over the map, a single drop of blood hanging at its tip. He muttered one final, commanding word, a sharp crack in the air like the lash of a whip. The drop of blood fell, splashing onto the map.
He was gasping for breath, but I knew it wasn't just from blood loss. The effort it took to perform that kind of magic was draining, far more so than what he'd let on.
He collapsed, exhausted, his eyes fluttering shut.
"All right," I muttered, not bothering to hide my frustration. "I'll bring him back to you. But from now on, you're my debtor, mage."
He nodded weakly, his eyes closed, and he focused on calming his breathing.