Okay, this is my first Night World fic, the idea for which struck me while I was updating my profile. I then proceeded to write the whole thing in one sitting, then rewrite it when Word had a fit and shut down, deleting everything. I prefer the new version though, so it was worth the wasted time. Rashel might be slightly out of character here, since she's only twelve and not as mature as she is in the book The Chosen (yes, this is acting as a disclaimer. All rights belong to L. J. Smith). I only hope that it seems a likely characterisation of a younger version of her.

With all that said, I hope you enjoy it!

'I don't stay at schools more than one year at a time. I live with foster families, and I usually get myself sent to a new city every year. That way I stay ahead of the vampires.' – Rashel Jordan.

She was surprised at how easy it had been, really. After all, he'd never expected a twelve year old girl to have a stake. He'd never expected that she would plunge it into his chest, calm as could be, the instant he grabbed her in the dark, deserted warehouse. He only knew he'd fallen into the trap – with the little girl as both bait and executioner – when he'd looked into her fierce green eyes and seen the survivor there.

He'd died with a snarl on his face.

Rashel had put a lot of thought into this; her first kill. She'd watched for the signs, scoped out the area, made frequent appearances there so that the vampire could see her as an easy, reliable target. In her mental walkthroughs of every scenario she could think of, every single one had ended with her bittersweet memory; that would evolve into her alias in the future.

'This kitten has claws.'

She'd said it, too, when she dropped the body to the ground, before she doused it in gasoline from a water bottle in her bag and set light to it. A gang of teenagers with nothing better to do would walk through this very building later that night. They would find no sign of the vampire, other than a pile of warm ash and the fading stink of burnt flesh.

Rashel left the empty bottle there, in the fire. The stake she would toss into some bushes on the way home. The nice family she was staying with would fuss over her when she walked in at quarter to twelve at night, dressed all in black, the simple balaclava she'd worn stuffed in her bag. She'd put them off with cool assurances that she was fine, she would shower away the dirt of being so close to a vampire, she would go into her room and shut the door.

Rashel sat on her bed, knees drawn up, arms hugging them, her head resting on her knees and her black hair forming a curtain around her, dripping tears onto the covers.

It was only now, when she was in the relative safety of a house, with the noise of a family downstairs drifting up soothingly, that the shock was setting in. It was one thing to imagine stabbing a leech; quite another to do it.

It wasn't the actual kill that scared her; it was her utter lack of emotion when she did. She was desperate to be good enough; to hunt down and kill the vampire responsible for tearing her life apart when she was five years old, but she didn't want to turn into a monster in order to do so.

Not for the first time, Rashel wanted someone to talk to about everything, someone who would understand and wouldn't think she was crazy. She told her story at every house she stayed in; of the vampire at the carnival that had killed her mom and stolen her friend. None of them believed her; they thought her so traumatised by the experience that she'd made up a ludicrous story to avoid dealing with the truth. That didn't bother Rashel too much; it just meant that they didn't know anything. But tonight she wanted someone to reassure her; tell her it was okay to react like this, that she wouldn't turn into the monster she so hated.

She had nobody.

A tiny hiccup of fear shook her shoulders. She was Rashel Jordan, twelve years old, and tonight she'd killed someone.

'I don't know if I can do this.' The thought squeezed tears from her eyes, but she bit her lip against any other sounds. It terrified her; that she would become a copy of the monster that had killed her mom. If she did; did she have a right to kill him?

The thought chilled her and scared her. Without that goal, what was she? She had dedicated herself to this, ever since she'd watched her aunt's house burn.

But she dreaded the day that she would look in the mirror and see a heartless killer staring impassively back.

It made her feel sick, horrible, lost, but it left her with one thought. Could she kill again, despite that, and not lose herself?

The question calmed her slightly, and she found herself digging deep into her soul, past the terrified child, past the cold, uncaring facade of a girl, right to the core, where she could answer herself truthfully.

Yes. Yes, she could. Her reaction to killing scared her, but this was only the first one. She was prepared now; she'd cope better from now on. She would fight with honour; strike only when the vampire leapt for her throat. That way she would anchor herself.

Slowly, like a steadily banking fire, Rashel felt her resolve filter back.

Straightening up, she brusquely dashed away the tear tracks on her cheeks, and clambered into bed. Tomorrow, she'd get herself sent to another house, in another city. She'd tell her new guardians her story, and they would pause, look at each other as if deciding something.

They were vampire hunters, and they would tell her about the Night World.