Magic opened a realm of opportunities for murder.

Evil crept through the gloom of the town, slithering beneath the moonlight like serpents. The blizzard didn’t deter the hunters as they reached the mountainside of Nevermourn. They continued toward a little cabin in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a myriad of snow-capped trees.

Business had been dead for mage, Asher Odowix, but the last thing he needed was vampire hunters as his new clients. The protection charms that wrapped around his cabin warded off any wicked intruders, but it didn’t stop their incessant fists pounding on the door.

With a groan of exhaustion, Asher dragged himself over to the door. Curiosity would kill him some day. Two hunters stood on his porch, clad in layers of thick black attire. Their ringleader, with a shaggy ponytail, puffed out his chest as he looked down on Asher, who wore his comfy plaid pajamas and bunny slippers.

“You’re the mage?”

Asher yawned, rubbing at his tired eye. “Yeah, who are you? What do you want?”

“We want to hire you,” the ponytail man said. “They say you’re excellent at finding things. I’m Trubin, and this is Damien.”

Asher doubted those were even their real names. Most hunters fabricated their identities to keep themselves safe.

“Uh-huh. It’s in the job title.” Asher reluctantly stepped aside. “Take your boots off at the door and follow me into the kitchen. Don’t touch anything.”

The men exchanged brief glances before piling inside, leaving their soggy boots at the door as instructed. At least they had some decency. An inking in the pit of Asher’s chest told him he should’ve ignored the knocks until they finally gave up, but a twisted part of him wanted to know what the hell some hunters wanted with him.

Warm sunlight pooled in from the windows, casting a delicate light across the foyer and living room. Trinkets adorned a handmade bookshelf brimming with ancient spell books collected from all across the lands. He even had a couple rare editions of vampire hunter biographies - novels full of ways to torture the bloodsuckers. But that was a lifetime ago. Asher wasn’t a verified hunter, nor did he desire to be one.

Duke, his loyal husky, padded into the kitchen with them, plopping down right in front of the hunters. He just glared at them, much like how Asher did. Ponytail ‘s buddy curiously examined a jar of fangs on his counter beside the herbs, which he forgot to put away. Vampire fangs were like gold on the black market, and Asher saved them for when he truly needed the funds.

It couldn’t be any worse than his last case, right?

Almost two weeks ago, he set off on a wild goose hunt for some faeries’ stolen artifacts that wound up in possession of some wolf walkers. Never steal from those hairy motherfuckers. Not even if they claimed it was rightfully theirs, which might’ve been true, but he didn’t stick around to let his bones become their new chew toys.

Despite Asher’s healing abilities, scars remained on his chest from where they’d clawed his skin. Was the money worth it? Maybe, but most of all, some of the fae owed him a favor now. That made the horrific adventure worth it all.

The hunters sat down at his kitchen table, eyeing him like a piece of fresh meat. Asher towered over them, folding his arms across his chest. It wasn’t like he was in any position to fend himself off against two goons triple his size with several years’ experience of slaughtering blood-thirsty bastards, but he wouldn’t become their lackey. He had enough dignity to know when he should turn down a job.

“We need your help with tracking a vampire down. Before you object, hear me out.” From his overcoat pocket, the vampire hunter produced a leather drawstring pouch with the Marusticia crest embroidered on the bottom, allowing him to peek inside. Gold glistened, beckoning for Asher to take it.

As Asher’s eyes widened like saucers, he reached out for the precious gold, but the man tucked it back into his coat of many wonders. How much was that? Just the sight almost made him salivate like Duke did with his dog chow. Asher pouted, brows furrowed in disappointment.

“This is all yours if you find the vampire and kill him for us.”

“Kill him? Isn’t that more of your expertise?” Asher asked as his brows dipped in a frown.

“Sebastian Wraith has immunity from the Supernatural Council,” Trubin explained. “Hunters are forbidden from going anywhere near him, and he’s far more clever than we thought. Despite the laws in place, we tried to catch him, but it was like he’d sensed us coming. We barely got away before he attacked us, then snitched to the vampire’s own shitty council.”

“Yeah, vampires have a sixth sense for that kind of thing.” Asher reached out for his jar of fangs, shaking the little bottle like it would grant him what he desired. “But you already know that, right? What made you think he wouldn’t notice?” He set the jar aside.

“No, we were careful. I think he toyed around with us until the last minute. That goddamn fucker almost killed us.” Trubin shook his head. “I don’t care about his immunity. He needs to die. And I think you’re the one who can do it.”

“There’s just one flaw in this brilliant plan of yours. I’m not a verified hunter,” Asher pointed out.

There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he could have obtained a hunting license if he wanted one. Asher wasn’t even a legal citizen in the country of Marusticia, but they didn’t need to know that.

“You’ve hunted before.” Ponytail’s buddy gestured to the jar of fangs. “From what I heard, you’re pretty damn good at it.”

Asher spread his hands. “That was the only way I could survive. And sure, I’ve dabbled in paranormal investigations, but this is territory I’m not comfortable crossing. I don’t even have a license to hunt them.”

Memories of bloodshed tainted his vision. Staked vampire corpses appeared, with other hunters gleefully piling them into a burn pit. Asher recoiled, focusing his attention back on the two goons sitting at his kitchen table, ruining his morning.

“Precisely. The council would never expect you. You’re the perfect candidate for this. We’ve heard of your work, how you find lost things and people. Hell, you even went up against a pack of wolf walkers and didn’t die.”

Asher shrugged. “That’s true, but I didn’t murder those wolf walkers either. Vampire hunting is illegal in Nevermourn, unless they’ve broken the sacred laws protecting us from them. If I’m caught, I could end up in prison. Or executed.”

“I was afraid you might say that.” The vampire hunter reached into his breast pocket, sliding an envelope across the table. “Please, take a look. I think this will change your mind.”

Asher snatched the envelope and tore it open. He recognized the sloppy handwriting immediately. What the hell was his father doing, involving other vampire hunters in his messes? Asher pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning.

As he read further, he understood what fueled their hatred toward the vampire. They suspected him of killing a child mage, draining the poor kid’s blood and harvesting the organs. Revulsion churned in his stomach when he read over the autopsy reports his father provided with his letter.

If his father suspected the vampire had murdered an innocent child, then how could he refuse? Blood evidence traced back to Sebastian Wraith, who left a hollow cadaver of the innocent little girl uncovered in the forest two days ago. How come the Supernatural Council hadn’t caught wind of the murder yet? Were they also afraid of this Sebastian?

“I’ll require a retainer fee,” Asher said. “After your failed hunt, he’ll probably go into hiding. It might take me a while to find him. You said Sebastian’s no fool, so he’ll know that others will be after him.”

Trubin smirked. “Of course. Anything you need, please let us know. Here’s a sketch of the bloodsucker. We got our best artist to replicate his features.” He handed him a crumpled sheet of paper from his overcoat pocket.

Asher accepted it, scrutinizing the bloodsucker’s features. Crimson eyes like the devil’s glared into his soul, and that sinister smirk, exposing two pointed fangs roused familiar vengeance locked deep within his heart. Embers of blue pulsed from his fingertips, clutching to the paper.

Kill him. Ghosts of the past whispered in his ears. Rip his heart out and show him no mercy.

Asher cleared his voice. “There’s one thing. Why did my father send you here instead of asking me himself? Or is that question above your pay grade?”

“Mr. Odowix is a busy man, you understand? Otherwise, he’d have come himself. There’s been a lot of uproar amongst the Supernatural Council lately, and as head of the hunters, they’ve required his assistance with other cases.” Trubin cleared his voice. “I want Sebastian’s severed head on a platter more than anyone here, but we need someone who can manipulate him. We need your talents to kill him.”

Asher sighed. “Like I tell everyone who comes through this door, I can’t just magically conjure up the answers. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, kid.” Trubin leaned back in his chair, exposing yellow-stained teeth as he grinned. “You can kill this bloodsucker. With our help. You just summon us whenever you need. I know the drill, and I hope to be in touch.”

Before leaving, Trubin provided a blood sample in a tiny test tube collected from the crime scene and paid his retainer’s fee. Asher suspected his father had told them all about how his magic abilities worked. Yet there was something nagging in the back of his mind, about why his father couldn’t have just asked him to find Sebastian himself. Especially if he was that much of a threat.

Despite his reluctance, Asher wasted no time fetching his small caldron from the living room bookcase. Intricate engravings circled the caldron, with blessings from the Gods. Magic derived from the heavens and Asher did his best to honor them when he used his divination.

He gathered his necessary ingredients after filling the caldron with warm water. Asher had performed the divination magic countless times before, but it brought ripples of excitement through his core. As he channeled his magic into the caldron, he dribbled in the bits of blood provided to him.

Bubbles filled the caldron as magical energy pulsed through the water. The clearness faded, rousing blurred shapes that came into view within seconds. A little girl with curly red hair emerged, running through the forest. She looked behind her, eyes widening as she opened her mouth to scream.

Bloodied jowls filled the water, revealing pointed fangs as the creature attacked the girl. The image didn’t provide a clear picture of her assailant. The magic faded, and the water reverted back to its normal state. One thing Asher knew for sure. The killer was a vampire.

After cleaning up, Asher stashed the gold away and placed the vial of blood in an old jewelry box that belonged to his mother, still brimming with all her trinkets and lovely necklaces. The only pieces of her that he had left.

A deal made in gold and blood. What the hell could go wrong?