Malakai narrows his eyes as he observes the journal. “Ominous. Who is Douglas Young?”

“The head vampire.”

“Keep reading.”

Caspar turns the page. “I have made a grave choice in the name of our survival. Our coven has fallen to chaos, driven by petty arguments and animalistic hunger. To save us, I had to slay our leader Silas. He had sunk into a mania, obsessed with isolating himself and neglecting his duties. After his death, I found his reason. He had no need for his brethren when he had an endless blood supply kept to himself.”

Caspar and Malakai lock gazes for a moment. The room is tense as Caspar's eyes dart back to the next paragraph.

 “I found a journal in his study. He’d sold his soul to a demon in return for knowledge and blood. I immediately sought to ward the entity off best I could, but there was nothing I could do. Even with Silas’s writings, I found he did not divulge how to destroy or banish the demon. His words started sane, but as the years progressed, his mind spiraled into insanity. I burned the book, feeling I was losing myself to his mad ramblings. 

“In my first year as the head of the Coven, I did my best to stay vigilant and take Silas’s role. However, even without his insanity, we struggled. Our prey dwindled, and we failed to replace our ranks faster than they died at our brethren's claws.

“In my darkest moment, the demon appeared before me. She took the form of a pale woman, beautiful and flushed, with moonlight reflecting off her dark hair. At that moment, I understood Silas’s insanity. I understood why he had traded his immortal soul. She was everything I wanted. She was everything I needed. I had to keep her for myself. I had to keep her to save my Coven. 

“I knew this was fate. In Silas’s journal, he documented that his predecessor had fallen to her clutches, and so had the man before him, and so forth. She is loyal to the Coven, in her own way.”

“If you are reading this, I must have fallen to the bloodlust of my own flock. Please use Ruth’s powers wisely, and make your pact carefully. One wrong word, and it will be the end of us.”

Malakai’s face is grim. “Well shit. I guess we know what to expect if the demon appears to you.”

Caspar’s mind is running laps around his head. Unconsciously, he runs his hand through his hair several times. “This is really interesting.”

“Interesting? What? You mean freaky, right?”

“It changes its shape to suit its target, like a succubus. I wonder if it uses aphrodisiacs to lure them into a contract like one? Oh, oh, and shit, it has wings like a succubus! Dude, we might’ve found a monster subspecies!”

“A subspecies? I—”

Caspar finds himself getting excited. He pets the sleeve of his flannel over and over as his mind combs through all his monster knowledge. “It has three sets of wings, actually. It definitely doesn’t use them to fly. The middle set is pretty big but still not big enough. To lift someone of its size, it would need a wingspan of 30 feet. Unless it has hollow bones, but then I don’t think it would be able to punch like that. I wonder if the wings are like, meant for intimidation? Courtship displays? Wait, shit, what if they’re for—”

“Caspar, we need to keep looking. This is all useful information, but we need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

Caspar freezes like a cold bucket of water has been dumped all over him. He was rambling again. “Oh. Right. Yeah. Let's get back to it. Sorry.”

Quickly, Caspar heads to the other side of the room. He curses himself as he aggressively opens another cabinet. 

Why did he have to act like that? This was a life or death situation. He shouldn’t be excited. Especially not when he’s dragged Malakai into the middle of it! He must think Caspar is a freak now. 

Thankfully, he’s not left to anguish long in his embarrassment. They comb through the last of the room, finding not much besides more religious texts and, oddly, a few self-help books about leadership. 

Caspar sighs. “Alright. I think we’ve looked through this place inside and out. Let's leave before we push our luck.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.”

The drive back is tense. Or so Caspar suspects. Being out on the road for weeks at a time doesn’t give you many opportunities to polish your people skills. He can’t really tell if Malakai is off-put by Caspar’s strange attitude, or is just digesting everything they learned about Ruth. 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. Malakai is leaning into the side of the door, looking out the window. He’s humming something, but Caspar can’t hear the melody over the sound of tires on the road.

Shit. Should Caspar say something? Maybe he needs to break the ice. “Malakai.”

Malakai remains leaning against the door, sliding his eyes over. “Yeah?”

“Are you hungry?”

He stretches. “Always. What are you feeling like?”

One short detour later, the RV pulls up to the empty lot of Lueanne’s Place. 

They push through the cloudy glass doors, finding a sparsely-populated vintage-style cafe. It’s a bit run down, but a sense of nostalgia washes over Caspar as he observes the worn leather seats, checkered linoleum, and ancient jukebox in the corner. 

He chooses a secluded booth in the corner, perking up as a pretty brunette in a tight apron approaches their table. Caspar orders two sausages, hash browns, a ham omelet, and a black coffee. Normally, he’d get a scolding for the lack of fiber, but nobody's here to force a soggy fruit bowl on him this time.

Malakai orders a chocolate chip waffle with whipped cream, coffee with cream and sugar, and a side of two sunny side eggs. Caspar can’t help but grin at the choice; it’s the kind of thing a kid orders. Maybe Malakai has a sweet tooth?

“You’re in a good mood,” Malakai comments.

Caspar looks up from where he was studying the chipped edge of the table. “Oh. Yeah. My mom and I used to live out of these kinds of places while we were on the road.”

“You been hunting long, then?”

“Yeah. Since I was a kid. You?”

“I—”

They both pause as the waitress returns, setting their coffees down. As she walks away, Malakai continues. “My family are hunters on my mother’s side. I’ve been traveling on my own for a while after she passed.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry. It was only alcoholism that killed her, not a monster.”

Despite his best efforts not to, Caspar cough-laughs into his coffee. “Only alcoholism?”

“Sorry, too early for dark humor?”

Caspar wipes his mouth with a napkin. “You’re fine. Probably shouldn’t talk about your own mom like that, though.”

“Eh. It’s what she would’ve wanted.” 

Caspar doesn’t know how to respond to that, but luckily he doesn’t need to. The waitress returns with their food. He digs in, realizing just how much he’s been craving a hearty meal as the cheesy, meaty omelet hits his tongue. He could moan in delight—it's been way too many weeks of instant ramen and gas station taquitos.

Malakai, on the other hand, looks at his waffles with a lack of enthusiasm. Caspar watches as he picks at it with his fork. 

“Is it bad?” Caspar asks. 

Malakai looks up in surprise. “It’s a bit dry is all.”

“You can have some of mine.”

“That's fine—”

Before Malakai can protest, Caspar is already sacrificing his sausages. He slides them onto an extra plate and pushes them across the table. “So. Do you have a plan for the livestock killings?”

“Yeah. After this, I was thinking about driving over to one of the ranches that got hit to do some snooping.”

“You mean we’re going to drive over, right?”

“Well, considering your condition, I thought it would be best if you stayed in the van. You can park out front, I’ll be nearby.”

Caspar stretches his neck. There's a searing, tearing sensation there. He’s had worse. “I’m fine. You think I'm about to turn?”

“No, but you’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t take it easy.”

“I don’t really have the luxury of taking my sweet time. There was no sign of my mom or uncle in the church. This is my only other lead.”

“Still. You dying won’t do them any good.”

Caspar stabs his omelet. “At least I'd be done with this bull.”

“What, you want to go normie?”

“Yeah? What of it?”

Malakai leans back in his seat, twirling a forkful of sausage. “Just surprises me is all. You seemed pretty passionate back there.”

“I’m passionate about learning about the supernatural. Not killing it.”

“You like monsters?”

Caspar glares. “No. I don’t like them.”

Malakai leans in. “So why do you want to learn about them?”

Caspar pauses. This isn’t the first time he’s had this conversation, but it seems to be going better than it usually does. Hunters typically don’t take kindly to any attitude that isn’t vehement hate for the supernatural. “People are always interested in the things that they don’t understand. We know how to fight and kill these things, but we never ask why they behave the way they do.”

“I assume you have theories?”

“A few.”

Malakai dips his sausage into syrup. “Well, don’t keep me waiting.”

“My dad used to say the supernatural was just another form of natural. Things evolved and adapted in ways we just don’t get yet.”

“I refuse to believe that. I’ve seen way too many fucked-up things for it to be natural.”

“Fucked-up is the true state of nature. People just don’t realize it because they’re removed from it. That's our job. To keep them removed.”

“Is that why you think the demon is a subspecies?” Malakai asks.

“It’s possible. Everything needs to come from somewhere, and I don’t accept God as an answer. No offense.”

“None taken. So what’s your type then? Should I be watching out for a busty redhead or a bookish brunette? Succubi are always a bitch to deal with.”

Caspar laughs. “Last time one appeared to me, it was a brunette with a pixie cut.”

“Got it, so we’re looking for a tomboy.”

“Maybe. It appeared to Douglas naked, so it definitely uses the same seduction tactics. Though we shouldn’t rule out other appearances. I’ve heard stories of succubi taking other routes to appeal to targets they didn’t think were sexually motivated. They’ll take any form, play any role, as long as they think it will make their prey let their guard down.”

“You said it ate his soul, right? I didn’t even think vampires had souls.”

Caspar scrapes the last of his omelet onto his fork. “You know much about soul stuff?”

“Not really, but I just figured undead things like vampires wouldn’t have any humanity left. Don’t tell me you have some natural explanation for that.”

Caspar hums thoughtfully. “That's looking at it from a very narrow perspective. Why do you think humanity is a requirement? Maybe all living things have them. Hunters like to say that vampires are undead but really, they just don’t match the characteristics of life we’re familiar with. They still reproduce, use energy, grow, adapt, maintain homeostasis, respond to their environment…by the scientific definition, they are living.”

“Do you think that the demon is alive?”

“I have no idea. Still, whatever it is, it’s a bit fucked that they just kept it in that condition.”

Malakai raises an eyebrow. “You feel bad for it?”

Caspar stands from the booth, pulling out his wallet. He lays down a 20 and a tip. “Before I saw the pentagram I thought I walked in on a human trafficking victim. They didn’t even give the thing a lamp to see the room it was in. Anyone with sense would know that’s wrong.” 

“You’re right. Clearly, the working conditions were inhospitable. Ruth shoulda wrote a letter to HR and requested a yoga ball chair and a standing desk.”

Caspar rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What’s the proper form of demon-keeping, then?”

“Preferably, none. The thing killed him, clearly it was a bad idea in the first place.”

“Easy for you to say, you didn’t have the hottie of your dreams ask for your soul.”

Caspar rolls his eyes. “Not yet at least. You ready to go?”

Malakai chugs the last of his coffee, picking up his rubbery waffle. “Let's roll.”