They are quietly seen off that evening, Ellie and Mavis making amends, and during the 'goodbye's Elliot takes Johnny aside. The younger man looks up at the older one, who—when Johnny thinks about it—isn't really too much older than Johnny himself, but stress and strife had aged this man by what seemed like a decade. Elliot opens his mouth, then closes it, seeming to try to choose his words.

". . . Keep your girl safe," Elliot finally said simply, and held some things out to him, "And if you...if you ever run into that thing again, well..."

Johnny saw what he was being given, eyes widening for a moment, before nodding gravely.

"Yeah."

And that is how Jonathan now had a few firearm magazines in his pockets and a holster on his belt, slightly hidden under his parka. The semi-automatic sheathed in it felt like an alien weight at his hip, having the sense of somehow being something heavier. After a while of wearing it Johnny wouldn't notice the weight, not too much. He'd always thought guns were pretty cool, awesome things. He'd been to firing ranges at fairs and schools and things but... He really does want to call this kind of thing cool. But now, thinking of them as things to actually be used-used...

He'd try it later, but not to fire it, not yet. He'd test the weight of it in his hands, feel that slight, strange solidity through the plastic-feeling stuff, the way the barrel kind of wavered in his two-handed hold, aiming, levelling it at some vague point on the horizon, remembering Elliot's brief instruction—the movies always get it wrong: in line with your elbow, back it with your body, dominant hand high on the grip, here, like that, helps stop recoil. Use your support hand to fill in around the handle where the dominant one can't wrap around, align your thumbs...yeah, makes a stable shot, never shoot one-handed if you want to actually hit anything, at least distance-wise. Up close? Almost anything goes...

Something inside of him wanted to lower it, and something else inside of him wanted to fire it, to pull this trigger his finger rested on just to see what would happen, but he knew what would happen, but somehow he still wants to see it... He thinks about it, but he doesn't fire. Would be pretty stupid to just waste these bullets. Anyway, Johnny wasn't so sure how cool he thought guns were, now...

He shifts a bit, wincing as the backpack strap caught a bit on his bad shoulder. That's right... His shoulder... It was honestly kind of creepy, how that went down. Discoloured with bruises and slightly lumpy with calcification, the harsh gouging in the meat of it was already healed and scarred over, like a levelled-up healing factor. But apparently this healing factor didn't last long, and only took care of big things. He and Avril, they'd...gotten a look at the thing on Johnny's chest after taking care of his shoulder.

It looked kind of like a birthmark when they saw it, like a port-wine stain, in the shape of a faint, faint handprint low on his sternum. It really was almost like someone had dipped their hand into a purple-red wine and pressed it on his chest, except the stain was a bit under the skin, like a tattoo... Johnny hoped his mom wouldn't skin him for it, if she ever found out... Poking at it didn't do anything, and Avril even tried jabbing Johnny with a few needles after explaining how he thought the protection thing 'worked', but nothing happened. This was evidently the protection spell though.

Jonathan ran through his memory, remembered getting Blood Beaters from that creepy lady, before everything had blown up... Her name had been...Baba, right?

He remembered how she'd shoved his chest, and that had been the only time they'd been in any physical contact, hadn't it? Huh.

His shoulder gives another sharp twinge, and Mavis notices him trying to hide his wince.

Mavis watched him smile, though it looked a little tight at the corners. She gave him a smile back, let him keep his peace.

She looked ahead, down this asphalt road, watching the buildings slowly, slowly go by under the cloudy nighttime, silence accented only by the scuff of their shoes and the gentle shift and jingle of their backpacks. Mavis thought about it, then decided to break the silence.

"Do you know," she spoke up, careful with her voice, "Why there are so many more humans than vampires, Johnny?"

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him tilt his head in thought, his pace slightly flagging.

"Huh," he muttered, blinking, "I hadn't really thought about that..."

Mavis nods, smiling a little, and went on, "It's something I didn't really think about either," she murmured, "Just another...stupid lesson in a bunch of other things Dad told me to be scared about, but being out here, now, really puts it in perspective, y'know..." She clears her throat a little, making a face at the congestion in her throat as it turns into a slight coughing, "Khuh! . . . Ugh... Gonna—khm, yuck—gonna be a little monologue-y, just going to say that right now." she confesses.

"All here, all ears." Johnny says, smiling at her reassuringly while they kept walking.

She nodded again, and took a moment to think. "It's like..." she started out, "It's kind of like that 'carnivore-herbivore' way of life thing. You get big, big herds of plant-eaters and a few packs or loners of meat-eaters, right?"

"Right."

"Well, it's the same with vampires and humans, honestly, that 'carnivore-herbivore' thing," she goes on. "Humans outnumber vampires, that's simply how it's balanced. That's how it should be, even if...even if Dad didn't like it. Doesn't. Are you getting why that is?"

There are a few more quiet moments while Johnny thinks, while Mavis starts to regret bringing it up. This is a pretty heavy subject.

"It's kinda cool, like those National Geographic shows," she hears him say, and it surprises her when he seems to mean it. National Geo-what? "Humans are..." he says carefully, "Humans are vampires' source of food, right? Naturally? Like lions and antelopes." Mavis nods uncomfortably, but his genuine interest makes her a bit more at ease with it, "Except you guys eat fake antelope," Jonathan went on, "I mean—blood, fake blood." That made her laugh. He adds, "Well, y'know, usually." and then looks like he immediately regrets it as Mavis's laughter dies off a little.

". . . Yeah," Mavis admits quietly, "'Unhealthy' as Dad keeps harping it, humans are still...you know. I mean, we can drink animal blood and stuff, and eat bugs and things, but when it comes down to it, near blood, Blood Beaters, anything close enough to the real thing is, well, yada-ya, you know the drill..."

"Yeah." Jonathan says, almost subdued, thinking about that quart sloshing around in the bottom of his backpack...

"A-anyway, it's balanced," she goes on to repeat, "Only a certain number of us are around the world, and...if Dad's anyone to judge, we don't get out much, don't interact much, which makes sense. Getting too many too close together would mean stepping on some toes. I mean, you've seen how dramatic my dad is." she chuckled.

"Yeah, it's like those family reunions," Jonathan commented, "Great to visit, not so cool to live with, not saying family things aren't awesome, though. Man, you've had New Year's parties, right?" She's about to answer when he quickly backtracks, "Woah, woah, starting to sidetrack." he laughed sheepishly, "Anyway, vampire stuff?"

"Yes, vampire stuff," she chuckled, "Frankly, vampires are dependent on humans or in this case, the substitutes, but vampires are scarce enough and live long enough that this is an okay existence, not much demand for food. But that also means the whole continuation of the species thing can get a bit...crazy at times, when it counts, because we're so few." her expression softened into a smile, "My dad was real lucky to meet my mom, that they zinged, that they loved like they did..."

". . . Yeah..." Johnny agreed softly, recalling the tale of the Lady Lubov...

"Her being gone was...kind of a big thing," Mavis admitted more quietly.

"If more vampires were gone, and I was old enough, well, I probably would've had to have gotten married..."

"Would've—what?!" was the young man's quick yelp.

"Okay, okay, okay, maybe not, but it would've still been a big deal," she was quick assure him, trying not to laugh at his stunned/reproachful expression, "It's just..." She swept her hair behind her ear nervously, adjusting her backpack, "Marriage and-and kids and...stuff like that's a big thing for vampires, because there're so few. If it came down to it, when a vampire needs to marry, but there's no other vampire to rationally marry, that's where the...the turning thing comes in..."

There's an uncomfortable silence between them, and Mavis continues, "Turning is...sacred," she mumbles, "It's not like Ellie told me what she thought it was, once. You know, where, we just find people and change them or something. Whoever gets turned is going to have a whole new existence, and whoever turns them, a whole new element in life, and it has to be kept in balance... A lot of trust, a lot of patience..."

"And love?" Jonathan asks quietly.

Mavis nods, "Above all things." she murmurs, confirming.

Then she feels her fangs begin to itch, her face, the scar stung a little in memory, "It's a sacred thing..." was her low snarl, tinged with fear, "It's...it's... Marcus, he...he just thought it was a—what? S-some sort of tool or something...? No, with that...with that bastard, it would've gone s-so wrong..."

Johnny suddenly hugs her, making her jerk to a stop.

She pauses, then returns it, their hands wedging into the spaces between their backs and their backpacks in the middle of the empty asphalt road.

". . . Someone like him would upset the balance of things, I think, the way he was talking," she continued to say quietly, but more calmly, comforted by his body's warmth, leaning her head on his shoulder, "Too many humans turning, no true vampire to teach them—I couldn't, I'm not old enough to... So many vampires, so 'young', in such a tight space w-would..." she turned her head, feeling a certain special warmth in Johnny's neck, how hadn't she noticed it before, "Hunger..." she breathed, feeling him shiver and seeing goosebumps rise on his skin. They couldn't see each other's faces, but she heard his breathing, he was slowing it, steadying it, purposefully relaxing in her embrace. She held her breath, suddenly nervous, feeling a cold sweat break out on her forehead, "Th-they'd be so hungry, and there'd be so many, that there'd be so little to e-eat," she went on shakily, almost thinking she could see the skin pulsing slightly in that place under his jaw, and wondered how it felt, and found herself automatically moving forward, thinking about kissing that small patch of skin, "They just wouldn't...be able...to stop..."

But Mavis does stop, just a hairbreadth from his pulse point. She freezes, sighs, an exhalation across his skin, and then kisses his cheek.

"It would've been very, very bad," she finished in a mumble against his cheek, "He...scared me..."

Jonathan's paused, and for a moment she's worried, but then he turns, his mouth brushing gently across the scar, to rest at the corner of her mouth. Their eyes are partly closed, their bodies pressed together enough to feel the solidity of flesh even through the layers of thick clothing.

"It's okay," he whispers, but before Mavis can protest he kisses her, "You're okay," he elaborates into her mouth after a breath for air, "We're gonna be okay... Yeah?"

She looks at him straight, and then nods, smiling slightly, "Yeah."

Another kiss, brief and warm, and then they move on along the empty, asphalt road, while heavy-bellied clouds skudded the sky...

. . .

It finds him huddling in one of the smaller houses in the suburbs, 'licking at his wounds' being a phrase that could almost be taken literally at this point. Thin poolings of bloody, murky water make the abandoned kitchen's linoleum slick and slimy. He reeks of smoke and gasoline, those smells overpowering the more...organic scents... He looks at It with weary, barely controlled rage when It walks in on him, his face contorted beyond the swelling bruises and fire-dried blood. "Told me it would work," Marcus snarled brokenly, physical trauma and a slightly changing mouth shape distorting his voice, his tongue absently ran over his aching teeth in memory. Her blood hadn't tasted 'good', no, but the sensation had been almost sweet, "It's not working..."

"Not my fault," It replied bluntly, unperturbed, leaning against the counter, "You're the one who decided to start, ah, 'playing with your food'..."

A spewing of rasping, harsh profanities was the reply.

It waits patiently for him to run out of breath or brainpower, whichever happened first, quietly observing his condition.

He wasn't burned, no, but his skin was reddened with a higher sensitivity to sunlight, and It knew there was more going on underneath the skin. Changes in metabolism, in palate, in the chemical and genomic structure, in blood circulation, perhaps a slight increase in cell regeneration, but whatever was changing wasn't changing completely, expending energies and proteins in a constant fluxing between conversion or reversion; a hybridizing, bastardizing, torturous state of limbo that left this poor creature It saw before It wanting... Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on the opinion—this wasn't going to kill him, not quite.

He finally took a breath, then just kept breathing, the sound of his respiration harsh and haggard, sounding a bit watery in his chest.

"Did...did she make it out...?" the man finally asks roughly, making It blink, "Is she okay?"

". . . As much as can be expected, which is a very good thing for all involved in this," It replies, tilting Its head, "But is this sentiment I'm hearing from you?"

That made the human laugh, a painful-sounding hacking. If he could indeed be considered human, still.

He slowly calms down to breathe again, looking at It more steadily, squinting, the cataracts in his eyes giving off a slight sheen, one of them is slightly healing.

". . . You're a guy now." Marcus notices, forehead wrinkling.

"Yes." It felt at the stubble on Its face, as if remembering, "Or at least I take the appearance of one." It offers cryptically, shoving Its hands in Its pockets.

"When you were Miss, you...always kept smiling at me," Marcus went on, neither in confusion nor betrayal, just a simple observance, "Miss had kissed me once."

"Miss had liked you." It explains, slightly indulgent, a faint smile returning now.

"And I care about you, Marcus, really. But Miss's face is no longer needed, not now. Now Miss is gone."

A shaking hand nervously picks at a scab, wiping away some of the pus that oozed up.

"What the hell are you...?" Marcus growled, trying to rub the sting of the opened scab away, even as the skin tried to seal itself.

It thinks this over carefully.

"I am whatever I am needed to be, I am whatever one expects to see..." It answers for now. That's not quite the answer, but it's not wrong.

"A gender-bending backstabber?" he spat in bitter retort, faint redness spraying the floor in front of Its feet.

It looks down, blinking slowly, then just as slowly looks back up at Marcus, who froze.

Its smile spread, a smooth, stony grin, "If that is how you see me...?" It says softly, thinking it's time to remind this investment of Its...generousness...

Flesh began to fall from It, slipping from under peeling, putrid skin in chunks, lumps of greenish-gray meat. The flesh fell with rotten, soft pafs to the floor like overripe fruit, to reveal slimy, yellowed bones noisily writhing with maggots. A hoarse, animal groan suddenly grated from Marcus's ravaged throat as It arched over him, large and near-surrounding in the dim light, skeletal, stick-like, looming like a child's half-wake nightmare, rotting and reeking of decay and sulphurous copper, fingers spreading almost wantingly, curving like crude, rusty scythe blades.

"I am whatever I am needed to be," It chittered, watching Its investment try to back into the wall, try to curl in on himself. How adorable, It thinks.

"I am whatever one cannot stand to see."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-I'm-sorry-I'm-sorry-I'm-sorry..." Marcus mutters frantically.

One metallic talon gently begins gouging the paneling next to him, nearly to his neck.

"Do you remember, Marcus-s-s?" It cooed, clicking, "The dead, the deaths, the dying, how open wounds were filled with muck and maggots while the breathers begged for mercy, be it life or death? Do you remember them begging you, Marcus-s-s, as their hands-s-s reached for you? Marky, Marky, why were you le~eaving them?"

"They were already dead!" he screamed in terrified defiance, angrily lashing out with his knife, making It rear back with an amused chirring.

"They were already—they just weren't—!"

"Do you want to join them, little Marcus-s-s?" It asked, turning as he tried to escape It, only for him to slip in the essences that pooled on the floor, landing hard on his shoulder and side, nearly cracking his head against the tile, but still he tried to scrabble away, breath hissing between bared, clenched teeth and wide, wide eyes, "Do you want to know how they fe~elt without e~eyes or limbs or tongues or mi~inds with bullets and bla~ades and bombs and bugs in their bodi~ies? No, no of course you don't, of course you do~on't... Do you remember, little Marcus-s-s?"

Talons caught the end of a pants leg, dragging the human back, the effort aided by the slickened floor. The human flipped over in his struggles and was faced with the rotting visage of Death as It grinned at him, "N-no, NO...NNNHN—...!" his scream is choked off by his own throat, and he can only...

"Wasn't I merciful? When we met, wasn't I kind?" It continued softly, suddenly it's a human's hand gently grabbing Marcus's ankle, whole and healthy. There is no rotten flesh, no bones, no maggots, no mess beyond what Marcus had made in the small kitchen. "Didn't I listen to you, and teach you how to use your fears? Didn't I give you what you wanted, supply you with what you needed?" It continued, almost sadly, watching the young man curl into a shaking ball under Its now seemingly gentle touch, "Wasn't I generous, Marcus?"

"Yes, yes, yes, you were, y-you were, I'm—..."

"Hush," It grunted gently, idly grooming dried blood and singed hairs and dead skin from his scalp.

"It's alright... As long as you understand... You do understand, right, Marcus?"

The shaking slowly stops, the breathing slowly evens out, and the human slowly uncurls, staring at the wall as It sits and waits.

". . . Yes," he says flatly, eyes dark and dull once more, "I...yes. I understand."

". . . Good boy..."

Marcus sits up with a groan, feeling the bruising throb down his side, trying to heal.

"What...did I do wrong? What do I need to do?" he asks, slightly unsteadily.

It smiles at him once more. This was such a good investment.

"You need to find her, hunt her," It says simply, not needing to elaborate who she was, "It will take time. But she's the one you started this with, so, it stands that she is the only one who can finish it. There is a...ritual of sorts, to vampirism, that between you two is only half-complete. Mutual giving. Mutual taking. In your case the ritual is slightly reversed but...not incompleteable. You freely gave to and took of her, now she needs to willingly take from and give to you..."

Marcus growled a little at that, before starting to clean his knife.

"It's alright," It assured him, standing up and brushing off Its jeans, "I can give you what you need. As I always do..."

It smiles again as It watches Its investment drink in Its words, feeling the other bits of his story begin to fall into place.

His role began to take form, take shape, become sharpened...

True, this boy was no Van Helsing, but It's learned well enough by now that a story can't really be told the same way twice...

. . .

A Brief Note: As always, any who are confused as to the origin of Johnny's spell may find it the Second Strike chapter. At this posting, the story will be 25 chapters and over 71k words. And we're not even done yet, eh? Your thoughts are always welcome. Thank you.