Even after a hunt is over, it’s never easy for Caspar to relax. There are many factors contributing to his paranoia, but loneliness had to be one of the biggest ones. He's had enough close calls, thinking he was in the clear, only to be trapped by a straggler he overlooked. 

Having other hunters around should minimize that fear, but really, it doesn’t. Even with his family or Jacob around, a new kind of danger arises: don’t say the wrong thing, don’t fuck up, don't look at them wrong, don’t be a burden, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t—don’t do anything to make them mad. To make them leave you again. 

That’s why, despite the safety in numbers, Caspar often works alone when his mom doesn’t need him. It’s just easier to worry about the monsters. Even if it means waking up in a cold sweat every morning, expecting teeth and fangs and claws at his throat. 

However, hunting with Malakai is turning out to be quite a different experience.

Caspar gets up around 8AM today, pale blue light streaming in from the window.

 He slowly sits up from bed, ignoring the twinge of pain in his neck. Up in the cubby, above the driver’s seat, is a dark shape nestled in covers. Malakai is cloaked in shadow, nothing more than a lump in his bed. 

Is Malakai a deep sleeper? Probably not…what hunter is? 

Caspar moves carefully as he gets up. Unfortunately, his injury is still making him clumsy. He curses as his foot hits the coffee table, rattling it hard.

 His heart jolts, expecting an enraged yell.

But Malakai is not Delilah Shaw. So instead of anger, Caspar is met with Malakai’s bedhead and a startled look, only his head peeking from the cocoon of blankets. He blinks down at Caspar with sleepy eyes. “Good morning.”

“Morning. Um. Sorry. I was just trying to get some water.”

Malakai stretches, turning to let lithe brown legs dangle over the side of the cot. “You’re fine. Better to be woken by you than the monsters. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. Still a little sore. I was hoping to be more improved by now.”

“It’s only been a night since you had a near-death experience. Don’t push yourself.”

“Hard not to, knowing that people could be dying.”

Malakai hums in agreement, hopping down from the cubby with a duffle bag in hand. As he pulls off his shirt, Caspar focuses on fiddling with the kettle.

“Want to go with me today to the church?”

Caspar watches the heating coil turn red slowly. “To burn it down?”

“No, for clues on your ‘demon.’ Should be safer than trying to hunt down whatever’s chewing up the local herds. At least when you’re in that state.”

Caspar doesn’t like that idea. His survival instincts are kicking in hard. Nothing good will come of finding that damn demon. “You think that a demon is easier to hunt down?”

“No, I think that regardless of what this thing wants, it let me walk straight into that church and leave with you alive. It doesn’t seem very possessive of the area, so we should go back and see if we can find any hints about how to keep it away.”

“Still…”

“Look, right now the highest risk we’re facing is this thing attacking us when we’re not prepared, like when one of us is asleep. If we have to fight it, I’d rather try to take it head on while we’re expecting it. Right?”

“I guess so.”

“Besides, burning the place down might not be a bad idea. We need to roast any stragglers.”

The water begins to boil. Caspar turns the heat off as he pulls out his coffee press, measuring out four generous scoops of cheap, pre-ground, vanilla bean coffee. A comforting smell rises from the press as he pours the steaming water in. “They’re dead. They’re definitely all dead.”

“You sound pretty certain.” Malakai says.

Caspar pours two cups of black coffee. He takes a sip, taking a comforting sip of bitterness. “The contract was clear: I kill the head vampire, the demon kills all the vampires in Redpine. If there were any survivors, it would be here. Breathing down my neck.”

“Freaky visual.”

“You think that’s scary, imagine seeing the damn thing for yourself.”

Malakai finishes getting dressed. He’s now in a distressed band T-shirt and some baggy jeans. He puts a hairband in his mouth as he starts to put his hair up. “Sho? What you fink? Should vee head over?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go back.” 

After coffee and a light energy bar breakfast, Caspar drives the van back into Redpine. 

His heart jolts as he passes the welcome sign. As they pull up to the church, more unease washes over him. They arrive in time for what would be the morning service. But no cars are parked out front. The doors are closed and the lights are off. The last sermon was long over.

Malakai seems less affected. He unbuckles his seatbelt immediately, stepping out of the van with his knife drawn. Caspar follows behind him with the gun, feeling a little stupid for not giving Malakai the ranged weapon. He's not small by any means, but Caspar is taller by a good 5 inches. If anyone should be attacking monsters head-on with a knife, it should be him.

Malakai holds no reservations, either way. He strides into the church with head held high. Caspar walks in more timidly, observing the chapel—

“What the fuck?” Caspar gasps.

The church is just as it was before. The gentle morning light beams down in hues of red and gold from the stained glass, illuminating the wooden pews, altar, and crucifix. But what’s freaking him out is that everything is in immaculate condition.  There are no bodies. No broken glass and torn bibles. No sign of the brutal, bloody, massacre Caspar witnessed. 

“I remember a lot of dead vampires here,” Malakai says.

“No shit, Sherlock! Where did they go?”

“Well, unless the authorities noticed and cleaned everything up, it must be the demon’s work. Right?”

“If the authorities noticed, there would be an article in the news about it. At the very least, they’d say it was a shooting or something.”

“Hunters then?”

“More likely, but I’ve never met a hunter who’d go to such lengths. I mean, even the carpet is spotless. I don’t think a hunter is going to pull out the peroxide to clean the fucc’n bloodstains.”

“Definitely not.”

Malakai strides up to the altar, running his finger across the shiny laminated surface. “You were right here when I found you, bleeding all over the place.”

“Don’t touch it, shit,” says Caspar.

“Why not?”

“What if it’s cursed?”

Malakai shrugs. “Well, I already had my hands all over you dragging you out, so I think that ship has sailed.”

Caspar ejects that visual from his head immediately. Nope nope bad thoughts. “Jesus Christ—”

“I don’t think he’s here right now.”

“Just follow me.” 

Caspar takes the lead, despite the pounding of his heart desperately trying to convince him to choose otherwise. After leaving the chapel, they pass by the mess hall and finally reach the dorms. Caspar peeks inside the room he stayed briefly before moving on down the hall. After a quick scan of the other rooms, they’re in front of the last door of the hall.

Caspar’s gun is sweaty in his hands. “Alright, this is where I found the demon. Be careful.”

He checks the sigils on the doorframe. They’re no longer visible at all, not even an ugly smear of red. He places his ear to the door. “I don’t hear anything. Get the door,” he whispers.

 Malakai nods. With a strong kick, the ancient wood splinters at the hinges, swinging open with a dramatic bang! Caspar steps in first, gun raised. His eyes sweep the room. 

“It’s gone,” he grunts.

Caspar lowers his gun, walking to where the pentagram was. There's only a smudged imprint on the floor now. He steps into the middle, turning around slowly as he attempts to make out any of the symbols once painted there. “This is where the demon was being held. There was a symbol on the ground.”

Malakai approaches. He walks around the edge of the pentagram, careful not to cross the boundary. “Looks like it didn’t want you finding out how to catch it again.”

“Fuck. This is the only thing I could think of doing to keep it away.”

“It couldn't leave the circle?”

“No. Apparently it just…stood here for years. Maybe decades. It was keeping contracts with the head vampires.” 

“Damn. But if it was being kept trapped, that means the head vampire knew a little about its weaknesses, right? Maybe he left some record of that somewhere?” 

“Doubt it. But let's check the other rooms.”

They leave the barren room, moving methodically through the rest of the hall. Most rooms are bare, left just as pristine as Caspar remembers. He tries not to let his frustration get the better of him. The hunt has only just begun.

After the last room, Malakai speaks up. “We should try the sacristy.”

“The what?”

“In the chapel. It’s the room a priest prepares for their sermon. If the head vampire had anything of note, I bet he would keep it there."

They retrace their steps, returning to the chapel. Malakai leads the way, moving confidently towards a small door to the side of the altar. He pushes it open, revealing inky darkness. 

Caspar flicks the switch on the wall hesitantly, expecting a gruesome sight of blood-drained corpses, human skulls, and sharp weapons. Instead, he finds a mundane room filled with bookshelves, a desk, and cabinet-lined walls.

Malakai peers inside, knife held ready. After a moment, he lowers it. 

“It’s clear,” Malakai says, entering.

Caspar follows him in. Everything here feels uncannily calm and quiet. 

They begin to methodically search through the drawers and shelves. In the corner, Caspar finds, disgustingly, a fridge filled to the brim with grimy wine bottles filled with maroon-black blood. Each of them are labeled with a date and name. 

Malakai wanders over. “Guess this was the priest’s private stash. A little organized for vampires. Even has best-by dates.”

“They’re all labeled as from Ruth. That must be the demon’s name. Maybe it’s short for ruthless.”

“Ruth is the name of a woman from the bible. Maybe the head vampire named it after her.”

“Ruth is a biblical name?”

“Yep. Ever heard of the Book of Ruth?”

“Missed that one in vacation Bible school.”

“And Ruth replied, ‘Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried.’”

“Damn. That's romantic.”

Malakai snorts. “She’s talking to her Mother-in-law in that verse.”

“Oh. Never mind.”

“Well, maybe she was a biblical MILF.”

Caspar laughs out loud before sharply covering his mouth. Malakai gives him a shit-eating grin before turning back to his search. Caspar shuts the fridge, trying to dismiss the words ‘biblical Milf” from his head.

He wanders over to where Malakai is searching through the papers on the desk. Caspar opens a drawer. Inside is an intricate silver and oak crucifix. He holds it up. “You don’t suppose this would help, do you?”

“Maybe. You should put it up over your bed.”

Caspar hums. He runs his fingers over the smooth figurine of Jesus on the cross. “Are you religious?”

“I am. Are you?”

“I used to be. Kinda hard to be now after what I've seen. How can a kind God be real if things like demons are running around? Don’t you ever have doubts?”

“Never said I thought God was kind.”

Caspar darts his eyes to Malakai. In the dimness of the sacristy, his eyes seem to glint sharply as his mouth curves into a sly smile. Caspar’s heart jumps nervously and he looks away, clenching the cross harder. 

He clears his throat as he returns to the search. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, they find something. Malakai’s searching a high shelf, standing on a chair to reach the very back. He leans forward, his hand landing on an ornate wooden box. Carefully, he retrieves it, turning it this way and that as he steps down. "This might be something." 

Caspar studies it. There’s a small combination lock keeping it shut. “Let’s take it with us. I have a bolt cutter in the van—”

Malakai interrupts, yanking sharply on the lock. The metal bends and snaps with ease. Caspar gapes. “Shit! You broke it?”

Malakai shrugs, throwing the lock away. “It’s cheaper than it looks. They put aluminum in the newer ones.”

“Oh…”

Unphased, Malakai opens the box, finding a well-worn leather-bound notebook inside. “Ooh. Shit. I hope this isn’t human leather.”

“Human leather is lighter colored, and it wrinkles around the edges more.”

Malakai looks up from the box with a blank look. Caspar stares back. Shit. He said something weird again, didn't he? “Just hand it over. It might be cursed.”

Malakai gives the box to Caspar. Watching for signs of dark magic, Caspar cautiously retrieves the book from inside and opens to the first page. He reads the first passage out loud. “This journal belongs to Douglas Young. If you are reading this, your soul is forfeit.”