"How did you know where to find me?" I inquire as I settle into my customary seat, only to discover it already occupied by a semi-familiar face.

He nods in acknowledgment, showing no intention to respond. Fine by me! This spot, this table, it's my domain. Everything it touches belongs to me.

With a swift motion, my arm swoops in and snatches the Tiki cocktail mug from his side of the table. Sweet and sour with a touch of rum – right up my alley. But it leaves me pondering: who's the traitor that betrayed me, divulging my favorite cocktail to him?

Scanning every face in the pub, I receive several smiles, thumbs-up, and winks from both patrons and the publican. Of course… these fools attempt to set me up, yet again!

Well… Blood Sucker is a bit too dead for my liking, and this concoction is a tad messy, but it certainly isn't half bad. Certainly better than the divorcee deadbeat father of seven they ambushed me with before – can't believe I allowed myself to be hoodwinked into a white supremacist rally for a second date!

"Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Novak."

"Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Nonya," I sneer, deliberately masking any trace of expectation behind long sips from the cocktail's straw, while awaiting his bite – no pun intended.

"Pleasure-"

"Nonya business! The bounty is annulled, and I have no desire to consort with your kind, Dobroutes!"

"Quick-witted," he suddenly interjects.

"What?" I retort.

"That was his opinion of you, Colan's."

I begrudgingly acknowledge that his somber expression complements his handsomeness. I can sense stares of pity piercing my back, urging me to afford him a chance. Little do those fools know they've admitted a freaking Vampire.

"He was my team's leader and someone I looked up to. David murdered him."

"My condolences… as if! I've witnessed your handiwork during the hunt. You transformed an innocent person into a Thrall. Let me guess, she was tied to the bounty? You lot are no different from those Lycander flea balls! No, scratch that. There is a distinction. Your Magick is chaotic, and you know what it tells me?" I lean forward, giving him the stinkeye. "Unlike those two psychos, unlike me, you have a long way to go as a First Level Metamorphosis!"

"I didn't come here to fight," he recoils in his chair, a natural response. But I play it cool and withhold the smug satisfaction. "I need your help. Please hear me out."

That's more like it. I, the "most fearsome killer," "reaper of life," "shepherd of ghosts," relish Pretty Boys' tears.

"Not before you tell me how you found me," considering the resources of the House of Dobroutes, I can quite easily deduce the "how", but having more information never harmed a girl – unless she was privy to something she's not supposed to, and I was hired to "take her out."

His hands trace the tables, vampiric nails curving the wood. I realize that he struggles. The words are clearly at the tip of his tongue, yet a force I cannot see and just barely sense prevents them from coming out.

"Enough," I raise my hand for him to stop.

I don't want him to lose himself in the pub. The House of Dobroutes isn't your run-of-the-mill Vampire's nest. Can I kill those at my Level of Metamorphosis? Sure can. Can I be quick about it? That depends on what they learned. Pretty Boy is weaker, but there are my "Seven Tenets of The Hitman" that must be respected prior to making a move.

"Neck down you hide it, but I can tell you've been roughed around, rather than return for a relaxing blood bath at home. What have you been up to in the period since the bounty, and do I need to worry it will follow me?"

I shove the cocktail's straw into his mouth, although there's nothing left for him to drink. The Blood Sucker in him emerges for a fraction of a second, which is far too long for me to tolerate in my favorite pub, surrounded by my lovable idiots of regular humans.

"Careful. I'm peeved, too, but I keep it on a shelf at the back of my mind, under 'My Problems'," I warn, and I mean it.

"It's those Lycanders," he says through gritted teeth, and I understand the sentiment. "They chased me after Colan died. They toyed with me. During the daytime, they would leave me alone as long as I didn't escape into The Gray. At night, they'd split and torment me every chance they got, especially that woman…"

"She's indeed a crazy bitch," recalling what they did to the mother and daughter pair, I must agree with Pretty Boy on this one. "Kudos for being sufficiently boring of prey to kill their drive," there's no way he managed to elude them. "How does it feel being on the other end?"

"Before I ventured into The House's territory, I received information about you: your occupation, places I might find you, your Metamorphosis Level, and a recommendation to work with you," he disregards the rhetorical question and reveals what I consider the most crucial pieces of information in this unexpected meeting.

"So, you're here of your own volition," I hold my chin and lean my elbow on the table, speaking in a sweet voice to tease the expectations of my matchmakers, only to shatter them later. "Go on."

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"Although it's possible for me to return to The House with little consequences to face, I'd still be branded as a coward and a failure. A complete and utter waste, as long as the Werewolf stench sticks to me. All future growth will depend on me, with almost zero opportunities to prove myself worthy of nurturing, again. I can't return empty-handed-"

"And stinks," I make sure to add.

"There are few things that can help me regain my rights, if I successfully bring them back."

"I don’t care for a list. Point out what it is you specifically want."

"A sample from The Impaler," he says coolly.

"Nope. Goodbye. No thank you, and don't come again," I rise without hesitation, feeling my hand being seized by a cold, yet surprisingly smooth palm. "I'm an assassin, not a thief," I assert, pulling my hand from Cutie Pretty Boy's grasp – damn, I keep forgetting he's a disgusting Blood Sucker. "Besides, do you have any idea how strong The Impaler is?"

He appears relieved that I inquire instead of immediately dismissing him.

"He's not a conventional Vampire. Are you familiar with the division of our kind?"

"Somewhat. There are three categories: the Cursed, the Descendants, and the Infected. You're a Descendant, and The Impaler is the first Cursed. Infected are those who don't inherit the traits of the former two when turned or become Vampires through other means," I boast a little, which is a given. As The Hitman who is also the Master of Life and Death, Overlord of the Silent Night, Megazor- Oops, nearly stumbled on a copyright infringement. Anyway, I know my stuff!

"As far as I'm aware, the three groups don't get along, and of the three, the Descendants should possess the strongest Vampiric Strain. Still, you never attempted to eradicate the Cursed, let alone their Originator. I'm not afraid of Second Level Metamorphoses, but I also don't have the tendencies to go out of my way to antagonize them."

"The Impaler isn't a Second Level Metamorphosis," he remarks, which is news to me. My silence prompts him to explain further. "He's something else. Sometimes he's as weak as a regular human; other times, he can slaughter hordes of Third Level Metamorphoses. He is a peculiar being among Nightly Creatures, and part of his mystery, as well as the reason The House has not yet eliminated him, is how he can stay in the Material Dimension despite his strength that can surpass the Second Metamorphosis. I believe that if we obtain a sample from him and escape to The Gray, he won't come after us, to avoid confrontation with the Elders of The House. Of course, we won't really involve them."

"Us and We aren't my style, I'm afraid. And your belief doesn't reassure me one bit," I remain firm in my decision.

"You…" He carefully selects his next words. "Remind me of Colan. You're not far from the Second Metamorphosis, are you?"

I intentionally raise my nose and lean back on the stool. Cutie Pretty Boy is observant, I'll give him that.

"What does it have to do with you?" I stretch my slender neck, still, no pun intended.

"The Impaler is known for being a famous collector, though it's more appropriate to call him a 'hoarder' who treats his treasures as though they were garbage. I have information about a certain treasure in his castle that you might be interested in."

"Now you're talking. Tell me what it is."

"That… I only mention because of the information I received. As far as actual value, I can't make promises."

"It's fine. More than once have I asked for a commission that to my employer sounded like I'm selling myself short. Another Hitman's garbage and such…"

"On the house," a plate of Frank's delicacies is gently placed on the table – sweet and salty beer snacks that the hay-head publican offers only to his favorite regulars.

"Frank," I catch his attention.

"How's it going, Noel?" He gestures his eyes at Cutie Pretty Boy, and I squeeze his arm in response.

"Remember the aftermath of last time?" I ask with a pleasant smile, sensing a small shiver pass through his body. "Tell the guys I'll be coming after them."

"I will," Frank smiles, clearly afraid to escalate my vengeance by excuses. Good will or otherwise, they can shove it!

"Can you even eat it?" I pull the plate to my side of the table.

"I can. It won't sustain me. Keep it," I discover that Cutie Pretty Boy isn't a foodie. Not sure how to take it. Does he expect me to eat solely from my plate on our date? Wait… as a First Level Metamorphosis Vampire, he should be older than me, but among Metamorphoses what counts is who's more advanced. In this case, I'm the "sugar mama" and need to feed him!

I tap my finger nervously on the table and end up pushing the plate to the center of the table. "No, have some. Just remember it later," yeah, I will make him work for it…

I see him shift uncomfortably on the stool, and I know I've hit the nail on the head. Despite his mild conduct, he wants some!

He reaches for the plate, picks up a coated walnut, and pops it in his mouth.

"Good, right? Probably not as good as blood, but still…" I pull the plate back to my side. "What's the 'treasure'?"

"A firearm, that's all I know. However, if we take into consideration its whereabouts, we can assume it's a firearm for killing Vampires, with a low chance of it being exclusive to Cursed. Agree to provide me a sample of The Impaler, and I'll tell you the firearm's whereabouts."

My interest is piqued the moment I hear the word "firearm". Since I'm still seeking a catalyst to initiate the Second Metamorphosis, something to make it extra special, improving my dear Giliotenza is beyond what I hoped for. The question is, can I rely on Cutie Pretty Boy's intel?

"I'll need a map of the castle."

"I know the layout-"

"Of my bedroom? You creep! How dare you sneak into a girl's room and look through her panties' drawer!"

"Castle! Castle!" I enjoy seeing him getting flustered.

"Oh… you should've said that first," I turn around. "Guys, no need to worry. His intentions with me are pure."

The group of individuals, the embodiment of the saying "don't judge a book by its cover," shake their heads in disappointment and murmur behind my back: "Future cat lady", "Poor boy, what have we done", "This maniac woman will never change", and more compliments they will never have the courage to say to my face – for fear of making me blush.

"I can't draw the map, but I have it in my head," he insists.

"And I don't trust your head, nor do I care if you put it on the line."

"We can go for the firearm first!"

I like the notion, but then my principles as The Hitman will nag me to complete my part.

Let's see, previously I went against the Fifth Tenet and shit hit the fan. I scrutinize Perv Cutie Pretty Boy. It's an odd feeling being attracted to a blood sucker. Then again, looking back at my record of romantic partners, even the Lycander gorilla isn't the worst…

"Fine. However, if it won't be of use to me, I'll drop the mission and use you as bait to escape, if The Impaler shows up, that is. I do have ethics as an assassin."

"I am but a proxy of someone much wiser than myself who happens to fancy my prospects in this instance-"

"You're welcome."

It learns to ignore!

"I'm willing to bet on that someone."

I pull back from the table, standing up. "Yeah, well… some things are bigger than us lowly First Level Metamorphoses."

Nevertheless, I swear… if this is some higher power fuckery, I'll take it out on the next priest, imam, and rabbi I encounter!