Fetinja’s eyes glinted with mirth as she watched me approach, arms raised carefully for balance, for the wall was quite thin in the top and, in truth, pointed. Not knife-sharp, but not rounded enough for a good foothold either, yet Fetinja danced back and forth while enticingly leading me forward. I had fallen more than once already but had only a few scratches and bruises to show for it. In a couple of days, they would be gone. Another benefit from the Night’s Gift.

“Don’t be nervous. Have faith in your ability, don’t overthink it, ” she guided me, but it only provoked me, tingled my pride, though I smiled. Then she leapt to the street, going feet over head, as she twisted to land mutely and with feline grace. I threw up my hands in helplessness and promptly jumped also, though in a more regular fashion. She gave me a bright smile and I shook my head. “That, I am not doing.”

“Not yet,” she added helpfully. “Come on, follow if you can,” and she jumped to a wall and climbed it smoothly, swung her legs to the roof and landed effortlessly.

I grimaced, hands on hips, “really?”

“It’s quite easy… simply put your hand on the surface and… hold on. Your body will do the rest.” She smiled eagerly.

“But… how?” There was nothing to grip on.

She shrugged, “a Master Nightwalker once told me he thought there were thousands of miniature claws on our hands. Invisible even to our eye.”

I stared at my hand. Very smooth and white, but otherwise normal. “No way.”

“Yes way.” She rolled her eyes, “use your claws if you have to. Or your fangs. They’re our toughest weapon,” she impressed on me seriously, before breaking a smile out. “Come on, I’ve not known you to be a coward yet, don’t start now.”

“I’m not cowardly, only sceptical,” I protested even as I moved closer and sprung up on the wall, plastering my hands against it. I slipped down and landed on my feet. “See, not working.”

“You’re not even trying. Give it your all! Don’t be afraid of falling, it is only a little scratch. Perhaps you’re afraid of a little pain?” She really gave this taunting thing effort. It was usually not her style.

“Pain,” I huffed as I approached and stuck a hand on it again, “you know, I wanted to be a knight when I was a kid. We had this neighbour who was a smith, and often, a knight’s son came for his father’s repairs. We became friends. I never was allowed to touch a sword, but we wrestled all the time. I’d come with all kinds of scratches and bruises, but I’d always be eager to try again. I don’t mind a little pain, Fetinja.” I said it not to brag, only to give her the correct image of me. Truly.

But when I saw her smile, I regretted sharing that story very much. “My little knight,” she cooed, “my sweeeet little knight. You may not be a knight, but you will always be my knight.” I grunted, wisely choosing not to entertain that. It would likely only make it worse.

This morning, Fetinja had not wished to continue her story, but instead to commence teaching me. And through the night, we had moved throughout the city like shadows, making it a game to avoid the prying eyes of guards and night owls. After this brief lecture, we resumed the game.

On a rooftop, she waited for me. I was much slower than her, but I got there. Eventually. She stood with a pensive look on her face. Another lesson, then. But she didn’t start right away.

Below, the spread of the town’s houses bathed in moonlight. Hundreds of houses, thousands of people. I had never seen the city from up here before, and it felt oddly… godlike. A powerful… but quiet feeling.

Fetinja spoke serenely. “You hear them, Archie, do you not? You are good at listening, Archie. You hear their thoughts come to you. But you try to hear mine too. If anything, you should learn to defend your own, or close your mind off. This power, we call it the Mind’s Eye. It is how we hunt, how we find the evil ones. You only need to listen to their thoughts, and if necessary, dig deeper. Take the time. Try it,” she gestured down to the street.

She was right, I did that already. But it was difficult, the distance felt enormous. “I need to be closer, I think.”

She nodded, “then mingle.”

I descended, clumsily, but with such force of arm that it didn’t matter. I was fairly quiet still. In the night, criminals roamed, and it took very little before I identified a man who would not be missed. His thoughts were dark and sinister, in their brutal simplicity.

My chosen victim was another murderer, a tall and gaunt man who was ugly too. It was shameful, but I found it easier to kill the ugly ones. Then she showed me her hunt. From the roof, she listened, and then she dove down and landed on one’s shoulders, collapsing him as she grabbed his mouth to strangle the scream. It was clean and brutal, and shockingly fast.

“We bring it to the pigs,” she then said and smiled with chagrin. And suddenly she opened up her Mind to me, embracing me with a silent cheer, and some habitual aversion for what came next, as well as a silent hope that I may take over this chore in the future.

I laughed. Her spirit was a thousand times richer than any mortal’s. It had depth, nuances, irony, images, impressions. It was so different than listening to some accidental musings and desires. She spoke the silent language. She spoke to me!

A future. She wanted a future for us? If you behave. That was her voice. Yes, she tittered, I met her eyes, and they watched me with amusement.

She did feed them to the pigs. Like a sack of grain, she carried her victim at her hip, with one arm around his side. I threw mine over my shoulder, as I carried my little brother when he annoyed me, but realized that this man weighed only a fraction of what I was used to.

The pig pen was three streets away, and we threw them into the mud and I waited. The pigs showed mild interest. They were well-fed. Then I felt her mind expand over them and nudge them towards the corpses, and the pigs approached, and they ate. Her revulsion was evident.

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“It is necessary to dispose of them, lest we panic the daywalkers,” she told me reluctantly, “but I wish there was a… cleaner way.”

“Agree,” I said, noting the blood staining the back of my cloak. Perhaps my carry hadn’t been optimal, after all. “Now what?”

“Keep up,” she breathed before lightly turning on her foot and dancing away. She was an artist if I’d ever seen one. She could not move without a hint of dance, she could not speak without a note of song. Thus we spent our first whole night together exploring every cranny and rooftop of the city, we even tread the towers, dancing around the guards as they turned and scoured for us, their eyes blinded by torches.

The morrow, we woke much slower, and she continued her story. This was the second part, and she had me hooked, for now she finally told of the master Nightwalker, the one who had found her, loved her, and turned her. Of course, jealousy bit at my heels, but I ran from it, knowing the story had an end. Amero was not here, was he? And in addition, he intrigued me. A master!

But, back to Fetinja. She was turned some twenty-nine years ago and had travelled with him for her first seven. Since, they had split and she had been here.

She told of him with a painful, melancholic look in her eyes, one she bothered not to hide. “My Amero… he was capricious but loyal. Neither tall nor strong-looking, but he was old, and amongst Nightwalkers, this means everything. He had lived for a century, yet he looked no more than thirty, and he was livelier than most youths I’ve met. He won my mother’s heart by his manners and his wealth, but he won mine by…” she blushed, but she stared me in my eyes, “I pride myself on my education, but I was young and foolish, and when he threw the bragging, brash Grigorei on his ass thrice over without even drawing blood, I thought him a demi-god. No one defeated Grigorei, but he did it with show, and effortlessly. Of course, no real feat with what I know now.”

A century old! I listened avidly. What did he not know! Had he found ways to be safe in the day? Perhaps even to walk it? Or perhaps he had found ways to deal with the unsightly thirst? She read the thoughts from my mind upper layer as naturally as breathing.

“There are no ways to fight the sun. But the needs of the thirst diminishes with age. Amero did turn Richard, however, to investigate the need for blood,” her voice turned disinterested, “he passed by four years ago. Spent a couple of months with Richard, who was a self-proclaimed alchemist at the time, and turned him so that he may continue the experiments when he left. Richard spiralled down a dark path, so I ended him.”

Did I sense some… jealousy? Bitterness? These thoughts, I packed away. She had not noticed.

“And thank god for that,” I said, leaning back in the chair. We were sitting in her cozy, comfortable library, my naked toes were digging into her carpet. She wore a long skirt, and her pale legs were bare and assembled under her. How I wanted her. She knew.

“He made many victims,” she breathed quietly, “it’s why your Gift was so diluted.”

“What?”

“The Gift varies in strength. The strongest Gift is that of an Old One giving it for the first time. Amero gave it left and right. Still does. He made Richard, a fledgling, who made many before you. It is why I am as strong as you, though your arms are twice as thick,” she leaned forward and brushed a finger over my arm, tracing its lean, muscled form, “and thrice as muscled.” A shiver went up my back from her touch. How I wanted her!

She pulled away, flicking her hair, feigning disinterest. “You should hunt,” she suggested absentmindedly.

“Not you?”

“I usually drink only every other night,” she said, shrugging, “I wish to read, now.”

So, reluctantly, I hunted alone that night, wondering about her sudden coldness. Had she after all known my thoughts? Had she disliked them? I believed not. Hoped not. Maybe I was weak in her eyes. She valued strength. She had liked seeing Amero defeat someone she thought strong. Was that a hint?

I would like to be powerful, for I wanted to live, and not only to live, I wanted to be free and safe. Perhaps I could train like a man could, push my limits. Grow stronger. Physically, males were a cheat. They had stronger upper bodies, less fat. They were fighters.

But a Nightwalker’s power was not only bruteness, there was also the subtly, unseen prodding of the Mind’s Eye, the bridges formed between consciousnesses, the domination of the spirit.

I stayed out the whole night, and when I returned, she had gone to rest already, for the sun was nearly up. She had left the door open to me. It made me smile, for it proved she liked me at least a little, or she wouldn’t have taken the small risk. But her cellar was still sealed thoroughly.

In the morning, however, she was furious at me for making her take that risk. She gave me the cold shoulder, though I apologized plentiful. I eventually told her I wished to train and push my limits to be worthy of her companionship, as she sat in her favourite armchair and read. That made her look up.

“Train?” She repeated, and she started speaking quickly and impatiently: “you cannot. We do not grow, we do not change. You cannot gain muscle. We are fixed in time. If you cut your hair, it will ‘heal’ back to its normal length in a night or two. You can only hone the mastery of your powers,” she made a short pause, a hesitation, “or drink an Old One’s blood. But they would never let you. The loss would weaken them for the night. And don’t get any ideas! Seeking out other Nightwalkers is folly, not all obey Amero’s Code. Some are no better than beasts, they are territorial and aggressive. Many have the habit of cleaning out new territories of younger ones. It is why traveling is so dangerous, they see you before you see them, and then you die.”

She shook her head, “we are blessed with immortality, right until you start taking risks, and the daywalkers kill us in our sleep, or an Old One wipes us out. We must be careful, Archie.”

There was so much to unpack, to process. Yet I looked into her eyes, pinning them with their intensity. She paused. “I am sorry, Fetinja. Truly. I wish not to put you at risk. I am a careful person. But I wish to be worthy of you, also.”

She nodded tiredly, “I hate to be angry. I almost went searching for you. But if we’re caught in the open, and we fall asleep, we’re finished. The sun will destroy you. Even on a clouded day. This is Amero’s chief warning.”

I nodded gravely, “I understand,” and I bowed deeply, “sorry.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, gesturing dismissively at my bow.

“I mean it,” I said genuinely, and she huffed. She was back. I made a half-smile. “Should we go hunt?”

“If you insist.”

After having fed, she was in a good mood. She seemed light and energetic. She led me to a rooftop, a large and tall one that dominated the large square with the count’s triumph statue. Beneath us, the town basked in another night with a near full moon, and the town’s church rose above all other buildings, with its thick tower and grey nave.

She gave me a push and I stumbled over the edge in a rush of fright, but she held my hand and pulled me back, laughing, until we were hip against hip, and she arched back and rested her out-stretched arms on my shoulders.

“You devil,” I murmured, but I could hold no grudge, for her eyes twinkled with delight and desire.

“The Devil’s Kiss,” she whispered, “I shall show you. Kiss me.”

I was a careful man, but when it came to it, I never hesitated. I leaned in and touched her lips softly, but she pressed hard, and she bit my lip to blood, which surprised me. “Bite me,” she then breathed back, and I did, and now our bloods mixed in the kiss. She tasted divinely. All fibres in my body vibrated, like I was aflame, but I loved it and pressed her small form into me. Her breasts against me, her hips.

There was no time to go home. But we were strong and tough, and there was pure, blazing magic between us.

Loving was different for Nightwalkers, I experienced. There was no necessity to it. It was an act of pure passion and desire, of wanting. It was two lonely souls’ reunion, in intimacy and trust. I preferred it to devouring blood. There was no shadow in it, only beauty.