When I was little, my sister, Calliope, loved to tell stories about ancient mythology. Her stories spanned continents, cultures, and centuries. The stories were Greek, Norse, Roman... Any form of mythological you could fathom. They were rich in description, the details absolutely numerous and fantastical. I loved listening to her voice, listening to the words in Afrikaans that I had grown up speaking and listening to at home. We spoke a variety of languages, living close to a city just outside our township and village, but at home? Culturally, we weren't necessarily Afrikaans but it was the easiest language to speak considering the area, my parents, and our ethnicity. Her voice was like sweet honey, a kind of sugar I had never heard from my mother. Calliope would corral her youngest siblings- myself, my twin, and my two little sisters Elenore and Nala. We shared a room usually, sometimes with my eldest sister's children. But Calliope would get us upstairs, tucked into bed, and begin stories. Later nights when she had to work past when we would be asleep, my twin and I would take turns telling stories. They weren't half as good as Callie's, but we tried I guess. Ours were different, filled with monsters and gore and often a fair amount of blood.

Granted, from two little boys, what would you expect?

Things that go bump in the night had always been a specialty of mine. Whether they were fanged, blood-lust driven creatures or those that shed their human skin for an animal's form; it didn't matter, we wove tales about them that would give the impression that we had seen and handled those creatures. We hadn't, then at least. Not yet. But here? Monsters and fantastical creatures had been a thing of mythology and stories until I had met my first handful of supernatural beings in the United States. Creatures like that were metaphorically African, involving guns, steel, and a different form of blood lust. The bloodlust we met on American soil took one of my sisters... And that bloodlust had two fangs and was older than you could imagine.

I don't like vampires.

The ordeal with Frank reminded me why I didn't like them. Ordinarily, I would have made calculations that would have allowed me to dispense of the mother fucker on the first try. The detail of his vampirism was withheld from me, though. That had triggered a slew of responses that didn't please me, in any way. Someone had intended for me to make that mistake, someone had planned it. That made for a very unpleasant Monday, and given me the incentive for revenge or malice. The two feelings were something I knew well, and often enjoyed. But it didn't make working at that office easy, instead it had urged me to indulge in a fixation where I was able to dispose of the whole fucking place. That disposal, though? Yeah, I wasn't married on the idea of jail. An entire office building would have been hard to make "disappear". Dust to dust wasn't easy when it involved massive buildings, and yeah. Bodies.

I had had plans with an old client to meet somewhere for dinner, but I had politely stood them up and decided feeding my cat was a far better way to spend the evening. I hadn't managed to get home before some strange hour in quite a while, and I knew Church would appreciate his servant coming home. The metro ride home had been fortunately nearly empty, giving me a chance to sneak a cigarette on the actual train car, something that only a homely, probably homeless woman had a chance to glower at me for. Lung cancer was my personal business, thanks. My stop felt like it took forever, something that a nagging feeling told me was intentional. Time, space, et cetera had a way of letting you know when something was off. I had learned to trust my instincts, whether that was due to my upbringing or the way nature spoke to a witch or warlock of any kind. Nature had a way of alerting primal instincts, and I had learned that in this city? You better listen to them.

At least, mine.

I took my own stop, feeling my hair bristle as I drew closer to my street. I had thought about taking a different route home, especially as I wasn't nearly back to what I would call normal after the injuries Frank had given me. At least the fucker fared worse than I had. The air smelled almost metallic, a copper sensation I had tasted many, many times before. It never tasted as badly as the first time, but still... it was there, if only an essence. The scent drifted back to a figure that was nearly invisible and if it hadn't been for senses I hardly understood, I wouldn't have noticed him. But my element often allowed me to sense bodies, and supernatural ones were easier to tell considering they felt unnatural.

"You'd get a much warmer welcome if you weren't lurking like a homeless cat around a restaurant dumpster."