Anemoi 18 – Anemoi 19, Imperial Year 1645
The Capital, Luminara – The Hunters' Hall
The Hunters' Hall smelled of old wood and older secrets. Orin pushed open the door. A bell chimed. The clerk looked up from her ledger, pen in hand, grey hair escaping her bun.
"You're alive," she said.
"Barely."
She scanned his bandaged arm, Dain's limp, Isolde's empty quiver. "The witch?"
"Dead."
"Not by you." Her eyes flicked to the door behind them. "I heard Alucard was there."
Orin's jaw tightened. "He was."
"Lucky for you."
"We had it handled."
"Sure you did." She turned a page. "Your payment. Two hundred silver. Less the Hall's cut."
"We earned more."
"You survived. That's the cut."
Dain opened his mouth. Isolde put a hand on his arm. He closed it.
The clerk counted coins – silver, not gold – and slid them across the counter. Orin swept them into a pouch.
"Alucard," he said. "He comes here?"
"Comes and goes. Doesn't talk much."
"When will he be back?"
The clerk shrugged. "When he's killed another witch. Or when he needs more work. Or never."
"That's not helpful."
"I'm not here to be helpful. I'm here to keep the books."
The Hall – Waiting
They sat at a corner table. Dain ordered ale. Isolde ordered water. Finnian ordered nothing; he was tinkering with his spider. Selene sat with her back to the wall, watching the door.
"He'll come," she said.
"How do you know?" Dain asked.
"Because he's like us."
"Lost?"
"Driven."
Dain grunted. He drank.
Isolde leaned back. "The clerk. She's hiding something."
"Everyone's hiding something," Orin said.
"No. She knows him. Not just as a client."
Finnian looked up. "You think they're…?"
"I think she watches the door the same way we do."
Selene's eyes stayed on the entrance. "She's waiting for someone. Could be him. Could be someone else."
"We'll find out."
The Door – Noon
The bell chimed.
Vlad entered. Black coat, silver buttons. Wide‑brimmed hat, shadowing his face. His boots were scuffed. His sword was clean. He walked to the counter without glancing at the mercenaries.
The clerk's pen stopped. Her shoulders straightened. A flush crept up her neck.
"Alucard," she said. Her voice was softer than before.
He stopped at the counter. Didn't speak. Just waited.
She cleared her throat. "The coven in the south?"
"Dead."
"All of them?"
He inclined his head. Nothing else.
She made a note. Her hand trembled slightly. "Bounty is eight hundred."
"I need half now. The rest later."
The clerk's eyes widened. "You never take coin."
"I need coin."
"For what?"
He didn't answer. He just looked at her. The hat brim shadowed his eyes, but his silence was heavier than any words.
She swallowed. "Fine." She counted silver – heavy, clinking – and pushed it across the counter. "Eight hundred total. Four now. Four when you bring proof."
"I brought proof."
"You brought a story. I need a head."
"The head is in a sack outside."
She blinked. "Outside?"
"By the door. It's heavy."
The clerk pressed her lips together. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You're impossible."
"I've been told."
She gestured to a runner. "Fetch the sack. And a mop."
The runner left. Vlad turned to leave.
She called after him, her voice a little too quick. "There's no witch hunts for now. Goblins, if you want them – but I'd steer clear. Someone's been taking every goblin contract. Dedicated type. Leaves nothing for anyone else."
Vlad paused. "I don't hunt goblins."
"I know." She looked down at her ledger. "Just thought you should know."
He nodded once. Walked toward the door.
The Hall – The Interruption
Orin stood.
"Alucard."
Vlad stopped. He didn't turn.
"You saved us."
"I killed a witch. You were in the way."
"That's not how I remember it."
"Memory is unreliable."
Dain stood too. "You're not going to talk?"
Vlad turned. Slowly. His hand rested on his sword hilt – not gripping, just resting. The hat brim hid his eyes, but the angle of his head was patient. Waiting.
"I'm going to work."
"We just want to—"
"I know what you want." His voice was flat. No anger. No warmth. Just fact. "Answers. Explanations. To know if I'm like you."
The table went silent.
"I'm not."
"Then what are you?" Isolde asked.
"Someone who hunts witches."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you get."
He turned back to the door. His coat didn't swish – it settled. His boots made no sound. He reached the door, hand on the frame.
Paused.
"The head is by the steps. Don't trip."
He left.
The Hall – Aftermath
The runner returned with the sack. It dripped. The clerk pointed to a corner. "Over there. Not on the counter."
Orin sat back down. Dain stared at his ale. Isolde shook her head. Finnian's spider clicked. Selene watched the door.
"He's lying," she said.
"About what?" Orin asked.
"About not being like us."
"You can't know that."
"I can feel it." She touched her chest. "Same hollow. Same hunger."
Dain set down his cup. "What do we do?"
"We follow him," Isolde said.
"He'll notice."
"Good. Let him notice."
Orin stood. "No. We wait. We watch. We learn. Then we decide."
"And if he disappears?"
"Then we find him again."
Selene looked at the door. "He won't disappear. He's not done."
"How do you know?"
"Because neither are we."
End of Chapter One Hundred Four