Monsters to Servants

Chapter One: The Mesmer

He leveled the shotgun and stepped across creaking floorboards. He could see a staircase alongside the hallway, and various doorways. To his left, a dining room with candles. Smoke drifted light into his nostrils. Recently extinguished. To his right, a general parlor. Talking room, sitting room, living room. Old houses had different names for things, all he could really tell was a variety of furniture without a TV. There was an old box of some sort that might have been a radio once. Smashed open and raided for parts ages ago.

A creak. From above. His head swiveled towards the ceiling. A deep breath through his nostrils. Unclear, but definitely metallic.

"What does your elf nose smell?"

Mac spun around and almost pulled the trigger on a smiling and sober Demetrius. "Jesus! Fuck!" Mac panted, lowering his gun and putting a hand to his chest.

"Ah, I don't think God or the Virgin Mary or, fucking, the Saint... Patrick?"

"Peter!"

"Saint Peter, right, don't think any of them care much for that tongue, mister."

"Demetrius... Do me a favor and consider for once that there are humans, or worse, in this house, potentially wielders of powerful magic? Have you got that in your rotting little brain?"

"I see someone's not drinking their respect-elders juice in the mornings." Demetrius sighed and crossed his arms, walking lazily towards the staircase.

Mac frowned. "The fuck are you on about?"

"Sh." Demetrius held up a hand and pointed at the ceiling. More creaking. Steady, rhythmic. Someone was walking around up there. With his eyes still cast upward, he whispered, "Listen, sorry for the intoxication. I'm fine now. Mostly. I really didn't have a choice in the- anyway. Whoever's here certainly has a lot of power at their disposal, but they're just pouring it out, it's everywhere. I'm getting juiced up by the second just soaking in all the magic hanging in the air, can't you feel that?"

Mac hesitated to answer, gritting his teeth. "That would explain some things."

Demetrius looked back at his partner. "Like what?"

A thud slammed above them. Mac shoved past Demetrius and started barging up the stairs. "Nothing, let's just do this!"

"Do you ever think about, like, why we really do that?" Demetrius lifted a forkful of eggs into his mouth, not bothering to stop talking.

Mac blinked, and set his hands to clench the booth on either side of him. The diner wasn't noisy, but the occasional clinks of glasses or silverware still set him on edge. He shook his head. "Uh, why we do what?"

Demetrius raised his coffee mug and took a long gulp. Mac's eyes widened in shock, but his partner didn't seem to notice. "The room thing, pay attention! Every time we go somewhere, we get separate rooms. I get that when we first met, it was all coincidental, right? Oh, we both happen to be chasing the same vampire? Well, I'm staying down the road if you need anything. You know? And then we were, um, I guess I'll meet you in... what was it, was it Chicago the first time we did it on purpose? Anyway, we got rooms separately, but when we started, you know, working together, did it just become routine? Surely we know each other enough by now that we can, er, stay in the same room?"

Demetrius sliced off the end of a sausage and raised his fork to his mouth, but Mac shot out his hand to frantically grab him by the wrist. Demetrius looked surprised and concerned. "Mac? What-"

"Demi, you're about to eat a sausage. You drank coffee."

Demetrius furrowed his brow in bewilderment, about to scoff and laugh it off, and then he looked down at his plate. Crumbs of eggs he'd already eaten. A couple of sausage links. A half-eaten pancake. His eyes went hollow as he stared emptily at the plate, then frantically around at the surrounding diner. His eyes, wide and afraid, landed on Mac.