Claire and I rode down the street, laughing as the wind tugged our hair back. This was the last year we would be stuck on bikes, ready to drive next year. If we passed our tests, of course.

We were best friends, and soon, we would have our freedom. Earlier in the day, we had ridden past our childhood treehouse, laughing as we remembered the silly blood oath we had taken, slicing our palms and shaking hands to prove our undying friendship. But we were almost grown up now, ready to get cars of our very own, and today was soon to become just another memory, like the treehouse.

We were on our way back from the pool, and had decided to swing by the gas station to grab slushies. We had spent an hour riding around aimlessly, and were now in a darker section of town, but I knew we were close to our neighborhood, we just needed to find the right turn.

“This doesn’t look right, Callie,” Claire mumbled, ever the worry-wart.

“We’re fine. We have to be close,” I said, scanning the street signs. I saw a trio of older boys standing just outside a lamppost, because dusk had fallen a while ago, and we both knew we were going to get yelled at for breaking curfew. “Hey, look. We could ask them.”

Claire began to protest, but I pedaled faster, ignoring her. We had to be close. These guys would—

When I was about fifty feet away, they all looked up at me in unison, smoking their cigarettes, and I suddenly felt a voice inside me urging me not to talk to them, but to instead turn around. I pulled my brakes, coasting to a stop, trying to look casual. The boys watched, smiling.

But it wasn’t a pleasant smile, and I suddenly realized that they looked older than I had thought, and Claire and I were still in our swimsuits with a t-shirt and shorts over the top. That wasn’t any different from wearing underwear beneath my clothes, but for some reason, tonight, right here, right now, it did feel different. Very different.

I gave them a polite wave as I began to turn around. Claire looked absolutely terrified as she sat on her bike a few paces away, encouraging me with her eyes to get the hell out of here.

The boys… no, men, began to call out to us. Claire and I began to pedal faster, and those voices grew increasingly persistent, almost angry. And we no longer pretended to be casual, instead pumping for all we were worth as we fled. They were on foot, after all, and we had bikes.

But somehow, they were on us in moments, chasing us into a dark alley.

One of them was suddenly directly beside me, grasping my handlebars, and I flew forward into a dumpster, my shorts tearing at the sudden motion. My head rang, and I tasted blood on my lips from where my face had hit the metal, but before I could climb to my feet I was yanked up by my arm, and a long, wet tongue licked the blood off my face.

Horrified and disgusted, I tried to jump back, only to realize he was too strong. I heard Claire screaming from a dozen feet away, and something washed over me.

I lost my mind in my panic, and lashed out with… something I couldn’t explain.

A wave of fire erupted around the hand holding my arm, and I had a single moment to notice that his teeth were entirely too long before he was engulfed in flame. The boys holding Claire shouted out in alarm, and were soon running away.

Claire stood in a shadow beside a dumpster, sobbing, eyes glowing in the moonlight as she stared down at the burning boy at my feet, listening with dazed eyes as he whimpered in agony. Claire’s shirt and bikini top were entirely gone, exposing her plump breasts to the cool night air, and despite her obsession with decency, she didn’t seem to notice, just continued to stare down at my feet as the boy slowly ceased moving.

I heard a metallic sound, like a knife grinding against stone, like when my father sharpened his pocket knife or filet knife for fishing. A sharp whisper. We both whirled at the sound to see the two boys now at the end of the alley collapsing to their knees without a noise of protest.

A cloaked man stood before them with a long pipe in his hands that caught the moonlight. He stared at us, although I couldn’t see his face.

Then I noticed a flash of crimson on the silver pipe, and realized that it wasn’t a pipe at all. Judging by the color, it was a sword. The boys at his feet finally toppled down on their faces, and dust motes rose in the air. He idly kicked them with a boot, sheathed his sword, and slowly approached, holding his hands above his head to show they were nowhere near his weapon.

I heard a small sound beside me and looked down to see the fire had gone out, and only a pile of ash filled the pile of burnt clothing at my feet.

Where the boy had been.

The world tilted, and I began to fall, but strong arms suddenly caught me, and despite my delirium, I lashed out again, trying to copy what I had done with the boy, remembering the last strong hand that had gripped my forearm and the tongue that had touched my face.

The fire flared to existence, but disappeared almost instantly, the hand not releasing me, and instead, seeming to steady me on my feet. Once settled, it released, and I felt the man step back, turning to take off his cloak and blindly hand it to Claire who still stood motionless. Except for the involuntary shaking of her shoulders. The motion snapped her out of it, abruptly aware of her nudity, and she snatched at the coat.

I stared at the man, now able to see his face. It was a tough face, like old wood, crinkles at his eyes now that he wasn’t wearing a hooded coat. He looked like a dockworker, or an old-school sailor. When he spoke, his voice was low, rough, and… kind.

“You two are very lucky. Those men were dangerous.”

I stared at him. He had used past tense. Were… He… he had killed them. And he had obviously seen the fire, and he carried a damned sword of all things, and he spoke to me as if they had merely been bullies, not intent on raping us. I must have said as much out loud, because he answered after shooting a thoughtful look at Claire, who had simply sat down in the alley, staring at the spot where the burning boy had been.

“Rape would have been the kindest thing they did to you.” He glanced from Claire to me again. “We need to be away from here. Follow me.” He took one look at our bikes and frowned. They were mangled, bent frames, and one of the wheels was simply gone. “Might as well leave them here,” he muttered absently, unclipping the small pouch from the handlebars of my bike…

Surely, I hadn’t done that to the bike. It looked like it had been run over by a truck.

I pulled Claire to her feet, checking on her as the man took several steps closer to the alley mouth, warily studying the night, as if he expected a crowd to suddenly appear.

Claire listened to me numbly, nodding at my words, even if her eyes never saw my face. She was in shock. I supported her weight, clenching the coat to cover her.

Then I turned back to the man. “He… licked me. And he was fast. Too fast.”

The man nodded, not turning to look at me. “Vampires,” he said absently. “I’ve been tracking them for days.”

I blinked at him, and Claire began to sob softly. “Vampires aren’t real,” I mumbled.

“Neither are wizards, girl.”

Claire shivered, eyes coming into focus, staring right at me with a terrified intensity, body tensing under my support as if she wanted to flee. She had seen the fire. But I didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t believe it. Wizard?

“Exactly,” I said, bluffing weakly. “What’s your name? What did you do to them?”

He was silent for a few moments, and then began to chuckle mirthlessly. “My name is Roland Haviar. And it looks like I may be in town longer than I originally planned… Kansas City,” he mused to himself, taking a deep breath. “Might be fun.”

I gasped as something unseen suddenly wrapped around my waist, and the world went black, the moon eaten alive for a heartbeat. Then we were standing in my front yard. The pack from my bike rested at my feet, open, and a single piece of paper sat unfolded on the top. Eyes wild, I darted to grab it before the wind could take it.

It was my report card, and my name and address was typed at the top, like usual. I had been hiding a B+ from my mom and dad, not wanting to show them yet.

A voice came to me on the breeze. “We will talk soon, girl. Soon… Hold your tongue.”

Then it was all I could do to drag a sobbing Claire into my house, tucking her neatly into my bed. I washed my face, careful to remove any traces of blood, and woke my father — who had fallen asleep on his recliner waiting for us — to tell him that Claire was spending the night. He had watched me, angry at first, but the look on my face must have made him nervous, because he didn’t ask a question. He just went to the kitchen, made himself a pot of coffee, and sat back in his recliner, staring out the front window.

With a shotgun leaning against his recliner, as if daring anyone to step onto our lawn.