Blood Hunter: An Urban Fantasy Vampire Hunting Novel

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  “It’s the least I can do for a man I probably won’t ever see again.”

  Your faith in me is moving!

  I waved him farewell and proceeded to the house on the hill, just as the sun began to wane.

  Chapter 10. Sprites

  Superstition was a compelling motivator for many. And, in a world of magic and monsters, some superstition was just common sense. But, it wasn’t the most powerful of motivations. Offer a starving man a feast and he will pointedly ignore that you’re probably a witch fattening him up.

  No. You needed much more than superstition to cause this much fear in a village this large. And, by my estimation of these village folk, they weren’t complete backwater yokels. I came from a traditional village, and this wasn’t one. It was the epitome of a transient boom town. The economy of the Zulu Empire and its occupied territories ebbed and flowed. And it was currently going through one of its booms. That meant a demand for commodities. In particular, metal. And that meant mining.

  Thus, these villages sprang up as families and migrant workers followed the prospects of employment.

  These were not country folk, isolated from the modern magical world. Yes, they were ignorant on many magical matters. But, so was I. And I killed magical beasts as a way of life.

  Long story short: it would take more than just old myths around water sprites and curses to keep a village of economic opportunists this fearful.

  The sunset painted the world red and orange as I made my way up the hill in question. While shacks and hastily constructed buildings flooded the plains, they all gave this hill a wide berth as well as the brickwork house atop it.

  The house was western style. Possibly a farm in ages past. Pitched roof. Exposed brickwork on some of the walls, but white plaster over others. The windows were open, letting frilled curtains dance in the breeze.

  This was a nice house. Nicer than any other in this transient settlement. And it did not look looted, vandalised or that anyone had even attempted to squat within or around it.

  What could drive so many people to not even consider taking up residence in a more than adequate house?

  Superstition only went so far. As I examined the house from a distance, placing my plastic jerry can to the side of the dirt path, I felt a shiver run up my spine, and a lump like a fist appear in my gut.

  There was something wrong with this house. And it had driven an entire village to steer clear of it.

  I slowly approached the brickwork abode, drawing my machete with my right hand. It was a bulky thing, with a steel edge that had been visibly worn down by constant sharpening over the years. It looked battle-scarred. But I knew that it had many years left in it. Hopefully, like me.

  I pulled my bag off my back and placed it quietly outside the door of the house. If I was fighting something like a nightkin, then I would need to be completely agile. The creatures were so fast it was almost like teleportation. Carrying a loaded backpack containing all my belongings wouldn’t help even the odds.

  Backpack stowed behind a dying bush near the front door, I unsheathed my assegai. Its metal was painted black, all except for the exposed edge, that shone in the waning light. Silver. Always good to have silver. Just in case. Vampires hated it. So did werewolves, and evil spirits, and some demons. Silver had overtaken gold in terms of value in this magical world. Too bad for me, as I needed to buy some.

  I muttered a prayer under my breath. Silumko had taught it to me. He was definitely not a staunch traditionalist. He found my being an inkwenkwe an irrelevant point, even if it still concerned me. He was also the least superstitious man I had ever met.

  “Vampires, magic, monsters…are all beings of a new science,” he had said. “We can understand them. And we must, if we plan to kill them.”

  That had been one of my first lessons as a Blood Hunter. Superstition was useful, but only insofar as it warned us about phenomena that we could then learn and understand.

  Silumko was pragmatic. And, while he did not believe in the theology of these prayers, he had taught them to me as a way to help me focus. And, as I muttered the words and incantations, I felt my body limber up, my breathing and heartrate steady, and any latent fear I felt escape my body. I wasn’t fearless, mind you. But this ritual helped me mask my fear with reason. I could still be wary, but without the panic.

  A sea of lights, like a starlit sky, began to blink awake in the nameless village at my back. No lights awoke inside this brickwork house. Why would they? It was either abandoned, or its inhabitant did not care about light.

  I activated a flashlight attached to my vest and then, with the same hand that I was holding my assegai’s short spear handle, I slowly reached towards the doorknob. Steady. Almost hesitant. I concentrated on feeling the local weyline. Like Silumko had taught me. It didn’t feel dark. Somewhat weak. Magic didn’t flow so well in these backwater parts. More menial things attracted people to live in such places – not the wonders of the supernatural.

  I didn’t feel any sort of obvious magical signature around the door. Satisfied, I tried the doorknob. Unlocked. My lucky day!

  I pushed the door forward, holding my machete up to block a possible onslaught. The door met resistance. Not hard. But there was definitely something on the other side. Many things, in fact. And they were clinking.

  I gave the door a concerted push, and it swung open to the sound of much tinkling and clinks. My flashlight shone on a tiled floor. At least, I guess it was tiled. I could hardly see it, as the floor was covered in a sea of glass bottles of varying green and brown, interspersed with cans.

  Well, I’d found where the alcohol was disappearing.

  I stepped forward into the room, which I realised was a kitchen by the presence of an open fridge and many countertops, covered in more and more cans and beer bottles. My feet shifted more of the clutter, letting out a jarring clinking echo. I winced.

  Well, the initial glass cacophony must have alerted the possible monstrous inhabitant to my presence already. I waded through the clutter, scanning the walls for a light switch. Found one. Click and bingo. The kitchen became awash in a warm yellow glow as electric lighting truly illuminated the mess. Benefit of mining boom towns. Electricity.

  I could not help but marvel at the mess. It had exceeded the point of shame and had become a wonder. The floor wasn’t just coated in the haphazardly discarded cans and bottles, they were piled up. There were months, if not years, worth of alcohol shipments here.

  This wasn’t just some teenage hooligans hiding their ill-gotten booze in the abandoned house on the hill. With this volume of alcohol, they would have been noticed. This was something more.

  Something supernatural.

  I scoured my memory of creatures with a taste for alcohol. It ruled out vampires. Sure, vampires consumed alcohol on occasion, but as much as a human would. It was one of the aspects of a vampire that was possibly the most human.

  This not being a vampire should have made me lose my interest. I’m a vampire hunter. Not some Hope City hunter with a slutty approach to selling my skills. My hunt meant something.

  But Silumko had taught me that vampires were just one type of monster. And, we needed to save everyone we could, or our path would become meaningless.

  So, I pondered other possibilities, while keeping an eye on the dark doorway to the rest of the house. The question was, what monster consumed this much alcohol?

  Satyr? Possibly. They were known for their debauchery. But they weren’t considered dangerous. Some trolls and ogres could also drink this much, but one of those would have been noticed. Besides, even a small troll wouldn’t be able to fit in this single-storey house, much less an ogre.

  That left two possibilities. Fae or demons. And seeing that both those were categories of creatures containing an endless multitude of unique beings, I was back to square one.

  I took a reluctant step forward. I hated not knowing what I was hunting, but that was just a part of the path. Rifts, we hardly knew anything about
vampires, and they were our primary target.

  I advanced into the dark hallway, searching for a light switch. Part of me wanted the creature to be alerted to my presence. The sooner I flushed it out, the sooner I could kill it.

  I scoured the house, finding a sitting room. I searched for any signs of struggle but found none. No damaged furniture, scratches, bludgeon-marks or blood. Not even faeces from rodents. Whatever was now living in this place was keeping it tidy. Well, their sense of tidy, as every room was covered in the ever-present alcohol cans and bottles.

  Starting to doubt that this wasn’t just some fever dream, I opened the final door, to what I presumed would be a bedroom with an en suite bathroom.

  “Bold of you to step into the belly of the beast, mortal,” a voice rang out, just as I opened the door. The room was empty, yet I felt an unmistakable presence.

  “You are brave, if foolish, human, for coming into my domain,” the voice continued. It didn’t boom like a large monster. There was an unmistakable ring of arrogance in the creature’s tone. But more than all that, I couldn’t help but detect that all the words were laden with something else.

  Apathy.

  “Run, mortal,” the voice continued, as I stepped forward. It was a bedroom. Double bed. Bedsheets ruffled. This was the only room not overwhelmed by discarded bottles and cans.

  I sniffed, scanning the room.

  “Heed my warnings, trespasser! I give you only this chance to retreat and live another day. Flee!”

  The voice didn’t have any directionality to it. It was as if it was being played directly into my head. I prodded the bed with my assegai, before speaking, calmly but sternly.

  “You murdered the owner of this house, creature. And then pillage these people of their belongings. I won’t flee. But, I give you a warning: go. Now. You are not welcome here.”

  There was a long pause, as I scanned the room for the source of the voice.

  “Pillage? Are you accusing me of thievery, mortal?” the voice asked, incredulously.

  I shrugged. “You take what isn’t yours. That makes you a thief, creature.”

  “I only take what is due to me! It is a tribute. I refrain from destroying them all, and they deliver tribute in the form of intoxicating nectar.”

  “You are a sneak thief. They don’t even know what you are.”

  I could hear that the owner of the voice was taken aback in its silence.

  “I have come here,” I continued, speaking loudly and confidently. “To slay you, and free this village of your shadow. But, most of all, to avenge the owner of this house that you killed.”

  “What owner?” the voice asked, equally as incredulous as before.

  “The woman! The woman who lived here and who is now dead at your hand.” I must admit to growing a bit heated.

  The voice audibly scoffed.

  “There was no one when I made residence here. And if you are speaking about the old owner, she left of her own volition. Went off to become the mistress of some impi commander. I came here to punish her, at the behest of her ex-husband. But she was gone. Kill her? Please! My wrath is wasted on petty mortals.”

  Sent here? Not just a beast then. Well, it was obviously intelligent. Definitely fae or demon. Most probably demon, if it was used as a part of a curse.

  “What are you?” I asked. Always worth a shot. But I had an ulterior motive, as I began edging towards the open window, near an open can of beer. I smelled liquor.

  “What a rude thing to ask! I didn’t inquire of what type of bipedal buffoon you are when you came traipsing into my home!” the voice ranted, outraged. Touchy! Definitely a demon. Or a fae. Dammit, they were way too similar.

  “All I hear is a whiny spirit…” Both fae and demons hated being called spirits.

  “My patience wears thin!” the voice bellowed, but there was a waver in its voice. I turned to look at the nightstand, away from the window. The voice came back more confident. “Go now and I will forget about the offence you have caused me, puny mortal!”

  “Well, I’m glad I’ve been promoted from mortal to puny mortal,” I replied, before sniffing. Yep, unmistakable. Sweat, gas and booze.

  I spun, suddenly, dropped my assegai and lunged my open hand towards the windowsill. I felt something furry and wet with nervous sweat, as a small hairy creature appeared in my hands, its hairless face paling as it stared at me terrified.

  He was short. Possibly coming up to just below my knee. His brown and black fur looked almost charred, coating his body except for his face and hands, which were hairless and pale. Two long, bat-like ears flanked his face and a pair of coal-black eyes.

  “You are a tokoloshe!” I exclaimed, honestly surprised that the villager was correct.

  “Takes one to know one!” the tokoloshe replied, his predicament not restraining his quips.

  I tightened my grip and the tokoloshe reached for my fist, before noticed my machete edging closer to his neck.

  “I didn’t hurt anyone,” he squealed. “I swear!”

  “Don’t lie to me! We all know the myths. Tokoloshes kill people. You’re an evil sprite sent by witch doctors to wipe out families. Why shouldn’t I kill you now? By the smell coming from behind you, you seem to think you’re out of options.”

  “Myths are myths!” he replied, hastily. “Tokoloshes don’t kill people. We can’t! Well, unless it’s a last resort. We’re like bees. If we use our killing powers, we cease to exist. And I’m quite a fan of existing.”

  I examined him for deceit, but only saw desperation, which was understandable. I examined his tiny form. Limp arms and legs. He was definitely not overpowering anyone. He could have magic. Probably did. But if he did, I’d likely already be dead.

  I chose to trust the creature. For now. I let him go. He fell to the windowsill with a thud, before rubbing his throat and then taking a long swig of beer.

  “What’s your name, tokoloshe?” I asked, retrieving my assegai and sheathing it.

  “Asking a demon its name is never polite,” he replied, tossing the can out the window. Litterer!

  “So…you’re a demon.” I slowly started unsheathing my assegai again.

  “So are angels!” the tokoloshe explained, raising his hands defensively. “And you featherless bipeds still worship them for some reason. Sure, I’m a demon. But there’s a lot of us. And, we don’t often see eye to eye. Besides, you can trust a demon. We have rules. It’s the fae you gotta watch out for. They don’t disappear in a cloud of smoke and ash when they violate their tomes of precious codes.”

  I sighed and took a seat on the side of the bed. My adrenaline ebbed away as the possibility of a real fight seemed to end. This tokoloshe, for all its big words, seemed harmless.

  “So, tokoloshe, what makes you different from the fae and other demons? What can a tokoloshe do?”

  The creature grinned, widely. His grin was oddly human. His teeth were perhaps even more herbivorous than omnivorous. But that meant little. Demons defied our universal laws and expectations, Silumko always said. We knew very little about them because they made it so hard for us to try understanding them.

  Suddenly, the tokoloshe disappeared. I started, just as the creature appeared behind me, sticking his tongue out before disappearing again. He appeared in front of me, his backside levelled towards my face, as he let out a foul odour. I coughed, as he disappeared once more. I felt a slight weight on my head, as he perched on top of me.

  “So…” I repressed a gag. “You’re a demonic prankster.”

  “We’re a curse you mortals summon against your enemies,” he explained, sounding proud. “The bogeyman or the reaper but without the morbidity. We don’t need to kill, for our very legend fills the land with dread. Why send an assassin when you can send the fear of one, and drive your foes into a panic?”

  “Terrifying housewives and cattle herds. A very noble profession.”

  The tokoloshe teleported at my feet, where he retrieved a bottle to swig, before finding
it disappointingly dry.

  “I must be able to call you something,” I insisted. “Tokoloshe feels a bit impersonal.”

  “You can call me Graham.”

  Graham?

  “Why?” I asked, dumbfounded.

  “Why not?” Graham shrugged. “It amuses me. And what is your name, one who hunts alcoholic demons in backwater slums?”

  “Guy,” I answered. “Guy Mgebe.”

  Recognition flickered in Graham’s eyes, but he didn’t comment.

  I sighed and stood up. I was hoping for some pay, but this creature was harmless. Perhaps the village could benefit from some sobriety.

  “Are you leaving already?” Graham asked, as if he had not been threatening me minutes before.

  “I believe you are telling the truth. Which means this is your house now. But, I must ask that you stop stealing from the village folk. We both know now you cannot destroy this village even if you wanted to. So, find some more honest way to get your booze.”

  I started towards the door, just as Graham teleported in front of me, his black eyes wide.

  “You can’t leave! If you came up here, that means someone sent you. Which means that they may start coming up here themselves. And when they find out that I can’t kill them, they’ll lynch me! Do you know how they lynch criminals in these parts? What would they do to a demon?”

  “Not my problem. Why were you hiding here in the first place if you’re that scared of them?”

  I took another step forward; he teleported to keep pace.

  “The best place to hide,” he grinned. “Is in plain sight.”

  He disappeared then reappeared on my head, staring at me upside down.

  “Come on,” he began to whine, lifting two empty bottles and offering me one. “This has been the most fun I’ve had in a long time…”

  “I almost killed you.”

  “Variety is the spice of life.”

  I shook my head, exasperated. I just wanted to find a nook to settle down in for the night and then do some odd jobs for petrol money in the morning.