Trouble never comes alone.
We entered the room slowly, settling into our usual spot by the window. Just as we were getting comfortable, Alice and Coffee dropped their bags onto the desk with a thud.
"We need to talk," Alice said, his tone sharp.
Alex and I exchanged a look, both of us sensing that whatever was coming next wasn't going to be good.
"It's not just here," Coffee added. "It's happening everywhere—tornadoes, fires. The world's just... spiraling. Do you know anything about it?"
I nodded. "I saw a post on Kaleidoscope about it."
Alice's expression darkened. "Something bad is coming, Shay. I can feel it. And the worst? It's probably still ahead."
Alex's eyes flickered with concern. "What should we do? Is there anything we can do?"
"The hunters are already on it," Alice replied. "They've called an emergency meeting for tomorrow. Deni and I are going too."
Coffee shifted, her voice tinged with worry. "My dad's investigating, but he's not doing too well. The Vampire Council's holding another meeting tomorrow, too."
I glanced at Alex, then back at the group. "I think we should leave it to them for now. Keep a low profile. Maybe even skip school."
Alex snorted, skepticism lacing his voice. "You think that's the solution?"
"No," I said, shaking my head. "But until we know more, there's not much else we can do."
The room fell into a heavy silence. No one argued.
Outside, the wind howled, clawing at the trees and rattling the windows. The dark clouds completely blocked out the sun.
A fierce gust of wind finally shattered the glass, sending it scattering across the room in a storm of sharp shards. The wind howled through the opening, whipping against the terrified students, who screamed in panic. Chaos erupted as they trampled over one another, scrambling to escape the frigid air that flooded the room.
We crawled out from under the cover of the table and exchanged uneasy glances.
We all knew this wasn't just a freak storm anymore. Something far darker was at play. The world had truly gone mad.
"Everyone must leave the school immediately! I repeat: Everyone must leave the school immediately!" blared the loudspeaker, its urgency cutting through the madness.
It was clear our classroom was not the only one in turmoil.
A sea of panicked students surged toward the exits. Most had made it out when the ground suddenly buckled beneath them, ripping the floor out from under their feet. The whole world trembled, tossing everyone off balance.
Mose tried to crawl toward the door but the lamp over him gave way and it fell under. He simply closed his eyes like an idiot and froze. The sounds of frantic cries from the others seemed to fade, but the deafening thud of the lamp hitting the ground snapped him back to reality.
When he opened his eyes, he was face-to-face with a tangle of broken wires and glass, still not fully comprehending how he had survived.
"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice cutting through the chaos.
Mose looked up at me, his face pale and frozen in terror. His breath was shallow.
He nodded slowly. "Thank you."
The ground's violent shaking paused for only a moment before it surged again, knocking down light fixtures and sending more students into a panic. I grabbed Mose's arm and hauled him to his feet, pulling him toward the exit. On the way, I spotted another student, his hands clutching at his clothes in desperation. I dragged him along as well, our pace quickening as we neared the exit.
Once we were outside, I shoved them toward the growing crowd of alarmed students, but as I turned to re-enter the building, Mose's hand shot out, gripping mine.
"You can't go back in there!" he shouted, his voice panicked. "It's too dangerous!"
I wrenched my hand from his. "If I don't get them out, they'll die."
I bolted back into the building, my friends close behind me. Coffee, Alex, and Alice joined the rescue effort, ushering students from the main hall. Some teachers had appeared to help, their faces grim but determined.
"Let's check upstairs, make sure no one's stuck up there," I said, my heart pounding in my chest.
My friends nodded, splitting off to search. Coffee took the first floor, Alex tackled the lobby, and Alice headed for the second. I was left with the third floor. I took the stairs two at a time, shouting to anyone who might hear me. Suddenly, a muffled banging echoed from one of the classrooms.
"Help! Help me!" A girl's voice cried out, desperate.
"I'm here!" I called out, trying to steady my voice.
"I can't get out!" she cried, panic clear in her voice. "The board's fallen on my foot and it's blocking the door!"
"Stay calm, I'll get you out," I promised, moving quickly.
With a grunt, I ripped the door from its hinges. Behind it was the heavy iron board, the impact of its fall shattering the glass and leaving the girl injured, her left leg trapped beneath it.
She sobbed uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face, but I did my best to soothe her. "I'll get you out, just hang on," I said, trying to keep her calm. "When I tell you, I need you to pull your leg out from under the board."
With one swift motion, I lifted the iron slab. "Now!"
She yelped in pain as she pulled her leg free, and I let the board crash to the ground.
"Can you stand?" I asked, my voice soft but urgent.
She shook her head, her voice trembling. "I don't think so."
I didn't waste a second. Sighing deeply, I bent down and scooped her up onto my back. She squealed in surprise, but the moment I started moving, her arms tightened around me, clinging as if her life depended on it.
Just then, the window shattered above us, raining down a storm of glass. I twisted my body, trying to shield her from the worst of it, but a few shards grazed my skin, cutting deep. I couldn't move fast to avoid it entirely, not with her there.
I barreled forward, pushing toward the exit, my heart pounding. The sharp sting of the glass didn't slow me down—I had to get her out. Thankfully, the worst was over, and we made it out with minimal injury.
When we stepped into the relative safety outside, I set her down gently, and a couple of teachers rushed to her side. I exhaled, relief flooding through me.
But then, I felt it—a weight, like eyes watching me. I turned, and sure enough, Mose was standing there, his gaze fixed on me, unreadable.
(...)
By the morning, the storm had passed, but its aftermath lingered. Phones still couldn't find a signal, and the power flickered on and off at random. The school was in complete disarray, but I only knew that because Alice had filled me in. As planned, I stayed inside as much as possible.
It wasn't until the fifth night that we ran out of food. Our stockpiles had been decimated, and hunger gnawed at me. Grabbing some money, I decided it was time to venture out. Public transport had just started to function again, but the vehicles that hadn't been destroyed were few and far between, so I opted to walk.
The shop I needed was nearby, and after getting what I came for, I was eager to return home without making any unnecessary stops. But, as with most things, my plan didn't unfold as expected.
I froze when a foul, deathly stench hit me—a smell of rot and decay that sent a chill down my spine. My hand instinctively dropped the bag, and I looked ahead to see two dark figures standing in front of me. The air was thick with their foul presence.
The larger one turned and started toward me, moving unnervingly fast for something that should have been decomposing. Zombie movies lie—they don't do justice to just how agile the undead can be. And these little corpses? They were hell-bent on getting a taste of me.
"Shit!" I cursed, spinning around and sprinting in the opposite direction.
But of course, things couldn't be that simple. Another zombie suddenly leaped out from behind a fence, appearing right beside me. For a moment, the air felt thick with death as the putrid stench overwhelmed my senses. It didn't hesitate to grab my shoulder, its claws digging into my flesh. I hissed through my teeth, my body reacting instinctively.
Another zombie came at me from the front, and I kicked it away with all my strength. Grabbing the hand of the one still clutching my shoulder, I tossed it aside—well, most of it. The hand remained stuck to me, its fingers still gripping my skin. Stumbling back, I looked down at it in disgust, its greyish, bloodless skin crawling with unnatural life. The severed hand jerked wildly in my grasp.
"Ew," I muttered, tossing the hand away as far as I could.
Another zombie caught the hand with its mouth like a golden retriever catching a ball. Then, as it continued to jog towards me, it began to chew lazily.
"Double yuck," I grimaced.
The zombie to which the hand belonged took back the lost limb but made no attempt to put it back in place. It simply clutched it tightly, holding the severed appendage like a child with a broken toy.
I pursed my lips and started running again.
Mose lived on the fifth floor of a dull, grey apartment block, surrounded by the towering, equally uninspiring buildings that made up the rest of the neighborhood. The only thing setting his place apart was the small balcony, a modest luxury in an otherwise dreary setting. But Mose never complained. In fact, he never complained about anything.
He didn't complain when his sister, for reasons he could never quite understand, raged at him for being "simple-minded" and "incompetent." He didn't protest when she angrily threw a potted plant at him, even though it was his one cherished succulent. Nor did he grumble when he picked up her discarded clothes and empty beer bottles, left forgotten around the house like an afterthought. He never said a word when she dumped all the housework on him or criticized his cooking, making him feel invisible in his own home.
He even endured the parade of strange men she brought in and out of the apartment, indulging in passionate embraces until the early hours of the morning without ever acknowledging his presence. No, Mose simply kept quiet and endured it all. He didn't even seem bothered by it. Perhaps the most telling part of it all was that, despite being frequently scolded, he still looked after his temperamental, quick-to-anger sister. Maybe he did it for one simple reason: he loved her.
She allowed him to stay with her, and that was enough for him. Maybe he didn't want anything more than that. Maybe he found comfort in the familiarity of their dysfunction. After all, as "Misfortune Mose," he'd slowly come to realize that things rarely went the way he hoped in life.
But even the most patient souls reach their breaking point. Not long ago, Mose had rushed to help his sister, finding her on the floor after another one of her reckless nights. When he got there, her friends simply waved toward her and then turned back to their corner, swallowed by the walls vibrating with booming music. Mose's clenched fists showed his frustration, his face betraying the urge to punch them in the face.
Despite his anger, he said nothing. He nodded curtly, acknowledging their dismissive indifference—not just to him, but even to his sister, who lay there unconscious and ignored.
Maybe Mose felt an obligation to his sister. Even though she constantly reminded him how much she hated him, she always defended him. She shielded him, even if her words painted a different picture. She protected him when her drunken boyfriends used him as a punching bag, just as she had when they were children and her parents' priorities always seemed to lie elsewhere.
For that reason, I knew that even if Mose didn't agree with her lifestyle, he could never stay angry with her for long. Mose never complained, but like everyone, he had his limits. And when life became too much, the balcony was his only escape.
For hours, he'd lean against the cold railing, his gaze lost in the vast expanse of the inky blue sky. It was here that he did most of his thinking. It was here, on this very balcony, that I would arrive—breathless, with the intention of disappearing into the shadows. Of course, I didn't know any of this at the time. All I knew was that at the time, I was simply planning to jump off and disappear into the shadows.
I gasped in surprise as I was suddenly grabbed and pulled behind a door. For a split second, panic surged through me—I thought the zombies had caught up—but that notion was quickly pushed aside.
Instinctively, I reached out, my hands grabbing for whatever I could find. My fingers closed around something warm and solid—his neck. In the darkness, I could barely make out his silhouette, but I could tell he was smaller and more fragile than the relentless corpses chasing me.
Then, with a click, light flooded the room. Surprised, I released my grip on him. Mose, rubbing his neck in confusion, seemed to check if everything was still intact.
"What are you doing here?" I raised an eyebrow, still processing the sudden shift.
Relieved I hadn't accidentally snapped his neck—now that would've been awkward—Mose chuckled lightly, clearly amused by the situation.
"I live here," he said with a nonchalant shrug. Then, without skipping a beat, he gestured toward a shabby, stained sofa. "Make yourself comfortable."
The couch, which had clearly seen better days, was still marked with spills of some kind of alcoholic drink, the sharp stench of beer lingering in the air. The apartment, despite its shabby furnishings, was surprisingly clean. There wasn't a speck of dust to be seen on the shelves. Fresh flowers bloomed in a vase on the coffee table, and the plush cream-colored carpet still bore the faint path of a vacuum cleaner's last run, a rare sight these days.
I remained standing, and in fact I was about to leave. The realization hit me hard—if I stayed even a minute longer, the zombies would likely break through the balcony door, and both Mose and I would be dead.
It seemed like he read my mind, for he spoke again, his voice calm and reassuring. "Don't worry, they won't be able to get in."
I could only manage a stunned "What?" in response.
Mose moved quickly toward the window, and it was then that I noticed the thick line of salt drawn across the sill. His actions were quick, almost practiced, as he drew the red curtains closed. I saw the strange symbols painted in black paint on the fabric—circles, polygons, and words in Latin etched into the lines and vertices.
I stared at him, trying to process what I was hearing. Mose wasn't a mage—there was no trace of magical energy around him. Yet here he was, talking about runes and protections like it was second nature.
"I surprised you, didn't I?" he grinned, clearly enjoying my confusion.
"How is this possible?" I asked, still trying to make sense of it. "You don't smell of magic..."
He let out a soft sigh, almost disappointed. "I'm not a mage," he replied. "But one of my ancestors was. I found his notes among some old family legacies, and I thought, maybe... just maybe, I could find a way to change my perpetual bad luck. So I started studying the subject."
He paused, as if reflecting on his words. "I can't actually do magic, though. I just picked up a few tricks and protective runes from the notes."
It was strange—Mose didn't look like someone who dabbled in ancient magic, but somehow, he'd managed to learn enough to protect himself in a world overrun with monsters.
"I see," I nodded.
"And what about you, Shay?" he asked, his curiosity piqued. "What kind of monster are you?"
I sank into the sofa, the weight of his question lingering in the air. I didn't answer immediately, feeling the tension build between us.
"I don't think this is a good idea," I said finally. "Our world is dangerous. A simple human getting involved doesn't usually end well."
He smirked. "I think you're a little late with that warning."
"Maybe," I shrugged. "But if you quit now, you might have a chance at surviving."
He leaned back, his eyes glinting with something I couldn't quite place. "There's a problem, Shay," he said with a mischievous smile, his gaze sparkling with a thousand tiny stars. "I don't want to quit."
I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. Remember what I said about human curiosity? Curiosity—the kind that drives people to their end. It's a force as ruthless as any monster.
I shrugged, indifferent. "Do as you please."
He stood up then, the cheer in his voice unshaken. "You can stay the night," he offered politely. "Would you like something to eat? I was just thinking of making dinner."
I shrugged again but was willing to follow. As he moved toward the kitchen, I sat down, the silence wrapping around us.
While he cooked, the sound of sizzling filled the room, and then, after a brief pause, his voice broke through.
"You're not going to tell me who you really are?" he asked, glancing at me over his shoulder.
"Why do you care?" I countered, unsure of where this was going.
"Of course I care," he replied, sounding almost offended. I didn't understand why he cared, but I felt the need to answer.
With a deep sigh, I spoke, reluctant to reveal too much. "I'm a mixed-blood."
He turned, his curiosity growing. "What does that mean?"
I didn't respond right away, and he, sensing my reluctance, rambled on, eager to fill the silence.
"You know, I learned a lot about mages from the notes, but I only found a few things about other creatures. I don't know much about your world yet. Sorry if I offended you with my questions..."
I let out a long breath. It wasn't that I was offended—I simply didn't enjoy discussing my origins. But I couldn't avoid the question forever.
"There aren't many mixed-bloods," I finally said. "And most monsters don't like them. Mixed-bloods are the children of half-bloods."
He mumbled something under his breath, but I didn't catch it. His eyes seemed distant now, as though piecing something together in his mind.
After that, Mose bombarded me with more questions, his curiosity innocent and boundless. To my surprise, I found myself answering them without hesitation. He asked if vampires really couldn't stand garlic. I laughed at the simplicity of the question, but answered nonetheless. Then came another: "Do werewolves really exist?"
I couldn't help but smile as I replied, "You actually know one." His eyes widened, and when I told him it was Alex, the shock on his face was priceless. His gaze lit up, and a torrent of questions followed, each one more eager than the last. For some reason, I couldn't stop myself from indulging him.
It became clear that Mose was one of those "healthy lifestyle" misfits—a believer in balance and moderation, but with a distinct lack of understanding about the world I came from. Dinner, for instance, was a pristine plate of steamed vegetables and roast meat. He neatly divided the portions onto three plates and set one in front of me. I raised an eyebrow at the third plate.
"That's my sister's," he explained casually. "We live together."
"Oh," I muttered, suddenly feeling like an intruder on a strange, domestic scene.
We continued eating in silence, the food oddly comforting despite its simplicity.
I eventually accepted Mose's offer to spend the night at his place. The city at night belonged to the Necromancers and their undead, so it seemed safest to stay put until dawn.
Mose offered me the couch. As I lay there, fully aware that the house's defenses were likely being tested by the corpses outside, I found myself drifting into sleep faster than I'd anticipated. The quiet was more soothing than I expected, and I let it carry me into oblivion, if only for a few hours.
(...)
I woke to the unmistakable scent of cigarette smoke, the acrid odor cutting through the morning air. Sleepily, I stumbled into the kitchen, where Mose was already preparing breakfast. Seated at the table was a woman, who I quickly realized was his sister.
It was impossible to miss the contrast between them. Mose, with his curly light brown hair, braces, and clumsy black-rimmed glasses, looked every bit the awkward nerd he was.
His sister, on the other hand, had straight, dyed black hair, dark eyes framed with heavy eyeliner, and bright red lipstick that stained her lips. She wore a low-cut top and tight leather pants, a sharp contrast to Mose's simple jeans and T-shirt combo.
When I entered, she glanced up at me with a bored expression. "Did I bring you here last night?"
"No," I replied, perhaps more curtly than I intended.
She exhaled a cloud of smoke and watched me with lazy interest. "Pity."
Mose, seeming eager to clear up any confusion, spoke up hastily. "He's my friend," he said, sitting down.
His sister almost choked on her coffee, then burst out laughing. I raised an eyebrow, but she didn't seem to notice, her giggles bubbling up uncontrollably as she clutched her belly.
"No way my lame little brother has such a friend," she said, her voice laced with disbelief. She eyed me from head to toe, her gray eyes assessing me with a mix of curiosity and amusement.
Her gaze lingered for a moment too long, and I could almost feel the unspoken invitation. But I wasn't interested. In fact, I couldn't help but recognize how she looked a lot like Elsie. The thought made my stomach twist, and I quickly shoved the image aside before my mood soured further.
When she realized I wasn't biting, she shrugged, letting the matter go. It was the first—and likely the last—thing she did that made me feel a flicker of respect for her. She took another sip of her coffee, seemingly unfazed.
"But it's true!" Mose insisted, his voice filled with unshakeable confidence.
His sister ignored him, and though she was still looking at me, her next words were for my ears alone. "You should choose your friends more carefully, handsome."
"You should take your own advice," replied Moses, so quietly that his sister could not hear, but I could.
"I'm off," I announced, pushing myself to my feet.
"What?" Mose blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Aren't you staying for breakfast?"
I shook my head, already moving toward the door. As I passed him, I leaned in and whispered, "I have to figure out who's after me and why."
He nodded, his expression serious, and I left the house, the door clicking shut behind me.