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It didn't take all that long for the transaction to complete and that was something Abigail was quite thankful for. She as antsy. Hyper now. Her blood was running far faster than normal. She felt....deadly with the knife and gun in her hands, it was a new feeling, something she wasn't even used to. Yes she'd been in the occasional scrap when she was in high school but a gun? A knife? This was a different realm entirely but there had to be the admittance of power. Holding that cold metal in her hands Abigail felt as if she were truly a force to be reckoned with, someone that was actually worthy of being heeded...for once. A great personality and severe temper issues had only ever gotten her so far and now that she had these tools to assist? It was a terrifying thought but at the same time it brought great glee to the woman. She would indeed respect and only use her weapons as a last resort, as she was sure was expected of her, but when she did use them she knew it had to be clean and decisive. Classes. Practice. These were the things she was going to look in to first and foremost after this night was over. Looking over her shoulder after Jesse paid for her new 'toys' she gave the shopkeeper a smile and wave. Abigail was sure the two of them would be seeing each other again and not too far in the future either.

The night was growing old and quickly, they had a scant few hours before sunrise and if any legend or folklore were to be believed Abigail would put full stock in the sun and her being no longer friends. They never had been in the first place rally but all the more so now would the two consider themselves enemies. From late night parties to sitting in tattoo parlours for hours on end with one guy or another or even just staying up late and reading by herself at home, Abigail had always been a creature of the night. A creature of, dare she say it, extremes? It wasn't that she sought self harm or that she was some kind of anarchist or some ******** like that, Abigail merely wanted to experience the underbelly of the city. The darker side of things. She fit in more there than anywhere else and if that was where she was accepted then she was all too happy to oblige.

The ever so complicated life also made making up excuses for everything far too easy.

Exiting the shop in Jesse's shadow she stowed away her weapons quickly and quietly. Her shirt pulled down just a little more to hide the gun, the knife stashed away in a pocket as best as she could manage. Lesson number...whatever: Wear clothes that would allow for weaponry. She didn't honestly foresee herself going out and owning a gun and a knife with a blade longer than the width of her hand but then again before last night the only vampire to invade her dreams at night had been a blonde man from an HBO series. Oh, fate, how you do weave your wicked web. She had no idea where Jesse was leading them now but the man sure the hell had the night planned out and almost down to a 't'. There was no lollygagging, no putzing around, it was strictly business and learning this first night and her Maker seemed all too keen to show and educate her on as much as he possibly could...and Abigail would not complain.

They passed by the Wickbridge bank, probably the most busy in the city night or day. They passed by Grosseto's, a popular Italian restaraunt that Abigail had never been particularly fond of. They passed by a few clubs and houses and apartment buildings, a park looming in the distance, a park they would sadly never reach as Jesse led them down another alley. This one luckily, was devoid of burning dumpsters and passed out men.

"Another alley? What are you gonna try and teach me how to shoot down here? No offense sir but that just seems like the most horrible idea ever."

The manhole stands, a lone, metal circle in the ground that gives no testimony to how many times it has been shifted and lifted, to how many vampires have dropped through it and climbed out of it. It is a bridge to the adventures that can be had underground, and though the sewer system can by no means be considered a veritable city beneath the city, they are still a maze that needs to be conquered. I still get lost down there, with all those dead ends and alcoves, so many corners looking like other corners, and the only landmarks are the lost loot and the bodies of the hunters and paladins.

Behind me, Abigail remarks upon the entrance to yet another alley. I roll my eyes and glance at her over my shoulder, smirking. I slowly shake my head, before I drop to my haunches and haul the metal grating away from the hole. I gesture into the dank darkness below, the sweaty, humid warmth of the city’s underbelly wafting up to greet us. I wait for Abigail to drop down, before I hastily follow suit, making sure that the manhole is pulled back into place before I join her. I slip past her, making sure to stay in front of her as I lead her through the twists and bends—it’s a path that I know well, as I do not have any of these nifty powers that others seem to have, the ones that allow them to walk over water or jump over the high quarantine walls. I have to take this path, and sometimes it can be a path rife with dangers.

I do not want us to run into a hunter, or a paladin. This early on, I have doubts that Abigail will be able to hold her own against them—and besides, would she be used to the idea of random people attacking her for seemingly no reason? Does she already have self-defence skills that I am unaware of? I’d prefer not to test her, not on the hunters anyway. On the zombies, yes. They’re child’s play. I gesture for Abigail to stay behind me as I creep along, hugging the wall as I peer around the first corner. There, around the next bend, I see one of them, lurking. A young man, maybe my age, decked out in hunter’s garb. One of the footsoldiers, rather than one of those who could really do us harm. I might have cursed under my breath, but of course I didn’t. I turn, one finger over my lips as I gesture for Abigail to be quiet. I then hold up a hand to tell her to stay put.

Stealthily, I round the corner and creep up behind the footsoldier; I catch him off guard. Before I can do much of anything, my shadow lashes out, solidifying and skewering the hunter. The hunter stumbles backwards and lifts his gun, bullets spraying from the weapon—one catches me in the leg, and I buckle beneath it. Quickly, I regain my composure and push forward, pulling my own gun from the holster beneath my shirt, tucked into the back of my pants. When I shoot, I miss, but the shadow lashes out again, slashing at my foe with all the ferocity of my soul.

When next the hunter shoots, he misses, the bullets lodging into the stone walls, brick splintering. I run toward the wall, pushing off it into a backflip, flying over the hunter’s head as I aim, and I shoot. The bullets hit him in the chest, narrowly missing his heart—but enough so that he falls down dead. All is still for a few moments as I make sure the noise hasn’t drawn more enemies. No one comes running. I gesture for Abigail to join me, as I drop down and begin rifling through the hunter’s jacket, his pockets. From one of the pockets I retrieve a charm, which glints in the dim light. A seemingly useless object, but it’s something that I can use in my rituals.

I wink at Abigail as I stand, completely oblivious to the bullet in my leg and the blood that seeps from it. I begin again, my creeping, hoping that the rest of our trip to the Quarantine Zone is less eventful.

The heat, the smell, the dankness of the underbelly of a city she was learning was far more dark than she could ever imagine and now here she was about to head in to the underbelly of a beast she had just begun to comprehend. Was she ready for this? Jesse seemed to think so and if he thought she was then she take a deep breath and hop down that manhole in to the darkness, she would allow the abyss beneath the city to swallow her whole. She didn't exactly 'jump' in down the hole as gracefully as she imagined she would more like 'fell'. A slight wrong landing and her ankle rolled as she landed on the stone floor beneath. A slight muttering of a curse as she moved aside to let Jesse follow behind her. With the manhole closed behind him it was veritable darkness and yet Abigail still had a sense of the world around her somehow. It wasn't...vision per say but something deeper than that. she simply KNEW where the walls were and where the twists and turns were. Where they led was a complete mystery to her at the moment but there was faith Jesse would probably remedy that bit sooner or later. Maybe not the entirety but the important parts she had faith would be revealed to her. Leaning against the wall as she waited for him to head off she followed a few feet behind and at a slower pace thanks to her own clumsiness but she still managed to keep up regardless.

Without even a warning Jesse stopped at an intersection, she didn't know how she saw it but she did. A finger over his lips. Apparently there was something up ahead in the direction they were headed that could do them, or her, harm. She paused, waited, wondering what could be so dangerous to actually give a man as seemingly powerful as Jesse a reason to pause. Maybe it wasn't Jesse that it worried, maybe it was for her that Jesse was worrying. She was, after all, weak and young and new. She sank against the stone wall, as Jesse vanished from sight to take care of...whatever it was he needed to keep her safe from. It was at that point she swore to herself that this wouldn't happen again. She wouldn't hide behind her maker, she wouldn't hide behind anyone. If she was going to make the most of this life then she was going to do it on her own damn coin and not be one that rode the coat tails of another, oh no, Abigail would be a vampire of repute. A name that would strike awe and wonder and respect...and maybe even a little fear in to the hearts of those that heard her name. A smile crossed her lips as she thought of it, sitting in her own little club on a dais above it all, watching the world love and adore all that she provided for them. She would be loved. A true, deep and meaningful love.

Her reality came crashing through as a bullet pinged against the stone near where she was crouching. What the hell...?! Taking her chances she peered out from around the corner and was shocked to see Jesse in the middle of a back flip, gun in hand. A few loud bangs later and there was Jesse, victorious. Blood seeping from a wound in his leg which was a far better condition than the late 20's bald headed male that lay on the brick flooring of the sewers. A pool of his own blood trickling though the mortar and cracks like a million different rivers. Was that what life was now? Was it that simple to take? Maybe it was simply because Jesse had had more time at it than her but it seemed a downright shame that this young man, in the prime of his life, had to die simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. As she stared at her body her feet had taken her closer and closer to the body which her eyes were transfixed upon. Her gaze breaking from it only to look up at Jesse in a combination of horror and amazement as if he were some amazing deity of death that had sworn eternal love to her. The world, she was learning, was dark and morose and her Maker seemed to be the perfect example of what it would turn her in to. A thought that made her tingle with excitement and shiver with fear. It was a suit she was going to have to try on for a while. Maybe not do things exactly how he did them, maybe she could find her own beautiful twist to put on things but regardless, the darkness of the life seemed to be sinking in far deeper and far faster than even she could have expected.

She spoke softly as she placed her hand on his hip, the small hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

"Jesse, two things. One, who was this guy and why did he have to die? Two, you know your bleeding right?"

The touch on my hip stops my forward momentum. I glance back at Abigail; the first question she asks, her voice bouncing against the walls and bounding back at us, is not one that I can answer. Not here, anyway. Not in this darkness, and not when we’re constantly in danger while we’re down here. Maybe I can find somewhere to stop when we’re above ground again. The Quarantine Zone is slightly less threatening than the sewers. As for the second question—well, that one throws me for a loop. I glance down at my leg—I lift the knee, tentatively touching the wound. I can feel the bullet beneath the skin. Its solid form shifts as my prodding fingers. I grimace only briefly as I continue to prod and push and dig, until I have the bullet in my palm. I close my fingers around it, and push it into my pocket. Why? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll attach it to a chain and wear it as a necklace.

If there’s one thing Abigail has to learn about me, is that in my presence, she’s got to be patient. I can answer all her questions, but the answers won’t be immediate. I will answer all her questions. Some of my actions are easily justifiable, and I will explain my reasons to the best of my ability. I will teach Abigail all that is important, all that is necessary for her survival. Secrecy, first and foremost, and the way to defend herself against these bastards, hunters that won’t give us a second chance. Not that I’ve ever tried to explain myself to them. Not that I would ever try.

I have to do things backwards. I’ve had to do things backwards all my life—backwards, or not at all. It hasn’t bothered me, and it doesn’t bother me now. I have my priorities, they just need to be done in a different order. I continue forward, around the next corner. I move faster than I have to, down the next hall, around another corner. At the last corner there’s another manhole. I climb the ladder and push it aside, and climb topside. I crouch by the opening as I wait for Abigail to climb up beside me. The manhole that I crouch beside is wedged between a building and the Quarantine wall. There’s a dead end behind us, and an overgrown street in front of us. It’s not really a street out there, but an abandoned quarter of the city, left to rot and ruin. I can see no immediate danger, and there’s enough moonlight overhead that I can focus on good intentions. From my bag I pull the notepad and pencil. I write, scribbling hastily, but neatly:

”A hunter. The sewers are their base.
If we don’t kill them, they will kill us.
Don’t go feeling sorry for them.
Get ready to meet the zombies.”

As soon as Abigail has joined me topside, I tear the piece of paper from the notpad and hand it to her. I flip the pad shut and shove it back into my bag—I tighten the strap so that it’s snug across my chest. I make sure all the pockets are firmly shut. The bag itself is tucked against my back. Out of the way, and not a nuisance. I withdraw my weapons, and indicate that Abigail should do the same. When I’m ready, I give a lopsided grin—is she ready, too?

Abigail watched in gruesome amusement as Jesse dug the bullet out of his own flesh, the blood and skin and everything else there before her eyes as his fingers, without hesitation, dug the piece of metal from his leg. Shaking her head in sheer disbelief she had almost forgotten about him not answering her question. Was this the type of thing that she was going to have to get used to and, some day, even do herself? She relished the thought of digging in to her own flesh, the thought of something wedged inside of her and performing her own surgery was just another thing to add to the list of "**** to get used to" apparently.

She took off behind Jesse with a hand on the pistol that she had just bought, just in case one of those bald weirdo freaks came out of nowhere and decided to make any more trouble. Just when Abigail was hoping one of them would appear they came to the end of their journey. The light of the night penetrating the engulfing gloom of the sewer system, the fresh air filling her undead lungs and bringing a much more pleasant feel to her skin. Looking up at that ruggedly handsome face she smiled as she climbed up and out of the dank and dark underground one foot after another up the, apparently, well used ladder. How many people came through here on a daily basis? It was almost as if it was a part of the city that no one should be traveling through and yet everywhere she looked there were signs of heavy foot traffic. I bet people live down in those sewers. Seems a perfect place to hide if you watch out for the occasional bald person toting a big *** gun.

Looking around as her eyes adjusted slightly Abigail was almost in shock that a place like this existed in a city she had lived in for so long. The streets were almost nonexistent, reclaimed by nature in some parts. The buildings clearly rotting away and deserted some time ago. One of them looked like a movie theatre of sorts, another was maybe a bar? What terrified her more than anything though was the large gothic looking structure that loomed in front of her. Two stories, maybe three, tall and fighting a war with nature to keep it's ground. The stone plaque out front had been scarred and scratched to almost indecipherable text but from what she could make out of the wording that remained was that it was some sort of Asylum. Great. Even better.

Looking over at Jesse handed her yet another note she nodded and folded it before placing it in her pocket. Something about the place had her on edge and it made her tighten her grip on both of her newly procured weapons. The knife held at her side with the blade pointed skyward and the handgun pointed to the ground ready for these...'zombies' that Jesse had just told her about. Were these going to be REAL zombies or was it just vampire slang for something else? Part of her despised the thought of hurting someone but there was another part of her, a small part in the back of her head, that told her to do it. To find something to kill and to put it out of it's misery. Prove herself to him, prove herself worthy of being a vampire, prove herself to a community she didn't even know yet. As they walked, it was that part of her mind that began to take over, the urge to kill and destroy rising in her slowly but surely. The blood flowing through her veins seeming to be charged with some kind of energy that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end and damn did it feel good. She caught his silly little grin and gave him back one of her own as she feigned brushing dust from her shoulder.

"So, I think I'm ready for some zombies. How 'bout you?"

There aren’t only zombies in the Quarantine Zone. There are other monsters, too—things that you wouldn’t want creeping under your bed as a kid, that’s for sure. Though—I half wonder whether I might have got myself killed due to morbid curiosity as a kid. There’s only one thing that seemed to scare me after I turned nine, and that was the thought of ever speaking a single word aloud. I vaguely understood why. Memories that I sought to suppress, and which I had succeeded in suppressing until recently. Mostly, anyway—I still feel like there’s something I’m missing, and I don’t know whether to trust my psyche. I don’t know whether my nightmares are memories, or whether I’m making it all up. Whatever the case, I don’t talk to anyone about it. I figure things will come to a head, sooner or later, and I’ll deal with the consequences when it happens. And, if nothing happens, then so be it. It’s not as if I’m a stranger to hardship.

Just as I’m not sure these monsters would have particularly scared me as a child, I gravitate toward them now, more curious than anything else. I want to know how they came into existence. In some way, it makes sense. We’re all standing on a rift between life and death. We can’t see it, but it’s there—this doorway, engulfing the entire city, allowing dead vampires to come back to life. Allowing said vampires to summon spirits. Wraiths. Things to do their bidding. We are able to pull these spirits into the living world from the dead. So I suppose, in a way, it makes sense that there should be walking corpses. A side-effect of the rift. Bodies that just don’t want to stay dead. The feral vampires, I’m less sure of. I have an assumption that, maybe, they aren’t immune to the zombies. They’re infected by the zombies. They lose all control, all sense of being. They are vampires on crack, unable to tell one person from the next.

The one beast that confuses the **** out of me is the Mooncalf. It’s like Doctor Frankenstein’s creation. It looks man-made, rather than… well, unnaturally natural. It’s a question I’ve failed to ask. Maybe someone else will be able to enlighten me as to the existence of the behemoths.

I don’t want us to run into one of them right now, however. As much as I’m certain I can take one down, I want to teach Abigail how, now that she is a vampire, she will have an instinctual urge to kill—at least I do. And, given time, those instincts will develop. Even if she was as clumsy as a sloth as a human, as a vampire her skills will develop, and she’ll become better at combat than she might have ever imagined she could be.

Rather than lead us into a confined space, a wander the streets of the Quarantine Zone. It’s as we round the corner and find ourselves in front of the supermarket that I see two of them. Two zombies - soulless, brainless, aimless things that ought to be a piece of cake for Abigail. I wonder how many zombie movies she’s seen—I wonder how she’d go about killing one, if she hasn’t got any aid. Rather than do that to her, however, I show her what I would do – I step forward, intending to kill only one, so that Abigail can take the other. This time, rather than use my gun, I instead use the sword. In a few swift movements, I’ve hacked away the zombie’s arm, skewered it through the heart, and beheaded it.

Yeah, it’s just like the movies. Remove the head, and you’re sweet.

I step back only to nudge Abigail forward—there’s a thrill of excitement as I wait for her to take action. I want to see what she is capable of.

Abigail froze as it came in to view from what she assumed had been an old supermarket, the place was in such disarray and yet it still wasn't hard to make out it's purpose. Abigail had followed Jesse through the walled off part of the city, curious as to who and what kept guard over the area and what they might find being guarded. Jesse had already mentioned zombies so that one was somewhat prepared for. You could say "I'm going to fight a zombie" in your head all day long but the truth was that as much as it might be said it still wouldn't truly prepare you for actually fighting that zombie and when the pair of the came in to sight...yeah, Abigail wasn't prepared at all. The sight of the rotted flesh in some areas and missing flesh in others coupled with the mere sight of something that wasn't even supposed to be close to possible caused the newly turned Abigail to freeze in her tracks.

She watched Jesse without moving an inch, the way he expertly wielded a sword, the way he moved so fluidly and yet lazily as if this were something he had done a million times before. Good gods was it beautiful. Before she knew it however the first of the pair dismembered and slain as the second of the pair stumbled forward towards a death it probably didn't even realize it was about to suffer...again.

She focused, and thought for a moment. She had a gun and of course the movies said to aim for the head but could she honestly make that shot? Raising the small pistol she fired off three rounds. Every shot was well wide of its mark save for one round that lodged itself in the shoulder of the zombie, the other two rounds burying themselves in the side of the nearby supermarket. With a grunt the undead creature seemed angered by the minor wound and charged at young Abigail. She stood her ground waiting until there was a clear and well aimed shot. A single round left the weapon aim at the zombie as it charged, the rotting corpse knocked slightly backwards as a bullet hit him in the chest, narrowly missing his heart. It was wounded but still it kept coming. Abigail stepped back just as it swiped at her, fetid fingers search for a grip on her. There was certain and deadly frustration lit in those almost golden eyes as the zombie lurched onward, seemingly ignoring the damage it had taken. Apparently the bullets weren't doing enough damage.

Keeping the knife ready in her hand Abigail waited for it to lunge once again. She swiped out with the blade, allowing the zombie to grab hold of her. A wound opened in it's neck from her strike. The pair tumbling to the ground as the iron grip of the zombie was a bit more than Abigail had been expecting. She did the only thing she could think of. One hand came up, the palm hitting the zombie square in the chin. The crack of bone and the tear of flesh as the zombies head went at an unnatural 90 degree angle to it's body was sickeningly satisfying. The thing slumping forward, face down, this time truly dead. Taking a deep breath after her foe was dispatched, and relatively easily, she shoved the corpse off of her before looking herself over. Her hip was torn to hell, probably from when they had fallen and her arm had been deeply clawed by the zombie during his one attempt to grab her.

Looking up at Jesse she looked for some sign that would show either disappointment or pleasure with the way she had handled the situation. She rose to her feet slowly but surely and dusted herself off. A swift kick aimed at the zombie's chest after coming to her feet. Huffing she slid the knife and pistol back in to concealment. To say that the struggle hadn't been fun would have been a down right lie, if there was one thing Abigail could totally get behind it was fighting those zombies. It had been rush a thrill, such a rush and she couldn't wait to do it again.

I could help. As Abigail aims at the zombie and misses, I learn that she’s not the kind of person who knows how to handle a gun. At least, it becomes obvious that it’s not something she does every day, and if she was one of those kids who went on hunting trips with her family she’s lost the touch, or else isn’t accustomed to using a smaller firearm. I’m willing to assume, however, that guns just aren’t her forte, just as they were never mine. I can use one now, if push comes to shove, but you’ll find me hacking off people’s legs before shooting them in the head. I suppose it’s just how I developed; a subconscious preference that even I wasn’t aware that I had.

She manages to lodge a few bullets in her foe’s body, however. It doesn’t look as if the bullets hinder the zombie much, but some damage has been done. I’m not sure whether the slobbering, groaning thing has any brain in its head to think with; I don’t know whether it now knows what it’s contending with. All I can see, from the outside, is that at a basic, animalistic level, the thing is pissed off at being shot. It attacks with a savage ferocity, but that even that ferocity is not enough. Even at their most savage, the zombies can’t ever really do much damage. They’re the laughing stock of the supernatural creatures in this world.

Tomorrow night, I think I’ll take Abigail to the hunting grounds. Out there, we can take our time. We can move stealthily, quietly. I can teach her how to aim properly, how to hit her mark without firing madly and hoping to hit. I can teach her that we are a force to be reckoned with, whether we are armed or not. At least the animals in the hunting grounds will provide a foe less shocking, and a little more normal. It’ll leave more space in Abigail’s mind to focus on what’s important.

The zombie lunges at Abigail and the two of them fall to the ground. I take a step forward, ready to intervene if I need to, but hanging back until the very last second. And a good thing I do, too—Abigail pulls her second weapon, and still failing that, manages to kill the zombie. To really kill it, so that it is unmoving and still. I take yet another step forward, intending to offer my hand to help Abigail up, but she manages on her own, standing to brush any debris from her body.

She really looks like one of us, now. Her hair is mussed up, leaves and dirt caught in the tresses. There’s grime smeared across her cheek, and something resembling blood splattered over her clothes. It’s not really blood. It’s congealed muck, stuff that has oozed from the zombie’s decomposing body. She blends in, now, and I can’t help but grin at her. There are claw marks along her arm, and the bright red upon her hip is evidence of her own blood, not that of the zombie. But she seems unfazed. She does not start whining or complaining like the rest of humanity might. And for this, there are no bounds for my pride.

I shrug my shoulders and perk a brow. I **** my head in the direction of the rest of the Quarantine Zone. Does she want more, or shall we go home and get cleaned up? Where we can sit down, maybe, and I can try to answer as many of her questions before the sun comes up.

Sighing as she rose from the ground Abigail couldn't believe that she had just killed a zombie. A zombie! A freakin' ZOMBIE! Looking down at the now completely dead corpse at her feet she took a moment to let reality sink in. A. *******. Zombie. She ignored Jesse for a moment and walked back the way they had come. Her foot steps all but silent as she came to one of the outside walls of the multiplex and simply rested her forehead against it. Her arms wrapped around her body as she took a deep and unneeded breath. Was it the fact that everything was starting to set in or was it the fact that she had just stolen a simulacrum of life or was it something else entirely. Again she took another deep breath and tried to steady herself. This was not the time to grow weak. This wasn't the time to show that gap in her armor. She wasn't a waste of the blood it had taken to make her but damn if she didn't feel weaker than anything else on the planet at the moment. She felt like the whole world could see every little way to exploit her and use her and see each and every hole in her armor at that exact moment.

No, this wasn't supposed to be what she was feeling. She was supposed to be happy, ecstatic. Pushing the questionable emotions aside for the time being, she'd deal with them later, she turned and smiled at Jesse. She had made him proud, this much she could tell and now it was time for them to truly explore the bond that they had. Maybe not how the back of her mind wanted her to but they would learn more together. She walked over to him with her head held down and sighed.

"I'm sorry, I...don't know what happened. I just...all of this is just starting to settle in I guess and it's a bit overwhelming."

Abigail almost seemed ashamed of herself as if she were internally berating herself for actually having emotions. But how could she not? Jesse seemed so calm and cool and collected like this was just another night for him. It would be her goal from that moment forward. I want to be as seemingly uncaring as him. Looking around them she nodded her head towards the manhole cover they had entered this damnable place through. They needed to talk, badly. Simply killing more things wasn't going to fix what the young allurist had going on in her head. If only he could speak. If only he could just be telepathic and just KNOW what she was feeling so she didn't have to say it. If only....if only...these were the dreams and hopes of a little girl looking for the easy path. Abigail couldn't afford to be that little girl anymore. No, there had to be a predator. There had to be a monster. There had to be something she had no idea how to be. Something she would have to learn to be. That much was very clear to the allurist now.

Abigail remained all too quiet as she ran a hand along Jesse's jawline ever so gently. She couldn't even bring herself to say the words she felt welling up inside of her. I can't handle this. I'm not a killer. I'm not supposed to take a life. She wanted to say it so badly but there was a part of her that feared what would happen. Would he wrap those hands that had made her so beautiful before around her throat and kill her for good this time? The apology was there in those moist golden eyes for all of but a moment before she turned her back on her Maker. She found herself at the manhole they had entered by and stood beside it looking back at Jesse expectantly.

"We need to talk. Here or some where else. I don't care."

I have no idea what’s going on inside Abigail’s head, and nor do I think I have the capacity for empathy. Empathy would require that I felt the same way, at some past junction in my life. I try to recall the days and weeks directly following my turning. They’re a blur of action and activity, of slaughter and of constantly learning something new, something amazing, something grand. The way Abigail stands with her arms wrapped around herself, with her forehead resting against that wall for support, I can only assume that she is overwhelmed. There isn’t a smile upon her lips, however; there’s no modicum of glee. It is this that I cannot empathise with.

Sure, I remember feeling a little overwhelmed in the beginning. I remember feeling dizzy with all the new prospects now at the tips of my fingers. I remember realising that my whole life had led to that moment, to that red-head who would offer me a way to discover my true self. My whole life, I know that I had a penchant for violence, but the strict rules and regulations of society, of punishment and inconvenience, hindered me from ever acting upon my desires. Now, however, there’s nothing to stop me. Upon realising I could indulge my deepest, darkest desires was the cause of unadulterated happiness.

It’s a happiness that I can see is not what Abigail feels.

It doesn’t change what I think of her. So far, she has done nothing to incite any kind of disappointment. I’m not stupid. I know that I’m not normal, that the things the feel and the things that I do to satisfy myself are twisted, and probably considered a little wrong. I don’t care what other people think, but nor do I expect that every person around me should act and feel the same. I know that Abigail will deal with this life change in her own way, in her own time.

I perk a brow at her demand that we go ‘talk’. I don’t remind her that she’s the one who’ll be doing the talking. I won’t be doing any at all. I follow her to the manhole; she stands by it, strong and adamant in where she wants to go next. Or, well, I’ll be the one taking this particular stray home, but she has a pretty bold idea about what she wants to do. I won’t argue with her—it’s probably best that we sit down so that she can ask her questions, and I can write the answers. So that I can write a short story about all the things that she needs to know in order to progress properly, without hindrance, without bringing danger to herself.

I know exactly where I’m going to take her, where I’d intended to take her all night. I drop back down into the sewers and wait for Abigail to follow; as soon as the manhole covering is back in place, I lead her back toward the entrance we’d come through. Best to get her used to the path, so that she can come back to the Quarantine Zone whenever she likes without getting lost. We pass by the dead and slumped body of the hunter, not yet collected by his comrades. When back out in Wickbridge, I do not take the train like I might normally do – in our current state, we’d draw far too much attention. Larch Court isn’t so far away from Wickbridge, however; the air is crisp and the night is fresh, and my legs revel in the act of walking.

The house isn’t completely furnished just yet, but there’s at least a couple of beds, and bathroom within which we can get cleaned up. I haven’t really thought beyond that. I just keep walking, knowing what Abigail wants, and assuming she’ll realise I’m taking her somewhere that we can ‘talk’.