Crossroads

A Vincent Temple Prequel

 The sky was a cold steel grey and the air was bitter with winter. The snow wasn’t too bad yet, but the chill was enough to steam Vincent’s breath and prickle his lungs. The Council had ordered him on this mission as soon as he stepped off the boat. He’d barely had time to stop by home for a change of clothes. They were trying to keep him busy. Keep him distracted.

He'd thought about telling them to go fuck themselves.

They had no right to tell him anything anymore. Sure, the war was over, and everyone was tallying their losses and organizing their accolades. Whitehall had told him there would be medals in his future. Shut up. Stop rocking the boat. There will be commendations – probably even a seat on the Council in a few years.

Vincent wanted to throw his old mentor into the mouth of an active volcano, and he didn’t care that it was the anger talking. Time wasn’t dulling the pain. It was aggravating it. He’d gone across the world. He’d helped with their war. His dearest friend had been slain by his own side and when he’d tried to demand justice for it, they had sent him straight to the Western Front to fight the necromancers that the Central Powers had been rallying to the battlefield.

He knew they’d been hoping he wouldn’t make it, just so they could sweep Naeem’s death under the rug. Now they were still ignoring his protests, and trying to drown his voice beneath oceans of awards. Vincent didn’t care about accolades and titles. He couldn’t be bribed. But he could be worn down.

The things he’d seen would haunt him until he died. He still couldn’t believe he’d survived them. It felt like death was waiting for him every morning when he woke, and fighting for those who were already gone was beginning to feel pointless. He’d slain enough enemy sorcerers to shock even the Council of Mages. People were starting to wonder how he did it. He had no interest in sharing his secrets. No one else had to know about his tonic habit.

The dreams from the tonic were all that had kept him alive on the Western Front. Somewhere in that darkness a stranger had taken his hand. A stranger who reminded him of Naeem, but only when he was dreaming. In the mornings he woke sick and dirty, unable to scrub himself clean.

Clean, worthy, redeemable… these were terms that only applied to other people. Vincent was long past that. The war had made sure of it, and the Brotherhood of Hunters had guaranteed the rest.

However, Vincent had been born and raised a Hunter. He knew nothing else, and he knew that turning down this mission wouldn’t have hurt his Order. If he’d said no, the councilors would have nodded and mused and agreed that he’d done enough and earnt a rest and perhaps, Doctor Temple, you should take some time and we’ll talk to you again in six months (or however long it will take for you to shoot your own brains out if we leave you alone). They would have found someone else for this, or they would have left the small town crying for help to suffer for longer, until someone could get around to it.

Vincent wasn’t prepared to accept that response.

So here he was, in some virtually nameless tiny little village in the north of New England. He stepped out of the borrowed car, tying his scarf tightly and tucking it down the front of his long overcoat. He set his hat on his head, the wide brim keeping the few scattered, dusty flakes of snow from his dark hair.

The main road was bleak and dull, save for the Christmas wreaths on people’s doors and the odd splash of extra decoration and color. The world was a strange place to walk these days. The war was over, it was heading to Christmas, but people were still crossing their fingers and praying that their loved ones would get home safe and in time. The final tally of the dead was a long way from being counted.

Vincent was met with grim looks and hushed whispers. Not a town that took kindly to strangers. Still, if they’d been suffering a haunting for four years while most of the world’s Hunters dashed off to Europe, they had every reason to be superstitious. He didn’t mind the hostility. It fitted his current perception of the world better than geniality. The whispers ran ahead of him and he let them. It meant that the first person who approached him, heading him off before the town hall, was exactly who he needed to see.

“Excuse me, young man!” a jowly man with grey hair and a fine coat called to him, waving him down.

Vincent looked to him. The man hesitated. Vincent was aware of the effect his gaze could have on people. The first thing they realized was that he was not young. He had possibly never been young, but he’d also spent months watching teenagers die and reanimate in the trenches, which was the kind of thing that stripped away youth like skin off a flayed ewe.

The man overcame his apprehension and approached nonetheless, his little eyes scouring Vincent for the pin on the lapel of his coat. The symbol of the Order.

“The Brotherhood of Hunters,” the man smiled thinly but gratefully, holding out his hand as he reached Vincent. “You received our letter?”

“Not personally,” Vincent shook the man’s hand. “But I was instructed you have a job for me.”

“Yes, thank you, yes,” the man gasped. “I am Mayor Tidwell, it’s been terrible, Sir, just terrible.”

“Doctor Temple,” Vincent introduced himself. “Can you run me through your case?”

“Of course, Doctor, of course!” Tidwell was nodding too eagerly. Either he was truly frightened of what was happening or this was a trap. “Would you like to come back to my office?” he invited, extending an arm across the street.

“Will this take long?” Vincent replied.

Tidwell paused. His watery eyes seemed to consider a lot more than just the question, like, perhaps, the fact that this would be better resolved quickly, and that possibly his life would be longer and more fruitful if the man before him never set foot in his office.

“There’s a short version,” he decided, wringing his gloved hands against the cold. “A witch lives in the forest near town. She preys on the men who live here. She’s killed thirty people in the last five years. Please, we’re desperate. No one knows how to stop her.”

“How do you know it’s a witch?” Vincent asked.

Tidwell looked around nervously. Vincent noted the number of people loitering nearby, pretending to go about their business while they eavesdropped.

“If there’s a survivor or witness I need to speak to them,” he insisted.

“None of her victims have ever returned,” Tidwell shook his head, jowls quivering. “Look, if you must know, we didn’t realize what was going to happen—”

“What did you do?” Vincent growled.

Tidwell huffed defensively. “You don’t understand, Doctor. There was something wrong with that girl. She was a practitioner of the darkest arts…”

“This was someone from this village?” Vincent checked.

“Yes,” Tidwell sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid so. She was a vile creature. Her poor mother, God rest her soul, tried so hard—”

“Girl’s family’s dead?” Vincent interrupted.

“There was only ever her and her mother,” Tidwell bristled. “After the incident with her daughter, well… once the girl was gone, the poor woman hung herself. Dead of night. With the same noose we’d strung up for that demon witch.”

Vincent grimaced. That was either powerful coercion or powerful grief. If either had aided the casting of a curse… it would be hard to lift. Once a life was sacrificed on the altar of magic, it took a great deal of power to unweave.

“You were going to have the girl hanged?” he asked.

“She was evil, Doctor,” Tidwell insisted. “She set boys on fire on three separate occasions, people saw her carrying the Devil’s own flames in her hand, and she cursed Ethel, the butcher’s daughter!”

“What kind of curse?” Vincent asked.

Tidwell gave him a look. “Some kind of ghastly compulsion. Made her do… sinful things. Her father caught them together and rescued her, thank God, but that poor child has never been the same since. Tragic, the whole affair.”

Vincent took that with a grain of salt. Humans were always quick to blame inherent evil for perfectly normal things they simply didn’t like. He gave the careful crowd of eavesdroppers another glance. Anyone who caught his eye instantly spooked.

“So,” he sighed deeply, “there was a witch here making the townsfolk nervous, you decided to hang her, and she fled into the forest? Ever since, men have been disappearing in the forest and no one can find a mundane reason for it, so it must be supernatural?”

Tidwell nodded, jowls bouncing timidly.

“When did the last man go missing?” Vincent asked.

“Three weeks ago,” Tidwell answered. “Eustace Crawford. His brother said he’d been itching to go hunting, even though everyone in these parts knows better. Still, one morning his room was empty, rifle missing, and footsteps disappearing into the tree line. He knew better, Doctor. It’s some kind of curse, I’m telling you.”

Vincent let that statement breathe for a moment without judgement. Easier said than done.

“Rudimentary,” he assessed. “I’ll have to investigate further, but I’ve dealt with worse. The Order discussed rates?”

Tidwell nodded again.

“Good,” Vincent replied. “Then someone will be in touch once my report is finalized.”

“You’ll help us?” Tidwell implored.

“It’s what we do,” Vincent replied, barely believing the words anymore, but reciting them out of habit. He half turned to go, but paused a moment. “Mayor, your witch, did she get a trial?”

Tidwell’s silence was damning. Vincent glowered. No transcripts or clues there then. He gave the man a dismissive nod and walked back to the car. No one tried to stop him or question him as he went. They all stayed anxiously silent as his boots crunched down the icy road, though from fear of him or the witch he couldn’t begin to guess.

* * *

There were too many niggling tidbits in the Mayor’s story. It wasn’t his fault he was ignorant about witchcraft. It possibly was his fault he was so ignorant about human nature, but in Vincent’s experience that was public officials for you. Vincent found that ‘witches’ who kept company with other women were all perfectly ordinary people. They didn’t hunt men unless those men had done something hideous to wrong them. Not that he was going to try and bring that up with Tidwell, the man who had organized to hang a girl without a trial.

The town was almost certainly going to prove itself a misleading source of information at best. However, if there was a witch living in the forest, there would be signs, and Vincent was interested in hearing the girl’s side of things before he started hunting anyone. That said, he took his pistol and sword, just in case. These days he couldn’t imagine going anywhere unarmed. There were parts of his mind that still expected shambling corpses to rise out of the ground around him.

He stalked through the woods, the trees growing thick and dark around him. It certainly looked like a wild forest. Old, dead leaves crunched underfoot, but the snow had barely made it through the thick, black canopy. Winter had sent many animals into hibernation, but there were still signs that the woods were rich with life. Vincent noted several deer tracks. Some of them must have been huge bucks, given the size and depth of the tread.

Despite the cold weather, there were still absences that troubled him. The forest was too quiet. He would have expected more birdsong. Nothing much seemed to stir a sound, save himself and the wind. That felt like a haunting. And the plants… he found a tangle of blackberries, some mushrooms growing in the dark roots of trees, but witches were gifted at natural arts. They had a tendency to encourage new life in the foliage of the places they lived. Either he hadn’t stumbled into her territory yet, or there wasn’t a witch out here.

Three weeks of weather had erased any trace of Eustace, but Vincent had been able to follow the most obvious path into the forest. If there really was a curse targeting people around here, he should be able to trigger it.

But there wasn’t a curse, and his senses were honed to all the wrong things. He didn’t spot it until it was too late. Tidwell — inadvertently, Vincent was sure — had warned him of the wrong thing. The town probably did think it was a witch. That was what made sense to them, and Vincent had been too willing to take their story on faith, because they themselves seemed to believe it.

The deer tracks were wrong. He had marveled at the size of the buck that must have made them, but they didn’t walk like the doe. The stride wasn’t just wrong, it was bipedal.

He whirled as soon as he felt something sneaking up on him. His coat billowed as he drew his sword in one hand and his pistol in the other. Leaves skidded beneath his twisting boot, but he kept his footing.

She had the body of a naked human woman, save that her legs were the massive legs of a deer and her tail was that of a snake. Her horns were of a giant ram, her eyes of an owl, and her fangs of a bat. Her fingers were clawed, but he couldn’t quite place them, and he wasn’t interested in getting close enough to. The succubus stopped dead as she stared down the barrel of his gun.

“Hunter…” she purred softly.

“Not the kind you’re used to, I’m sure,” Vincent replied. He watched her eyes take in his weapons and lapel pin. She blinked in wary frustration, and tried to edge back defensively.

“This is my forest!” she protested.

“Doesn’t mean you get to kill the men who wander it,” he told her.

“I haven’t killed anyone,” she lied.

He knew it was a lie, and he was fairly certain she knew that he knew, but it would have been foolish of her not to make the attempt. Still, he hadn’t shot her yet. He hadn’t started a fight. Surely that meant he was prepared to hear her out. Maybe make a deal. He wondered if it would be safe to take her word that she would stop hunting people – if he could even get it. Would that fix the problem? Or would he just end up getting a call back in two or three weeks and a deduction from his fee?

“You don’t want to hurt me, Hunter…” she coaxed, sliding her tail around and using the tip to gently try and push the gun off center.

Vincent could feel whatever persuasive charm succubae use tugging at the edge of his consciousness. He steadied his gun and pressed back against her scales. She faltered.

“That doesn’t work on me,” he warned her.

“Hunter…?” she purred again, feigning a seductive innocence.

Vincent pressed his pistol forward, aiming for her throat. He wasn’t going to kill her in cold blood, but if she kept this up it would count as an attack. She froze in alarm, all pretense falling away, and tried to edge back properly.

“Ugh, you’re one of those…” she glowered disgustedly, her hooves skittering back nervously and her tail swishing.

“It’s worse than you know,” Vincent assured. “You’re not going to trap me like you did the others.”

She looked away in disappointment, tossing her long tawny hair over one shoulder dismissively.

“Fine,” her tone lost all its coy affectation. “Then you’re here to kill me?”

“I’m here to find whatever is killing the men and put a stop to it,” Vincent told her. “There’s nothing in my contract that says I have to kill.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You would let me live if I left the villagers alone…?”

“You stop hunting people, I can’t see any danger that needs removing,” he replied.

She seemed to ponder this for a moment. It was the best deal she could hope to get. Negotiating was always the safer option. Vincent began to let his guard down. She sensed the weakness. Her tail whipped the gun from his hand. It thumped into the dirt. She lunged, claws outstretched. Vincent swung his sword up, deflecting her strike and staggering from the blow. He shoved back, trying to regain the lost ground. Her tail lashed out to trip him. He jumped it and slashed at her. She dodged away and kicked at him. One massive hoof aimed straight for his head. He swung back. She jumped, kicking at him again and trying to stomp him into the ground. He dove for his gun. She saw him move and flicked the pistol across the sodden leaves with her tail.

Vincent scrambled for it. She snatched for him. He flinched back, but felt her claws graze his cheek. Shallow. The scratches stung in the cold air. She leapt again, confident and hungry. He slashed at her viciously. She clawed at his blade, knocking the sword, but he pushed back and nicked her across the side. She flinched from the injury. He slashed her across the opposite flank. She stumbled and tripped, trying to escape his blows. He pushed her back, retrieving his gun and aiming both weapons at her, never slowing his attacks. His blade grazed her tail and bit into one furry leg.

She staggered and fell, curling into a defensive ball on the ground as he aimed his pistol for the kill.

“Wait!” she cried. “Wait! Please! I’ll take the deal! I will! I don’t want to die!”

Vincent paused.

“I’m sorry!” she begged. “Please! Please… I… I don’t want to die. I will stop hunting the men. Whatever you want. Just… just let me live…”

This was where he was supposed to kill her, he reminded himself. The Hunter Handbook insisted that all monsters summoned to this realm must be slain and sent back to their own worlds. This creature had already proven that she couldn’t be trusted. If he didn’t kill her now, he’d have to make the trip again in a few weeks, or track her to a different forest if she was allowed to move on to a different town. He was a part of the Hunters’ Order. It was his duty to kill her.

But it had been so long since he’d fought something that could beg. The mindless horror of shambling corpses had only been a blanket hiding the horror that came before. Vincent couldn’t help but wonder if Naeem had begged before he’d been killed too. It was unlikely. He’d been shot in the back.

Still.

The Order had been okay with it. The murder of a man. One of their own. Vincent thought of the other Hunters he knew. The ones who had trained him. The Council who had wrung their hands helplessly at his friend’s death as though nothing could be done.

He knew what they were really like.

He knew what they would have done in his position. They would have bartered deals with the succubus. Personal deals. They would have traded her life for sexual favors, until they got bored of her and killed her anyway. He knew for a fact that at least one of the Council members had done that before. The corruption in his organization was absolute. It made him want to puke. It made him want to descend on his own people with a hail of holy bullets until the entire Order had been cleansed.

Instead, he settled for stowing his weapons with a grunt. Unlike all the dead he’d left in Europe, he still had a choice.

“Fine,” he snapped. “You can live. But my range is wide, and I will know how to track you again. No more dead people, or I will—”

She moved so fast he only saw the blur, and then one colossal hoof connected with his head.

* * *

Things moved in the darkness. Vincent couldn’t always see what, but the world was never still. No worlds were. Not even dead worlds. He lunged and struggled in fear, but his body barely moved. He flopped like a suffocating fish. The stench of mud and blood and death filled his nose. He couldn’t die here. The bodies of soldiers around him were already beginning to reanimate. For some it wasn’t the first time. They had begun to rot. If he died here… he would be one of them.

He could almost feel something trying to worm its way into his throbbing, dying brain. Something that would crush him, bend whatever was left of him to their will, until there was nothing left, and all he would be was something else… something hungry…

Vincent choked and flopped, forcing his body over and falling from the edge of nothing. He hit a hard stone ground. The smell was gone. This was different. Cold. Absent. The edge of a dead world. Beyond it, the sky spun with untold horrors. Vincent could see existence, and he was no longer a part of it.

Every choice brought him here.

Hands slid themselves around his ribcage. He realized he was standing, supported by another, one whose hands were steadying him. He remembered the touch. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it. He sank back into it, helpless against it. The fingers clutched at him with an aching desire stronger than any he had known in his own world. No one else had ever wanted him like this.

“Doctor Temple…” a deep voice whispered longingly in his ear.

Vincent knew the voice. He knew the voice better than his own. It had followed him his whole life. Only one step behind him. He had been looking for it forever. Always just one step too far to find the only thing he had ever truly sought. He turned his head, trying to see who held him, but it was pointless. Even at a glimpse, this man he’d been searching for since before time had no face, just an inky blackness.

Yet, Vincent could feel the expression. He knew the man was smiling. Just a touch. Nearly a grimace. Still, it was a smile. A smile just for him. He, who had been endlessly seeking the one who held him now. Just like all the other times Vincent had found him he suddenly went blank. What was he to do now that he had found him? He had achieved his life’s goal, hadn’t he? Surely he could just be content here, safe in the arms of this nameless, faceless god, drifting into extinction with them…?

But no. They had a thousand names. A thousand faces. They would not drift quietly into extinction. Not ever. In any form. Vincent wondered if he could recall every name and face. Had he learnt them all? Was there still more to do?

He had choices to make. This was another crossroads. He had to choose to die here.

The hands on his ribs tightened like they might tear through his flesh, like the fingers would force his body like tar and squirm through him until they could clutch his heart. He remembered this touch. Remembered lying in the decay of the Western Front, body seizing, clutched in this very embrace. Throat still thick with tonic.

“Wake. Up. Vincent.” The voice in his ear whispered the demand with such power, such love, Vincent felt it rattle his marrow.

* * *

Vincent woke cold and broken and bound. He hadn’t expected to wake at all. After the soothing persistent clutch of his tonic-induced dream, reality was a bitter and painful pill. This was what he got for trusting monsters. He’d known it was stupid when he’d made the offer, but the spite he carried for his superiors…

He gave a wounded snort and tried to loll his head. He should have known his contempt for the Brotherhood would be what got him killed, but it was insane to believe it was the darkness that might save him. He blinked, trying to take in his surroundings. His vision was hazy and his head throbbed with pain. His body felt banged and bruised. He’d been tied up and dragged somewhere, but for what purpose he couldn’t imagine. He was in a cave, no – a lair.

It had a lavish nest in one corner and a lit fireplace carved into one of the thick rock walls. Even a few lamps hung from the ceiling. Effort had been taken to make the space homey. It was clean. Sort of. There were lumps of logs arranged like furniture, and the fireplace gave everything a warm light. Tattered and threadbare blankets had made scant rugs on the floor. It was borderline civilized.

There was a pile of weapons in one corner. Rifles and hunting knives. His own sword and pistol sat atop the pile, but even if he could get free it was half the room away. The coarse rope around his wrists grazed and bit his skin, keeping his arms pulled over his head. He wasn’t getting out of that without help. He couldn’t even fathom what the succubus was playing at, keeping him alive. It made no sense. Until…

Someone appeared from a hidden part of the cave. A girl. No. A young woman. Vincent had to force the correction. In his mind anyone younger than him was instantly considered a child. The world was fast becoming predominantly children. She was dirty, naked, and unkempt. Her long black hair hung to her knees in matted clumps. She looked wild, feral, but when she turned to him the depth of emotion in her eyes was enough to drown in.

He saw a light about her hands as she neared him. A faint red glow spilling from her fingers.

So, there was a witch in the woods after all. A mage.

She had power too, Vincent could see that instantly. But she didn’t know how to use it. Not properly. No one had ever taught her. It was innate ability. Messy and destructive. The fire would be hers. The shelter she would have built. The succubus was probably hers too, but if she was weak and inexperienced it may not have stayed that way. The fear, hesitation, and abuse in her eyes spoke volumes. Just because someone had the power to summon creatures from beyond didn’t mean they had the power or the knowledge to bind them.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

Vincent was surprised by the strength in her voice. He poked his tongue around his mouth, trying to make his lips move and assess the damage. He could feel dried blood crack across the outside of his cheek as he distorted it.

“I don’t know where ‘here’ is,” he rasped, his mouth dry and his head aching. “I don’t know how I got here.”

“She brought you,” the mage replied. The way she said it was almost an accusation.

At least for Vincent it was a confirmation. He didn’t need all his mental faculties to know who ‘she’ was. He rested his head back and closed his eyes for a moment. The mage crouched down in front of him, hesitant to get too close, but clearly as curious as she was frightened. The notion that someone with her kind of power was frightened of him in this condition almost made him laugh. He was in no position to be a danger to anyone right now. He should be dead.

“She never brought anyone like this before…” the mage whispered, looking Vincent over curiously. “Never brought anyone tied up and dragged…”

“All the other men follow her home of their own accord?” Vincent guessed wryly.

The girl nodded. Vincent nodded back. He winced.

“I’m… immune,” he grunted. “Her magic doesn’t work on me.”

“You’re immune to magic?!” the mage startled, flinching back. She raised one glowing red hand as though to strike him and test the theory.

“No,” Vincent shook his head weakly. “No, not magic. No one’s immune to all magic. I’m just… immune to seduction.”

She regarded him distrustfully for a moment, before settling on, “You don’t like women.”

Vincent laughed. The action rattled his already scrambled brains painfully, but he couldn’t help it.

“I don’t like anyone, kid,” he chuckled at her. “Can’t help it. People are just garbage. Wouldn’t wish them on my worst enemy.”

The girl sat down in front of him, watching him curiously. She waved her hand gently over him, like she was feeling him with her magic.

“You’re telling the truth,” she announced.

“And I will continue to,” Vincent promised, seeing no reason to lie to the girl. He looked around the room, trying to take things in, and what he saw conjured a tale equal parts horrifying and tragic. “Why are you here?” he asked her in turn.

She shrugged. “It’s safe and it’s warm,” she answered. Neither of those things were true, but Vincent understood that she didn’t realize that. What she meant was it was safer and warmer in here than out there.

“You came from the town?” he asked. “The one your succubus has been hunting from?”

The girl curled up tighter, hugging herself. Her matted hair fell around her shoulders like a blanket.

“They didn’t treat you very well, did they?” he continued patiently. “They tried to kill you?”

“They wanted to kill me,” the mage spat. “Didn’t get to. Killed my mama. Threw rocks at me. Drove me out.” Her fingers tightened on her shoulders so hard they left marks.

“Now your succubus is killing them…” Vincent commented.

The girl shook her head. “She ain’t mine.” She wouldn’t meet his eye as she said it, and more of Vincent’s theories solidified.

There was a scant heap of the most threadbare blankets he had ever seen bundled near the nest. The nest he was sure belonged to the demon. The pile of blankets was where he was confident the young witch slept. She did not think the succubus belonged to her. However, there were several signs that the poor girl belonged to the monster. Too many parts of the cave were set up to house two, one superior and one inferior. A master and slave.

Vincent was painfully confident this girl was no one’s master – even though she had the power to change that.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

She looked at him in confusion, like he’d asked her where Pamukkale was. He tried to shift himself, pulling on the ropes that bound his wrists to haul himself into a higher sitting position. The pain in the side of his head made him squeeze his eyes shut and grunt in agony. When he blinked again she was still looking at him.

“I’m Vincent,” he groaned. “Doctor Vincent Temple.”

“A doctor?” Now the girl looked even more confused. “She said you was a hunter.”

“I’m both,” he admitted.

“Hunters ain’t doctors,” she scoffed. “The doctors stay in town, getting others to hunt for them, and telling people they can fix them. You can’t fix me.”

“I’m not that kind of hunter,” Vincent told her. “I’m not that kind of doctor. And you don’t need fixing. You need a decent bed, a proper bath, some warm clothes, and a few good meals, but you don’t need fixing.”

She was staring at him again. He watched as she leant in curiously, still hugging her knees, and the light around her hands went out.

“You’re still telling the truth…” she marveled.

“Insomuch as I see it,” he sighed. “Look, kid, I can get you out of here. I can get you somewhere good, but you have to let me go.”

She shook her head, curling back into herself and he knew he’d come on too strong too early. She didn’t trust him yet. That was fair, but he didn’t know how much time he had. He didn’t know where the succubus was or what she was planning.

“What would you do with me otherwise?” he asked.

“Labizia says I have to interrogate you to find out what you know…” The girl answered with an apprehension that didn’t want to consider more truth than what she had spoken.

“And then kill me,” Vincent finished for her with a sigh. “Do you always do as she says?”

“Always,” she nodded. “She’s good to me. People are scared of us. She says we got to stick together. She keeps me safe.”

Vincent looked over the filthy, malnourished, bruised girl, and the rags of possessions that couldn’t even clothe her. It was not what he considered keeping someone safe.

“You deserve better,” he murmured.

The girl laughed scathingly. Vincent didn’t imagine anyone had ever let her believe such a thing before. He didn’t laugh with her. She stopped in the face of his somber silence. An unease settled over her at the notion he might mean it.

“You want to know the truth?” he asked. “You have to find out what I know? I know I do not want to die here.”

The mage nodded sympathetically. That she could believe and understand.

“And what of you?” Vincent asked her. “Do you want to die here?”

She eyed him cautiously. He shook his pained head tenderly.

“Not now. Not today. I’m not threatening you, kid,” he assured. “But come on? Really? Are you happy here? Are you content serving her? One day, when your mortality catches up to you, when you are no longer useful to her, do you really want to die in this cave, knowing only this life?”

She stayed silent, but he could see the answer written all over her face.

“I’ll answer your questions if you answer some of mine?” he offered.

“Like what?” she replied.

“Like your name,” Vincent reminded. “I introduced myself, but you never told me your name.”

She shrugged. “I don’t have a name.”

“You would have had one,” he insisted.

She didn’t budge. The subjugation of her soul seemed so complete there was nothing more to push towards. She was already at rock bottom.

“Did you lose it…?” Vincent asked.

The girl shrugged again. “They call me witch. You can call me whatever you want.”

“To name something is to define it,” Vincent replied. “You let them define you like that?”

“It’s true, ain’t it?” she retorted.

“True enough,” he conceded. “Do you let their other names for you define you too?”

She glared at him. His attempts to prod were impairing his odds. The girl stood imperiously and brushed herself down.

“Others call me witch,” she snapped. “You can call me witch, Doctor, unless you got anything better.”

He met her dark eyes, vicious and full of defensive malice.

“I would call you friend,” he offered.

She froze. He held her gaze without blinking, as openly and honestly as he could muster.

“I don’t got friends. Never have,” she retorted, but with less hostility than he was sure she was striving for.

“What about Ethel?” he asked. “She was your friend, wasn’t she? At least of a sort?”

The look on the girl’s face was pained at the name. She could remember that, even if she refused to remember herself. Perhaps she truly couldn’t remember. Perhaps the succubus Labizia really did have that much power over her.

“Whatever love you had for her, I would not wish to follow it,” Vincent said. “But I would be a friend, would call you friend, if you wanted one.”

The mage paused, lingering in deliberation before sitting on the floor again.

“You would call me friend…?” she whispered.

“Yes, Friend,” he smiled.

The girl looked troubled but not displeased with this. He watched her fidget with her ratty hair as she sat, almost hopeful, but not wholly permitting herself the emotion yet. Vincent settled back against the rock wall. His body was starting to go numb enough that the pain felt like it was easing.

“So, Friend, what do you want to know?” he asked.

She looked at him curiously.

“You said you were under orders to find out what I know,” he reminded.

“What do you know?” she asked inquisitively, the final traces of apprehension dwindling.

“What do I know…?” Vincent mused. “I know a great many things. I told you I was a Hunter and a doctor. I do not hunt for sport, but for humanity’s survival. My medical knowledge is limited to surviving war and the Hunt, but I am a doctor of learning. My areas of specialty are archeology, anthropology, and the occult. I study ancient cultures, magic, and monsters.”

She shook her head at him and he knew he must have lost her somewhere.

“You can’t study magic,” she told him. “They hang you for that.”

“Not where I’m from,” he disagreed. “See this pin?”

The girl reached out and inspected the pin on his lapel.

“That’s a Hunter’s pin,” he told her. “Magic can’t belong only to evil, otherwise the world would fall. I belong to the Order of Hunters. We hunt monsters to keep people safe. We’re allied with the Order of Mages.”

She let go of the pin to stare at him.

“If you wanted, I could take you there,” he offered. “They’re mostly based in Europe, but they’ve got a couple of growing sects here. A warm house, food, clothes, and books upon books of magic that you’re allowed – no, expected – to read.”

“That’s not a real place!” she argued, shaking her head at the cruelty he showed, daring to mock her with such a dream.

“I assure you, it is as real as I am,” Vincent insisted. “I could take you there, if you wanted to go. On my recommendation, they would induct you.”

She squirmed from his declaration, torn. She clearly wanted to accuse him of lying, but she had already used her magic to test him for lies. He believed he was telling the truth. That meant he was crazy, or, possibly, that miracles were real. That hope was real.

“What else do you know…?” she whispered, barely daring to allow herself this possibility.

“I know you could make a great and powerful mage,” he answered simply. “I know this world has not been kind to you. Humanity has not been kind to you. You were never given a real chance, but you want to do good. You want to do the right thing, you even know what it is, you just don’t know if you can. You don’t know if you’re strong enough. But you are. I know you are. I know you have the power and the bravery and the wisdom. I know you can do it,” he smiled, trying to conjure the memory of someone else who would have believed in her. “If nothing else, you are your mother’s savage daughter.”

She looked at him like it was the first time anyone had ever told her that as a compliment. For a moment he was sure he had her, not by manipulation but with the truth. She had as many choices as he did. More than. If he could show her the paths, she could decide her own fate.

Then footsteps sounded. Hooves clopped. The damning sound of Satan’s own steps echoed off the cave walls. The mage scampered away in a panic, like she knew she’d been doing something wrong. Labizia strode into the cave like a creature on a mission. She cast her eyes imperiously over the room and sneered.

“What have you learnt?” she demanded. “How many Hunters are in this area? How far away is his team?”

Vincent smiled. Teams of Hunters working together had become almost non-existent since the War, unless someone could prove a sizable enough threat and request assistance. There weren’t enough of them left. Not that he imagined the succubus would be in the know on the Brotherhood’s procedures.

“Enough that you’re in trouble, Labizia,” he taunted her.

She flinched, her tail swishing. Then she rounded on the mage.

“You useless, spineless little worm!” she roared. “You told him my name?!”

“I-I-I didn’t mean to…” the girl stammered, cowering and covering her head.

The succubus kicked her in the side, knocking her out of the way as she strode to Vincent. He wanted to come to the girl’s defense, but he had to survive this mess first. He glared at the monster as she came for him.

“You’re a fool if you think you can fix this!” he warned. “Killing me is as good as falling on the blade yourself. Your only chance, Labizia, is to turn now and run. Get as far away as you can.”

“So that I can spend the rest of my life fleeing?” she snarled.

“It will be a longer life than if you start a war with the Hunters,” Vincent told her. “Kill me, and they will destroy you. You already know what my kind do to those of you that kill one of ours.”

She hesitated. If he’d been able get free he could have used it, but he was still bruised and bound, and the monster was no fool. She meant for him to die here. He wasn’t getting away.

“You’re not a good enough fighter to survive another Hunter,” he warned. “I wasn’t even trying to kill you and you barely survived me. My mercy is the only reason you’re still alive. Kill me, and no one else will risk that kindness. You’ll be slaughtered before you can beg.”

“You want me to believe leaving you would be any better?” she scoffed.

“Leave me here with the girl,” he offered. “I’ll be too busy making sure she’s safe to chase you.”

Labizia laughed a horrible, bestial sound. “Don’t mistake me for an fool, Hunter. She’s a pathetic idiot, but she’s still a mage, and both of you know my name. I know what you can do with magic and a true name. No. I don’t think so. I will make her coax the truth out of you, we will learn how to avoid the other Hunters, and then I will kill you and feed you to her. A fitting fate for you both.”

Vincent looked to the girl. She stayed back, cowering in fear and disgust. There was horror in her eyes and a self-loathing so ripe it was like looking in a mirror. She was terrified of the monster that kept her prisoner, and terrified of the monster it was turning her into. The fear kept her down. Kept her obedient. She looked like she already knew she would do as she was told. But she didn’t have to. She had a choice. Vincent tried to meet her eye.

“Witch!” Labizia snapped at her. “Be useful for once in your miserable life!”

The girl kept her head bowed, swaying uncertainly as though she was using all her will to refuse that first step. Her foot lifted. So did her face. Vincent met her eye. He didn’t say anything. He hoped he didn’t need to. He just looked at her with the same eyes that had called her ‘friend’. With the only eyes that had dared call her something other than ‘witch’.

She put her foot back down in place. Labizia turned, scowling. She saw the defiance in her abused mage and scoffed.

“Your incompetence knows no bounds, does it?” she scorned. “Fine. I’ll do this myself, but you can go hungry. Again.”

“Friend,” Vincent called to the girl, meeting her eye across the cave. “She keeps you beaten down so that you think you need her, but you don’t. She degrades you so that you’ll never realize you’re more powerful than she is.”

“I treat her how she deserves to be treated, like a useless dog that barely earns her keep,” Labizia snapped. “Her, I will deal with later. You—” she ripped at his ropes and hauled him up to her bared fangs, “—I think I’ll just have to risk eating…”

Vincent’s arms came away numb and heavy. He had to do something, but he couldn’t move. His limbs felt like lead. Labizia’s claws dug into his twisted shoulders, and her fangs neared his throat. After everything else, it seemed both an embarrassing and ironic way to die. At least it might be quick.

The succubus choked before she tasted him. She gagged, blood coming to her lips. Vincent hit the ground with a grunt as she dropped him like a sack of bricks. He recognized the point of his own sword protruding from her chest. It tore back out of her body with a messy slicing twist. The demon didn’t manage a final word. Although, Vincent could see the insult on her lips as she half turned to face the mage even as she fell to the ground.

The girl stood behind her, both hands clutching the handle of the sword, watching the blood drip from the blade. She dropped it with a clatter and staggered back. Her hands flew to her mouth, failing to hide her horror.

“Hey…” Vincent muttered to her, trying to struggle to his feet.

She ignored him, sinking down to the floor with an agonized wail of grief. She buried her face in her knees, screaming and howling as Labizia’s blood pooled on the ground. Vincent staggered upright. He struggled out of his heavy coat and stumbled to the girl on the ground, wrapping the coat around her snugly and taking her in his arms.

“Hey, shush… shush now,” he soothed her. “It’s over. It’s over now, girl. Thank you. You just saved my life.”

She didn’t say anything. He didn’t need her too. It would take a long time to undo the damage that had been done to this poor woman. The demon might have been an abusive monster, but she was still the only love and company the mage had known for the last five years…

Ever since she’d been driven into the woods by humanity.

Vincent coaxed her gently away. He helped to dress her in the coat, sliding her arms into it and buttoning the front, before setting her by the fire to keep warm. He sat her on the log near the flames and assured her he wouldn’t go anywhere without her. She barely reacted, wiping her tears with her new sleeves.

He made sure she wasn’t looking as he worked. It wasn’t something he was trying to hide from her, but he wanted to give her the chance to ignore the butchering of her keeper. Vincent made a bag from some of the blankets and used it to store the head of the succubus, which he hacked from her body. He then used the rest of the blankets to clean his sword and cover the body. Decapitation was the easiest way to ensure someone wasn’t resurrected, and Hunters got better pay if they could take proof that they’d done their job.

The mage didn’t question it, and he was grateful. He didn’t know how honest he should be with her, given her trauma. When he was done packing and recovering his weapons, the girl spoke again.

“What do I do now?” she asked weakly. “I… I’m nothing without her…”

“You are everything without her,” Vincent countered, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. He noticed her flinch from him, but he made the gesture as confident and gentle as he could manage. She needed to learn she could be touched without being hurt. “I can take you back to civilization,” he offered. “We can get you cleaned and fed, and organize for you to meet with the College of Mages, if you want.”

She was silent a moment. Vincent took the opportunity to pick up the bag and prepare himself to leave. He was ready to be done with this place when she was. She turned her eyes from the flames and looked up at him slowly.

“You called me friend…” she commented.

“You are,” he assured.

Her dark eyes narrowed shrewdly. There was a cunning in them that had barely been tapped. He hoped to see it flourish in the future, but she had yet to make her choice. Not that he felt he could leave her either way.

“Is it possible?” she asked. “Can one be both witch and friend? What would anyone call me instead? Witch-friend?”

“What about Winifred?” Vincent suggested. “It doesn’t mean the same thing, but it’s a name. A real name. A good name.”

“Winifred…?” she tasted the sound. “Witch-friend, Winifred.” She chuckled at the connection he’d made. “Then others could call me ‘friend’ too. Could call me Fred.”

“Fred looks good on you,” Vincent smiled at her. “Shall we start from the beginning?” He held out his hand to her.

She stood and he was surprised to find, when they were both standing, how tall she was for so gaunt a woman. She took his hand and he shook.

“Thank you, Fred, for saving my life,” he said.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she replied, squeezing his grip with a comforting strength. “I think you might also have saved mine.”

They both gave the other an agreeable nod, that what they had done here constituted the work of partners. There was something about her, about the way she had grieved so rawly, her eyes still red-rimmed, and then shrugged away her pain. She was a no-nonsense kind of lady. He appreciated that. He knew whatever happened next, with the mages and the councils, whatever happened with other people, he would stand in her corner and help. It had been easy to dwell in the war. Easy to wallow. Easy to forget that there were still choices. Fred had made the choice to live. He would start making that choice too.

“You’re welcome, Fred,” he told her. “Now, let’s get you out of here. I think it’s about time.”

She nodded, and this time didn’t flinch as he put an arm around her shoulders and walked her from the cave.

If you enjoyed this story check out more of Vincent and Fred’s tales below!