> I tried being reasonable, I didn't like it. - Clint Eastwood

For the first time since her arrival, Nord didn't wake up to the comforting scent of freshly prepared breakfast. Instead, she walked into the kitchen to find Finnea and Kirara sitting at the table, staring forlornly at empty plates.

"Morning, you two," Nord greeted them with a lopsided smile.

Finnea looked at her plate as if willing to magically fill itself with food and said nothing. Kirara, on the other hand, had no qualms about expressing her thoughts.

"We're hungry, Mama! So hungry! Got any chicken?" Kirara piped up, her voice tinged with hope.

"I don't think there's any chicken left. How about eggs?" Nord suggested, scanning the kitchen cabinets.

Kirara scrunched her nose. "It's not chicken," she grumbled.

"What do you think, Finnea?" Nord turned to the usually stoic young woman.

"Anything is fine, Master," Finnea replied, her voice thin, betraying a hint of distress.

Nord reached for the frying pan, prepared to whip up some eggs when a sudden shout erupted from the salon. She gripped the panhandle tightly, a sharp sense of alarm darting through her. She locked eyes with Finnea and Kirara, their mutual concern unspoken but palpable.

Nord adjusted the flame beneath the pan, catching the eye of Finnea and Kirara. "Wait here, I need to see what that noise is," she said, her eyes narrowed with concern. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and left the cosy warmth of the kitchen.

Her boots softly pressed against the creaky wooden floor as she moved into the salon. It was an altogether different atmosphere that met her gaze: two men looking like they'd just stepped off the set of a Clint Eastwood movie. Grimy, unkempt, and a haze of booze and smoke seemed to cling to their clothes like an aura.

"Good Morning, Miss, we need a room," the shorter one blurted out, slapping a dusty bag onto the floor with a thud.

"Good Morning," Nord sighed, "Look, I'd love to help, but The Morningstar is closed for renovations. Can't you come back in a few days?"

The taller of the two men removed his hat, revealing sweat-streaked hair. "Lady, we've been trudging through the backwoods for two days straight. We stink, we're beaten, and we could really use a bed."

The other man chimed in, "Honestly, all we need is a shower and some shut-eye. We're too tired to be any trouble."

Nord hesitated, her hands nervously clasping and unclasping. "I'm not really the one who handles the inn stuff, and—"

"Listen, I'm Han," the shorter one cut in, "and this here is Leelo. Can't you make an exception?"

That's when Leelo removed his own hat, revealing two sharpened horns protruding from his forehead. "The reason we're staying away from the town is that they're not too friendly to Pucks like us," Han added, his voice tinged with desperation.

Nord paused, her eyes meeting Leelo's horned visage and then drifting to Han's imploring gaze. It was a dilemma, but one look at those horns, and she knew what it was like to not fit in.

Nord's eyes slowly travelled from their grizzled faces down to their waists. There, holstered and looming, were two guns. She suddenly felt the weight of their presence more acutely.

"We have a no-gun policy here," she said, almost surprised by the authority in her own voice.

Leelo leaned against the counter, a cocky half-smile stretching across his face. "Normally, I'd oblige, Miss. But there's a vampire wreaking havoc, and we're not going in unarmed." The aroma that drifted from him underlined just how much he needed that bath he'd mentioned.

"A vampire?" Nord feigned ignorance, her eyes widening ever so slightly. Was Adamastor in danger? Was he being chased?

"Yeah, a leech. Been at large for some time, but the fool's holed up here in Ravendrift," Han elaborated. As if to punctuate his point, Leelo pulled his gun from its holster. Nord instinctively stepped back, her heart pounding.

He popped the magazine, rolling a few bullets into his hand and then holding one up. "This here is special," he began. "Made from unicorn bone and marrow. Ain't nothing that purges the ground under our feet of evil like Allatori bone."

Nord felt a chill crawl up her spine. His words were meant to reassure, but they only intensified her unease. She needed to defuse this situation and get them out. "Gentlemen, I appreciate the position you're in, but as I said, we're under renovation. The rooms aren't fit for guests, and we're even out of hot water."

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

She mentally sifted through her limited repertoire of Western movie scenes for some applicable wisdom. Nothing. It was as if the world of Western cinema had betrayed her in her moment of need—a genre she'd never been fond of in the first place.

Nord stumbled over her words, her mouth dry. "I—uh—"

Leelo cut in, "Look, Miss, we're two capable men ready to guard this place. All we're asking is for a bed and some water—warm or cold, it doesn't matter."

She noticed Han's hand subtly edging toward his gun belt. "We could've just barged in without asking, you know."

The veiled threat prickled the air, making Nord's skin crawl. "My husband will be back soon. I've already told you we can't accommodate guests right now. There are probably other places around."

Leelo laughed, reaching out to grab her hand. "Husband? You don't strike me as the wife type." He began to stroke his thumb over her empty ring finger, eyeing her mockingly.

Just then, a voice boomed from the doorway, where a man stood holding a stack of planks. "Mme Bougie's Inn down the road in the town's outskirt. It has beds, hot water, and the region's finest moonshine. I'd recommend trying your luck there."

The two men turned. "Who are you to interrupt?"

Baal, balancing the planks against the doorframe, stepped into the room. "I'm her husband. And I don't appreciate you touching her without her consent."

The atmosphere turned electric, tension buzzing between Baal and the two hunters. Leelo reluctantly let go of Nord's hand, and he saw Baal's eyes. Black as the purest void but burning as the hell's pit reincarnation.

Baal walked over to Nord. "You heard her, gentlemen. We're not open for business yet. Now, I suggest you leave."

Han exchanged a glance with Leelo, and for a moment, Nord wasn't sure which way things would swing. Finally, Han nodded. "Alright, we get it. Come on, Leelo, let's try this Mme Bougie, kind of thirsty for a Moonshine."

As the two men retrieved their bags and moved toward the door, Nord exhaled a sigh of relief she hadn't realized she was holding.

Baal put his arm around her, pulling her close as they watched the two strangers walk away, blending into the dawn.

Nord looked up at Baal, and her eyes clouded with a mix of relief and lingering uncertainty. "Those men, the hunters. Do you think they were telling the truth? About the vampire?"

Baal's arms tightened around her. "Are we talking about Adamastor?"

She shrugged off his embrace, stepping away. "I'm worried he might be in danger."

"He's a vampire, Nord. He can handle himself," Baal said, dismissively waving his hand.

----------------------------------------

The morning atmosphere was a jumble of creative energy and physical labour. Downstairs, Nord poured over her final sketches for the store, pencil dancing across the paper. Above her, the rhythmic pounding and clattering signalled Baal's progress on the shelves for Merlin's Memories.

Eventually, Nord put down her pencil and exhaled deeply. The final sketches of her lucky charms lay before her. But another concern tugged at her mind—Adamastor. With those hunters likely hunkering down at Mme Bougie’s place, she figured she had a window of time to find him without worrying about their unicorn ammunition.

She made her way to her bedroom and opened an inconspicuous drawer in her closet, retrieving her carefully stored daggers. She wasn't trained in their use, but something was better than nothing. Sliding them under her sleeves, she headed for the door.

"Going somewhere?" Baal's voice stopped her in her tracks.

Sweaty and shirtless, he leaned against the doorframe of what would soon be Merlin's room.

"Just a walk," she said, subtly adjusting her sleeves to better conceal the daggers.

"Mind if I join you? I could use a shower first, though."

"No, I'd rather be alone. Just need some me-time."

Baal's eyes met hers, a heavy but understanding look in them. "Alright, just don't stray too far from the manor."

"Don't worry, it's just a walk."

"Fine," he said, turning back into the room.

Nord had just placed her foot on the top step of the staircase when she heard her name. "Nord!"

Pivoting around, she saw Baal’s head poke out of the doorway. He was biting his lower lip as if wrestling with unspoken words.

"Never mind," he finally blurted, his eyes averted. "See you later, Morningstar."

"See you later, Baal."

As she descended the stairs, her thoughts turned to Adamastor. She also couldn’t shake the feeling that Baal’s unspoken words held weight, like an unfinished sentence hanging in the air.

----------------------------------------

Nord stood at the edge of the lake, her eyes scanning the clearing and the dense trees beyond. This was where she'd first encountered Adamastor—this hauntingly beautiful, serene spot. But now, it seemed to mock her with its emptiness.

Caves. The thought crossed her mind. Caves would provide shelter from sunlight. But that was too straightforward, too ordinary for Adamastor. When he spoke of 'hunting,' he often returned well-groomed, a far cry from a rugged cave-dweller. Sometimes, there was even a smudge of lipstick on his collar. The pieces didn’t add up. A cave seemed too rudimentary for a vampire who indulged in the finer things.

So, if not a cave, then what? What kind of places would be reclusive enough to provide shelter during the daylight but still befit the rather refined lifestyle Adamastor seemed to lead?

Nord pondered, her eyes absently tracing the placid surface of the lake as she thought. He would need a place that was dark during the day, a place where he wouldn’t be bothered by the living, but still a place that could offer some luxuries. A forgotten or abandoned building, perhaps? An old theatre? A secret underground space?

Her eyes flickered with realization.

As Nord moved away from the lake, a new thought settled in her mind like a thin mist—companionship. If she felt endangered, she'd seek comfort among friends, so why wouldn't Adamastor? How long had he walked this world, and who still remained in his life? How many friends did he bury? The last one was Rosemary...

Her thoughts were a chaotic swirl as she approached the Manor. She passed the grandiose front gate, strolled by the barn now converted into a warehouse, and finally arrived at the cemetery's rusted gates. With a hesitant push, the iron creaked open, allowing her to step into the realm of the departed.

Her eyes immediately fell upon Rosemary's freshly turned soil. Her gaze lingered there for a moment, a quiet tribute to the woman whose spirit once filled the Manor. But Nord’s feet carried her further, wandering through the maze of tombstones until she came across a small, nearly dilapidated shrine. It was tucked away discreetly, and she had barely noticed it during the funeral proceedings.

The shrine was small but sturdy, capped with a crumbling roof and a door hanging askew. Every fibre of her being screamed caution, but her steps were compelled by force beyond mere curiosity. Slowly, silently, she approached and reached for the rickety door. As her fingers curled around the knob, she felt an odd surge of energy, as if the universe held its breath for what lay beyond. With a swift, decisive motion, she pushed the door open.