Chasing the Enemy

It should have been a simple stake-out that ended in a staking. It should have been my 100th clean return of a vampire to the depths of hell.

But it wasn’t a vampire.

And I had unexpected company.

“Last time I checked, vampires didn’t cast reflections.”

I froze, then pulled in a breath. The air was laced with peppermint and clove. Peter. I lowered my arm, dropping the wooden stake into the holster at my hip.

I refused to turn and look at him, instead focusing on the figure across the street. A tall, thin man. A dark hood pulled far forward to shadow his face. A crystal clear copy of him in the store window behind him.

Not a vampire.

The figure lifted its eyes, as if it could feel the weight of my stare. A flash of purple deep under the hood. A demon, then.

A demon on the run. As fast as I registered what I was actually hunting, the figure bolted, turning to flee down the midnight dark street.

I took another breath. The breath brought a fresh burst of spiced mint. I now had a darting demon, and a pain in the ass Peter to deal with. I clenched my fists, then forced them to release. At least at midnight, I didn’t have to worry about protecting innocent bystanders.

“He seems to have escaped.”

“Thank you for pointing that out, Peter. I never would have noticed.”

“You are very welcome, Leila.” There was a very annoying laugh tucked inside his words.

Being the mature hunter that I am, I resisted the urge to fetch my stake and drive it deep into his chest. Instead, I slid past him without making eye contact and began the task of hunting down my demon.

Peter did not miss a beat, simply slipped into place at my side, matching me stride for stride.

It was the break in our silent rhythm that pulled my focus away from my search for any sign of where my quarry had disappeared to. Peter was no longer pacing at my side.

I walked three more steps, before I caved and paused to turn back and make sure he hadn’t gotten himself killed in the last thirty seconds.

Peter stood with his back to the street, gazing through a window. I couldn’t leave him there, so I stomped back to his side. “Let’s go.” I reluctantly reached out and tugged on his sleeve.

He raised his arm and pointed at the window. Clearly we were not going anywhere until I looked at whatever had caught his attention.

Birds. Dozens of little birds, bright blues and greens. Doing nothing. Standing on perches, leaning against each other as they slept.

“You stopped to look at sleeping birds.”

“Parakeets.”

“Which are birds.”

“Cute birds.”

“In your opinion.”

“I think I’d like to have one as a pet. No, two, so they could keep each other company, like we do.” Peter turned to me and smiled.

I did not smile back.

“You know I’m your destiny, right?”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Peter’s face dimmed, the banter sliding away to be replaced by sharp focus. He lifted his head slightly, a bob to tell me he saw something over my shoulder.

This time I deliberately pulled in his sharp mint scent, needing my own razor focus to cut through the splash of adrenaline dumped into my veins at the thought of a threat at my back.

“How close?” I asked, my voice more movement of lips and air than actual sound.

“At the corner,” Peter replied, matching my tone, but dipping his head close to bring his breath next to my ear. “He’s got a hammer?”

Weird. A demon with a knack for home improvement. In the middle of a city street at midnight. What was happening here?

“What is he doing with it?” I breathed. We were impossibly close, necessary for us to hear each other without drawing the attention of the demon. I wanted to turn around and look for myself, but that would certainly startle our friend. I’d rather figure out what he was up to before he ran away again.

Peter pulled away a bit, lifting his head away from mine to give him a better view.

“He seems to be talking to it.”

“What?”

“Or maybe singing. Like a lullaby? He’s holding it and rocking it.”

We stood in silence for a moment.

“This might be the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Peter said. “And you have forced me to see some weird shit.”

I felt the corners of my mouth lift at this. Poor sheltered Peter. He had seen only a fraction of what I had.

What to do with our demon and his precious baby hammer?

“Huh.” Peter’s breathy word punched against my cheek.

“What’s happening?” As the words passed my lips, I decided this was stupid. I needed to see.

I slowly pivoted, not easing the space between Peter and I, simply rotating in place so that my back pressed against his chest, his chin hovering just above my head.

Our friendly neighborhood demon stood on the dotted white line running down the middle of the road. He had apparently given up rocking his hammer baby to sleep and now held the hammer above his head, the handle clutched in both hands.

I had no more idea what the demon was doing than Peter did. As we watched, he began to sway, his head bobbing gently as his voice rolled down the street toward us. He was singing. But this was not a lullaby.

White flecks drifted down, settling on his dark hood. I held out my arm, letting the snow settle on my own sleeve. The white bits looked wrong, not quite fluffy enough, the edges not neatly in a symmetrical pattern. It wasn’t snow at all. It was ash.

The demon was inviting in the fires of hell.

“We need to go. Now.” I grabbed the edge of Peter’s sleeve again, this time dragging him behind me as I flew down the sidewalk away from the demon. We were no longer hunting. We were now on a mission to save the world.

“Where are we going?” Peter asked, his voice breathy from running, rather than trying to be sneaky.

“The cathedral,” I replied. I didn’t need to look back, I could feel the tension suddenly clench in his arm beneath my fingers.

“What’s at the cathedral?”

“A priest,” I said. “We need holy water.” I took in a big breath, then forced myself to say it out loud. “And a holy union.”

The street slid silently past us for the last block, the only sound in the ashy air the push and pull of our breath. I let go of Peter’s arm, letting him set his own pace as we finished our journey. He had to enter the church willingly, or this wouldn’t work.

The double doors stood open, as if the chapel was waiting for us, as if it knew tonight was the the night. I stopped just inside and bent to untie the laces of my boots, using my toes to pry my feet free.

Peter joined me. In the church, not in the removal of foot wear.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking off my boots. I’ve always imagined this day with heels, but barefoot will have to do.”

Peter shook his head. “Why am I doing this?” he asked.

“Come on,” I replied. “You’re the one that said you’re my destiny.”