Chapter 2: Shadow

The rest of the week went down without any major incidents. Sure, Nora staked two more vampires and had a nasty encounter with a Chaos Demon, but those were barely worth mentioning. Though she had to call Hange to help her clean up the slime-covered abomination; most non-vampiric demons wouldn't dust, which included the grossest ones because that was life in a nutshell. Nora had washed the clothes she'd worn that night twice already and still she felt like she hadn't got all the smelly slime out.

She didn't run across a single demon without clear-cut motives, however. Each of them had attacked her—as they bloody well should. Incidentally, she also hadn't been back to that alley since then.

She wasn't avoiding it, in the strictest sense. Ashwick simply happened to have a lot of dubious alleys and places to choose from. Hange always wanted to know how her patrols went, though—where she'd been, what she had found—and Nora was well aware she couldn't continue to not-strictly-avoid the area for much longer. It was situated halfway between her house and the park, which was often teeming with demons, especially vampires. And the occasional drug addict—also called demon food—but those were outside her area of responsibility.

Anyhow, it was due time to take that route to the park again or it would only worsen her sleeping troubles. Nora would rather be covered in slime for the second time within a week, but she'd had it. Adrenaline was already an all too prominent part of her daily life, she didn't need that sort of suspense on top of it. She wouldn't allow a sodding vampire any sort of power over her. Especially one that was infuriatingly rude and hard to read.

The fiery, angry resolve in her belly fuelled her as she went outside that Sunday night, basically powerwalking in the direction of the park. As she'd done so many times before. What did she even think would happen? A repeat of their chance encounter seemed unlikely. Judging by his strange behaviour then, he was probably avoiding her like the plague, as she preferred. Or rather avoiding her like dust; he was immune to human illnesses, after all, but he seemed to have a peculiar aversion to dirt.

Something changed when she got within eyeshot of the alley, pulling her undivided focus back to the present. The air felt charged, all of a sudden, and thicker, making it harder to breathe. Nora withstood the urge to touch the cross pendant resting below her collarbones. (It was by no means a foolproof safety measure but she had learnt from her careless mistake and donned the necklace for every patrol since that little strangling incident; this way, vampires would need to exercise at least a modicum of caution when going for her throat.)

She forced herself to press on, never breaking her stride, only allowing herself to cast furtive glances around. Opening her senses.

Nothing to see, nothing to hear. Her shadow on the smooth brick her only company, the dull thuds of her black combat boots the only sound competing with the alert rhythm of her heartbeat.

That pressure, that sense of demonic presence never grew, never manifested into something tangible, definite. When she reached the park, she was decently certain it was just Slayer paranoia. It dissipated when she actually encountered a vampire—a fledgling who had just risen from the park bench he'd been abandoned at, disoriented and uncoordinated in his blood-crazed attack—and once the dust had settled, the paranoia didn't return. Her senses were still tingling from the kill, and even in the lamplit darkness, the world was sharp and bright and right.

She felt it again, however, throughout the following nights. Sometimes early on in patrol, sometimes on her way back, sometimes both. It was probably nothing but over-awareness, and Nora wondered if that was how normal women always felt when they were walking the streets alone at night.

Once, she even took a thirty-minute detour instead of heading back to her home straight away, until that weird, electric sense of apprehension faded. The entire time, she felt like a fool, muttering curses in two different languages under her breath.

That damned weirdo vampire. His power, his demonic signature, had left an imprint, an echo. Like the way you could still feel a bug crawling over your skin even after you got rid of it. It was unsettling, it was distracting, it was plain icky.

Four nights after she had first felt it, Nora found a vampire she recognised from wanted posters circulating among those that were aware of the supernatural, people and not-people alike. 'Clark' was a particularly vile creature who, right after his own rebirth, had started raping and turning people left and right with no regard for secrecy. Once in a while, you got those maniacs who revelled in attention a little too much. Wanting to be infamous among fellow demons was one thing, trying to shove your existence down all of humanity's throats quite another. Yes, maybe demons weren't the best-kept secret, but as things stood, most humans could still do what humans did best: turn a blind eye and happily ignore just how fragile their pretty little lives were. For once, it was for the best.

Nora spotted the wanted vampire exiting the Twilight (the irony of the cheesy name wasn't lost on her). He had a stumbling woman in tow who was at least a foot shorter, dragging her by her wrist, uncaring of her inebriated state. Even from up here—on the flat roof of the nightclub—Nora vaguely recognised the golden hair, square jaw, and the brutish profile of his brow. She almost regretted that she hadn't brought her crossbow, but that blasted thing was a bit of an eye catcher.

It was more fun like this, anyway.

Clark and his victim rounded the corner, heading for the skip bins in the back. Real classy. Two stories above, Nora stalked after them.

Peering over the edge of the building, she snapped a quick picture as proof for the Council, then watched as the vampire pushed the drunk woman against the wall. Nerves taut, Nora waited as the bloodlust ramped up, slamming into her awareness, sharpening her focus.

Clark's face shifted, revealing the demon. His already protruding brow line grew bumpier, those dead eyes taking on a demonic yellow colour. To be honest, the transformation didn't make the biggest difference on him—fangs aside—but the woman started screaming nonetheless.

Nora drew her stake and jumped. She drove it deep into the vampire's back as she landed on her feet behind him, and he exploded in a cloud of ashes before he could even turn around.

The stunned woman who had almost become a snack gaped at her for a few seconds, eyes bulging. Then, a shaky sob tore free from her chest, and she bolted on wobbly legs.

"You're welcome," Nora mumbled. She liked that kind of reaction best, though. No questions to dodge, no emotional support to provide. When it came to that, she was usually the one who fled the scene. Not part of her job description.

Her nerves were still buzzing pleasantly as she dusted off her leggings, and she was alert but not overly so, at ease and secure in what she was and who she was—if only for this fleeting moment.

So when she felt it this time, out of nowhere, she couldn't rationalise it away. She couldn't attribute it to nerves or overthinking. It set her teeth on edge, brought back the battle pulse.

Enough was enough. Either she hadn't been imagining it all along or she had finally lost what had been left of her sanity.

Nora whipped around, fists clenched. The wood of her stake made a cracking noise in her right palm. "I know you're here. Have you been following me around?" She sounded sure of herself. As if she wasn't talking to no one right now like a nutter, as if this wasn't a shot in the dark.

Distant chatter carried from the club's entrance around the corner to her cosy hiding place behind the bins, together with the faint vibrations of the heavy bass.

She still heard the dull thud when he landed on the concrete only a few feet from her. Just like she had a minute ago, only he had come from the adjacent building. Nora widened her stance, her weapon half raised. A wave of triumph dampened her shock; not so paranoid and insane, after all.

The mystery vamp appeared unarmed, this time, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his dark coat. He was frowning at her but didn't seem to care that she looked ready to pounce. "You just cost me two months' worth of rent."

"What?" Was that his routine, spouting some random, unpredictable shite first thing? Also, what the hell? "You pay rent?" The pitch of her voice had climbed up in disbelief.

He tipped his chin towards the dusty spot on the ground next to her. "I was going to take care of that."

Of course he was. Made perfect sense, just like last week, when he had staked that other vampire instead of eating her. There was so much wrong about all this, Nora didn't know where to start. Asking him again why he was killing his kind seemed like a waste of breath, though. "Can't you just claim that you killed him?" After all, vampires had even less sense of honour than humans. They were pragmatists, to put it politely. "It's not like I'll brag about it on my Insta."

"Some Slayers do." In contrast to his casual, inflectionless voice, his gaze was boring through her with an intensity that almost made her miss that he had, of course, neglected to answer her question. "Yesterday, I saw a TikTok of one of you Chosen brats staking a vamp with a billiard pole. Not half as original as the dimwit thinks she is, and the technique was sloppy."

If only he wouldn't stare like that. The buzzing of Nora's nerves wasn't pleasant anymore: less fluffy bees and more angry hornets. Her skittery gaze latched on his collar, unable to maintain direct eye contact for long. Only due to the distracting absurdity of what he was saying did she manage to collect her thoughts enough to formulate a somewhat sensible response. "Broadcasting your supposedly secret identity isn't helpful either." She could only hope her colleague, whoever she was, had at least blurred her face and used anything other than her real name. Potentially giving away your location like that was bad enough.

"Wait." Why was she even concerning herself with a random stupid Slayer she didn't know? That was so beside the point right now. Nora met his gaze again, boldened in her incredulity. "What are you doing on social media?" Didn't mesh well with that whole creature-of-the-night-shrouded-in-mystery shtick he had going on.

"I'd rather sit on the crapper and shit blood, but I have to, sometimes." He clicked his tongue. "Research."

"You would wha—no, forget that. Research? Like, for stalking your prey?"

"Not a foreign concept to you, right? As you just demonstrated." A shrewd glint had entered his eyes, but it was impossible to tell if he was criticising her or whatever the hell else he might be thinking. "Compared to even only twenty years ago, it's gotten so easy it almost feels like cheating." He shrugged. "People have always been dumb, but it never used to have consequences to such an extent."

People. Right. Whatever that was to him. Despite his atypical behaviour, she couldn't let herself forget that the two of them were bound to have very different targets, sometimes. "So you do eat people. Humans."

"Every now and then." His gaze narrowed, sliding to the stake in her hand—she hadn't moved it an inch—then back to her face. "Vampire, remember?"

Oh, she did. The hornets were still angry, stirring up heat in her stomach; confusion was not one of her favourite feelings. Nora glared. "Then how come we're having this tedious chat about shitting blood and sodding TikToks instead of fighting to the death?"

He took a beat before he spoke, slow and deliberate. "Maybe I care about the ecosystem."

"The ecosystem," she echoed, her tone as bland as his.

He gave her a dismissive once-over. "Plus, bratty blondes always leave a gross aftertaste in my mouth."

"Wie nett. At least I haven't been past my expiration date for who knows how many decades already," she shot back in German. A walking corpse criticising her culinary value was a new low for this week.

The bastard didn't even blink. Not a trace of comprehension or anything else was to be found on his face. "You got anything in English to say to me?"

If looks could stake, he'd so be dust. "Vampires don't shit. Blood or otherwise."

"You don't say," he said caustically. "Impressive, the things you learn at Slayer school."

"And where did you learn how to kill your own kind but merely annoy the ever-living fuck out of Slayers—your actual mortal enemies? I don't think they teach that at vampire school."

Icy stares filled the short lull in their pleasant back-and-forth. Eventually, he sighed through his nose. "So long as you don't get any ideas, I see no reason to fight you."

"But—" She caught herself, shaking her head as if to clear away the haze of fury and fucking confusion clouding her mind. Was she really trying to convince a vampire to eat her? Nora took a measured breath and gave up. "Sod that. It's not like a single useless thing you've said to me so far made even remotely sense."

"Not my fault if you don't listen." And just like that, he seemed to have lost all interest. He turned on his heel, already walking away, hands still pocketed. "See you around, then, I suppose. Next time I'll be faster."

Her bafflement let him get five steps further before she came to her senses and shouted, "Hey! I can't just let you piss off and make my town your buffet!"

He paused, half turning in a lazy manner. "What are you gonna do? Invite me for tea?"

Finally, something snapped. Nora saw red. "Fahr zur Hölle!" And she hurled her stake right at his chest, with deadly Slayer accuracy.

His hand shot out and closed around the weapon, inches before making contact.

He'd caught it. He had caught the fucking stake, moving so quickly her eyes almost hadn't been able to follow. She'd expected him to dodge, maybe.

He frowned at the stake in his hand, then at her, searching her face.

Bloody hell, here it comes.

"Hotheaded brat," he said, twirling the stake with his fingers, dizzyingly fast.

He wasn't attacking her. He still wasn't attacking her.

Fine, so she wasn't to his taste. No problem, she could respect that. But that he wouldn't even want to snap her neck in retaliation? Outrageous. What was his fucking damage?

"Decent aim, but that was fucking stupid," he said, and she secretly agreed. It was, in fact, in the top five of the stupidest things she had done as a Slayer, and the only excuse she had was that the bastard got her riled up like no other, like it was his sodding calling.

He didn't need to know any of that, though.

"You didn't just chuck your only weapon at me, right?" he added. She hadn't—she still had a second, smaller stake in her jacket—but he didn't need to know that, either.

"What's your name?" Nora blurted, belatedly. Golly, Hange would be so proud of her.

The mystery vamp's brows lifted a tiny fraction. "Wanna look me up, or what?" He was dead on, of course, and he read it from her furious, flaming hot face if his eyeroll was any indication. "It's Levi. Good luck with that."

"What about—" your last name, nicknames, aliases, anything, she meant to ask, but forgot to keep talking when he drew back his arm. Getting ready to throw.

"Fetch." And he flung her stake, sending it flying over the nightclub in a wide arc.

When she looked back ahead, where he'd just been standing, she found the spot deserted. He had vanished into the darkness, just like her stake.

"Bugger!" Nora kicked the solid steel of the large bin next to her, leaving a sizeable dent. "Absolute fucking wanker!" She added a string of German curses.

She'd kill him. She'd definitely kill him. If he didn't kill her first. He was toying with her. Yes, that must be it.

A pulsating pain was gaining momentum in her foot. It was grounding. Comforting, almost. She could almost delude herself into thinking she had actually done something useful about this. She took the deepest breath she'd taken all week.

Right, then. First step, research.

#

Nora woke to the sounds of Hange shuffling about in the bathroom the next morning; apparently, she had nodded off at their dining table, head pillowed in her arms, with her phone and her biggest mug right next to her. It featured a grumpy-looking cartoon vampire and said 'always look on the bite side of life' in bold, all caps letters—a gift from Hange, naturally—and still contained a few mouthfuls of black tea, now cooled to room temperature. Garlic was curled up in her lap, all warm and cosy.

She had decided not to bother Hange in the dead of night, this time. It wasn't that urgent, after all, and Nora had needed some time to process everything. And calm down.

Without Hange's books at her immediate disposal—those were in her room—Nora hadn't had any choice but to resort to online research. She'd felt like an imbecile, firing off search inquiries using the keywords 'vampire Levi', with and without additions like 'American', 'kills demons', 'short', and 'rude'. The underbelly of the internet hadn't given her much to work with. Less polite descriptors hadn't led to any success, either.

Whatever he was, he wasn't completely dumb. She couldn't find him anywhere on social media—he must be using a fake persona or private profiles, just like she sometimes did—and all that people discussed online were vague rumours that could be about anyone. Levi was a common name, and the internet was still a predominantly human space. At least everyone online pretended to be human. The occasional video or picture capturing the occult—like, for instance, a foolish Slayer posting a TikTok of her latest kill—was either scrubbed from the Internet and people's memories or debunked pretty quickly; every government employed a few witches and warlocks for that purpose among others. What remained were those few in the know, those who believed but didn't know, and those who thought it was all a big fad. Usually, the last group was by far the majority, but not in places like Ashwick with its Hellmouth and drastically increased demonic activity.

They'd have to ask around in the local demon community if the Watcher books also turned out to be a letdown. Not every demon had humans on their meal plan; an unfortunate few species, for example, preferred a diet consisting mainly of kittens. But most of the less antagonistic ones just liked money too much. And staying alive.

Of course, those were never vampires.

And all that work was based on the presumption that the bastard had actually given her a real name.

Hange hurried back into her room after Nora had briefly summarised the events of the night and returned carrying a stack of old books. They started with the two thickest tomes, riffling through the indexes.

"He sure didn't give you a lot to work with," Hange muttered, scratching her bedhead while perusing the 'L' entries of her book.

"Where'd be the fun in that?" Nora said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Her frustration was steadily building with every Levi she found that was clearly not the one they were looking for.

"Describe him." Hange grabbed her notepad and pen.

"Erm, short—somewhere between the two of us, height-wise. Black hair in an undercut, tired eyes. Always got that mean, morose expression on his face." By the time she was done with her description, Nora was scowling. Her stake hand was itching. She hadn't managed to rid her mind of that aggravating face all night, not even once she'd dozed off on the table.

"Can you guess at his age?" Hange asked, scribbling.

"Looks like he's in his twenties."

Hange scribbled some more, but said, "His real age."

"No clue." Nora buried her fingers in her hair, elbows on the table. Their cat abandoned his sleeping place as she shifted in her seat. Immediately, her lap felt cold. "His whole, er, aesthetics and demeanour don't give much away, but…" In the safety of her home, partly hidden between the thick curtains of her sandy blonde mane, she conjured up the memory of his demonic energy driving her Slayer senses haywire. Whichever way she twisted and turned it, that demon didn't make much sense to her. "He feels old," she said, which was as accurate as she could get when comparing it to past experiences.

Hange leaned across the table, her book and notes forgotten for the moment. "In which way?"

"Powerful. Unpredictable, yet tempered, and all the more dangerous for it. Not like a fledgling at all." To her dismay, Nora felt goosebumps rise on her arms. The memory didn't evoke quite the same reaction as sensing him on the streets when he'd been shadowing her, but it was more acute than it should be in the light of the early morning.

"I've never heard you describe a vampire like that before. And you've killed some that were older than a century, or even two." Fortunately, Hange was taking notes again, though her fascination was evident in her tone and the hasty, enthusiastic way she guided her pen across the paper.

"He is—" Nora stopped herself before saying something absurd and premature like unique. It felt as if she'd be giving him power over her through her choice of words, and she had zero desire to embellish what that walking freak show of a vampire actually was. "He has his own signature," she conceded after some deliberation.

The pen in Hange's hand had stilled again. She looked up at Nora, eyes sharp behind her glasses. "Huh. Interesting."

Nora's cheeks warmed, inexplicably; she should be used to her brilliant Watcher's scrutiny. When undivided, Hange's attention was a force to be reckoned with.

"I'd have gone for weird and annoying, but sure." Nora shrugged, pushing to a stand and turning away.

The rest of the books could wait. She didn't have high hopes, anyway. The cat needed his breakfast, and she needed to hide beneath her blankets and get a few hours of proper sleep.

Preferably dreamless.