New Hunter in Town
The rhythmic bumping of the truckâs aged and much abused suspension came to a jarring halt. Instinctively, the devil hunter put out a mostly gloved hand to restrain his sudden forward momentum, and glanced over at the driver with sleep addled eyes. When the burly man noticed his passenger was indeed awake he pointed out the window at the washed out road riddled with water filled potholes and muddy trenches. Dante stared, seemingly comprehended the poor condition, and turned in his seat to look back at the distraughtly wrinkled face.
âNo, too badâ, the man said in a thick accent, which Dante suspected was slightly put on in an effort to discourage questioning.
With the best beleaguered sigh he could manage, the Hunter adjusted his scarfâ a forced gift from the older woman who had bullied her husband into driving him out hereâ and opened the truckâs door; a tooth grinding metal shriek following the action.
A burst of cold wind chased away the accumulated warmth in the cabin, feeling merciful, Dante slid out and slammed the door securely shut behind him in a swift motion. Not a moment after he turned around to face the dilapidated road ahead, did he hear the truckâs transmission grind and begin again to trundle along the only slightly better maintained path.
Inhaling, Dante could smell the forest, old, dense, and wild, as well as the scent of small town living, stew, farm animals, drying spices. It was quite different than the many layered moldering stench of the city, almost refreshing, but he did not linger on such things. Reaching into the inner pocket of his heavy leather coat, Dante started down the road, boots squelching in the thick mud.Â
He pulled out a wrinkled page bearing the scars of frequent folding. The cheap ink was mostly faded, but its message could just be made out, at least the keywords that had interested the hunter for hire most, âvampireâ and âwerewolfâ.
A puff of steam surrounded his face as he derisively snorted. Demons, Devils, possessed mannequins, sure, but he was nearly certain what these country bumpkins were claiming were monsters of legend were merely the large hungry beasts of the mountains coming down to steal an easy meal; which he could hardly blame them. Shoving the page back securely inside he found himself just on the fringes of the town.Â
Few were about, those that were attending to routine tasks that seemed to absorb their attention although surely they could be done by my memory alone. Eyes skirted about his person, identifying his presence and immediately falling away, paying no mind though they marked him as outsider unconsciously.
Dante smirked, finding their petty antics amusing, he wasnât planning on lingering long anyway, sure he could find exactly what he was looking for without their assistance. Shrugging to adjust Rebellionâs strap on his shoulder, a signal of his purpose, he moved down to the cross road and stood on tiptoe to look over the low walls, scouting for the largest houseâ assuming it would be that of the head honcho.
He saw a structure fitting the proper description and began toward it, ignoring the odd passerby as they did the same to him. A sign on the fence read âLuiszaâs Houseâ, and he figured this was the place, just as he pressed his palm to the gate he heard a gentle throat clearing behind him.
Dante turned his head to the side, sardonic grin still in place, âIâll make this short, Iâm looking for the monstersâ, he withdrew the paper and waved it vaguely toward the sound. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a pale hand point to the left, he gave a distinct nod and flashed his teeth, âthanksâ and turned away from the gate to follow in the indicated direction.
âââ
On this road the snow was fairly clean, dense, though there were scattered prints going erratically to and from the bordering forest. He could sense an artificial stillness, of eyes roving over him, intended malice restrained at the behest of some hidden superior. The wry, sarcastic seeming smile returned as he absently flared his coat to reveal Ivoryâs grip, a forewarning to any that might dare.
Before him, out of the white gloom, rose a stone castle that harkened to long lost age. He would have been more impressed if he didnât spend a majority of his time in old, decrepit buildings and ancient tombs. Raising a foot, Dante kicked open the gate and made straight for the doors feigning complete ignorance of the danger he was surely walking into.
