Carmen seems more withdrawn than before after sharing that story, as though even she was caught by surprise that those memories still have some power over her. A little fun in bed helps distract her for a moment, but I get the feeling she also uses it to distract me from the topic.
I try to get her to open up to me, permit herself to show even an ounce of vulnerability, but she smoothly redirects my efforts with flirtations until we’re fucking again because I simply cannot ever resist her.
At the very least I can offer her my company and my support, even when it’s four in the afternoon and I notice that Carmen’s snuck out of bed to brood in silence. I make her coffee just the way she likes, bringing it to her and sitting in the same room as her.
I wonder, and not for the first time, how much heartbreak someone her age has experienced. I guess it never gets any easier.
The story she told sticks with me for more reasons. She described a collection of vampiric abilities I have heard of but never before witnessed in the possession of any single vampire. I have heard tales, of course, of the “archvampires” slain by my ancestors, the greatest of which commanded a similarly fantastic array of powers. Until recently, I believed them to be exaggerations for the sake of inflating the reputations of those old, revered hunters. Yet Carmen’s abilities are perfectly in line with even the tallest tales.
It terrifies me the first time I watch Carmen pass by her curtains—frankly inadequate ones, letting slip a thin slice of sunlight through the gap during the pre-sundown hours—and I watch, stunned, as the light momentarily passes over her with hardly a sizzle.
“Not sunscreen,” she tells me, laughing, when I confront her with my first, admittedly silly, guess. “It is not the same ultraviolet radiation which gives humans a sunburn that also purges our kind from the world. It is specifically daylight. We are ontologically of night itself at the most fundamental level. A vampire is dispelled by the sun in precisely the same way that night is.”
I can only reply with stammering, half-formed words stumbling over each other, but she takes pity on my confusion and offers me a little more explanation.
“Resistance is not altogether impossible, though I remain a creature of night. You could say I have kissed the moon and may hide in its shadow.” She gestures as if groping for words that don’t come easily to her, at least in English. “In an occult sense, I mean to say.”
It’s clear that I’m not satisfied by such a metaphorical answer, and Carmen sighs. “It works something like your Boltman blessings. Here. One visible element of the work of many years.” She lifts her shirt to direct my attention to a particular cluster of lines tattooed below her ribs. “Before I ever became a vampire, I was something of a mystic. I have always loathed my own weakness, thus I work to diminish what flaws I cannot eliminate.”
Something about Carmen’s body language reads as vulnerable as she confesses this one small detail of her early life, and she seems relieved that I choose to pull her into a hug rather than pry further.
“Sorry.” My words are muffled with my face pressed into her. My heart isn’t done pounding with that initial panic of seeing the sunlight touch her. “I just need a second.”
Her gentle touch on my back is reassuring. “You do not need to worry about me.”
“I do a lot of things I don’t need to. Don’t try to talk me out of this one.”
“As you wish, darling.” She wraps her arms around me too. “I only mean to say that I have offered to help you overcome the circumstances of your birth, which would be an empty promise indeed from someone unable to exert similar influence even on herself. I ask you not to doubt my strength.”
I groan. “Fuck, I hate it when you talk like my dad. Worrying about you isn’t a slight, Carmen! It doesn’t mean I think you’re less cool and smart and powerful! It doesn’t mean I doubt your ability to help and protect me! It means I care about you!”
I feel a tremor in Carmen’s body, at first seeming much like sobbing, but after a moment I realize it’s laughter.
“Even now,” she says quietly, to herself, and I can’t guess what she means, but I only hold her tighter.
We stay like this together for a while longer.
The notification sound sends my heart bouncing around my ribcage. I check my phone, and it’s Liz. No greeting, no preamble, just a time and an address.
“Do you need a ride?” Carmen asks without needing any explanation at all.
I nod dumbly, momentarily paralyzed by the unexpected shattering of this peaceful time together before the phantom voice of my father roars in my brain to move.
I move. My gear is propped in the corner, waiting for me, and I make myself ready for battle faster than I ever have in my life.
We scream across the city in her convertible, once again hitting all the green lights—and now I’m wondering which of her tattoos controls the flow of traffic—on our way to where my target is supposed to be. The sunset casts the city in shades of gold which Carmen only requires a pair of shades to endure.
She could probably take on someone like Ylio without breaking a sweat, couldn’t she? Based on what she’s told me of herself and the stories passed down about how far beyond ordinary vampires the archvampires were, it would be no trouble for her even if Ylio brought friends to back them up.
I look to my left at her handsome face and remember how she immediately offered this very ride. How she offered to save me from the doom of my bloodline. Of course she would be willing to help. She might even insist on it.
But asking someone to kill their own is not an easy thing, is it? It’s a terrible burden to place on someone, especially when this is not her fight at all. It’s mine, for the sake of me and my sisters. Bearing the guilt of this assassination should be my burden alone.
I can’t let her come with me.
“Carmen, I don’t want your help with this.”
“As you wish.”
After bracing myself for an argument, I’m caught off guard. “Huh. Just like that?”
“Darling, I understand more than most the importance of vengeance against one’s own killer.” After a moment’s silence, she adds, “I also admit to some curiosity. How does a modern Boltman fight, I wonder? I will enjoy observing from a distance.”
A modern Boltman. In this context, hunting a vampire, I suppose that’s just what I am. It’s a role bolted through my flesh into my bones, and right now, as I wear the uniform of what I am, how can I pretend that I am anything more than Hanna Boltman, Vampire Hunter?
Deep breaths, Hanna. I can endure this the same way I always have. I just need to hold my feelings at arm’s length and let the body do as it was trained to do.
Exiting the car a few blocks early, I leave Carmen to find a place to park and a vantage from which to watch. With wary steps, I approach my destination.
I expect someone as pompous as Ylio to feed at one of the ritzy and exclusive vampire clubs. Sanguine Dreams, for example, feels like their speed; it’s a place that requires reservations in advance, and if you’ve got the connections and ability to pay for the VIP lounge, I hear they bring your food and entertainment to you live, and the presentation is supposed to be something really special. Now that I think about it, I’d bet Carmen could get in. That could make for a nice date night.
This side of town, though? It’s far removed from all Clan Sarthe fronts and infrastructure I’m aware of, and the address turns out to be an old, dilapidated building, four stories tall and from the turn of the last century. I can’t guess what it was once for. Banking? A factory? Moonshine during Prohibition? The windows are boarded up, the roof looks partially collapsed, and even the brick wall looks dark and rotting. The words “no entry” are spray painted on the side of the building.
What, does Ylio go after squatters? How unexpectedly pathetic.
It’s still early. I’m in luck that Carmen’s solar resistance means that we didn’t have to wait till full sundown to head this way. I have just enough time to scout the area, lay my trap, and find a place to hide.
The parking lot is overgrown with weeds, crumbling chunks of concrete filled by a late addition of gravel to smooth it out. Light glints off shards of glass and other assorted garbage among the detritus. Not an ideal place for a fight, all things considered. Keeping my footing here could be a challenge, but I might be able to hide something small in the cracks, cover it with gravel.
And there, adjacent to the parking lot, is another old building. Not quite so large, not quite so condemned, it should make a good place to hide. The alleyway between it and the next building down is just narrow enough for my purposes. I sprint, vault onto a friendly dumpster, leap toward the opposite building to kick off the wall and catch the lip of this building’s roof.
The roof is flat, with enough of a raised ridge around it for me to lay flat and conceal myself from anyone below me. The drop back down is only two stories, which is perfectly doable without a roll—and after seeing all the broken glass down there, I count myself lucky for that.
I prep my crossbow and settle in to wait.
It’s hard to ignore the itch in the back of my mind telling me something is off. My target isn’t just prideful; according to Liz they’re influential. They have allies. This is the sort of place haunted by weak, orphaned vampires, those without connection to their own community.
In a place much like this, back when I was a teenager, my father supervised my first few solo hunts. I remember at the time feeling shocked at how easy those kills were. Back then I didn’t even see vampires as people.
“That’s it?” I asked. “One shot to the heart, and it’s over?”
“Frail, weak, easy pickings for even a novice,” he said. “That’s the fate of anyone, hunter or bloodsucker, who lacks the support of others.”
It was one of many lessons he drilled into me repeatedly over the years.
“Without me, you wouldn’t know how to operate that crossbow. You wouldn’t have practiced your aim. You wouldn’t know where to shoot.” He severed my victim’s head to make absolutely sure they were finished. “Without my mother, I would not have known to teach you those lessons. Without the generations of Boltmans who came before us, without our clan’s hard-won discoveries and the lore of our allies, you and I would be as helpless as babes.
“Each of us is born owing a debt to our clan. Some few of us have the ability and work ethic to pay that debt in full before we die. If you manage to pass the trials, inherit my sword, and continue our family legacy, and if you or one of your descendants manages to rid this world of its vampiric scourge, then perhaps I will have done enough to pay mine off.”
I was 14 years old. “That’s a lot of pressure, dad.”
“It is the appropriate amount of pressure, Hanna. Our bloodline, like few others, is a holy one. It is blessed. We have been gifted the profound privilege to devote our lives in service to others.” He clapped me on the shoulder in a gesture that seemed like camaraderie, the sort of gesture that was as close as he ever got to expressing fatherly affection.
“Yes, sir. We are elevated above others for a reason, and it is our burden to bear that responsibility.”
“Exactly. Remember, none of us matter as individuals; all that matters is how we contribute.” Through repetition, he burned these lessons into my heart. “I do not matter, though I can make myself useful by killing monsters and sculpting you into the family’s next great weapon. You do not matter except through your obedience to me and how well you prove your dedication.”
“Yes, sir. I will make you proud.”
“See that you do. As my only heir, the worth of my life depends on the worth of yours.”
In a way, I’m glad I learned selflessness from my father. Family comes first— remembering that lesson dispels whatever unease creeps up my chest. Killing Ylio is not just a matter of revenge for my own sake; doing so eliminates a threat to my sisters. I cannot fail.
Twilight dims. Voices drift upward from the empty lot. Two figures round the corner of the broken-down building to chat in the ruins of the parking lot. One leans against the wall, looking relaxed, while the other scans in every direction, acting as lookout for threats.
I hear a soft crunch of footsteps far too close to me. I turn and see the silhouette of a third against the sky, standing on the opposite side of the roof from me. Did they leap up here just now? They’re keeping watch too, I realize, but whoever this is, they haven’t noticed me yet, their attention focused on the street below.
Shit, this is a complication I hadn’t planned for. The other person’s head turns in my direction, and I have no time to think before I fire my crossbow to stake the unexpected intruder in the heart. They collapse in near silence, the sound masked effectively by the city’s background noise of car traffic and distant sirens.
I check the body to be sure. Fangs. For the first time in years, I’ve killed a vampire again. Not even my target, just a witness, killed out of panic. Shit. Who were they? No identification, no Sarthe markings—or markings of any other clan I recognize—only a winged ouroboros tattoo on their back.
Did you have a family? Is there someone out there who will stay up wondering why you never came home? Or are you all alone in this world like those first poor, nameless victims of mine were?
I knew I might have to kill more than just Ylio. Liz said they have allies. I knew I might have to do this.
There will be time later to mourn the cost. Already I hear more voices approaching, and I think I recognize the imperious sound of my target’s among them. I reload my crossbow and wait for the right moment to spring the trap.
The three new figures approach the two. I hold my breath, straining to catch their words.
Ylio speaks first. “Look all around, the moon shines bright.”
“We and the dead make swift our flight,” replies the one leaning against the building with an air of ease.
The one on guard seems to relax after this exchange, and the two groups approach one another. Such a tight cluster of them, nearly ideal, but something makes me hesitate. That itch at the back of my mind returns. This isn’t what I expected to find. Something else is going on here.
“What news from Sarthe?”
Ylio makes a dismissive gesture. “The pieces move into place. No new risks. What obstacles remain are on track to be dealt with.”
The wail of a siren masks the reply, and by the time I pick out more words, Ylio is speaking again. “…your recovery efforts?”
“Our associates overseas have delivered his left hand to the courier. We anticipate delivery in a matter of weeks.”
“Should we be expecting you?”
“No. Best to avoid showing our faces. You’ll meet the courier directly.”
“I will set expectations accordingly.”
Shit, one of Ylio’s companions has broken away from the group, and the longer I wait, the more risk I take. It’s now or never. I twist my hand into the trigger sign and leap from my perch as artificial daylight blooms into life inside the parking lot.
Lucky break for me, the wary one was standing right at the center of the blast, and as the brief flash of light fades, all that remains of them is ash. With a twang, the one who stepped away from the blast is staked through the heart. I drop the crossbow and draw my sword.
Three badly charred vampires remain, staring me down with bloody murder in their eyes. It’s the dead of night, and their burns are healing right before my eyes, but right now I have a brief window of weakness to capitalize on. God, they’re still fast, though, dodging every swing of my blade as if I were moving in slow motion.
The one to my left lunges for me, fangs bared, and I nearly fail to raise my silvered bracer in time to defend myself. He screams in pain as the metal brands his skin, giving me an opening to strike that I have to abandon in order to dive away from the swipe of Ylio’s clawed hand.
I roll and leap to my feet, drawing a set of knives to fling in one smooth arc toward my attackers. Ylio bats one out of the air with contemptuous ease, but in a stroke of luck, one pierces the throat of the other vampire, dropping her to the ground as she hisses and claws in vain at the ensorcelled metal. She’s down, at least.
Ylio keeps coming for me, and they’re only getting faster and deadlier as their burns heal. The one who chomped my bracer is back in the fight too, and he’s furious. At the very least his blind outrage is making him a poor collaborator for Ylio, and the two interfere with one another enough for me to keep dancing out of their reach.
Still, all I can do with my sword is buy myself a little breathing room, one swing at a time. I utterly fail to land a single strike.
Then my luck takes a turn for the worse. I slip on loose gravel and tumble backward, and in a blink my assailant has pounced on me.
“You wretched little shit, I’ll make you—”
“Idiot.” I shut him up by ripping my talisman off its chain and shoving it in his mouth. You don’t stop to threaten someone in the middle of a fight, as I quickly demonstrate. When I speak the invocation, he bursts into flames. I kick the burning body at my last remaining opponent, making space to leap back to my feet.
“I know that voice. Elizabeth’s dog.”
Shit. “N-no…?” Good work, Hanna. That ought to throw them off the trail.
“You are.” Somehow they see through my cunning lie. “At last I begin to fit the pieces together. She has been hiding a vampire hunter in our midst this whole time.”
Ugh. I have one last trick up my sleeve, and I won’t be able to make it work unless they get in close. Worst case scenario, Ylio flees, knowing that I am a vampire hunter, and spreads the story of what happened here. No evidence of past heroics could save me from the condemnation that would follow. But more important than me is what would become of my sisters if they were believed to knowingly smuggle a hunter into a Sarthe stronghold.
“As if she knew.” I put as much scorn as I can muster into my voice. “You asked how a low-class vampire like her got a bloodbag of her own? I chose her for her gullibility. The status I could bring her was too good a deal to scrutinize very closely.”
I hope they buy it. Better for my sisters to be seen as fools than traitors.
“How I almost pity her.” Ylio shakes their head, accepting my story. Few things are easier than convincing someone that a person they despise is an idiot. “Ah, but instead I will enjoy using this secret to destroy her reputation.”
“You’ll have to kill me first. Without taking me as proof, nobody will believe the bloodbag you killed just got up and started murdering people back.” I grin and brandish my sword with a flourish. “But as you can see, I’m pretty hard to put down for good.”
“Cocky. But I have stalled for time long enough, and as you can see, I am back at full strength. Now, for the last time, I bid you goodbye, dog.”
Ylio moves in a blur almost too fast to track. In an instant, they are upon me, claws at my neck. My sword falls from my hand. The vampire’s deadly strike is slowed down only for the briefest moment by the gorget I wear.
However, I am ready for them, and that brief moment is all I need. I squeeze the trigger secreted in my palm and spray a fine mist of holy water—really a specially prepared emulsion of salt water and oils enhanced with theurgy—and the fine cloud halts the attack, forcing Ylio to recoil immediately.
Skin sizzles. They choke and gasp, inhaling more into their lungs, inspiring a paroxysm of coughing and hacking up blood. I run my sword through their chest, and the fight is over.
Numbly, moving on autopilot, I behead all four bodies, just the way I was taught, though only the one with the knife through her neck is still twitching and clinging to life.
Six vampires total, dead by my hand. None of them carry any identification on them, though all bear the same mark of the winged ouroboros. Except for one, I’ll never even know their names. Maybe in another life, we could have been friends.
Six more faces that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I drop to my knees and give myself permission to grieve.
Though my hands are stained with death, at least my family is safe.