The moon is my best friend, and no, that doesn't make me a werewolf. I'm not a vampire either, but a vampire is why I'm out and about this late at night. No, I don't want to date one. I'm not Sookie or Bella. I'm Rebel, and this is what I do. I hunt vampires or werewolves or whatever I'm paid to. I hunt them, and I bring them in, or I kill them. It's all a matter of preference—the client's preference.
That’s right. I’m Rebel, and I’m a supernatural bounty hunter.
The warm breeze causes my long, wavy brown hair to cover the bottom half of my face. I don’t bother to brush my hair back. It always does what it wants anyhow.
My knees ache from my crouched position. I'm perched on a rooftop, waiting for the vampire in question to make an appearance. For a few days now, I've been tailing him. Marco Russo. Italian, possibly from the Renaissance period. At least that's what the client believes.
High above me, the moon is beautiful, swollen, and majestic. Her silvery rays illuminate even the darkest corners of the alley below me. Marco is a rather boring, cliché vampire. He likes to drink from his victims in alleys. I suppose that's better than luring them back to his house, but I haven't been able to find his house, so it's just as well he drinks in public. Presumably, he rushes off to his house after he feeds, but some of the myths about vampires are true. They do have super speed, and while I've taken down vampires and other supernatural baddies before, I don't have super speed. Or super strength. Or enhanced endurance or heightened sense. I'm just me, just Rebel, and I'm not paranormal at all.
I’m only human, and that makes it so much more fun. Yes, it’s dangerous, but I live for the thrill of the hunt, the glory of the chase, and the coin from a job well done.
Just because I’m human doesn’t mean I can’t bring these supernatural baddies down one by one.
It’s not an easy job, but someone has to do it. Er, actually, I created the job myself, but word of mouth has spread. Now, I have a ton of clients and sometimes even have to turn jobs down. Unfortunately, word has spread throughout the supernatural community too. Once, a goblin decided to come after me to take me out so that all of the creatures would be safe from me. I cut off one of his ears, but I let him live. Honestly, his anger is misplaced. He should be upset with my clients. They’re the ones who want the creatures either killed or brought to them for whatever reason. If the paranormal creatures ever stopped fighting each other, I would be out of a job.
But this isn’t just a job for me. It’s training.
From my crouch, I shift onto my knees so that my leg muscles can relax slightly. I’m getting annoyed. I could’ve gone after the vampire last night, except he decided to go and run off without finding someone to feed on, at least not anywhere in my vicinity. The two nights before that, he hunted these streets. Maybe he’s moved onto another area in town. Bloody bloodsucker. I can’t stand vampires. All of the ones I’ve dealt with have been rude and haughty. They think they’re better than humans. I’m sure my fellow humans would agree with me that vampires aren’t that special. There’s just one issue with that. I’m the only human who knows about the supernatural world that exists side by side with ours but operates right under our noses.
This client, a genie, never told me why he wants the vampire, and I don't care to know. As for why the genie can't go and fetch the vampire himself? I didn't ask. It's not my business to know the reasonings for each job, only how to complete it without everyone learning about my targets or clients. It's a delicate balance I walk, a dangerous tightrope. I'm a thrill-seeker to the extreme. Every day and night is filled with peril, and I could die at any time.
I’m not afraid of death. I’ve met grim reapers before. Not all of them are evil. Some of them don’t even look like death. Most paranormal creatures have adapted to be able to blend in at least somewhat well among the public. Some, like goblins, trolls, and orcs, can’t. Cyclopes and zombies? Forget about it. And then there are the monster types like manticores with their lion bodies, griffins, hydras, and so many more.
There are schools for these creatures, one for vampires, for werewolves, perhaps for fairies, and there’s one in particular that sets my teeth on edge—Magical Hunters Academy. From what I’ve been told, the students there are trained to hunt, slay, and execute evil paranormal beings, but just who decides which are evil and which should be hunted versus executed? Although who am I to judge? I’ve killed for a client before, and I’ll kill again if the price is right.
Maybe, one day, I’ll kill the one I wish to most of all, and it won’t be for a cent.
With a sigh, I straighten. I rub my thighs to ease my tightened muscles. As silent as a ghost, I make my way down the fire escape and jump onto the ground. It’s not often I try the route to lure out a vampire, but I want this job done. The client is growing antsy, and so am I.
I tuck my pistols away and quickly twist my long locks into a loose, messy bun. My neck is exposed, and I'm certain that any vampire would be drawn to it. Unfortunately, the collar of my bounty hunter attire goes a little high up on my neck. The brown leather helps me to blend into shadows. I flex my fingers within my gloves. Keeping my hands on the grips of my pistols, I march down the alley toward the street, my boots not making a sound.
Up a block, down the street, and on, away from the lights and the parts of the city that are still awake due to open restaurants and bars, I stay ever vigilant. I may be twenty-one and considered by some too young to know much about anything, but experiences are what age a person, and I’m an old, old woman. I’m as sharp-eyed as they come, unflappable, incapable of being distracted like so many my age might be.
The sounds of life, happiness, and rowdiness all fade away the farther I walk away from the busy section of the city and head deeper into the poorer portion. The dress of the few people I pass is dirtier, ill-fitting, and unsuitable for the weather, too many layers for the summer. They glare at me as I pass, but I only scan their faces to check on their eyes and teeth. Some vampires appear almost too human in appearance until it’s too late.
The buildings are falling apart, and graffiti covers the walls. I have to avoid stepping on glass from broken windows, the rocks nearby a clue as to how said windows were broken in the first place.
Up ahead, one of the streetlights is burned out. Most of the ones in this area are dimmed, but that’s the first one to shed no light whatsoever. I halt beneath it and wait.
It’s not a long wait.
The vampire doesn’t come for me. No. It’s the whisper of clothing on clothing that catches my attention. Not the normal sound of clothing when someone’s walking but from an arm being grabbed. It’s a subtle difference, but it’s one I’ve had to learn to distinguish.
I glance into the nearby alley. Two forms are there, one taller and leaning over the other. Even if it’s not the vampire, I want to check this out. I don’t normally interfere with matters between people, but if I need to, I will.
“You will hold still,” the man says, his words hardly audible, the strength and power of conviction in them enough to make me pause mid-step.
He's a vampire all right, and he's using his power of forced will on the woman.
But is he the right vampire or not?
Doesn’t matter. I don’t want her to be bitten.
I take a step closer and eye his ears. They’re pointed. Yes, this vampire has a fairy ancestor somewhere along the way.
This is the one I’m to take out.
Without delay, I whip out my pistols. “Leave her alone!” I call out as I shoot both of my weapons.
One of the shots goes wide, but the other buries itself into his shoulder. The vampire draws back and hisses at me. At the sight of his bloodstained teeth, I curse myself. I had been too late. The human has been bitten.
But that’s only one strike—one stake?—against me. Strike or stake two is from the vampire not falling to the ground. He’s not dying.
The vampire releases his hold on the human, and she slinks to the ground. He brings his hand up and wipes the blood from his chin with the back of his hand.
I fire again and again, but the vampire stalks toward me at an exaggeratedly slow pace. Even though I’m hitting him, he’s not reacting from pain.
The stupid genie. He got the age of the vampire wrong. Fanged here is far older than my client thought, so I didn’t use a strong enough dose.
I toss my worthless pistols aside. They’re too hot from being shot so many times for me to put them away immediately. My right hand opens the pouch attached to my upper thigh, and my fingers curl around small iron balls as my left retrieves a dagger from inside my boot.
The vampire’s foot slams against my chest, and I go down hard. In seconds, he’s on top of me.
“Stupid collar,” he gripes. “Stupid buttons.”
I wiggle beneath him, more to distract him than to try to dislodge him, and I bring the hilt of the dagger against his throat.
“Don’t move,” I warn him.
He goes to knock the dagger from my hand. “You do not tell me—”
I shove an iron ball into his mouth.
The vampire gags and tries to spit it out, but I use the hilt of the dagger to keep the ball in place. Not all paranormal creatures can be injured by iron, but a good majority can.
The vampire foams at the mouth, and his body twists and convulses. His body is like a dead weight on me, and by the time I can shove him away, I realize he's actually dead.
That was fast. The bullets must’ve hurt him some even if he didn’t outwardly show it.
Abandoning him for now, I rush over to the woman. Her glassy, lifeless eyes don’t see me, and I mutter a curse. Stake three. I didn’t prevent her from being bitten or from dying.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur as I close her eyes.
From my pouch, I remove a small vial and sprinkle some fairy dust onto her wound. Although she’s dead, the skin still heals. I can’t have anyone realizing she died from puncture marks from fangs.
Furious, I march back over to the vampire. He won’t turn to ash until the sun rises. With my dagger, I cut out his fangs.
Will the genie be happy with me? He had better be because I am not happy with myself.
Once it’s dawn, I call the police and leave an anonymous tip for them to check the alley. I don’t want the woman to be left in the alley longer than is necessary. She deserves to be claimed by her loved ones.
I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time.
I’m Rebel, supernatural bounty hunter, but sometimes, I still make mistakes.