CHAPTER ONE
It was dark that night. Darker than she'd expected, quicker than she'd expected it. Not that it mattered. The Night was Maggie Murdoch's playground, the evils of the dark her prey. She wasn't afraid. Only one thing frightened her, and it wasn't coming for weeks. Tonight was a night for work; swift staking and moving on. Maybe she'd find one in their house tonight. Maybe she could steal some food. They wouldn't need it when they were dead; proper dead, and she was starved.
Throwing the last of her food into the backpack, along with her many weapons, she zipped it shut and dropped it on the floor. Crossing the single room of the small wooden hut, she pulled the dark hooded jumper over her head, her sneakers making no noise as she moved.
She was calm. This had been her life for nearly a decade now, but still something was lacking. She thought she knew what that was; the thing she'd been seeking for months now, to no avail. Maggie was rarely wrong. But there was a first for everything.
She wondered if she would return home tonight. She wondered this every night. With a job like hers, there could be no promises. There was always a risk, however small. It was always there, niggling in the back of her mind.
She wondered if they wondered. Did they ever question their mortality? Sure, they would not die naturally, they didn't age, but did they leave their homes to feed, and wonder if they would return? Did they worry for the people who needed them to come home, who depended on them?
No. Monsters did not worry. They thought of only themselves. Thought only of the hunger.
That's what Damien had always said. But Maggie wasn't sure anymore. Could a mad man be wise? Perhaps. There was a first for everything.
She pulled the hood up over her head, throwing her backpack over her shoulder, and stakes at the ready, she moved out. It was time to kill some monsters of the night.
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Tom?" Hal said through his teeth. "I'm not sure they're going to listen to you."
Hal and Tom stood in a dimly lit car park behind an abandoned supermarket. Surrounding them in a large, open circle, were twelve young, stupid vampires. Hal knew they should fear him, but they were ignorant fools. No one had taught them of the vampire world outside of Barry. They knew nothing but thirst. Thirst and anger, and he and Tom were the perfect targets.
"Well, I don't see us getting out of here any other way, do you?" Tom hissed back.
"Allison would've been apalled."
"Allison's not here, Hal," Tom said. "We gotta look out for each other now. "Fine," Hal sighed, just as the "leader" of the group took a step forward "This is your
last chance," he told Hal. "Are you going to give us the dog or not?"
"Not."
Tom and Hal braced themselves.
"So be it," the blonde vampire said, and just as he indicated for his group to move closer, and Tom and Hal readied themselves for a fight, there was a thud, and a big, thuggish looking vampire fell to the ground, face first.
They looked around them fervently, as the night's silence was broken by a cry of pain from a girl as a stake protruded from her chest.
"What on earth...?" Hal whispered, as he and Tom both spotted the attacker. A young girl was shooting around the carpark, punching and kicking and staking, as if she'd been doing it her whole life. Hal sniffed. He smelt werewolf, and it wasn't Tom. A spinning kick here, a punch to the throat there, elbowing that one in the gut, kneeing another in the crotch. Adrenaline ran through Maggie as she moved, almost like a dance, hitting blow after blow, stake after stake, knocking full grown men to the ground, killing them. She forgot all about the werewolf as she felt the crunch of a nose breaking under her palm. Blood flowed down her wrist, but knowing it wasn't hers, she continued, twirling round to kick a blonde in the stomach. He fell to the floor, where she pounced, staking him right in the heart.
She stopped, breathing hard as she looked about her. The blonde had been the last. Wait, no. She smelled another, along with the familiar scent of werewolf. She looked up to see two men standing just metres away, one with a close-shaved head and a dopey look on his face, three scars along his scalp.
Wolf.
She lunged for the other, the vampire, her stake ready in her hand, when the wolf took a step to the side, standing between them.
"Woah, woah, there," he said, holding her back. "I'd rather you not kill my mate, thanks."
She recognised his voice. She stopped, breathing heavily, thinking, remembering. She thought back to when she was young; four, maybe five. Her father had still been around, and her brother sane.
She'd seen her dad talking with someone, another wolf. She'd been watching them from her tree. She could smell it on him. And the little boy with him, seven or eight years old. He was a werewolf too. She'd felt sick. Who would burden a child with such a curse? But then again, not all thought it was so.
She remembered the little boy, short hair, and a dopey expression on his face. The very same as the man holding her back now.
She remembered her father calling out to the strange man. She remembered the boy's name.
"McNair," she said, relaxing a little. "Tom McNair."
He looked confused, holding her at arms length to get a better look at her. "How do you know that?"
Maggie laughed, relieved to have found someone who she knew wasn't trying to kill her. Or worse. "Our fathers... They knew eachother."
"They did?" Tom was finding it hard to remember her.
"We never met. Officially." She took a step back, holding her hand out for him to shake. "Maggie Murdoch. I watched you from my tree."
He shook her hand, and the vampire snorted.
"I'm sure that's perfectly normal."
Maggie scowled at him, almost growling, her hand tightening around the stake. "Watch it, le-"
"Hal," Tom said, resting a hand on her stake-weilding arm. "And he's alright. He's my mate. So I'd rather you didn't kill him."
Maggie looked repulsed. "Friend? You're friends with this?"
"Yeah," Tom said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Not all vampires are bad, Maggie."
"Not all..." Maggie looked at him incredulously. "What happened to you? Does he... does he have something on you?" she demanded, pointing at Hal accusingly. "Whatever it is, I'll get it back for you. Is he threatening you? Is it your Dad?"
"I assure you," the vampire said slowly. "I have nothing on Tom. You needn't worry."
"Then you've gone mad," she said to Tom, ignoring Hal. "You've gone mad. Where's McNair? What does he have to say about all this?"
"He's dead," he said.
"Oh," Maggie cringed. "I'm sorry-"
"It's alright," Tom said. "It's fine. I remember your dad now. He was a lovely bloke. He was a professor, you know," he told Hal proudly, as if it was his own father he spoke of. "Lovely man. Proper clever. I'm surprised he never introduced us."
"He didn't want me near werewolves. What with the Murdoch thing and all..."
Tom nodded. "Makes sense. Sorry 'bout that."
Hal frowned. "What "Murdoch thing"?" He was ignored.
"So where is he?"
"Dead."
"The, uh...?"
"Vampires."
Tom made a face. "Right. Sorry. What about... Damien, right? That was your brother's name, wasn't it?"
"Yeah." Maggie nodded. "That's actually why I'm here."
"Oh?"
"He's gone missing."