— Abraham Grimveil, “Facing the Darkness: A Hunter’s Manual,” page 10
Being on the run was not as glamorous as Emily had pictured it.
Her heart was galloping like a racehorse, her legs carrying her as far as they could before giving out. It might have been smart to stay with the caravan of survivors, but Emily knew better. If that vampire was still after her, it was going to find her hiding among them. So, while it was still dark, she snuck away from them and ran off. The first problem was that her hands were still glowing like hot coals, so to conceal most of the light, she needed to wrap them up. The second problem came in that the only fabric around was the clothes on everyone’s back. So, under the cover of darkness, she bundled her shirt around her hands and dashed off into the night. Only when it was morning, and she was certain the light from her hands wouldn’t give her away, did she unwrap them. It felt silly, but it was the kind of thing Chester Finch would do to escape. If it worked for him, it had to work for her, right?
While running through the forest brush, the stench of ash and smoke still clung to her. If that vampire was still hunting her, it could probably smell her from miles away. She needed to wash it away, along with the dried blood crusting on her face. It had leaked down onto the front of her nightgown and stained it, which likely wasn’t helping. Vampires could likely smell blood. Then she heard it: the faint trickle of water nearby.
Emily crept toward the sound until she reached a narrow stream. She dipped her hands in first and let out a sigh of relief as the water hissed faintly against her palms. The heat eased enough to feel bearable. She then peeled off her soiled nightgown and dropped it on the bank. The ice water bit her skin as she submerged herself fully, scrubbing at her skin until the blood and ashy smell were gone. A few birds scattered overhead, startling Emily. She sank down, covering herself up to her nose in the water, half-expecting the vampire to lunge from the trees, but he never came. In that moment, the wave of panic swiftly crashed, and Emily choked.
They were dead.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she curled up beneath the water. She hadn’t even the time to process it. It was burned into her memory, the way her father’s body flew across the room, the sound her mother made when the vampire bit into her neck. It was her fault. She had led him there. She had led him to her home. Everything was her fault. It was always her fault. She didn’t even know if Lux got out okay. She might have killed her best friend.
Emily only gave herself a few more minutes to cry. When her head was a little clearer, she remembered why she was out here and got back to work. She scrubbed her nightgown as best she could, until the bloodstains faded into dull smears, then wrung it out and slipped it back on, still damp. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. If the vampire was tracking her scent, she’d just made its job harder.
But now what? She was in the middle of nowhere. She had no idea where she even was. Emily couldn’t exactly check to see which way she was running when she had first broken off, not when it was pitch black out. All she could do was wander in a direction and pray she found help.
She didn’t.
Emily wandered for days, starving, thirsty. She drank from a river, but couldn’t bring herself to kill any animals to eat. She didn’t even have anything, only the pocketwatch from her father, and that wasn’t going to kill anything. She certainly wasn’t about to use magic again either, not after what just happened.
So, she kept wandering until she finally came across a cottage in the countryside. A nice old couple lived there, and they offered her food and shelter for a day. They even helped her to the next town over, a place she had never heard of, nor remembered the name of, by the time she left. Emily didn’t want to stay too long, not if the vampire was hot on her trail, if it was even still alive. She wasn’t going to take any chances, though.
The vampire had mentioned Queen Lockhart, and though Emily wasn’t too familiar with the name, she knew who she was: The Queen of the Vampires. People wouldn’t dare utter her name out loud, not unless they wanted to invite misfortune into their lives. Emily hadn’t even uttered it, and it still came. But why? What did she do to deserve this? Why her? Every time she thought about it, her heart burned and her mind raced. Her friends and family were dead, and her home was destroyed, all because of that woman. Emily didn’t want to run; she wanted to fight back, to avenge everyone she had lost.
But she couldn’t. Not yet, at least. She barely escaped that vampire by the skin of her teeth. She was going to need help, people who knew what they were doing, people who could teach her to fight back, people who could give her answers. There was only one place she could go to achieve any of that: Peccatum. She had lived in the inner city for a year, but there was no way she was going to be able to get back in there. That left the outer city, but that was a tangled maze of damp alleyways, factories, and towering iron scaffolds. Very few parts of the city were considered livable, and even those were plagued by a wild tangle of bronze pipes and toxic runoff that trickled through the rusted gutters. Despite all that, it was better than nothing.
Just like Chester Finch, Emily hitched rides where she could and slowly but surely made it to the outer city of Peccatum. Horse hooves clacked against the brick roads, and elevated trains groaned as they chugged above the city, sending vibrations through the web of bridges and catwalks that spanned the city like arteries. The first thing Emily did was go to the Ironwatch, Peccatum’s peacekeepers. Their office was a squat, fortified building with barred windows and a flickering gas lamp over the door. Inside, it smelled of stale coffee and ink. Desks were cluttered together with typewriters and stacks of paper.
Emily approached the front desk, where a burly officer in a stiff uniform lounged. “Excuse me,” she said quietly. “I need help.”
He didn’t look up. “What's the trouble? Lost your purse? Street fight?”
“No, a vampire attacked my home. Pillio’s Watch. It killed people—my friends, my family. I barely escaped.”
The officer finally glanced at her, shrugging one shoulder. “Vampire, huh? That’s none of my business, kid. Vampires are above our pay grade. The government employs specialists for that: monster hunters. They deal with the unnatural when we can't.”
“So where do I find one?”
“I can put in a request for a hunter to be sent out to Pillio’s Watch. Two weeks away, though, doubt there will be a bloodsucker there by the time he arrives. If he takes the request.”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“You don’t know much about vampires, do you? Ain't no sane hunter gonna take a request like that.”
Emily grumbled. “Well, where can I find one who will?”
“Yeah, try Charles Cavendish. He’s got a few hunts under his belt. House on King’s Road, number 47.”
“Thanks,” she said, hurrying off.
Emily knocked on his door, but there was no answer. She knocked again, louder. Still nothing. Assuming he was out, she sat on the steps of his house, a narrow townhouse with iron railings and fogged windows.
Hours ticked by. Footsteps approached, and a man appeared: tall and broad-shouldered, scarred face, dressed in a long coat with brass buttons, and a wide-brimmed hat.
“Move along, girl,” he growled, stepping past her. “This ain't a bench.”
“Are you Charles Cavendish?” Emily asked, standing quickly.
“Yeah, who’s asking?”
“I need your help. Please. My home was attacked by a vampire. He was sent by Queen Lock—”
He clamped a hand over her mouth. “Don't say that fuckin’ name out loud. Ever. You trying to get us both snatched?”
Emily pulled back, confused. “Why? Why is everyone so afraid of her? I mean… I know why, but why?”
Cavendish glanced around the empty street, lowering his voice. “Her name brings misfortune. Utter it, hear it, doesn't matter. She sends her minions in the night. Vampires, succubi, whatever she fancies. They kidnap you, drag you to Alnwick Island. No one comes back from there. It's her domain.”
“But… but that's why I’m here. The vampire that attacked Pillio’s Watch, he said, she sent him. He killed everyone I know. I need someone to help me fight back, teach me, give me answers.”
Cavendish shook his head, fishing for his keys. “Help? With vampires? And her? No. I want nothing to do with that. No sane hunter would dare consider it.”
“Please,” Emily pressed. “I'm not just some kid. I know magic. I can help. I can learn fast, whatever it takes. We could team up.”
“It’s suicide, kid. I've got my own hunts. Were-Rats in the sewers, ghosts in the mills. Safe ones.”
“Safe? You're a hunter! Isn't danger your job?”
He unlocked his door. “My job is surviving. The government’s coin is good, but not for a death wish. Go bother someone else.”
Emily grabbed the doorframe. “Who? Give me a name. Another hunter?”
“Like I'd send you to doom them, too. No. Scram.” The door slammed in her face, the lock clicking.
Emily pounded on it. “Come on! You can't just leave me out here!”
From inside, muffled: “Watch me. Go home, kid.”
“I don’t have a home because of her!”
Silence.
“Asshole!” She kicked the door, then slumped on the steps again, groaning. It was the same song and dance with each hunter she found.
“I’ve got a family, girl. No amount of money in the world pays for that kind of trouble.”
“You know magic, eh? Ain't gonna be enough against a monster like her.”
“Help you fight back? What do you have, a death sentence?”
“I hunt monsters, not nightmares.”
“I’d need a king’s ransom, and even then… nah.”
Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months.
It became harder to eat, harder to find shelter. She was too old for the orphanages, and the workhouses were too overcrowded. Besides, she couldn’t risk staying in one place for too long, not if there was a vampire on her tail. After a while, she started to question if there even was. She became more concerned with avoiding the thieves and crooks that prowled the streets by night. Not a day went by without someone trying to rob her. It always happened in the flash of an eye. One moment she could be walking, and the next, running for her life.
The cold months were the hardest to survive. The city was too packed for her to find anywhere warm to sleep. During one particular snowstorm, Emily sought shelter in a fenced-off carriage yard. Her worn shoes slipped on the icy bars, but she made it over. There was a stagecoach with a velvet interior that looked like a promising place to wait out the storm. There was the problem of a lock, though. She peered at it for a moment, then, using telekinesis, tried turning the mechanism inside. There were a few clicks before the door swung open. It was still cold inside, but better than being out in the wind.
It was times like that she wished she knew pyrokinesis. She had started studying it before the attack, and all she could do was try to remember what the tomes had said. It was an advanced form of magic that took years just to get a basic grasp on. Still, she tried to recall the tomes’ instructions: Visualize heat, channel energy, move the air. There was nothing at first, just the ache of forcing untrained magic. But then, a faint warmth emanated from her fingers. The air around her softened just enough to combat the chill. Emily grinned, ecstatic. She practiced magic when she could, lifting small objects like discarded silverware and tools, but maintaining control was hard, and she could never recreate what she did at the textile factory.
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Emily did all she could for food because even though it was something she needed to fight for. An odd job here or there for a little bit of money, camping out behind restaurants each night to see what they’d throw away, and regrettably, stealing a handful of times. There was one monster hunter she had found who managed to listen and let her stay with them for a short while. He fed her, let her bathe, but the moment she explained in more detail why she needed his help, it was back out onto the streets.
More months went by, and it was starting to seem hopeless. There wasn’t a soul in Peccatum willing to help her. Not one person was willing to stand against Queen Lockhart. Not the Ironguard, and not even the people whose job it was.
But then, one monster hunter gave her an idea.
“I’m sure there’s a bloke out there crazy enough, but I ain’t one of ‘em. You can try the Pawnbroker, though.”
“Who?”
“He’s the man who knows everyone. Trades goods and secrets near the riverfront. A rundown church of Asdros, you can’t miss it. He’ll know someone crazy enough to help you. Trade him somethin’ valuable, and he’ll point you in their direction.”
Emily didn’t have anything valuable, though. At least, that’s what she thought.
As she walked down the misty street that reeked of coal smoke and sewage, she pulled her father's pocketwatch from her pocket. The casing shimmered in the faint moonlight. It had to be worth something, right? There was only one way to find out.
“Hey,” said a voice, pulling her from her train of thought. Three men had stepped out from an alley she had just passed. Two of them were brutes in soot-stained coats and heavy boots. The third was an elf with a picturesque face and a missing ear. “Nice watch there,” he said.
Emily stared for a split second before taking off, and on que, the men chased after her. The sidewalks were damp with evening rainwater, and it splashed up Emily’s leg as she scrambled through the throngs of factory workers, chimney sweeps, and pure finders.
They were getting closer. Shit!
Emily ducked into an alleyway.
“She went this way!” The elf hit the turn immediately.
Emily cursed. He was too fast. She had to slow him down.
She kicked over a crate of glass bottles, sending them shattering across the alley.
The two men hesitated, but the elf leaped over the debris.
Emily turned another corner and slammed into a garbage bin, toppling it with a crash. Pain lanced through her knee as she tumbled to the ground, cold rain soaking into her threadbare clothes.
The gang’s heavy footsteps echoed closer.
Emily grabbed the bin lid.
The moment the first man rounded the corner, she hurled it.
The bin cracked against his skull. He yelped, stumbling into the second man.
Emily scrambled to her feet and ran.
The elf was still coming.
She had to lose him.
She cut through another street, darting between a horse-drawn carriage and causing the driver to swerve. It nearly hit the elf, and he stumbled back, growling in frustration.
The air was getting closer, and it smelled like sea salt and fish. She had to be by the riverfront.
There were plenty of places to hide, but her chest was burning. She wasn’t fast enough.
Then, a back door swung open ahead of her, spilling warm light into the street.
Emily lunged for it.
A man carrying a crate stepped out, and she shoved him aside, darting into the building and slamming the door shut behind her.
The muffled shouts of her pursuers came from outside. “Go around! Make sure she can’t get out!”
She was in a warehouse. It was vast, dimly lit, and cluttered. Stacks of wooden crates loomed like crooked towers, some wrapped in burlap, others marked with faded shipping labels. A massive iron shelving unit lined the far wall, its beams sagging under the weight of barrels and other heavy things Emily couldn’t quite name.
BANG!
The back door shook violently.
Emily jumped, her whole body flinching as something slammed into it from the other side.
BANG!
She tried pulling down a stack of crates to block the door with telekinesis, but she couldn’t focus.
BANG!
Emily spun and ran, diving between the stacks of crates just as the door exploded open. She cupped a hand over her mouth, pressing herself into the shadows, making herself as small as she could.
The three men spread out.
“You can’t hide forever, girl.” One of them called.
Emily froze, barely breathing. Her heart hammered against her ribs so loudly it felt deafening in the silence. She could hear everything, from the loud tapping of shoes against the concrete floor to the distant drip of water leaking from a pipe, and even the faint hum of the city outside, just beyond the metal walls. The man she had bumped into outside was cursing up a storm.
She could smell them, too. One of them reeked of sweat and old tobacco. Another of damp wool and cheap liquor.
She couldn’t stay here. She had to move. If they found her, she wouldn’t be able to outrun them. If she could sneak out without them noticing, she might just have a chance to escape. But how? They were prowling around, and she was going to be spotted.
“Quit hiding!” yelled the elf. “Give me the pocketwatch back, and maybe you’ll walk out of this!”
Emily looked ahead to another stack of crates. The faded logo of Rutherfords & Co. Tailors stretched across the wooden slats, stamped with the word SHOES.
Shoes.
Emily looked down at her own. They were mud-caked, and the soles were peeling away. Shoes make noise. Socks didn’t. She exhaled carefully. With her heart pounding, she crouched and unlaced them, pulling them free as quietly as she could.
She then rose to her feet, cringing as the cold from the floor seeped beneath her old, crusty socks.
Emily took a breath and threw the first shoe into the farthest row of shelves.
CRASH!
The men whipped around and started moving toward the sound.
“Over here!” the elf yelled.
Emily quietly slipped between the crates, carrying her other shoe. When she got closer to the back door, she tossed it, and it clattered against the opposite shelves, sending a pile of wrapped garments cascading to the floor. The men cursed and turned again, momentarily distracted.
Emily reached the back door, and—
“HEY!”
She whirled.
The burly man she’d shoved earlier knelt beside a crate, gathering up the scattered boots and scarves from when she crashed into him.
“You little—SHE’S OVER HERE!”
Emily bolted away as he reached for her and was forced back into the warehouse. “Asshole!”
The other men raced over, and Emily dashed between the shelves, darting through gaps barely wide enough for her scrawny frame. Stacks of crates toppled behind her as she shoved them over.
She barged through another door and stumbled out onto the docks.
The water stretched before Emily. The city’s inner district shimmered on the opposite shore.
She was cornered.
Emily tried running back into the warehouse, but it was too late. The three men hurried through the door, and Emily was forced to back up until her heels touched the edge of the dock.
The two men were out of breath, while the elf looked like he hadn’t broken a sweat.
She had only one option to escape from them. Emily looked back at the blackened water. A haunting chill shot up her spine.
“Don’t do anything stupid, kid,” one of the men warned as he stepped closer.
The elf lunged for her—
And Emily jumped.
The cold hit like a hammer. Water rushed into her nose and burned her throat. Panic seized her as she resurfaced, flailing her limbs in a desperate attempt to stay afloat. But she couldn't.
She didn’t know how.
The water closed over her head, and the realization of her helplessness set in. She floundered, trying to hold her breath and swim upwards.
She was grabbed and yanked to the surface. Emily choked, and water spilled from her mouth as she was hauled onto the docks. She coughed violently, her whole body convulsing from the cold.
Before she could do anything else, hands were all over her. She was dragged upright, her feet barely touching the dock as they hauled her toward the alley beside the warehouse.
“Let go of me!” Emily shrieked between coughs. Her wet rags clung to her bony frame, and the air only exacerbated the biting chill that was violently racking her body. “HELP! PLEASE—”
She barely had time to brace before she was thrown against the wall. Pain exploded across her back. She crumpled to the ground, gasping.
A boot slammed into her ribs.
White-hot agony tore through her side. She curled in on herself, clutching her chest.
“Slippery little runt,” one of them sneered.
Fingers latched onto her collar and yanked her up, slamming her back against the bricks.
It was the elf. He was staring daggers, his perfectly sculpted face blemished by deep cuts and scars.
“She’s a fast one, I’ll give her that,” said the man with the chinstrap beard. As he grinned, his yellowed teeth showed.
Emily groaned and screamed as she tried to wriggle free. “Let go of me! Fucking assholes!”
“What kind of girl talks like that?” The elf drove his fist into her gut.
Emily folded inward, her breath ripped away like it had been yanked from her lungs. A cold, hollow pain spread through her stomach. Her knees buckled, but the elf’s strong hands yanked her upright.
“You’re lucky we even fished you out,” one of the men sneered. “Should’ve let you drown, but if you died, how would you ever learn your lesson?” His breath was thick with liquor and rotten meat.
The elf reached into his pocket and withdrew a golden dagger. It was long and curved like a snake. He held it dangerously close to her cheek. Emily whimpered, trying to turn away from it. “You listen good, you little runt, you either hand over the pretty little pocketwatch, or we’ll take it from you.”
Emily quickly withdrew the silver watch from her pocket, its golden chain tangled between her fingers.
The elf snatched it away, and Emily dropped to her feet. Before she could run, Emily collapsed from a backhanded slap to the face. Her hands hit the cobblestone, scraping against the filth and broken glass. Blood welled up in her palms, but she barely felt it past the burning in her face.
“You sure this is even a girl” The elf asked his friends turned the watch over in his fingers.
“She’s gotta be, right,” one of the men muttered.
“Hell, now that I’m looking at her up close, she just might be,” the other man chuckled.
“Fuck you!” Emily growled, groaning as she tried to get up. Her heart raced as she looked back up at the three looming figures.
“It’s a girl,” the elf corrected them. “An ugly one, but a girl.”
“Best see if she’s got anything else on her then, eh?”
They grabbed her wrists and slammed her down onto the cobblestone.
Emily shrieked, kicking wildly, but one of them was forcing her legs apart with his knees.
“Feisty,” one of them chuckled, almost howling with amusement. “Only one way to know if she’s a girl, right?”
Emily twisted, bucked, and screamed. Her body locked up, her chest heaving. The alley walls closed in. She could feel the filth seeping into her skin where their hands touched her. Something tight was building inside her gut, shooting through her veins like hot blood, and as it reached her fingertips, Emily screamed.
A force exploded outward from her body, and a shockwave tore through the alley and street. Garbage, shattered wood, and broken glass tore through the air as though caught in a storm. The three men were thrown like rag dolls, their bodies smashing against brick walls. Windows shattered up and down the street. Horses screamed, hooves clattering against stone as wagons overturned, spilling their contents.
Emily lay gasping, her entire body trembling. She could still feel them. Their hands. Their breath. Their weight.
The elf shrieked in pain. He was against the opposite wall, his leg snapping backward at an unnatural angle, the bone punching through his trousers.
One of the men hit a stack of barrels and lay unconscious, while the second man didn’t move at all. Blood leaked from the back of his skull.
Emily frantically looked around at the chaos. Her hands were glowing. She did it again. Emily scrambled to her feet, snatching the fallen pocket watch and the elf’s golden dagger before bolting as fast as her legs could carry her. “That’s what you get, asshole!” she yelled over her shoulder. Pain ripped through her side with every step, but she pushed forward, stumbling into the street.
People lay sprawled across the ground, groaning. Wagons had overturned, crates split open, their contents littering the road. Horses bolted through the city, dragging splintered carriages behind them.
A sharp, piercing whistle cut through the night. The Ironguard.
The officers were sprinting up the road.
She bolted for the nearest alley and only stopped when she felt she was safe. After taking a moment to catch her breath, the realization of everything that had happened hit her all at once.
She kicked a rusted pipe. Pain shot up her leg, and she collapsed to her knees.
She could still hear their laughter. Still feel them.
Emily dug her nails into her palms, choking back a sob.
She hated it.
She hated everything.
Why did things have to turn out this way?
Not a day went by that she didn’t think back on that night. She could still feel the heat of the flames, the fear clutching her heart. Eight months had passed, but the thought of it still made her blood boil. That vampire had taken everything from her. Everything.
What was she supposed to do? Hunt it down? Get revenge? She barely stood a chance against it then, and now even less so. She was thin, malnourished, and still had no control over her magic. Thinking back on it only made her blood boil. She wished she could pick up a weapon and fight back, but no one would even train her.
She was on her own.
The professors were right. She was pathetic. Worthless. Emily glanced down at the pocketwatch in her hand, and tears streamed down her cheeks. All she could do was survive, never stay in one place for too long, and pray that she never ran into another vampire again. Pray that she may find someone someday who could help her.
But who could that even be? She could only hope the Pawnbroker knew.
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