What is a man? A miserable pile of secrets. But enough talk, have at you!

- That Dracula guy

I. Bloody Tears

Charles Halberd, only son of Margarite and Thomas Halberd, was nervous. This was a rare thing. Charles Halberd was, well, a Halberd. Halberds were not supposed to feel anything. Instead, they were supposed to have a single minded devotion to their duty, a horrible lot that they must bear for the sake of all that was good in this world. 

The Halberds were monster hunters. Well, that’s not exactly right. Halberds were THE monster hunters. If there was a malicious manifestation attacking the general populace, the Halberds were there for the right price. If there was a bounty set up to exorcise a malicious spirit, the Halberds were sent to investigate it. Charles himself must have seen every corner of Europe. Every abandoned monastery, every fetid stinking swamp, every castle keep held by lords living long past their expiration date. He’d done it all, and he was tired. But there was no room to be tired as long as sinister beings still stalked the Earth. So he did what all good hunters did, and kept going. He would ignore the pain of old bruises and aching bones, and go where he was sent.

Most of the time the threat wasn’t even something major. The big players, your Vlads and your Lucifers, kept mostly to the shadows. Probably summoning their minions and then stalking back into the night where they belonged. It used to be different, apparently. 

Back in the day, his grandfather had gone toe to toe with Dracula himself, beating him back into oblivion as his forefathers did before him. That was the Halberd legacy. Even as the world modernized around them, marching towards progress and away from the fog of superstition, the Halberds were a lighthouse. As people forgot the old ways and the old terrors, the Halberds were there standing ready. With a watchful eye at any moment to spot evil, and a hand clenched in preparation to enact whatever purifying violence needed to be brought down on the bizarre. 

This constant vigil had led Charles to some down-on-its-luck town in the middle of nowhere Germany, just about an hour away from Frankfurt by train. Charles had just been wrapping up investigating a possession in Austria that was really a bad case of methane gas poisoning, when he got the call he had been trained for his entire life. 

Fang marks showing up on maidens in the middle of the night. Monstrous doppelgängers appearing in the beds of sons, claiming to be the parents’ own kin. Chaos and paranoia that could only be the work of the most insidious kind of parasite: a vampire. All of the other beasts that Charles had been trained to fight were small potatoes compared to the duty that the Halberd clan had to quell the torment that the fanged defilers of God’s will brought upon the Earth. 

Which led Charles here to the castle. A beautiful thing to behold. A marvelous fusion of classical design with updated modern touches. When he had been dropped off by the mayor in a borrowed car at the edge of the property line, Charles had to wonder if he had been taken to the wrong place.

From the photos that Charles had seen of Dracula’s castle, they knew what to expect from the traditional vampire’s lair. Augustus Halberd, Charles’s grandfather and personal trainer, had him pore over the maps and photos that were taken of the place after he had succeeded with the banishment ritual. He had nightmares of Dracula’s castle, starting at the age of eight when his training had begun, when he had been removed from school and began his homeschooled quest to continue the family business. Typically, the family waited to begin training until a Halberd reached the age of thirteen, but Grandpa had thought that school was making Charles weak. Docile. Unmanly. And who were Charles’s parents to complain in the face of Augustus Halberd, savior of the waking world. 

There was supposed to at least be a moat, or some manner of attempt to keep Charles out of the den of evil, at the very least. Perhaps a great beast, or some ambling zombies to protect the entrance. Instead, there were pleasant rows of flowers and patches of vegetables. The trees were strung with fairy lights, giving the whole place a garden party aesthetic. If he wasn’t privy to the evil that lurked in this space, the vampire hunter would have even admitted that it was quite lovely. 

Should Charles have wanted to, he could have taken a nice relaxing seat at one of the many tables strewn about the lawn. Maybe if it wasn’t the middle of the night, Charles could see himself having a party here. Sipping on an iced wine and grilling sausages and vegetables surrounded by… someone. The life of the hunter didn’t really leave Charles time for making friends, or even acquaintances.

It was best not to dwell on that. Distractions and desires like that had led many a hunter down the path of corruption. An empty grave awaited him if he gave into the simple pleasures of life and tried to get close to people. Fievel Halberd, all the way back in 1834, had given up the whip and passed the monster hunting on to his younger brother in order to get away from his mission. And although he lived a long life and died peacefully, he had been thoroughly excommunicated from the family and had to immigrate to America in order to hide his shame. None of the assets and privileges of the Halberd clan followed him. That was what softness brought; giving in to the desire to put the hunt behind them meant being swiftly pruned off the family tree. And that was the best-case scenario. 

For a moment he paused, taking in the scene before him. Charles concentrated, trying to completely forget the temptation of taking a break before heading further into the unknown. Steeling himself, he pushed forward. Head on a swivel, ever vigilant for any threats that might spring out from nowhere. He had only taken a few steps before he stumbled; something had caught his foot. Rather than attempt to stop the fall, Charles tucked into an easy roll, sliding his whip off his hip all the while. Finally, some action. A chance to prove his worth, rather than the small piddling assignments that had been thrown his way. A chance to live up to the Halberd name. Acting on instinct, he let loose his whip and… snagged a thin metal gate that had been pounded into the earth. He had tripped on a croquet wicket. 

Charles took a second to steady his breathing and relax. Just an overreaction. This wasn’t an insidious booby trap. This wasn’t one of his lessons. His grandpa wasn’t going to jump out of the bush, cursing up a blue storm about how he was dead and needed to try again. His heart was still racing, so he practiced some of the breathing techniques that his mom had showed him as a way to calm down on the hunt. There was no need to be this nervous. He was a Halberd. And Halberds could take on anything. 

***

There was a hastily scribbled message written out on loose leaf paper taped to the front door. Charles read it, and paused, completely perplexed by the message. He read it again, careful not to touch the note itself in case there was some sort of spell or booby trap inscribed on the written page. 

Greetings, hunter. The door is unlocked. You’ll find me in the main throne room. It’s located on the third floor. You can either take the elevator or make your way up the spiraling stairs; either one opens up into the hall directly outside of the throne room. If you have reached the clock tower you’ve gone too far.

I look forward to seeing you soon,

Malicia Tepes, Mistress of the Manor

PS: Please take your boots off before you come in, we just waxed the floors. Thanks!

Again, Charles was nervous. None of this was going how it was supposed to go. There had to be a catch somewhere. Everything was just too straightforward, and it made every danger instinct that the hunter had stand completely at attention. Was this how vampires worked now? They lulled their prey into a false sense of security until they were nothing but easy picking for claws and teeth? 

He could picture this Malicia now, viewing his hesitancy with some manner of scrying. She would be laughing at him, of course. Cackling about how inept he was. Cackling about how he could never live up to the family legacy. Preparing her worst curses for when he let his guard down for one moment. 

No, this was not the time for distraction. Sharp and clear. His mind had to be like the edge of a blade, another weapon in his quest. For a moment his body tensed for the blow that came, his grandfather’s whip helped keep his focus keen and his body strong. Charles was prone to distraction as a child, and he needed the pain to help tether him to reality. If he kept constantly vigilant, then the punishments didn’t need to happen. “This will save your life someday,” his grandpa had told him after a particularly harsh lesson. “Stop sniveling and be a Halberd.” 

Be a Halberd. Halberds fought monsters. Halberds saved humans. Halberds were also polite, so after some moments hesitation Charles kicked his boots off at the door. They were caked in mud, rough leather things that would have fallen apart months ago had Charles not been pretty good at repair by now. Even if it was setting himself up for a trap, Charles couldn’t bring himself to trudge those dirty things all through the castle. This was all just to trick the vampire, Malicia he reminded himself, into a false sense of security. He’d play along as the good little slayer for now, following commands. 

But he was really the one in control.

The path to the throne room was just as open and empty as the path to the front door. This was all going wrong. Where were the booby traps? Where were the spinning blades and poison darts? Where were the armies of minions lined up, tense and ready to strike? The skeletons, flinging bones and sharp metal? No demons ready to taunt and tease him with some lascivious fate? Grandpa had gone on and on about them, how they looked like real women until they were ready to strike and rip your heart straight out of your chest.

In the main entryway there was even a plate of cookies sitting there with a chilled glass of milk. He refused to touch it; it would be easy for something like that to be hexed. Not to say that he wasn’t tempted. The cookies looked just like his nona would make with him when he was young. Before he was banned from the kitchen. 

The treats themselves were still steaming a little bit; they would probably melt in his mouth as soon as he dared to take a bite. It was a cruel trap, making him yearn for some simple comfort. There was a part of him, he hated to admit it, that just wanted to give up right there and eat the cookie. Even if it was bewitched, what was the worst that could happen to him? He knew he was weak. He was always weak. But at least this way he’d be weak and also have a tasty sweet. Giving them one more glance, he shook his head and sadly kept going. 

His purposeful stride through the castle was broken up every now and then by his socks losing traction on the marble floor. They really did just wax the place; everything was shining and bright. The hallways were well maintained, lamps of all different shapes and sizes keeping the whole place bright and cozy. The walls were full of different paintings. Landscapes, portraits, abstract art. 

There were flags lining the stairs, various stripes of colors marking them with some sort of ill intent. They weren’t any nation that Charles recognized, so he figured they had to be some sort of monstrous code. Did the yellow, white, purple, and black flag signal to another vampire that they were safe here? Did the pink, blue, and white flag mean that the neighboring area was good to hunt in? There were so many of them. One of them even had a battle-axe on it, once again showing their intent to commit harm. Charles chuckled to himself. They thought they could hide that one among all the other symbols, did they? 

Maybe vampires weren’t as smart as he thought they were.

Mentally, Charles made a note to look up if those flags had any other meaning once he got back to his hotel room. He never brought his phone with him on a mission; it was too easy to track. Recently there had been more and more cases of sinister creatures using technomancy to ensnare the weak minds of the general public. 

As he continued to make the way up the stairs, he kept his eyes peeled for further traps. His dad had told him about the treacherous clock towers that they had discovered in some of the abandoned castles. How they were covered head to toe in moving platforms, and one miscalculated footstep could send you spiraling down to the floor with a sickening crunch. How there were creatures who, unless you slew them first, would momentarily turn you to stone right in front of a bed of spikes.

The stairs had to come to an end eventually, though; Charles found himself where the note said he’d be. Directly in the hallway in front of the throne room. The castle was much larger inside than it had appeared from the outside; finally some sort of magic. The stairs seemed to go up higher and higher than Charles could even imagine. This had to be the front. A façade to lure him into a false sense of security. Maybe up those stairs there was a laboratory where some giggling scientist played God with rotting body parts on a marble slab. If he went down the hallway, Charles was sure he’d find a torture chamber with innocent maidens bound and gagged, awaiting some kind of otherworldly terror. It couldn’t just be a house. There had to be something else. The other shoe was bound to drop. 

This was it. The moment that he had spent his entire life training for. Sure, he’d slain some minor demons and lesser evils in the past. His training wasn’t for absolutely nothing. But this was where he proved to himself that it was all worth it. If he could leave this keep carting the head of Malicia, then he could look his grandfather in the eyes and show him that he wasn’t too weak to be a hunter. That he wasn’t a stain on the family legacy. 

Since there didn’t seem like there was a welcoming committee waiting to tear him into itty bitty little pieces, he took one more moment to center himself and look over his weapons. He had his trademark whip. His father’s whip. Passed down to him upon reaching manhood at eighteen. His dad was out of the business after he’d lost his leg to a hunter’s trap when Charles was in training. He now worked on the support side of things, taking information from local churches and communities and using them to send Charles information on his missions. His handgun was oiled, loaded, and the safety was on. This was a gift from his mother that same year. She never was one for hand to hand violence, and instead preferred to keep a distance between herself and her quarry. Each bullet was silver tipped, dipped in holy water, and blessed by some priest that the Halberds had had on their payroll since before Charles had even been born. 

Taking a deep breath, he shoved open the door with his shoulder and barged into what the note had called ‘the throne room.’ And there, in the center of the room in a very plush and comfortable looking black armchair, she was. The vampire. He knew as soon as he locked eyes with her that she was something more than human. And if just a read of her aura wasn’t enough, the toothy grin that she broke into upon seeing him standing there sealed the deal. Sitting with her legs gracelessly slung over the arms of her chair, with a glass of presumably blood in her clawed hand, was Malicia Tempes. His quarry. 

At this moment, Charles knew he had to say something. He wouldn’t make the mistake of introducing himself; that would give any magic user all the power in the world over him. He’d never hand his name out willy-nilly. Just letting people know that he was a Halberd was enough. Typically that tended to end most non-business conversations. Which was for the best; Charles wasn’t great at small talk anyway. He remembered an old line that his grandfather would quote in his wild tales about how he took down Dracula. A strong line that had intent written all over it. 

“Die, monster! You don’t belong in this world!” That felt good. He felt strong. For a moment, Malicia’s eyes went wide; he must have shocked her. Then that slick smile returned to her face, this time even wider. She was supposed to be the quarry here, didn’t she know what she was in for? He slid his whip, the whip, out of his holster and cracked it once in a fluid motion. She didn’t stir. Didn’t even flinch at the sound. Instead she just took a slow and gentle sip.

“Well, that’s an awfully mean thing to say to a lady,” Malicia purred. “Now seriously, where are the manners nowadays?”

“W-what?” Charles had expected -- well, he wasn’t entirely sure what he expected. The lack of traps. The treats. And now he was getting chided by his quarry for not being nice to her? Did she not realize who she was talking to?

“You come into my house, barge on in here, call me a monster and tell me I don’t belong in this world? Now tell me, how can I not take that personally? That’s pretty rude. Not the best wing to start off on. You only get one chance for a first impression, y’know?” The vampire stretched and Charles had to activate every little aspect of his training not to notice how her large chest shifted with her little movements. She was wearing a crimson sundress, a strappy thing that gave a generous peek at her cleavage. The bold fabric made her pale skin look even lighter. Typical demonic garb. Showing off as much skin as possible in order to distract. 

“I’m… I’m sorry.” Charles blushed, trying in vain still not to stare. “I, well when you put it that way it does seem harsh.” Why was he doing this? He didn’t need to beg for her forgiveness. He was a Halberd, dammit! She was a monster. He killed monsters. End of story, pretty straightforward. “But you are a monster, right?”

“Oh yeah, totally. Dad’s a vamp, big meanie. You’ve probably heard of him; pretty sure him and your old-old man tussled a few years back. Mom’s human, though, so in most monster circles I’m just a half-breed.” 

“Wait… You’re Dracula’s kid?” Charles paused, trying to remember the list of monsters at large. The only child that Dracula was known to have was his son Alucard who had been missing in action for years. “But I thought you were a --”

“Reports of my gender have been greatly exaggerated, okay?” Malicia cut him off, purple eyes flaring with a heat and intensity that looked foreign on her adorable face. “Sorry, I hate getting worked up like that. But yes, I’m Dracula’s daughter, whether the old man will acknowledge it or not. Malicia Tempes, she/her in the unliving flesh, nice to meet ya!” In a flash she bounced off her throne and made her way over to Charles, hand outstretched to give him a nice shake. Every muscle in the vampire hunter’s body tensed. He tried not to notice the way her platinum hair seemed to flow through the air as if she were under water. How every step that she took had her flared hips swinging from side to side, like a cat slowly cornering their prey. 

She moved with this effortless grace that hurt Charles’s heart. That ache turned into hate. How could this creature, this abomination posing as a woman, be so graceful? She didn’t even seem to be aware of the effect that she had on him. Was this what lust felt like? Sure, she was beautiful. But there was something more. The way that she held herself made Charles angry. Not at her, like he should be. But at himself for not being able to have the same presence that she did. Even when she was doing something so ridiculous like expect him to shake the hand of a known demonic terrorist. 

They both stood there, staring at each other, Malicia’s hand still reaching out, waiting for Charles to do his part in the greeting. And they waited. And they waited a little bit more. It was, to put it simply, incredibly awkward. Charles didn’t want to shake her hand. It would be beneath him. Not that she seemed particularly evil, per se, at least right now. But it would stain the legacy of the Halberds. 

But it was rude not to shake her hand and introduce himself, right? He had already taken his shoes off at the front door. What was to say that one gesture was fine and the other was going too far? 

Suddenly there was a whisper in Charles’s ear. “Psst, I don’t know if the cult or whatever that raised you didn’t include manners or nuthin’ like that. But this is the point where you shake the pretty lady’s hand and introduce yourself.” 

The hunter staggered back, heart pounding in his ears. His cheeks heated up into a blush, something that he thought he was long past the point of doing. The syrupy sweet voice of the vampire had been right in his ear. Faster than he could perceive, she had crept up beside him. And she… didn’t take the opportunity to rip out his throat? What game was she playing with him?

What would his grandpa have done in that situation? Probably would use the close proximity to land at least three blows with his silver dagger before breaking off distance. Maybe take the super soaker of holy water and spray some of it down the harlot’s throat. But all Charles did was try to get away from her. He didn’t have the right killer instinct to be a hunter. 

“If you have to know,” Charles paused, taking in a breath in another futile attempt to steady himself, “my name is Charles Halberd, heir to the House of Halberd. And I’m here to stop your reign of terror.” 

“Hmm… No, I don’t think so.” She shook her head and started walking back to the throne as if it had already been settled.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” As much as he loved seeing her walk away and getting that space back, Charles had the slightest sinking feeling that she wasn’t particularly taking him seriously. The minor creeps and demons that he had encountered quaked at the Halberd name. She simply brushed it off like a minor case of dandruff. 

“Well, since you won’t shake my hand or anything I’m going back to my seat. It’s really, really comfy. I had this witch that I know hex it up to be like, hella soft. Also, I genuinely haven’t done anything wrong, so you’re just a weirdo who’s breaking and entering right now. Okay, that’s not true, I left the door unlocked and told you to come in. You’re just barging onto my property and threatening me; I could probably call the police, y’know. I won’t, but still. You better be careful, Mr. Hunter.” 

Charles scoffed. “Not done anything wrong? You steal into women’s beds and mesmerize them, having your way with them. I was told by multiple families about how you swooped in under the dead of night and defiled their daughters.” 

“I’m sure you won’t take my word for it, but it was entirely consensual. I met Greta and Astrid at the local market the other day and they were both so sweet, and so flirty. We had arranged for a time when it would be discreet, and I definitely showed them a good time.” To top off her outrageous lies, the vampire had the nerve to wiggle her eyebrows at Charles. It wasn’t working. No amount of flirtatious body language was going to pull the wool over his eyes. Now if only Charles’s body would get that memo.

Charles was having a hard time standing still while facing the vampire and her ridiculous comfy throne, so he began pacing around the room. Keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of threat would help him stay focused, or at least as focused as possible while the beast was still present. “Let’s pretend for a moment that I believe your ridiculous story.” He began fidgeting with his whip, moving coils of leather over his fingers while he worked out his thoughts. “What about the changelings, then?” 

Malicia almost spit out her drink snorting in response. “Pfft, the what? That’s the fae, silly.” 

“No, the changelings that --”

“If I was a fae, dude, you would have been toooootally fucked as soon as you told me your full name. I’d have you eating Turkish delights in a pretty frilly little dress as soon as you opened your cute little mouth. Man, what are they teaching monster hunters now? First you lack any and all manners, and now you’re confusing me with a faerie? C’mon, Charles, I know you’re better than that.” She smirked. She kept playing with him. Charles couldn’t help but imagine her words and shuddered to himself. Even though she wasn’t malicious, she knew exactly how to hurt him. 

His mind, unbidden, brought up the thought of Charles in a dress. This wasn’t an unusual thought, a wandering stray idea that he tried his hardest to clamp down. Even in his fantasy he looked like a clown, his broad shoulders straining the fabric as his muscular arms made it hard for him to move without threatening to burst out of the light material. His body, hardened into a weapon, would look ridiculous no matter what. Not to mention the fact that the Halberd family was pretty hairy in general, something that would look even worse surrounded in lace and ruffles.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, soft and cold. Strong digits gently squeezing his flesh, like handling a wounded animal. “Hey, woah, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to do, well, whatever I did to you. Something that I said obviously really put you off, so I’m sorry. I’ll chill with the talks about dresses and things, I just kind of got a vibe, y’know?” She was back, breathing on his neck. He could smell her perfume, a light vanilla with hints of spice. Despite the chill of her hand, he felt his heart once again burst in his chest; too much. Too close. Too nice. Why was she like this? Why was she mocking him with her manners? He shoved her hand off, as much as it hurt to do so. 

It was easier, when faced with a problem that he could not necessarily think his way through, to fight. The shove seemed to shock Malicia, which was just fine to Charles. Taking a tactical retreat he regrouped about five feet away from her, enough distance to get at least one good strike on her. The honeyed words and actions would all vanish the moment that he struck. They had to.Seizing the moment, Charles dashed forward to create some space. One of the hardest parts about using a whip was judging the distance needed for a proper strike. Turning on the spot and crouching in attack position he lashed out with his whip, hoping to land a blow on the creature. To bring out the animal that lived underneath the surface. All he managed to do was knock the goblet out of her hand, spilling the deep red onto her shiny clean floors. 

“Hey! That was my sparkling grape juice, you dick! That was my relaxation drink! Why did you do that?”

“Why did you do that!?” Charles screamed, staggering up into her personal space. His survival instincts screamed at him to back away, but he couldn’t. He was drawn to her. He couldn’t even hurt her if he tried, just inconvenienced her beverage. “Why would you do any of this? Fight me! Kill me! I know you could crush me like a bug, but you don’t. Instead you just stand there looking like some sort of angel talking about putting me in cute dresses and rubbing my face in what I’m not. I came here to kill a demon or die trying, and it’s obvious that I’m outmatched. It’s obvious that you’re toying with me, bloodsucker. So just fight me instead of pretending to be some innocent maiden who cares about my feelings.” 

At some point he began crying, unsure of why. He was on the floor, curled into a ball. How he got there, Charles didn’t know. His legs just simply couldn’t hold him up any more. So he lay there, warm tear streaked face pressed against the cold marble floor. Hair slightly coated in sticky grape juice, waiting for the killing blow to be delivered. Waiting for the farce to end.

In what were surely the last moments of his life, all Charles could do was sit and think about how he’d never really wanted this. He had cried the day that he was removed from school, taken away from his friends. Every night before he went to bed, aching with bruises and welts, he wished for nothing more than to not have to hold up the heavy mantle of the Halberd name. Even now he could feel the weight of his family’s expectations crushing him, pressing him into the tile. The hunter whimpered, body tense and rigid in a fetal position. Every moment ticked by in agony. 

Charles knew deep down that he’d never really even had a problem with monsters, as long as they didn’t harm humans, of course. Although that in and of itself was blasphemy to anyone in his family. For every actual bloodthirsty beast that had fallen to his whip, he was sure there were others who were simply guilty of existing. But whenever he was under the pressure of the hunt he could feel the ideas and words of his family bubbling up through them. It was like the fire of conflict revealed that he held the same malice as the rest of them. It made him sick. 

He tried constantly to put aside the feeling of guilt that nagged him, as smooth-talking aldermen told half-truths and tall tales about the beast that was haunting the woods. Just to find that it was a low-ranking demon, incapable of hunting even for itself. Nothing more than a pitiful scavenger, hungry and alone. The only difference between the two of them was that destiny had made Charles be the one to hold the whip. No more a slave to his instincts and expectations than the monsters he hunted. 

He was never enough for his family, no matter how much he tried to mold himself to fit their expectations. He warped his body beyond what he was comfortable with, putting on more and more muscle to meet the ideal of a true masculine hunter. He was never gruff enough. His one-liners could use work, no matter how many times he practiced them in the mirror. Something was off. Something was broken.

As much as he tried to shut his brain down and go off of the training, there was always a part of him that mentally fought back. That couldn’t truly be the hunter. Somewhere along the line, it felt like he’d lost what it was to truly be himself. It was so muddy and gray that he couldn’t separate his own desires from the desires of those who gave him gold for blood. 

Through all this, though, he knew one thing. He didn’t want to be Charles Halberd, heir to the Halberd legacy anymore. Even divorced from the brutal training regiment that he was put through when younger, divorced from any of the expectations, he had hit a wall. The most kindness that had been given to him in literal years had been from his sworn enemy, and he’d repaid said kindness with his whip. 

It wasn’t even like the beast… no. Malicia. It wasn’t as if Malicia had even been that kind to him. All she had done was ask him his name and offer comfort to someone that she realized was struggling. And yet that was still more than he had been given in years on the road. It was more than that, though; again she’d shown him mercy. At any point from the moment that he had stepped foot into the castle, she could have obliterated him. She could have proven his whole family right about the nature of vampires. And yet all he could see was that she wanted to be friends, and if not friends at least casual, non-murdering-each-other acquaintances. 

From the corner of his vision, Charles could see movement. It was slow and hesitant, but it seemed that Malicia had at some point left the room and came back. 

“Hey, uh, Charles. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, but why don’t you sit up for a second and we can talk, hmm? I have a feeling we aren’t that different. Yeah, yeah, cliche, I know. But hey, cliches exist for a reason. And look --” There was a momentary clatter as something was set down on the ground. “I noticed you didn’t touch the welcome snack, so I got some even fresher ones from Faith. She likes baking them in a big batch, so you are in luck. These are also right out the oven! Oh my god, they look so fucking good, too.” 

With tremendous effort, Charles lifted his head up, peeling his cheek off the floor. True to her word, the vampire was sitting cross legged on the ground, holding two mugs of what seemed to be milk. Between the two of them was a plate filled to the brim with chocolate chip cookies; the aroma itself was driving Charles wild. How long had it been since he last had something to eat? On the train ride in? The night before? He had a hard time taking care of himself when wrapped up in the hunt. There were so many different things to focus on that putting food into his mouth just never sounded appealing. His grandfather allegedly subsisted on a diet entirely of dried meats, salted legs of turkey, and wine during his prime hunting days. That sounded absolutely disgusting to Charles, so he made do with chewy flavorless protein bars that were supposed to give him the nutrients that he needed to keep going. 

“There we go, there’s that cute face.” Cute?? She had him at her mercy already, why did she continue with insults like this?

“’M not cute,” he mumbled, looking anywhere but the dangerously attractive vampire. 

“Well, you know what they say about beauty and the eyes of the Beholders. And I’ve met a Beholder or two, they are like, alllll eyes.” Malicia giggled to herself and continued. “But I’m sorry, obviously when I compliment you it hurts, so I’ll stop doing that for now. But if something slips out, just remind me.” She offered out her slender arm and although he didn’t bat it away, Charles couldn’t bring himself to accept her help up either. Charles had already shown his weakness; there was no point in continuing to debase himself. 

“I got it. But, um, thank you.”  Letting out a mixture of a groan and whimper, Charles hauled himself up into a sitting position, legs splayed on either side of the cookie plate. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and grabbed one of the offered goodies. It was warm, but not overwhelmingly so. It didn’t burn at the rough calluses of his hands; instead, the gentle warmth licked at corners of his spirit. But still, there was a part of him that couldn’t fully trust. He hated it, but as much as he wanted to believe that Malicia might not have any ill intent, it was still a hard thing to fully buy into. “Could you, I’m so sorry, could you please eat with me?”

“Old habits die hard, huh? I get it. One second,” Malicia picked up a nice chunky cookie with plenty of chocolate, and inhaled it with an indecent moan. “Shit, that’s so fucking good. Because of my, uh, dietary restrictions, I can only eat a little bit of solid food a day. But damn, these cookies are just incredible. Seriously, dig in while you can or I’m going to empty this entire tray.” 

Satisfied that if there was poison, that at least they’d both go down together, Charles finally gave into temptation and took a chomp. The outer layer of the cookie was crisp, giving a satisfying bite. The inside was gooey, warm, and heart meltingly nostalgic. All that Charles could think about was his nona, probably the one person in the world who had shown him the warmth that a child deserved. He could picture the checkerboard apron that she would wear when baking, and the gentle songs she would hum while they mixed the batter. Before he knew it, the cookie was gone. As was the next, and a few more. He had to remind himself to slow down, knowing that the cookies weren’t really going to run out any time soon. 

“It really is that good, right? I swear to God, Faith is amazing. I picked her up from this little town in Paris and fell in love with her baking right away. Her croissants leave me just dripp-- I mean they’re good. They’re really damn good.”

Charles nodded, too embarrassed to even chastise Malicia for what she was about to say. She was right, though, they were amazing. He had forgotten how nostalgic food could be, how it could warm your bones and make you feel whole. The mismatched pair continued eating cookies, pausing momentarily to take a sip of milk. The two enjoyed the uneasy silence that settled on them, not necessarily peace, but at the very least an unspoken truce. 

“So,” Charles paused, chewing over both the cookie and what he wanted to say, “you’re Dracula’s daughter.” It was less of a question and more of a very loaded statement. Those words contained a world full of baggage. Expectations and legacies. Charles wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but he felt like he had to be the one to extend the olive branch between the two of them. And it would be good to know a little bit more about this woman who seemed reluctant to fight. 

“You know, you’re one of the first people I’ve ever told that to? So shh, keep it under your lid. Everyone thinks that Alucard is dead, and for the sake of my mostly peaceful living I’d like to keep it that way.” She spat out the name, like it was an unpleasant morsel caught between her teeth. “Also if you can please never call me that name, y’know. Bad memories. Bad times.”

“I promise I won’t.” He meant it. Charles could imagine the pain that would come from choosing a new name only to have people disregard it, talking to the ghost that was once there rather than the person that they had become. It hurt his heart, just the idea of being disrespected like that. “That must be, hmm, strange, to be the child of such a beast.”

“I dunno, is it strange to be the child of two unrepentant murderers?”

“What?”

“Glasgow, 1997. Thomas and Margarite Halberd burst into a den of selkies that had lived there for generations and slaughtered the lot of them without even talking with them. Only the youngest survived to tell the tale. Venice, 2004: a whole herd of Squascs, which are endangered by the way, were rounded up and skinned and sold to rich assholes as rare pelts. Fortunately, there are a few underground crypto zoos that have helped the population rebound. There are more, but like, you gotta cut this holier-than-thou shit out, man. We both have blood on our hands, not just from our parents.” She sighed, shifting in position.

“But, well no, my parents are great people. My grandpa too. They’ve done so much to help the human race flourish and thrive.” Charles said the words, but his heart wasn’t necessarily in it. They didn’t do anything to make the sinking feeling in his chest any better. He knew about these cases, he knew about most of his parent’s hunts. 

“Do you really think that, though, or are you just repeating what they told you?”

“I… They have done good, though. My mother helped pioneer technology and methods to keep graveyards and humans safe from the Baba Yaga. Dad led a mass exorcism of a town that was dancing and laughing to death. You have to understand, they’re not bad people. This is a harsh job that makes monsters out of men, good men. Their hearts are hard at times, sure. They can be cruel and harsh, but ultimately, they’re… they have to be good people. Right?”

 The vampire cocked her head to the side., “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters!” Charles knew his anger was impulsive and reactive, but he didn’t care. “It matters to me. My parents. My family. They’re my whole world. My whole life has been the legacy of my family. They trained me. They shaped me into the man that I am today. They have to be heroes. They have to be good. Or else. . . I. . .” He shuddered. 

“Hey. It’s okay. It’s okay. Other people’s actions don’t define you. Look at me. My dad has led armies for literal centuries, raping and pillaging villages in his fucking monster supremacist nonsense. For the longest time, when people looked at me, all they could see was a younger version of him. And I hate it. I hate it so much. But again, your family’s ‘destiny’ or whatever that garbage is, doesn’t have to be you. Look at me, I reinvented myself completely. I wanted to be a girl. Wanted to be disconnected from my dad. So I did. It was hard, it took years of work and effort to establish myself again. But I did.”

“I asked my parents once, and they told me it was natural for, umm, a demon to want to change their shape. Help them blend in. Humans cannot shift their gender or their form as it’s an affront to God.”

Malicia's voice was harsh and for once reflected what Charles assumed to be her true age. “Hey. Charles. You want to think about that for a second?"

There was a chill to the vampire’s words, one that seemed to descend the room into a brand-new Ice Age. Not that Charles’s parents had taught him to believe in the so-called ice age, it just felt appropriate. He had messed up, again. He had messed up and he needed to say something and she kept looking at him and if looks could kill he’d be a bloody smear that she’d lick off the nice floor. 

She looked at him, expecting something; he’d insulted her somehow. Right. She’d been a changeling too, a shifter. She just had to understand, like he did. It made so much sense when his parents had explained things to him when he was younger; he just hoped he had the same conviction that they did. “When I was younger, I went through this phase. I was weak, and once my parents had captured some spell books belonging to a witch who was plaguing Bucharest. And I was curious because she was known for shifting magic. So one day I’m looking through these tomes and my grandfather catches me. Sits me down and gives me this big speech. And, trust me, if you heard him it would make sense to you. 

It’s a weakness of mine. This softness. 

“Something that could be exploited by monsters great and small. To want to be a girl was like begging for temptation or corruption, and so we worked to exorcise those urges. The spellbook was burned and I can’t tell you why, but it hurt. It hurt so bad to watch it go up in flames. But see, Demons, they’ve already fallen from God’s grace. So what’s a little extra damnation on the pile? You're lucky, y'know. You have that flexibility. Witches who have made pacts with beings of greater power obviously have already lost their soul. Nothing more to lose . But Halberds and humans, we have to stand under that scrutiny. It’s what makes us strong. It’s not a weakness. I’m able to resist and that’s worth something. That’s why he was so harsh on me. You have to beat iron to make it into a sword.”

As Charles spoke, the look on Malicia’s face slowly shifted from a guarded rage to a deep sadness back to rage again. “Charles. You are a person. You aren’t metal. It is never okay to, what is it, ‘beat out’ your weaknesses. Especially from an apparently young age. It’s okay to want to be a girl. It’s okay to admit that your family abu--”

“Hahaha, very good trap, Malicia.” The hunter squirmed in his seat. “Is this the part where you offer to take the pain or the frustration away? Promise me riches beyond my wildest dreams. Give me the ‘We’re not so different, you and I’ speech?”

Malicia sighed, “I mean. Are we that different?”

Charles smiled, this was an easy one. “You’re a vampire and I’m a human. Duh.” 

“You are probably the stupidest bitch I have ever laid my eyes on and I have no idea why it makes you even cuter. You’re like a trained attack dog who spends all their time wagging their tail and begging for pets and affection. And trust me, I know what that looks like."

Charles sputtered, “C-c-ute. I’m not. But I. You keep saying things like that.”

“Yeah, and if you keep being cute I’m going to keep saying it. Even if you’ve been so brainwashed you could be the star of some sketchy online fetish story. Look. Charles. When I was born, my dad was so convinced that I was going to be the new dark era unleashed upon this world that he did everything he could to mold me into a little miniature version of himself. He sent me to all these foreign tutors who would starve me, keep me from using blood to sustain myself. They trained me to hunt. To kill. To defile the souls with unholy magic to ‘season my food with fear.' Total bullshit. It was a boot camp that never ended. The first two centuries of my life were spent like this. Ground into the dirt, where I could never be free to be myself.”

Charles didn’t know what to say. This was the point where the hero was supposed to say something and make everything better. To clear up the tears and provide hope, even for his enemy. All he could do was hurt. To feel the phantom lashes of his grandfather’s whip in her words. “That. I’m sorry. You didn't deserve that.” He wanted to reach out to give her something. A pat on the shoulder, even. But he remained frozen in indecision. 

“It’s okay. You didn’t do it. My old man did. And it hurt. Every moment hurt. And at the time I rationalized it because he was helping me be strong. He was helping me take over the family name, not that the bastard ever really intends on giving that up. He just wants another great general to put in his stupid little castle. That bitch is never really going to die.”

Charles scoffed, “Well that’s not true. Grandpa killed him for real years ago. We’re living in a period of great peace, knowing that the largest threat to human civilization is dead.” 

“Ehhhhhhhh.” Malicia made a half-and-half waving hand motion. 

“What do you mean, ‘ehh’? You can’t just say ‘ehh’.”

“Well...” Malicia seemed to turn one word into a twelve-syllable affair, “Dad’s not dead. I mean, he’s always been kinda dead. Undead. But all your grandpa really did was put him to sleep a little longer than normal when he sealed him away. That seal’s been broken for.. hmm, a few years now?”

“What.”

“You know Dracula can’t be killed with a whip, right? He can’t entirely be killed at all. He’s always in a state of half life, and human weapons can’t really do shit.”

“Then why have we beat back his forces every time? Going all the way back to Leonidas Halberd. We have been the bastion keeping humanity safe. A flame in the night. A constant vigil. Please. This has to be true. Please.” He was crying again. Again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that today. None of his normal tricks for keeping it inside helped. 

“Charles, be honest with me.” Malicia crawled on her hands and knees over to the hunter until she had wrapped him up in a hug. Charles hoped she didn’t notice his flinch. “If we were to have a fight, right here and right now. Would you be able to beat me?”

“How much prep time do I have?”

“What?”

“Do I know that it’s you that I’m facing? Can I create a game plan?” He nibbled on his knuckles like he always did when he was about to lose himself in thought.

“No, dummy. You aren’t Batman. Right here. Right now. Malicia’s Castle. No items. Us only.” 

“Well, I’ll have all my hunters’ tools, right.”

“It’s a meme, church kid.”

Charles cocked his head to the side. “What’s a meme?”

“Good Lord, you have been deprived, haven’t you? Anyway, forget I said it. If we were both to have a go at each other right now, what would be the end result?” 

“You’d completely murder me.” There was no hesitation to the hunter’s words. He had made the same assessment not even an hour ago.

“Right. And I’m nowhere even near as old as my dad. He views the Halberds as funny animals who do little tricks. He likes giving them a sporting chance, give them a feeling that they’re doing something as part of his cycle of sleep and strength. Every time he comes back stronger. Every time your family “wins” all it does is just fuel him even more. Sure, your grandpa got him good with a bit of magic to help seal him away for longer than even he expected. But you can’t kill Dracula by normal means. You have to find a hobby when you live forever. And his hobby is some very elaborate life or death larps with your family.”

As the last words left her lips, the room started spinning around the Hunter. Charles lost consciousness before he even hit the ground.