Part Six

****Six Months Later**** 

Ty laughed out loud. His tenth hit since he left the Lancers. He had just done two leeches in broad daylight, without any kind of back up. Not bad, even for him. Sure, he lost a crossbow quarrel and those weren't cheap. But still, he broke out into a grin, not half bad.

He headed over towards the crescent, towards home, whistling. He was anxious to hide the weaponry on him. He had a bag with a standard hunting bow, silver-tipped wooden arrows, his crossbow, and his quarrels. Hidden in the lining of his jacket was a set of silver and wood daggers. His sword was tucked in its special pocket. Walking around with all the weaponry made him more than a little nervous.

He looked at the car in the driveway. Damn. It was Ms Jensen, his social worker, sitting on his porch. He looked to see if she had spotted him. She had. He sighed and headed over, hoping his clothes would pass her scrutiny.

"Hi, Ms Jensen, why don't you come in, while I change out of these clothes. I'm going to visit 'Becca tonight." He opened the door with his key, leaving her to follow him in.

"You are a hard person to get a hold of, Ty." Ms Jensen commented.

"Uh huh," Ty headed for the bedroom. "Be back in a moment." In his room, he quickly stripped down, throwing the possibly bloody clothes into the laundry basket. He pried open the secret compartment in the floor of his closet.

He shoved the bag, his jacket and sword into it, hastily, and sealed it. Then he dressed, putting on suitably clean and presentable clothes.

Ms Jensen was waiting for him in the kitchen. 'Do you mind if I do a standard inspection?"

Ty looked at her, like, did he have a choice? Yes, Lady, I do mind. In fact, I'd like you to go straight to hell. . . No, don't pass go and there is no 'get out of hell free' card. He sighed. "Of course not."

She opened his refrigerator first. "Apples, a jug of water, ketchup, baking soda, soy sauce, and a loaf of bread."

Ty smiled, insincere. "You caught me before I had a chance to go grocery shopping."

"No, Ty, I think I caught you after you went." She opened his pantry cupboards, "Minute Rice, Peanut butter, Cereal, Campbell's soup." She raised her eyebrow, disapproving, at the nearly empty cupboards.

"I eat at work a lot."

She paced around his house, taking note of the packed laundry hamper, the dusty ledges and dirty dishes. "I rather think, Ty, that you are very lucky the standards for  teenage males are set so low."

"Are you done, then?" Ty asked her. "You must be very busy, places to visit and such."


"I did wait a rather long time for you." She walked to the door and pulled on her shoes. "I do have better things to do." She went out the door.

He locked it behind her. "$#!&%."

He rushed back to his room, and pulled out the bag and his jacket. He sighed. The blood had dried on his weapons. He grabbed a rag and first rubbed his sword. It had the most blood on it, and it needed to be sharpened again. It generally got very dull after a hit. Vampires were so dratted thick.

He sighed and put it above the mantle where it belonged. It was a gift to his father, when his father had saved the life of some commander or other such in some war/battle. Ty had been too young for such tales back then. It was fully functional, sharp gleaming iron, fairly old, and devoid of any ornamentation. It was never intended to be a ceremonial sword. In Ty's hand's that was the last function it served.

Then he wiped down all his arrows. That was easy. The hard part was the quarrels. The heads were four edged in typical fashion, and were not meant to be easily removed. They were caked with blood, and it was very difficult not to slice himself on one of the sharpened edges.

He had only needed two knives, so he cleaned them up easily. Then he carefully wrapped everything in its black velvet packing and stored them in the floor. The hunting bow and crossbow needed to be restrung but that was a job for a rainy day.

He carefully replaced the floorboard and strewed clean and dirty clothes over it in typical teen male fashion. There, no one would ever guess.         

He whistled again. He went up and picked a package. He had packed it for 'Becca last night. The phone rang. It was probably one of the gang. . . They hadn't stopped calling him, every night for six months, even though he never answered. It was their way of telling him that they would be there if he needed them. They just didn't understand that in his business, friends were the last thing he needed.

He headed out the door and caught the bus to the hospital. The people on the bus avoided him. It was as though they could sense that he was different. . . They carefully found directions to look in, anywhere but facing him.

He smiled, grimly. It had only been six months but everything about him had changed. He was stronger now, tougher not only in body but in spirit. Physical pain had no more meaning to him. It was as distant as the cold white stars at night. He didn't even walk the same way anymore. It was as though he was no longer any more human than the vampires he hunted.

He rung the bell for his stop and got off the bus.