Well, I’ll be damned.

The ragged hem of her robe disappeared into the dark mouth of the collapsed hovel like it was swallowing a dangling strip of flesh.

Every town from here to the coast is filled to the brim with a mob that’ll trip over themselves to tell you what’s wrong and even more ecstatic to tell you who’s the cause. Credit to the people of Folwood — it’s not so often that they manage to get it right.

I gave a gentle tap and a soft click to Sally’s nape before stepping off. He was used to quiet jobs and long waits and seemed to have more patience than even me. He folded up nicely, with the sliver of the moon reflected in his dark eyes.

The faint moonlight lit the hovel just enough — from any further it would’ve been indistinguishable from a pile of wood and a simple tarp. Maybe you’d think, “I wonder what happened to that carriage, collapsed way out there?” as you rode on by. Who knew it was home to vermin. But that’s par for the course in the desert.

I like to think I don’t dress loud — but the soft clink of the tools of my trade were probably like church bells to them. Maybe she knew I followed her. Maybe she didn’t. But as I grew closer to the den — they’d damn well know now.

I had one last look at its face; a few boards nailed into a doorway leaned over the ground, tracks following the earth in at a steep angle, before drawing my revolver and driving the heel of my boot into rotten wood. It caved in easy and I followed through like a landslide.

Everything I saw my revolver saw first, followed by my feet and then me. Low ceiling. Gradual slope. Straight path to the heart. Faint light down the end. Practically a dirt tunnel. No noises. Deathly quiet.

I had to cant my head to the side and buckle my knees to get through evenly but I’ve shot clean in worse.

The tunnel opened up into what looked like a cottage if it sank six feet into the ground. Wood beams and the lot. Two doorways with dirty cloth curtains. A tiny hearth built into the side, a small table in the centre, an old rug racked with dirt.

And in the corner — a pair of eyes and fangs, glowing white in the dark, bending low. The girl I’d been tracking. Another pair of lit eyes a foot to the side, peering out from behind one of the curtains. Younger. My hammer was already pulled back, could have ‘em both marked in a heartbeat. The one behind the curtain less so, don’t know how far back that goes. But I wasn’t about to fire blind without knowing how many more were down here. My left hand kept at the ready for either knives or vials.

“Hunter — perhaps you might first wonder why a vampire den would keep a light on for their guest who has come to harm them.” Came a voice from behind a curtain. Male. Older. “Might I emerge so that we can converse, preferably without any gunpowder involved?”

Three. I’ve had dogfights with twice that. Though, this might be the first time they wanted to talk first. It’d be easy enough to just pull the trigger and pick up my bounty. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different here. He was right. The light was on, flickering softly in the dark.

“Alright.”

A dark figure pulled itself out of the side chamber — a broad heavyset man with a beard and unkempt brown hair that came together like a lion’s mane. He would’ve looked like any other farmer except for his black eyes, and pale skin — like moonlight.

I could feel the electricity of his presence in the back of my neck. Sally would understand. Horses scatter for any reason at all, sure, but sometimes they scatter for the right reason. I had to fight the urge to scatter myself.

“I’m going to take a seat at my table. Would you mind taking a seat yourself, say at that stool and lowering your gun?” His voice was like if a beer cask could talk.

There’s a voice that tells me when to fold, when to push, when a simple drink at a bar with a couple of fellows is the precursor to a bloodbath. I tried to listen to anything it had to say, but it was quiet. I was on my own. I should’ve been terrified. But something about him made me want to listen.

I gently eased up on the hammer and put a crook my arm as I sat down. Wasn’t about to holster it, but I can concede it ain’t much fun talking to the end of a barrel.

“My name is Sieger. These are my daughters,” he said motioning — slowly, for my sake — to the one in the corner, “Mary,” and the one behind the curtain, “Lyssa.” “We’ve lived here 8 years. In peace.”

Hrm. 8 years, huh?

Not exactly a newly stricken blight that’s the cause of all Folwood’s woes.

“You might not be in the profession of understanding, but we truly desire not to cause any problems. We fed from our very own cattle as long as we could but — ”

“Certainly not a surprise it died.” I threw one out there to see how he’d react. Maybe not my sanest move.

His thick brow twitched. “ — Not true, hunter. She fed us for years. But Lyssa — she’s sick. She needed twice the blood just to make it to the next morning. We took too much from our cattle, I admit, and so I sent Mary to take only fractions from the farmers in Folwood. She blends in more than I do — and I would never allow for us to take from the folk. Never, you understand?”

Maybe it was just the light finally adjusting. Maybe I hadn’t really looked at Mary until then. A vampire, sure, but she was a young girl. Maybe 16. Dark hair like her dad’s. Wrapped in a tattered brown robe that might as well have been a potato sack. Smudges like left-over coffee stained her bare feet, hands, and knees from where she’d been crawling. Fierce dark blue eyes shone above another smear from where she had tried to get some mud off her face. I couldn’t help but think back to her hissing in the corner — she would’ve gladly gone out swingin’.

“It’s alright Lyssa. Come out.” Sieger turned to her.

The smaller pair of eyes glinting in the dark hesitated. Mary turned and whispered something. No fangs out now. Lyssa pushed through the gap in the curtain. She was a child, probably 11 or 12. Long dark hair down to her ankles and wearing a similarly grungy white dress.

Vampires are pale, sure — in the dim light of their home I could see neither Mary nor Lyssa were quite as stark pale as their dad; muted red tones dotted the edges of their ears, the knuckles on their fingers, the fronts of their knees — but even I could see something was wrong with Lyssa. Her skin was greenish and a thin yellow crust marred the edges of her mouth. The bags under her eyes were pallid and thin.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed it. My daughters aren’t pure-blooded. Lyssa has some strange disease we’ve never seen before. It’s already been four months since my wife left to meet our contact in Avalan. Please, hunter, I need your help.”

Wait.

I had to blink deeply. “Now, hold on, I can admit I ain't exactly unempathetic to your circumstances—but you do realize I’m a vampire hunter, right?”

“And I, a vampire. And yet here we are, sitting at a table. You may have killed many vampires but that too means you have seen our kind. You might not have understood us, but perhaps now you might at least try.”

I opened my mouth to respond but he was quick to point to my side.

“I don’t mean to ask you to do this for free. There’s $500 in that bag right there. You get to my wife, she’ll give you another 500.”

I glanced down. A satchel sat at the base of the stool. I pushed it with the tip of my boot and heard the clatter of coins. Definitely money.

A thousand dollars from a vampire living in a hole in a ground. Guess he had ample time to save.

“I would go myself, but as you might understand, it is not so easy for me to travel unnoticed.” His head tilted and one blink lasted a little too long. I could feel him crumple, even if he didn’t show it. Not to mention, he was the real deal. Sunlight? Bit of an allergy.

I sighed maybe the last sigh I’d have as a bonafide vampire hunter. I didn’t even realize I had made a decision before my revolver was already in its holster. Mary and Lyssa were bunched up looking at me like a pair of barn owls. I opened my mouth again but Sieger was quicker on the draw.

“Thank you, hunter. Lyssa, Mary, get your things.” The two scurried off into their rooms.

“Wait—”

“Lyssa won’t make it waiting here in this tomb. You have to take them to their mother. They’ll surely have a treatment for her in Avalan.”

Christ. “Sieger, I—“

“Hunter, you may not trust me. You may not trust vampires. But I trust you.”

I took a look at the man. He could’ve been a crazed lumberjack, but instead he was one of the most eloquent and polite people I’d ever met. Maybe the most trusting. And he was a vampire.

Lyssa and Mary were back with boots at least this time and a small bag each for their things. I gave them some distance as Sieger said his goodbyes. Some quiet words and a deep hug that lifted both his daughters off their feet. Lyssa buried her brow in his chest.

“Don’t worry, he’ll keep you safe.”

Maybe he said that for them. Maybe he said it for me.

Maybe I didn’t understand vampires. But it looks like I was going to have to try.