I awoke gasping, my body heaving unable to gather air. I had bolted out of my sleep, awakened by something, but thankful for it. My mind flashed with images of the people that had been slaughtered while my eyes tried to focus on the darkness in my room. I breathed in slowly, adrenaline coursing through my veins, my body bent deep over my knees. My ears picked up on the sound of my phone chirping in its case, the savior that had woken me from remembering the torture he inflicted with that barbed tongue. At the thought of my child hood tormenter, I shivered. My skin was covered in a mist of cold sweat, the dark cotton sheets sticking to my body. I wrapped my arms around my shoulders and tried to calm myself.
This can't be happening. It had been years since I had had those dreams. Unfortunately, whether I hadn't had the dream in nearly five years or not, my mind still remembered each detail of the demon - his barbed tongue touching her jawline leaving those bloody punctures on her pale skin. Elise's scream still sounded in my mind. I had forgotten so much about her, but never her last scream.
My phone chirped again and I grabbed it. Illuminating my room, I blinked at the screen to see who the hell had the balls to call me at this hour.
"Someone better be dead," I growled as I squinted my eyes. It felt like the light was boring a whole into my brain and I swore as my eyes desperately tried to adjust A red unknown number blinked back at me.
It was two a.m. I had barely been asleep for an hour and a half and though I didn't recognize the number I still answered it.
"Vincent," I mumbled sleepily into the phone, running my hand across my mouth in an attempt to wipe any remaining drool from my lips.
"Good Evening, Vincent," answered a cold male voice on the other line. I didn't recognize the voice and even though I had earned a bad reputation for causing trouble in high school, it was only my second week back in Boston. Not nearly long enough for random people to be calling my cell phone, and I had an unlisted number.
I propped myself up on my knees, suddenly more awake, the nightmare beginning to fade into the back of my mind. "Now.. Now.. How did you get this number."
The voice on the line laughed, soft and slightly accented. I couldn't quiet place the accent though. Definitely European...
"I have a job for you."
Wonderful.
"I am out of that business," I growled, hanging up. I dropped the phone onto the sheets and massaged my temples. How the hell had someone found me so quickly?
The plan had been to stay out of trouble this time. I had even promised my sister to get a nice retail job till I figured out what I wanted to do with my life.
I had left Boston when I was sixteen. Well, left Boston wasn't accurate. I had been sent away to live with my grandfather in Arizona after I had nearly gotten myself killed. After I had gone off the grid with my partner, Avery, and had tried to kill the demon who had tortured me as a child. I swallowed down the lump of misery and self-loathing that haunted my memories. It had been eight years. I had changed. I wasn't a silly dhamphri trying to prove to the world that I could make a difference. And after nearly dying and losing my best friend, well, someone else could deal with the monsters.
And it was the BSU's job anyways. The BSU was, quite simply, the Boston Supernatural Unit, which protected the city and it's suburbs. It was comprised of both supernatural creatures and human detectives trained to deal with all the things that went bump in the night. But since the things that went bum in the night were U.S. Citizens, you couldn't go play Buffy and kill them all. Even the monsters had rights. But since a normal police force wouldn't be able to take on the monsters, the BSU was formed. Using forensics and behavioral mapping, they policed the rogue supernaturals but instead of locking them up, they were authorized to kill. There were no second chances. That was the agreement that was made between the Supernatural Counsels and the Human Government.
It's scary how differently things could have gone if you think about it. We had been on the brink of World War III. I'm taking nukes, possible world annihilation. The United States had called the supernaturals heroes, since they had been the major turning point in ending the potential war. And why wouldn't they help keep the world from ending? If human kind killed themselves, they would also be killing the food source - humans.
The media sang the selfless act made by Supernaturals. And the next thirty years had been an easy assimilation of the human and supernatural communities. So the supernaturals got to keep the silly humans from nuking each other, and the Government declared them war heroes. The United States now held the largest populace of Supernaturals, because they were accepted.
Europe was a different story. It was no shock that the Vatican is a World Power in itself and they were no strangers to the supernaturals. No, they had been hunting them since the dawn of time... The Vatican completely pulled its support from all Governments, resorting to a Templar-like secrecy. Europe was still pretty rough for the supernaturals. Maybe not the liberal England and France but once you got outside of the Allied countries, being an "abomination" would get you killed. A lot of supernaturals had immigrated or sought asylum in the United States. Thirty years later, there were nearly as many vampires and lycanthropes in the House Senate as humans, and the Pope definitely didn't come visit the States anymore.
My mind was reeling. I stepped out of bed, my bare feet against the cold hard wood floor. I left my room and headed for the stairs to the kitchen. I was thirsty and stressed from the call and the nightmare. I doubted I would be any more sleep tonight.
My living room was still a maze of boxes. Arizona had been a nice getaway for the last eight years. I had finished my last year of high school, gone to college, had even double majored in Criminology and Psychology. I had been away from everyone I cared about and yet, it had been refreshing. My grandfather and I had never been close - maybe because he lived so far away from my father in Massachusetts, and the bad blood between my father and him. It had given me a chance to start over - quiet the fear and shame of who and what I was to a far distant corner of my mind. I just pretended to be normal.
Neither community looks too kindly on what I am: dhamphri. Half-Breed. Abomination. Half vampire and half human. The thing is, instinctually humans knew they were the prey, and the supernatural was the predator. There was always that separation. A line drawn in the sand. Humans regarded me as different, once they figured out I wasn't one of them. The vampire community saw me as something worse, something that could destroy their line. You just don't breed with your food. I'm sure any vampire who saw me wondered why my mother didn't kill me at birth, instead of abandoning me with my human father.
Most didn't notice that I was anything but human unless I did something to call attention to it, though. Keeping my head down in Arizona had been my escape.
Until my grandfather died.
There hadn't really been anything for me at that point. No family here and even though I had gone through the motions of creating a life there - it had felt fake. Everything felt fake once my grandfather was gone.
I padded down the hall, my feet scuffling against the wooden floor and headed for the bathroom. A warm bath would help relax my mind, I lied to myself, knowing that it wouldn't chase away the nightmares but still I opened the panel wood door to the bathroom. And cringed. I had almost forgotten about the dingy lime green wallpaper with little fruits and golden lines laced throughout it. I paused, unbuttoning my pants, before leaning over and grabbing the stopper for the tub. It was slimy under my fingers. Twenty-two hundred dollars to rent this shit apartment and they couldn't even clean it up a bit. I threw the stopper in the sink and rubbed the slime off, a classic procrastinating way to fix my problem. The white stopper was still flecked with black but it wouldn't hurt me. Jamming it into the hole, I threw on the hot water and let it fill up.
I took off my oversized shirt, kicked my panties under the porcelain toilet and slid into the tub, trying to feel the relaxing and relieving feelings that my bubble bath promised I would soon feel. Tomorrow was the big day. I would be starting my new glamorous job at the local bookstore. I sighed as I sank deeper into the tub.
I wanted to leave. I wanted to go out and do something, but I couldn't make my body go. It was like an itch, being back in Boston. I could smell the other supernaturals of the city and I wanted, so desperately, to take that step. I had taken so many steps to make sure BSU didn't know I was back in town. Maybe I needed to join a gym... a dojo. Get out some of the aggressive energy that was plaguing me.
I had figured out at a young age what I was, but not by choice. The man that had come into my room was a demon. Sure, most humans knew about witches, vampires, and weres, there were others monsters out there. This demon was one of the old ones who had thought it would be fun to torment me. The demon, Malak, had been lose since the early seventeen hundreds and had long become bored with mortals, until he found me, his new play thing. He had a power to call me, as if I somehow belonged to him, and I found myself back in that clearing, year after year, always unsure how I had gotten there. And while his power could call me, he was unable to cast a glamour on me, to force me to follow his orders. Instead, he would force me to watch him torture and finally kill whoever he fancied. I knew some of them. My nanny. The little girl who had gone missing down the street. He tried to force me to give into my blood lust, my predatory instincts that surfaced as I watched, captivated by the blood that part of me yearned for. And I would have to stay, refusing his 'gifts to me' struggling to keep what little humanity I had left.
"Just a little taste for the wee dhamphri," he would laugh, his voice thick with a Persian accent.
I would watch, my teeth beginning to grow as I bit hard into my own lip, refusing to take a step forward, unable to take a step backward.
It had gone on for years from the early age of five till I was sixteen. Too many bodies had surfaced and the BSU had issued a warrant for the demon. My best friend and partner, Avery had joined me on a hunt. The hunt that had nearly killed me and scarred my leg. He got away and rumor was that someone else had capitalized on the warrant.
It didn't matter to me. As long as he was dead.
If it hadn't been for Malak, I probably could have assimilated better into the human world. Because I refused to drink blood, I had very few vampiric traits. A little faster than most, genetically agile, better vision. And on that note, there were lots of vampiric legends that the humans believed that wasn't real.
Vampires couldn't make someone a vampire. A myth created probably by vampires to keep humans enthralled to them. The hope to become immortal. No. They couldn't turn you into a vampire, but they could feed off of you to the point where you were nothing more than an enslaved ghoul, addicted to the vampiric lifestyle. There had been rumors that the vampires would share their blood with their ghouls, giving them some super human abilities, but those wore off just like the high of any drug. You were either born as a vampire or you weren't. And honestly, even if there was some secret fraternity that could turn you into a vampire, they were too full of themselves to actually allow a human to be one of them.
Vampires could walk in the sunlight. Garlic, crosses, streams, and that other garbage didn't affect them. But still the myths lived on.
And while I could pretend to be part of the human world, it was impossible to be undetected by a supernatural. I mean sometimes, with enough distraction, I could fool them into thinking I wasn't human, dragging out the time before they discovered I was a half breed. They saw themselves as the more superior race, not to be intermingled with humans. Which was okay because they didn't really float my boat anyways. I had been forced to embrace my abilities to stay alive. Forced to live in that world because of Malak. But I had made the decision to become their executioner, to hunt them down. I had even been on the BSU payroll. It gave me a chance to use my innate skills which in turn helped me learn how to manage my blood lust. More violence in my diet the less I craved blood. It seemed odd but it worked for me. Hunting also kept me on my toes, giving me the opportunity to try to fight back. It was probably why I'd managed to stay alive so long.
Soon the water was cold, and my hands were wrinkled and peeling. I felt neither relaxed nor relieved but I didn't see the point in seeing if a second bath would do the trick. Wrapping a tattered towel around me, I walked into the kitchen and looked around. This was my life. There was no point in being depressed. What's it that everyone always has in their email signatures and profiles? Everything gets better in the end, and if it doesn't, it's not the end or some bullshit like that. But, at least it was mine. No one could take it away from me. No one could tell me what to do with it.
I had a small inheritance my Grandfather had left me. With that and a retail job, I'd be able to keep my head above the water... for a little while. Maybe.
I think that's when I started to drink the whiskey. I awoke the next morning with the nasty taste of SoCo coating the inside of my dry mouth. My head was pounding and I had, of course, about an hour to make it to my new job. With a few slight tricks of hand, I twisted by reddish brown curls and clipped them into a French twist. I fussed with my makeup hoping I could hide the dark circles of a hangover from under my eyes and gave up after trying my luck with mascara and eyeliner. Deciding I looked as good as I was going to get, I pulled on some pin stripe pants and a white dress shirt. I looked professional, my tanned skin accentuating my naturally high cheekbones. My hazel eyes were the only things that told me I wasn't fooling anybody. Unlike my father's eyes which were a warm brown, I had gotten my mother's hazel eyes that slipped from any shade of green or grey with my mood.
Walking out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, I felt the silence of my apartment press against me. Boxes had yet to be unpacked, stacked haphazardly everywhere, and I wondered silently how on earth I made it to the bedroom in my state last night. My coffee cup was on the ground, shattered in the kitchen, with a brown tabby cat, preening itself on the counter.
The OTHER thing my Grandfather had left me. The friggin cat had been worshipped by my Grandfather, even having it's own dish at dinner time.
"Life's gonna change for you, you little shit," I growled, picking him up and dropping him onto the floor. I may have agreed to take responsibility for him, repaying my grandfather's kindness by not dumping it's ass off at ASPCA, but he'd be a cat in my house.
It yowled at me, taking off into the maze of boxes as I leaned down to pick up the shattered cup.
Cat: 1. Vincent: 0.