One thief's mischief sours the mead.
"Waiter!"
"No."
"Cashier?"
"No, you're totally wrong."
"Um, pizza boy."
"You're not even close."
It had become a favorite pastime for some to try and deduce what the Weasel's former occupation might have been before he decided to drink away whatever brain cells he had left. Rumors swirled that no one had yet cracked the mystery, and someone had even put up a cash reward for anyone who could guess correctly.
As the guesses grew more outlandish, the game lost its charm, the thrill of each incorrect answer waning into boredom.
"You're not just messing with us, are you?" a guy asked, suspicion in his voice.
"Not even crossed my mind," the Weasel grinned mischievously.
"If we guessed right, you'd tell us, wouldn't you?" a girl inquired, her tone matching the skepticism in her eyes.
The Weasel's overly amused grin didn't help matters, casting a shadow of doubt over his sincerity.
"Of course," he nodded, his grin widening.
After delivering a spritzer, I returned to the counter just as the door opened. Hunters? This early? I was surprised—they usually rolled in at dawn, a few hours after their nocturnal escapades. Their early arrival was unusual, given their need for constant vigilance.
Geri greeted me with a dazzling smile, one I mirrored with equal brilliance—here I have to praise my acting skills, for I hated this dumbass from the heart of my bottom. I have known him for a long time, for too long to actually like him.
"What's up?" I asked. "Before work?"
He unbuttoned his knee-length leather coat with practiced ease, keeping the assortment of knives, daggers, and other lethal trinkets concealed. His dark, depthless eyes scanned the glasses behind me as he gestured for his companions to take a seat.
"The usual," he said softly, then added, "Today's special."
"Why?" I pressed, sensing there was more to the story.
A sly smile curled his lips. He knew exactly what I was angling for—not that I was trying to hide it. Sometimes you have to share tiny crumbs of your intentions with people to make them believe they are as smart as you are. If you do so, there is not even a tiny bit of suspicion in their hearts that you control their every move.
"Curiosity killed the cat," he said, though his tone suggested he'd tell me eventually.
Geri was a game player. He has never been easy to deal with, not in the past, and I think not even in his previous life. An alcoholic bastard who loves to play above all else.
"Good thing I'm not a cat," I replied with a saccharine smile, pushing his whiskey across the counter.
"Indeed," he said, lifting the glass but not drinking. "You're far more dazzling than any cat."
May you drown in that whiskey, you filthy shit goblin. My smile stayed kind even as my stomach churned in revulsion.
"So, what's the deal?" I asked.
Geri downed half his whiskey in one gulp. "The ignoble vampires are multiplying in town," he began, noting my lack of surprise. "They're searching for something."
How surprisingly helpful can this abominable drunkard be, right?
"Their presence is worrying," I agreed, feigning concern. "What are they after?"
Another mysterious grin spread across his sharp features. "Did you really think I'd spill that so easily, Shay?"
No, I didn't think so, jerk. He brushed a dark strand from his eyes.
I'd helped the dildohead solve a few cases, offering snippets of intel from the monsters that passed through. In return, he provided me with equally valuable tidbits. Our arrangement was a delicate balance of give and take.
"What are they looking for?" repeated my question.
"You are my dearest ally, sweet Shay," he drawled, signaling for another whiskey.
I wished one of the ignobles would catch him on his way home. If I could find a more cooperative hunter, I'd strangle this nuisance on the spot. Calling me sweet was a sin he'd pay for someday.
As I refilled his glass, I glanced at his companions, barely noticeable in the dim corner. They hadn't ordered anything—this visit was purely business.
"Have you heard of fae amulets? The ones that extend their lifespan?" he asked.
I nodded. Of course, I had. Being tied to the fae, I'd studied them extensively. The noble fae families all possessed these amulets, granting them near-immortality. Highly valuable, to say the least.
"Why?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Dear Shay," he said blandly, and I barely resisted the urge to kick him. "One was stolen recently."
I was so surprised that my mouth opened slightly. Geri liked my reaction quite a bit.
"How?"
Who would be foolish enough to steal from the fae? Especially their queen—it would be a declaration of war.
"You're overthinking it," Geri chided. "Who said it was stolen from the fae?"
I masked my reaction quickly, hating that he'd read me, even for a second.
"Then who else could own it?" I grumbled.
"How much do you know about the 'Fifth King'?" he asked suddenly.
"Not much," I shrugged.
"He's a half-blood," Geri explained.
There were very few half-bloods. "Half-blood?"
"Yes, and one of his parents must have been fae."
Well, now I get it.
"So, someone stole his amulet," I surmised. "How does that tie into the situation here?"
"The thief fled this way," he said. "The ignobles are searching for him. But they're not alone—everyone wants that amulet. This has never happened before."
"So, you're hunting the thief too," I stated more than asked.
"Exactly. Keep your ears open, Shay. You'll hear about him soon enough."
I nodded as he stood, gesturing for his hunters to follow. He tossed some papers onto the counter.
"Always a pleasure," he said, blowing a kiss in my direction. I felt bile rising.
As the door closed behind him, I unclenched my fists. Every encounter with that bastard made me wish I could peel his skin off. I swear, I deserve some kind of reward from heaven for what I've been able to bear so far, especially recently!
(...)
I lit a cigarette, drawing the bitter smoke deep into my lungs.
"How's your wolf lately, Shay?" Weasel asked, his tone annoyingly cheerful.
I glanced at him slowly, taking another drag, but said nothing. My silence didn't faze him.
His grin widened. "Cold, very cold."
"It's none of your business," I replied curtly.
I raised my eyes to the carbon-black sky. Weasel mirrored my gaze, leaning lightly against the wall but keeping a respectful distance.
"More and more vampires are biting the dust," he remarked with undiminished cheer. "You have something to do with that, doncha?"
"It's none of your business, Weasel," I growled, my patience wearing thin.
Alex was already neck-deep in this mess; the last thing I needed was Weasel poking around.
He flashed a cheeky grin. "Lucky for me, you can't touch me, huh?"
"You understand your situation well enough," I said, my voice laced with warning. "Now stop gossiping."
"Hasn't it loosened the purse strings of some new customers?" His grin stretched wider. "Since the rumor spread that the 'White Demon' sometimes visits this pub, it seems like more and more folks are showing up, doncha think?"
His very manner of speaking made my blood boil. This was why I rarely engaged with him. I stubbed out my cigarette and, in a flash, had my hand wrapped around his neck.
"You don't seem to understand me," I said through clenched teeth. "If you don't shut up, I'll get seriously mad."
The focus on my pub was becoming a problem. More and more people were coming, hoping to catch a glimpse of the dreaded monster. Rumors pegged me as the demon's informant, leading to more than a few altercations. I'd had enough.
Weasel looked at me, his grin unchanged, as if I wasn't holding his life in my hands. He raised a hand, gripping mine.
"Show me, Shaytan," he whispered, eyes gleaming. "I want to see the monster you truly are again."
"You have no idea who I am," I hissed.
"You walk among humans and work in this shabby pub," he retorted, knocking my hand away. "But this isn't you."
"I don't care what you think," I said, forcing myself to calm down.
"You don't care about being called the old hag's watchdog either," he said dryly. "I thought you had more pride."
"You'd better be grateful, Weasel," I shot back, my gaze boring into him. "My boss is the only reason you're still breathing."
"The monster you were," he stated plainly, "wouldn't have cared about a mere human's disapproval if he wanted someone dead."
"Then you're lucky I've changed." With that, I turned and walked away.
I headed home, and although the pub was not far from our house, I was lucky enough to meet an ignoble. We passed each other, but within moments, he appeared behind me. The strong stench of deodorants masked my scent, and he didn't realize I wasn't human. Unfortunately for him, I wasn't in the mood to play nice.
Before he could lay a hand on me, my fist was already through his chest. The shock in his eyes was palpable. They always warn you not to provoke monsters—because when you do, they tend to lose control.
The vampire retaliated, landing a punch square on my forehead. I heard the sickening crack of bone and felt the warm trickle of blood down my face. Though I staggered, I stayed on my feet, conscious and steady, which only deepened his astonishment.
He was beginning to grasp that I wasn't merely human, but he hadn't yet realized the full extent of his dire situation. I bared my teeth—sharper than they had any right to be. With the full moon nearing, the beast within me stirred, angry and restless.
A second row of teeth suddenly popped out of the vampire's jaw, covering the original human teeth. At the same time, his irises flashed crimson while the whites turned black. As he hissed and pulled up his lips to reveal the sharp and menacing vampire fangs in their entirety, he looked more like a demonic beast than a human. Everything that followed blurred into a frenzy of instinct and chaos.
Anyway, within minutes, the vampire was just a burning corpse, somewhere on the side of the road. You can only be completely sure of the death of a bloodsucker if you cut off their head—and since I was raised by hunters, I set the corpse on fire for safety's sake.
When I arrived home, Alex was asleep, unsurprisingly. My shifts usually dragged on past 1 a.m. on weekdays. After a quick shower, I padded into our room, hair still damp.
Alex, half-draped off the bed, was snoring like a congested grampus, his blanket a forgotten heap on the floor. With a sigh, I hoisted his legs back onto the bed and tossed the blanket over him. Stupid idiot.
After that, I took another disapproving look at my roommate and then headed for my own bed. The intruder lay on the tidy bedding. No, no kitty, if you're not willing to go straight to hell, then at least go and get off my bed!
Casting one last disapproving glance his way, I turned toward my own bed, only to find an intruder nestled on my clean sheets. No way. If this unholy feline didn't want to be sent straight to hell, it needed to vacate my sacred space.
Unceremoniously, I swept the cat off my bed.
Its offended meow echoed, but I was unmoved. Sliding under the duvet, I settled in, intent on savoring the three hours of sleep I had left before school. The cat could whine all it wanted—I was beyond caring.
With a satisfied smile, I closed my eyes, relishing the thought of finally relaxing. After all, what better way to follow up a perfect kill than with a good nap?