Twisted Tales for Twisted Minds

The Deathstalker

"No, you don't want to go into a vampire's layer smelling like a predator." The man's teeth glinted in the firelight as he laughed at his audience. "Potions of this and tinctures of that—the creatures have the strongest sense of smell known to mankind, and you're going to advertise that you're there to kill them."

The young men weren't dumb. They knew fangs when they saw them, but this man, whatever he was, didn't ask for permission to sit by their fire, although public buildings weren't forbidden by custom.

"If you must go out with your talismans, close the glass bottles with your cork-and-wax, then wash the outside of the glass with a normal soap—before you put it in a leather sack. You want them thinking, 'This is prey', and not of the fight you're going to give them."

"Then how do you get to them, master?" One of the more shrewd members of the group decided on the rash question, brave among his host of comrades.

The man winced. "I live with humans; don't call me what I cannot be. I'm well aware of my teeth."

"Then what are you, sir?"

"I don't know. If I happen to be anything like them, none of the concoctions work on me, and because of that, I don't bother with anything beyond what you would carry into a normal fight. I have noticed, though, that keeping a distance from kills is more effective than close combat. This close, and you'd run the risk of being entranced."

The young men leaned back a hair—truly, involuntary—but the man couldn't help but chuckle at them.

One of the quieter ones spoke up next. "What is your suggestion, then?"

"Stay close to the entrance or another source of light—they will not come out during the day, true to legend. Have a bow and plenty of arrows. Try shooting them in the eyes. If you can blind them, light won't protect you from them any longer, but they will burn as they scrabble over your flesh. They are weak, then. Kill them quickly. Do not delay until dark if you think you have them all to search for treasures. Odds are one will have holed up, waiting for your guard to drop. Go through a nest multiple times on separate days before declaring it cleared."

"What of fire?" This was a young woman who walked into their midst—another stranger to the bar—that night.

"It does little good to bring fire in." The man frowned at the woman as his nose twitched, as if her perfume was too cloying. "Some can wield it—which means that they control your weapon. Most cannot, but if the choice is their death or their death and yours, they will risk the flames to end you both. Like the tinctures, they make the beast desperate, and a creature who is stronger, often smarter than you, being desperate? You will lose."

That gave the woman's lips a small curve of a smile as she glanced at the fire. The man himself whipped a blade out as he stood and held it to her throat, causing the younger men to fall back. Her grin became a feral thing, showing the true length his fangs didn't quite have.

"You dare much, deathstalker."

The man ignored the vampire to speak to the young men who were getting back up to gather their weapons. "I avoid these fights in taverns at night, boys. So should you. Put the weapons down."

"But..."

The creature laughed. "Do as he says. My master bid me here to bring his son home."

"Son?" A small touch of dread covered the man.

She looked over towards one of the youths—a strong, burly blond, one of the many farmboys the area boasted. "He's got my sire's blood, but he is human. My master did not tell me how it was done or when. I am to escort him back—and you—to meet him."