"I'm sorry?"
Nisreen always apologized to her victims. Always with a strange sort of inflection. As if she were saying it, but also asking herself if she really meant it. Sincere or not, it hardly mattered. Her victims were deeply unconscious anyway. Or maybe it did. Maybe, in some far off way, they heard her. Her voice mingling with their dreams. Seeding into the darkened recesses of their mind.
The small light of the campfire lit his face. Adam was his name—a big, strong, healthy young man. He looked peaceful, despite the blood oozing from the twin bite marks on his neck. A sanguine bliss.
The night was quiet around them. Just Nisreen, Adam, Youssef, the horse and the wagon, the orange glow of the fire, the soft rustling of the leaves of the trees, and the stars above them. They were about two days out from Reajh.
"Oh. Let me get that for you."
More futile words. She knew it to be true, no matter how much she hoped his unconscious mind could hear her. Still, she said them. Some small amount of solace could be found in talking to her victims like this. After lying to their faces, she'd tell the truth to their deaf ears; she lacked the courage for it to be otherwise.
Nisreen reached into her satchel. Pulled out her 'bite kit', as she called it. Opened the kit and took out a cloth bandage and a regenerative salve. She opened the salve's jar and dipped her index and middle fingers into the salve and pressed them against the bite marks on Adam's neck.
"See. There you go. Not so bad."
The salve did its work, accelerating the healing on his neck and stopping the bleeding. Was that...a smile of Adam's face? Or was she imagining it?
Didn't matter. Her shyness got the better of her and she looked away. Blushed. Not a natural blush, given her condition. Just another hunter's tool, an artificial flushing of cheeks at the right moment, an automatic response to the appropriate stimuli. A predatory reflex.
"I shouldn't have said I don't bite. That was a awful lie. And a terrible pun. If you could, you'd groan right now, wouldn't you Adam?"
No response. The fire crackled. Youssef, Adam's father, turned slightly on his own bed roll. But nothing followed.
"I think you would, Adam. You've got a keen ear. You're quick-witted. Cute."
She blushed again. Unrolled a strip of the cloth bandage and tore it. Started to wipe the blood from his neck and from his bed roll.
"Oh. Um. Forget I said that. I wouldn't want to make this any more awkward than it needs to be."
Nisreen pulled her fingers back from his neck. Healed. No trace of the marks left by her fangs. But she still had some blood to clean up on him. On herself. She dabbed the cloth on her lips and on her chin.
"You'd think my bedside manner would be pretty good by now. But...ah, I think I've got a long way to go. Ugh, just look at this mess. Well, what do you think, Adam?"
No response.
"Yeah. You're probably right. I could always be cleaner about this. More civilized. This doesn't always have to be a base and brutish thing, now does it? Practice, of course. It'll come with practice. And patience. Oh, and the will to change. Don't forget that, Adam. That one's definitely important."
No response.
"Well...hmm...I think...yup, looks good. You're all cleaned up now. Decent again. None of this uncouth blood business. Hey, Adam? Do something for me? Let's just keep this between us. Okay? Okay. Sounds good. I'll just...I'll just go back over here to my own bed roll now. Oh don't worry, Adam, you'll be fine. Might wake up a bit groggy, but fine. I promise. Okay. Good night, Adam. Sleep well."
Nisreen didn't sleep. She watched the dying of the fire. The encroaching darkness.
* * * * *
"You ever been to Reajh before?" Youssef asked.
"No," Nisreen said. "First time out of Arca, really."
Youssef scoffed. "Pfft, Arca. You ain't seen
real craftsmanship until you've seen Connlaothian craftsmanship. Ain't that right, boy?"
"Yes, dad." Adam said.
The wagon rolled along. The gates of Reajh were in sight, and they approached at a steady pace. The sun had finally set, allowing Nisreen to lower her muffler and her hood without putting herself in danger.
Nisreen sat across from Adam in the wagon. Youssef sat in the driver's seat, holding the reins.
"Tell me about this 'Civil War' that Connlaoth is in. I've never heard of a war like it—a country fighting itself—and I know so very little," she said.
Youssef just laughed. "Lady, all you need to do is pop your head into any fuckin' tavern around Reajh and you'll get an earful. Hell, you're bound to meet some some poor smuck who got drafted, wounded, and discharged. That's why I got me and my boy out when that draft shit started. Moved my business to Serendipity. I ain't fightin' no noble fuck's war." And after a moment's thought, he added, "Sorry for all the swearing, miss."
"I don't mind."
"Good, because..."
Youssef continued with his rant. Nothing much of value to be heard; it was mostly him complaining about nobles, Dukes, and other wealthy elites. Nisreen glanced at Adam. He rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. They shared a smile behind Youssef's back.
As the wagon passed through the gates of Reajh and started down the darkened city streets, Nisreen gawked at her surroundings. She'd made it. This was it. Connlaoth. A country at war with itself. Home of Ansgarism, a prominent monotheism. Birthplace of the legendary Mordecai and Adharas. There was so much to learn here!
But first things first. She wouldn't be able to do much scholarly work if she didn't make sure her baser needs were satisfied. Ingredients for her potions and solutions of choice would need to be procured; a hunter needed her tools, after all. And, to that end, Nisreen would need to get in contact with Reajh's criminal underground. Name drop a few choice names from Arca's own underworld. Establish relationships with the people who could always get her what she needed.
Dirty business, that. But necessary.
Youssef glanced back at his son and Nisreen. Her attention focused back in on him. Heard him talking again. He said, "...and do you know what I said to him? I looked him square in eyes, and I said—"
A silent crossbow bolt slammed into Youssef's skull. And a second burst through the skin of his neck. Blood splattered on Nisreen's face. Her tunic.
She threw her hands up in surprise, her body flinching hard. "Oh god!"
The reins slipped from Youssef's hands and he tumbled down into the street. The wagon came to a halt in front of a tavern. Noise, from inside the tavern. But no one else on the street.
The moonlight made Adam's horror clear as day. "Dad?
Dad!"
He started to get out of the wagon. A third crossbow bolt caught him in the chest as he vaulted over the side railing of the vehicle. Adam toppled roughly from the wagon. He hit the street hard.
Nisreen threw herself flat in the wagon. There was no top covering for the wagon, and only small wooden side rails. Not much in the way of cover.
Adam groaned. She crawled forward some on her elbows and poked her head out from the back of the wagon. She saw him. Writhing in the street beside the wagon.
"Adam!
Adam!" she hissed, trying to stay as quiet as possible while also catching his attention. "Stop moving! Play dead!"
"I'm sorry..." he said.
"What?"
"You shouldn't have ridden with us..."
"Adam, please, stop—"
A fourth bolt struck him in the chest again. One final gargle escaped his throat. And he lay still.
Her lips twitched. "—moving..."
Nisreen crawled back into the wagon. She was actually breathing heavily, though she didn't need to. Another reflex. She curled up into a ball, covering her head with her arms.
She had no idea where the shots had come from, or how many shooters there were.
What to do? What to do? Stay? Run? Use a smoke bomb?
Maybe someone heard the commotion. Her or Adam yelling. The guard. A wandering adventurer.
Somebody.
A quiet, lonely, deadly night. In the wagon, the sound of her breathing.