The only condition for a good decision is to stay calm and think things through with a cool head—if that doesn't work out, you can still go on a rampage.
Jo's house wasn't ransacked. Everything was in place, the apartment was largely untouched. Yet as soon as I entered the house, the smell of blood filled my lungs. The only room covered in blood was Jo's room.
My footsteps were silent, although I shouldn't have been so careful, since I couldn't have woken up the man lying on the ground. Jo's father looked straight at me with lifeless eyes, horror frozen over his features. His body was covered with so many punctures... not far from him lay a pair of red scissors on the ground.
I knelt next to him and carefully closed his eyes. Once again, I slowly looked over his body, and from that alone, I could almost hear his hoarse cries in my ears. This man was tortured for a long time before he bled to death.
I found some wire tangled on the iron frame of Jo's bed, and dried burgundy stains clung to it like a cruel reminder. My jaw clenched so tightly that my teeth ground together. A lump lodged in my throat, and though I wanted to scream, no sound escaped me. I stood frozen, unbearably silent, the weight of the moment pressing down. My fists tightened at my sides.
That's when something caught my eye—something hidden beneath the bed. It was the small notebook Coffee had given Jo for Christmas. A smear of blood stained the edge of its cover. Without thinking, I opened it, my hands trembling as I flipped through the pages.
Then I froze. A bloody fingerprint marked the edge of one page. My heart pounded as I read the words, my grip on the notebook tightening with each passing line. My eyes darted across the pages, and my breath quickened as I turned them faster, the horror unfolding before me.
Alex's hand gripped my shoulder, his touch warm but trembling. When I looked up, his face was pale with worry.
He let go of me slowly, as if uncertain of what to do next.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice tight with concern.
"Jo knew about us," I murmured quietly.
For a moment, Alex was frozen in disbelief, his mouth working but no words coming out.
"What?" he finally managed to ask, shock evident in his tone.
I turned the notebook around, flipping back to the page marked by the drop of blood. A sick realization washed over me. Jo must have purposely injured her hand on the wire to leave us a trace—her way of marking what had happened. It was clear now that the monster who had visited Jo and revealed our secret to her was the same one who had kidnapped her.
"He visited her one night," I said, my voice low but steady. "The enemy couldn't touch her because of the necklace, so they changed their approach."
Alex remained silent, his expression unreadable but tense.
"He exposed us," I continued, frustration creeping into my voice. "He gave Jo a magic eyepiece that showed her monsters."
I could almost feel the enemy's thinking—perhaps they assumed Jo would hate me, maybe they thought she'd rip the necklace off, seeing the truth as something to despise. But Jo didn't react that way. She didn't shy away. Instead, she became determined to learn more.
That's when everything clicked. Jo's odd behavior lately, the "accidental" stumble at the top of the stairs, the over-the-top garlic sticks she made—she was testing me, trying to expose me. She hadn't made those sticks too garlicky by accident. After seeing Alex nearly pass out from the smell, Jo was convinced that Alex was a vampire.
She'd written everything down in this small, worn notebook. My heart sank as I flipped through its pages. The last post was about our last conversation. Jo knew then that I was not human and simply wanted to give me the opportunity to tell her. But I wasn't nearly brave enough for that.
I closed the notebook and cast a glance toward the message painted on the wall. Des had just entered the room, his presence a silent weight in the space.
"I know who kidnapped Jo," I said, my voice steady but tinged with a hint of frustration.
"Who?" Alex asked, his eyes narrowing, a flash of determination crossing his face.
He looked ready to leap into action, as if he could pounce on the culprit the moment I spoke their name.
"My father," I replied.
The shock hit him like a physical blow. He froze, staring at me for a long moment before the words finally escaped him.
"What do you mean, your father?" Alex asked, his voice shaky, confusion clouding his expression.
"You didn't tell him?" my brother asked, tough, from his voice I could tell that this was exactly what he was expecting.
I shook my head, feeling the weight of the truth settle on my shoulders.
"What didn't you tell me?" Alex demanded, his frustration rising. "What is it, Shay?"
I met his gaze. He was so worried, so lost, and I could see how badly he wanted answers. But he didn't understand.
"Do you remember what I said?" I began, trying to steady myself. "I didn't lie to you. I really don't know my father personally. But I never said that I didn't know who he was."
"Who is he? Who is your father?" Alex's voice broke with the weight of the question.
I swallowed hard, the words sticking in my throat.
"My father is..." I hesitated, feeling the tension build. "the Fifth King."
The shock that flashed across Alex's face was beyond anything I had seen before. His jaw dropped slightly, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"This... this..." he stuttered, unable to process the words. "How could it be?"
"Des knows the story better than I do," I said with a shrug, though the words tasted bitter on my tongue. "I never asked much about it. I wasn't curious."
Alex's confused gaze shifted to my brother, who sighed heavily, his voice grim.
"The day Shay was born, his father came to us," Des began, his eyes darkening as he recalled the past. "I think he planned to take Shay with him. But Shay was born weak. No one thought he'd survive the night. Stillbirths or infant deaths are common with half-bloods—their genes are simply incompatible."
"After seeing him, his father just walked out the door and disappeared," Des continued. "Shay, though, defied everyone's expectations. He survived the night, and the next day, too. At the time, it seemed like a miracle. Now, I think his incredible self-healing ability may have played a role."
Alex was staring at me, his face pale and uncertain. "Really... he's your father?"
I nodded, feeling the weight of the truth settle between us.
"You were the target of the whole attack, Shay," Des said. "That's why I think the girls might still be alive. Maybe the Fifth wants what he missed eighteen years ago."
He looked deep into my eyes. "You."
I felt a wave of anger rush through me. "But how could he have found me?!"
Des shook his head. "I don't know. But it doesn't matter now. Now we have to decide how to proceed."
I clenched my fists. The war was no longer just about survival—it was personal.
I nodded, my gaze drifting briefly to my brother. It was almost impossible to imagine how he managed to regain his composure so quickly—though the concern and flickers of anger in his eyes were still unmistakable. My own hands trembled slightly from the weight of the suppressed rage simmering beneath the surface.
I had thought that by staying out of the war, I could protect myself and my friends. I believed that by refraining from taking a side, I could keep the people I cared about safe. But now I saw how wrong I was. By knowing the disaster that was coming, it felt like it was all my fault. Then the memory of the prediction hit me—how the Necromancer had warned me. He had seen this coming.
"Des is right," I said, my voice heavy. "We can't act rashly. We have to remember that the Fifth has an army." I looked up at my brother. "So, until we know for sure that Jo and Coffee are alive, we wait."
"Then what do you want to do?!" Alex growled, frustration breaking through his calm.
"Isn't it obvious?" I asked, my own anger barely in check. "I'm going to find out if they're alive."
"How do you plan on doing that?" Des's voice was sharp, now fully engaged in the conversation.
"I'm visiting Gironde," I said firmly.
"Who is Gironde?" Alex asked, confused.
"The Necromancer," I replied.
Des raised an eyebrow, his skepticism palpable. "How long have you had such a close relationship with him? A necromancer doesn't just give out his name to anyone."
"Well, let's just say I'm not 'anyone,'" I shot back with a wry smile. "He read my fortune once. Told me to protect my famiglia. Maybe he has the answers I need."
Des's expression hardened. "It's not midnight yet," he said. "He won't answer your call."
"I have to try," I insisted, my tone unwavering. "If I have to, I'll break down the cemetery gate."
"And what are we supposed to do while you're off playing necromancer?" Alex asked, his voice tinged with impatience. "We can't just sit here waiting."
"Be ready," I instructed them both. "As soon as I get the answers, I'll call you. Des, you'll visit the family. Alex, you go check on Rolo."
I grabbed my phone from the counter, but before I could make it to the door, Des's hand gripped my arm.
"Have you thought this through, little brother?" he asked, his tone dark. "There's no guarantee they'll help you. There's even a risk they might take your head off."
I forced a smile, though it felt like I was pushing it. "Don't worry," I said. "You know I can persuade anyone."
(...)
I made my way straight to the cemetery, barely noticing the time—it was just past eleven when I reached the familiar iron gates.
"Gironde Mehisto!" I called out, my voice cutting through the stillness. "Come on, I know you can hear me!"
Silence.
"To hell with it, Gironde!" I shouted, frustration building. "This is important!"
A moment passed before I heard his voice, soft but unmistakable, inside my skull. "It's fine, it's fine," he murmured, clearly unfazed. "Just don't shout my name so loudly, or you might attract a stray reaper."
The air thickened, and in an instant, a heavy fog rolled over the cemetery. Through the mist, I saw the figure of the Necromancer approach. The iron gate creaked open on its own, and I stepped forward without hesitation.
Gironde wasn't wearing his usual top hat, nor his usual attire. Instead, he was draped in a nightgown covered in black-and-white skulls, his feet clad in panda-shaped slippers. He cradled Nancy in one hand, while the other stifled a yawn. The absurdity of it all almost made me laugh, but my anger and frustration held it back.
"What do you want, Shaytan?" His voice was drowsy, still caught in the remnants of sleep. "My shift hasn't even started yet. Look what you've done—you woke Nancy up!"
"I'm sorry," I said, my tone serious now. "But this is important."
Gironde sighed, his eyes flickering with something resembling annoyance, but he waved toward the fog-covered path leading to his home. "Okay, okay, come inside then." And without waiting for a response, he started making his way back, leaving the door open behind him.
Even the second time, I couldn't get used to being greeted by a homely hall upon crossing the threshold.
Gironde snapped his fingers, and with a fluid motion, his clothes shifted. He conjured up a black shirt, worn-out pants of the same color, and a studded belt. When we sat down in the armchairs, I noticed his tie—a dark black background dotted with blue and silver skulls. He placed Nancy in the chair beside him and crossed his legs with the casual air of someone who hadn't been disturbed by anything.
"So, what do you want?" he asked, his tone sharper now, more alert.
"You knew what was going to happen, didn't you?" I asked, my voice tight with suspicion. "You knew."
A dangerous, predatory grin spread across his face. It was then I noticed the sharpness of his teeth, the way they gleamed in the dim light. How had I missed that before?
"How could I deny it, when you ask so directly?" he responded, clearly enjoying my frustration. "And what do you want from me now? Are you here to hold me accountable? You can't do that, Shay. I warned you."
"Tell anyone else that vague crap and see how much they understand!" I snapped, anger simmering beneath my words. "You didn't even mention the attack coming! Why couldn't you have just said, 'Hey, Shaytan, watch out, in a few weeks your famiglia will be attacked by vampires!' That would've been crystal clear!"
"The purpose of prophecies isn't always to change the future," Gironde replied, his voice almost casual. "Sometimes, it's to bring it about."
"Are you saying if I hadn't heard your prediction, things would have gone differently?" I was done playing along with his cryptic nonsense.
"Maybe yes, maybe no. Who knows?" He shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. "Would you have joined the war? Or would you have chosen your peaceful life anyway? Maybe both paths lead to the same end. No one can avoid their fate, Shay."
"Then what is my fate?" I nearly shouted, my patience fraying. "And what does this have to do with my friends? Why was Jo kidnapped? She's just a human, she has nothing to do with this war! Why her?!"
"Everyone has their own destiny," the Necromancer said, his gaze steady. "Maybe hers is to fulfill yours. That kind of thing happens."
"Right, I get it," I cut him off, trying to keep my composure. "So it's my fate to be dragged into this war, and if I don't go willingly, fate will make sure I do."
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.
"Tell me Jo and Coffee are alive, and I swear I'll fight," I said, my voice steady now. "But tell me honestly—they're alive, and I can save them."
Gironde's smile widened, but he ignored the second half of my question. He simply nodded and replied, "They're both alive."
I reached for one of the prepared tea cakes, shoving a bite of the chocolate chip cookie into my mouth. It tasted bitter—worse than I expected, as if the entire situation had soured my sense of taste as well.
"Tell me, Gironde," I said, my voice edged with frustration. "Why is my fate so damn hard? You said it was especially so. Why can't I just be happy for once?"
"Mixed-bloods have always had a difficult fate," he replied without hesitation.
"So, there were others like me?" I asked, my surprise clear in my voice.
The Necromancer nodded.
"In the past, there were more of them, long before this obsession with pure bloodlines. Back then, it wasn't a crime to mix with another species. Perhaps this taboo was born because of the power that mixed bloods possess," he mused, then paused as if considering something deeper. "Do you know why your father wanted children like you so badly?"
"I don't know," I said, shaking my head. I wasn't sure I even wanted to know.
"A silver-haired half-blood came to me once," Gironde continued, his tone taking on a far-off quality. "He asked me about mixed-bloods and what the future held for them. I told him what I'll tell you now: The mixing of bloodlines became taboo because those born of it wielded power the other monsters feared. And that's why they've always faced persecution, always hated—whether they deserved it or not."
"So it's because of the power," I said, piecing it together, and Gironde gave a confirming nod.
"My brother was right," I muttered, shuddering. "Girls are bait, the Fifth wants me."
Another nod. I exhaled heavily, the weight of it all sinking in.
"Who will win?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might change something.
"What would be the point if you already knew?" He smiled that infuriatingly calm smile.
"Asshole," I hissed under my breath.
"What did you say?" he asked, still smiling, his tone sweetly mocking.
"Nothing..." I muttered, waving him off as I finished the cookie and stood up, the bitterness lingering on my tongue.
"Well, good luck," Gironde said, jumping to his feet with surprising energy. "You're going to need it."
"Don't expect me to thank you," I grumbled, not bothering to look at him.
"I wouldn't have expected it from you," he grinned, then gently stroked Nancy's skull. "Wait here, darling. I'll see the guest out."
It was an unsettlingly grotesque sight—yet somehow fitting for the man. He actually walked with me to the gate, humming cheerfully the entire way, as if we were old friends going for a casual stroll.
As we reached the gate, he paused and turned to face me with an exaggerated flourish. "I'd wish you a terrible night," he said, his smile almost wicked. "But I already know it will be."
I decided to hold my tongue, knowing full well that if I opened my mouth, nothing but curses or a barrage of insults would slip out. I turned away, searching for Des' number as I heard the Necromancer's distant, mocking laughter.
"So?" Des answered, his voice steady.
"They're alive. Both of them."
I could hear Alex's sigh of relief in the background.
"That's for sure?" Des asked, his tone skeptical, the mark of a good hunter.
"Yes," I replied, keeping it short.
"Alright, then," he said. "Let's move forward with the plan."
"Yeah, but try to handle all the calls before midnight," I added, my tone sharp.
"Why?"
"Because we've got a meeting scheduled," I said. "And don't forget your best weapons. It's going to be a rough one."
Des chuckled on the other end, but it was empty, forced. "Actually, I love it rough..." he muttered, though the laugh didn't reach his voice.
"I'm hanging up" I grumbled, cutting him off before he could say anything else. Des and his bullshit.
I dialed another number.
"Hello?" Luna answered in her sweet voice.
"Hello," she must have felt the desperate anger from this single word because before I could say anything else, she spoke.
"It's started, hasn't it?"
"Yes," I replied, "Jo and Coffee were kidnapped, and Alice was bitten by a vampire with an unknown venom."
There was a pause on the other end, a silence thick with concern.
"Shay, do you remember the necklace?" she asked, her voice unusually tight. "I put protective charms on it—strong ones. They shouldn't have been able to touch her."
She stopped suddenly, the tension palpable.
"Unless?" I prodded, my voice rough.
"Unless... unless she was driven to utter despair, broken completely," Luna said, her voice strained. "The necklace's magic is powered by positive emotions. They must've ensured she felt nothing but despair, draining every last shred of hope from her."
I knew it was true. I closed my eyes. As soon as I saw that man's broken body on the ground, I knew well how much Jo must have suffered until his father finally breathed his last breath.
"I'll come right over," Luna said, already moving, her voice focused.
"I burned our house down," I said, my words sharp as knives. I heard her inhale sharply. "We're meeting at my workplace. Come there."
"Luna," I added, feeling the weight of my next words. "I think you're the only one who can save Alice. I need you to focus on that."
"I understand," she answered quietly, her resolve clear. "I'll prepare."
I hung up, staring at the phone for a moment before dialing the next number.
[Your Coolest Big Brother Zack]
"What's up, little bro?" I heard Zack's chatter. "You miss me already? Wanna fight?"
"Zack," I said, cutting through the banter. "Let's meet up. Let's meet tonight, at midnight."
He groaned theatrically. "Eh, you sound too serious... This meeting's gonna be boring, huh?"
"We'll talk about fighting," I said, my tone unwavering.
"Hm," he hummed. "If it's about fighting, I might be interested."
"Then it's settled," I concluded before he could change his mind.
"Okay, come to the doc's place. I wanna meet him as well."
"Okay."
"Bye-bye, little one."
I hung up without a reply and shoved the phone back into my pocket.
The rage inside me was an uncontrollable tempest, and I could feel the monster trying to claw its way to the surface. My fingertips burned, itching for release, as sharp claws threatened to tear through my skin. Blood began to drip, crimson drops falling softly to the cold concrete. Each drop hit the ground with an almost rhythmic thud, echoing like distant drums.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and forced the monster back down into the pit of my chest. Not yet. Your time will come, but not today.