All Chapters of The Hunter and the Vampire: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

I wrung my hands together nervously as I waited for Cyrus. I felt silly for being so on edge – so excited – so I forcibly dropped my hands and held them limp at my sides. That felt unnatural, so I leant against the trunk of a nearby tree. But the tree was further from me than I’d expected, so I stumbled, my arms swinging, until the palm of my bare hand made contact and scraped down the frosty, rough bark. There was a snicker from behind me, and I yanked myself upright. I sucked in a lungful of bitterly cold air, and a blush crept up a neck as I turned to look back. Cyrus, cool as ever, was leant against the old stone wall of the crumbling bank. It had been an independent bank for years, but, hard as the locals had tried to keep it, it had eventually succumbed to a pay out from a chain. This particular wall had become infamous within the Seafall community, as groups of protestors would spray this area of stone &ndas

I wiped my hands on my red apron. My cut was stinging and itching, which I hoped were signs that it was starting to heal in earnest. Harper had slapped my hand away when it had begun to scab at the edges, and threatened to wind a big bandage around my head to keep my picking fingers away.  I usually felt as though my time at the diner was made up of blocks that I marked off as empty in my brain. Sometimes I’d try to pass the hours by thinking about new hunting strategies, but for the most part I let my body glide around on autopilot until I could finally clock out. If Grace was in, as she was tonight, the time would pass much quicker. It also didn’t feel quite so wasted – between the gossip and the giggles, my time behind the counter felt meaningful, in a way that it didn’t when the newer staff, or less friendly servers, were in. Grace tossed her long, blonde plait over her shoulder. She watc

I’d half expected the house to be in darkness when I got home, but the downstairs lights were on, and it looked as warm and inviting as ever.  I pulled up next to Harper’s battered old car, some vintage Chevy that he was equal parts proud of and fed up with, and then I killed the engine. It was easier to face myself, sat alone in the liminal space that my car provided. It had always felt like a limbo to me: you were either getting in, getting out, or actively driving. To sit in it, especially in the driveway, or a car park, at night, made the very air feel hazy and dizzying.  The orange streetlight glowed against the windows, catching on the water droplets from the earlier rainfall. They were stark against the dark, glum sky, and I pressed the pads of my fingertips against the cool glass, tracing the pattern of them. I was only prolonging the inevitable. But his face – I’d never seen Har

Once we were in the right place, Old Tim – and the demon possessing his body – were surprisingly easy to find. It was a relief to fall into the familiar routine of hunting. It gave me a chance to shut out my thoughts regarding Harper and Cyrus, and allowed me to focus fully on the task at hand. I was in my element here, stalking the streets of Beerbridge, my hand gripping the rowan knife in my pocket.  I’d had to move it from the thigh holster – cool as it had looked – so that I could swing it quickly when the time came. Though Sierra seemed confident with the words of the exorcism, words of power designed to send the creature back to Hell, I couldn’t leave anything to chance. Who knew what poor Old Tim was dealing with, trapped inside his own body and unable to move or think or speak. He was a passenger, as far as our previous experience told us, anyway. I wrinkled my nose at the thought, and clutche

It was all my fault. I’d hesitated, and, because of that, Old Tim was dead. The demon had lured me in, with what were most likely lies, and I’d taken too long to strike. And I’d forgotten another important rule of hunting, though it was an unspoken guideline more than an actual rule: don’t gloat.  Maybe, if the demon hadn’t known it was going to die, it would have left Old Tim alive. I berated myself angrily the whole way back to Seafall, and as my emotional exhaustion began to set in, I continued to berate myself in a bitter inner voice, rather than the angry one, cold and almost toneless. Death was an unfortunate part of the reality of hunting. But unnecessary death was something far, far worse, and this time I’d been the one to cause it. I’d gone through the motions of the clean up rigidly, hardly noticing what my body was doing. I was less than a passenger as we sorted t