Demon Huntress

“This is him.” Viktor said, sliding a photo across the desk.
I was in his office sitting on the opposite side of the desk, my combat boot clad feet on the desk. Viktor sat with his hands folded on the desk top with his body guards on either side of him, as always. It’s strange to think that after all the times he’s hired me, he still doesn’t trust me. Then again, I don’t completely trust him either.
I pick up the photo and look at it. It was a man with broad shoulders, seemed to be around six-foot-four, baby blue button down shirt with grease covered jeans, and had shaggy, shoulder length black hair and beard. If I ever saw this guy on the street I would think he was homeless. But he did something to piss Viktor off, poor bastard. I look up from the photo in my hand at Viktor.
Viktor was wearing a black striped suit that mafia members were known to wear. He had naturally white hair though he was only in his thirties. He was my most valuable, and rich, client. He always came back to hire me. My first assignment from him was to kill a woman because she turned down his proposal. Apparently he appreciated my work since then.
“May I ask for the name.” I said not really asking but not demanding either.
“Andrew Kames.”
“When and where?” I asked.
“Get rid of him as soon as possible.” Viktor said, waving his hand as if to wave this guy away. “You can find him at a bar called Bodark on 81st Street and Liberty Avenue.”
I smirked at the name of the bar. I knew it meant werewolf in Russian. I guess I was going after a werewolf.
“How?” I always ask my clients how they wanted the person killed. It’s like the saying, ‘the customer is always right.’
“It doesn’t matter how.”
I could see the annoyance and anger on his face. Anyone else would have run for their life at that moment but I knew I could take him and his body guards down if I needed to.
I held out my hand expectantly. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a bill fold. He slid it across the desk. I pick it up and count the bills to make sure its all there. I nod, satisfied, and get up from my seat. I walk across the room, my boots thudding on the wood floor boards.
“Evelyn.” I hear Viktor call just as I place my hand on the doorknob. I look over my shoulder. “Don’t fuck this up.”
“You know I never do.” I say as I close the door behind me.
I head to the elevator, pressing the down button. I catch my reflection in the metal doors. The red scar that forms a straight line starts at my forehead, cuts over my left eyelid, and ends on my cheek makes me look vicious. It usually makes my job easier when my victims see their going to be executed by a cold-blooded killer.
I wait until the doors finally open. As they open, I see that a woman holding a three-year-old boy’s hand also in the elevator. The woman pulls her son closer to her as I step in and press the first floor button.
I can feel the tension after the doors close. This woman’s fear radiating off her like heat from a radiator. I feel a pair of eyes on me and look over to see the little boy looking at me. He looked away when I noticed him staring. The elevator finally stopped at the first floor. I got out before the mother and son even moved.
When I was outside of the building, I looked up at the starless night sky. Dawn would be coming soon. I walk to my motorcycle and hop on. I pull away from the curve and drive towards my apartment.
I think about the first time I decided to become an assassin. I figured since I’m a Demon Hunter I might as well get paid to kill. Other Demon Hunters consider my work wrong since I’m killing “innocent” Night Dwellers (werewolves, vampires, warlocks, witches, and even faeries). But I just don’t give a shit what they think. Besides, all Night Dwellers go bad at some point. I’m just taking care of the problem before innocent people get hurt. Assassination is my business, and business is booming.
Suddenly a pedestrian walks into the street. I hit the brakes just in time. Not once did the guy notice I could have killed him. I can feel myself fuming with anger.
“Watch where your going, asshole!” I yell.
He turns his head to look at me. I then realize that this asshole is another Demon Hunter. My kind is looking for me, though they don’t exactly know it’s me. They just know someone is killing supposedly innocent Night Dwellers. I rev the engine and speed off before he could get a better look at me.
I go for another few blocks, then slow down when I make a right turn on Waypoint Street. I pass three apartment buildings before turning into an ally next to my apartment building.
The roar of the engine dies. I hop off the motorcycle and walk towards the fire escape. I climb up like I’ve done every night since I got the apartment. I thought it better to avoid the neighbors.
I finally get to the fourth, and last, floor. I open the window to my apartment and climb in. The inside is dark. I walk to the wall on my left and flip on the lights.
My living room walls are white and bare of any pictures or décor. All I have in the room is a couch, coffee table, flat screen television, and a stereo system. I never really thought much about even trying to decorate any part of my apartment since there’s a possibility I might not last too long.
Demon Hunters aren’t known to have long, full lives like mundanes (what our kind calls humans). Demon Hunters are half human, half angel. The Bible called us Nimphelim. Mundanes don’t know or believe we exist and that’s basically how we like it to stay.
Most Demon Hunters live in groups and live in abandoned places, mostly on holy ground, like churches. They call places like that Institutes and each district has its own Institute. Sometimes wounded or tired Demon Hunters stay for a day or two, then move on. Unlike other Demon Hunters, I live alone. That’s how I want it to stay.
I walk towards the coffee table, pick up the remote, and switch on the flat screen. I have it set to automatically turn onto the news channel. The news reports stories that might relate to a Demon or Night Dweller killing someone without mundanes even realizing the truth. It makes my life much easier.
I walk into the kitchen. I set the coffee pot and pick up the news paper. No deaths or anything. Shit, I feel like I’m going out of the Demon Hunting business. Though it’s technically impossible since there’s always Demons to hunt.
After a few minutes of boredom, the coffee pot beeps to signal it’s ready. I open the cabinet above the counter and grab a mug. As I’m pouring coffee, I hear the anchor woman talking.
“Today, the body of a young girl was found in an ally next to The Nexus, a popular night club on 86th Street.”
It catches my attention. The Nexus is a known place amongst Demon Hunters as being a hit hang-out place for Night Dwellers. I walk into the living room to hear it better. I sip my coffee, listening intently.
“Tom has more details at the scene.” she says. “Tom.”
The camera switches over to a mundane guy with a microphone. Behind him are flashing lights of police cars, police officers, and the opening of the ally with yellow police tape.
“Thanks, Kathy.” says the reporter. “Police tell me that the girl’s body was found at the back of this ally behind me here. Her face and body mutilated beyond physical recognition. Police hope to identify her soon.”
That’s so like a Demon. They kill, and then leave the body behind to be found. Only they leave the body torn to shreds. It’s their way of fucking with people’s minds. Like the unsolved murder of the Black Dalai.
“No witnesses have come forward,” he continues. “And police have no suspects at the moment. Back to you, Kathy.”
Looks like I’ve found some new prey.