I hate when he does that. He knows I’m not armed or prepared for the battle. But his rallying command with no countdown forces me to be ready, whether or not I truly am.
I tear open the glovebox, jerking out the companion I thought I would never use again.
Oh, Ch’ar. How I’ve missed you.
Only the best blades have a name, even if they are wielded by failed warriors. Ch’ar saw me through many altercations just like this, and now it seems she must come out of retirement, despite my promise to never need her again. The mix of silver and steel hugs the apricot wood that runs visibly through the center, making it the perfect weapon for a vampire, werewolf, or anything else that might come at me.
I grip my dagger and step out of the car. It doesn’t matter if I am ready to hunt Bel’s cursed creatures again; they have decided for me that my retirement has come to an end.
2
OUT OF RETIREMENT
Avet is agile as always. His lithe, limitless fighting style is mixed with strength that comes from trapping without a break for far too many years. He runs at the vampire like a fool, not bothering to think through his attack before he wages it.
I roll my eyes at his impetuousness, which surprisingly works most of the time. The vampires are used to trappers who wait for them to make the first move, since the monsters best us in strength, speed, and agility every time. They don’t know what to do with a wild card like Avet Astghik, and this vampire is no exception.
Avet’s blade flings through the air, the dummy. I’ve told him a million times not to part with his weapon before the battle has properly begun. Yet there he goes, acting like he has no chance of losing this fight.
I charge after him, knowing full well that I would never advance if it was not to make sure somebody had Avet’s back.
Why is it always me? I can never decide if I am loyal or stupid for fighting beside Avet all those years. I haven’t picked up my blade since I left that life, but gripping it in my hand now, it feels like part of me that I’ve learned to live without—a phantom limb I have been pretending I don’t need.
I don’t want to need this knife. Ch’ar has helped me out of many a battle, but the point of moving here was to put my weapons away and let the younger, more naïve trappers take up the mantle while I lick my wounds in peace by myself.
I am wearing the wrong shoes, but my feet don’t care. The vampire doesn’t retreat at Avet’s chase, as many of them do. Though the vampires are stronger than us, there has never been a match for the crazy gleam Avet gets in his eyes when he attacks. Most jerk away, but this one stands his ground, bracing himself for the collision.
Idiot.
No matter how old the vampires are, they expect us to fight with mere fists. Avet leaps into the air, his shoe snagging on the vampire’s thigh while Avet springs himself upward by grabbing onto the creature’s head. He twists his body up and around until he is on the vamp’s shoulders. It’s a mix of acrobatics and foolishness, which seem to be Avet’s strengths that pair well in a situation like this.
I know what he’s going to do next before the vampire can make sense of the gymnastics involved in Avet’s attack. He practiced it enough times on me when we were supposed to be studying things like Algebra instead of how to best kill the undead.
Avet throws his weight backward, tucking his chin into his chest so that when his back hits the road, he rolls while keeping his legs locked around the vampire’s neck. A quick twist of his upper half has his hands firmly planted on the pavement while the vampire’s face is ground into the gravel.
Avet’s little sister once joked that he should be a dancer. He laughed off the suggestion, but the memory surfaces every time I see him do something nuts like this.
I run to Avet’s side, Ch’ar in hand. My blade practically sings when it smells a potential kill.
The vampire wriggles out of Avet’s grip just before I reach them, though not before I mark the beast, plunging my dagger two inches shy of his heart.
“Come on!” I scold myself, angry that I have allowed my movements to become this rusty. Granted, the heart of these creatures is shriveled to the size of a golf ball, so it’s easy to miss, but still. I’d like to think I’m not totally useless on the field.
Avet springs to his feet and dashes for his dagger, which clattered several yards away.
The vampire doesn’t like the taste of my blade, that’s for certain, but it’s hardly going to do more than slow him down if I don’t nick his heart. He chases after Avet, rallying the protective brotherly rage inside of me.
I have to move fast. Any learning curve of reacquainting myself with the life I left behind is coming to a close.
Though I run after the monster with all my might, the second Avet slows to pick up his dagger, the vampire is upon him.
Avet grunts when the vampire tackles him. Before I reach them, the creature’s fangs sink into the meat of his shoulder.
Vampires don’t prefer blood from a person’s shoulder, so this attack isn’t for sustenance but is instead meant to incapacitate Avet.
I can’t miss now—not because I am sure of my aim, but because if I do miss, Avet won’t have a prayer of escape. Ch’ar is steady, even though my grip is not. I stab down into the creature’s back, hoping my aim is better this time than the last.
The vampire turns from his prey just long enough to snarl. Avet’s blood drips down the monster’s sickeningly long fangs.