A dull, blue glow shown through the curtains that draped over the single window in what looked like a tiny bedroom. The room looked as though it were once part of an attic, the ceiling slanting down with the roof. It had bare wood walls and floor with a single rug in the middle, and the furniture appeared to be mismatched. It was clear that it was furnished on donations alone.

There weren't many belongings in the tiny room. A few picture frames lined the surface of the dresser, with photos of smiling faces. An old, worn Bible sat on the night stand, multiple tags in it's pages, marking something to come back to. The bed next to it was a piled with blankets, at least five, and appeared to be hiding a body. The only part that stuck out was the wild, dark brown hair.

The blankets stirred a little, and suddenly a head emerged as well. The young man blinked, then rubbed his eyes. He slowly sat up, appearing to wear some festive flannel pajamas. Christmas had just come and past, but the pants and button up shirt with an image of polar bears in little red scarves hadn't been retired yet. As cold as the little room was, the young man would probably hang on to them for a while.

As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, he found his brown house shoes and slipped them on. He stood, stretching his back with his arms above his head. The cold air whipped up his shirt, making his quickly pull it back down and wrap his arms over his chest to warm back up. He walked to the window and peaked outside. Freezing drops of rain hit the glass, which already had a fine layer of ice on it. What was a miserable day.

The young man went to his closet to dig out some clothes to wear. He pulled out a pair of grey, wool dress pants, a white button up shirt, a grey pullover sweater, and a black peacoat to top it all off. There was nothing like hiding under a mountain of warm clothes to keep him comfortable. To be honest, he liked the cold days like these. Summer was always miserable for him.

He changed quickly in front of the single space heater in the room. The church was old, built before decent insulation and air conditioning had been invented. It was heated by floor vents, which this room lacked. The chill seeped in through the walls in the winter. Getting it fixed would cost more than the small church had.

Once dressed, the man glanced in the mirror to attempt to comb his hair. It didn't work out so well for him, so he just gave it up. He went to his night stand and opened the top drawer. There was a slip of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. He picked it up and tucked it away into a pocket before heading downstairs.

The tiny bedroom had a narrow staircase that led directly into the sanctuary. The large room was empty, save for the statues. There were two on either side of the pulpit: Jesus and the virgin Mary. Directly behind the pulpit, there was a cross hanging on the wall, a limp Jesus crucified on it. Catholics seemed to prefer the more gruesome imagery. After all, their savior had died a gruesome death, why should they forget?

On the right of the alter, more towards the middle of the room, there was a prayer table. The young priest approached the table and opened the drawer to get a lighter. He lit the two candles on either side and replaced the lighter. Then, the man knelt down and bowed his head. He remained there for a while, praying quietly under his breath. As he prayed, a couple members quietly walked into the chapel, taking themselves into the back where an add-on building housed the homeless ministry. They carried trays of hot food to give out to those who lived there. The two women saw the young priest, but respected his prayer time and did not acknowledge him.

The man didn't even seem to notice. He prayed for longer than usual today, for his mind was taxed by a duty he would have to preform. Once he stood, he took himself out of the chapel and to the church's office to make a phone call before the secretary arrived. He unlocked the door and sat down in the rolling chair by the old computer and phone. The priest picked up the phone and dialed the number on the slip of paper.

"Hello? Yes, I work at St. Benedict Cathedral in Middleborough, Massachusetts. I have reason to believe that my town might be under siege by, um, some creatures that your... business deals with. Could your group possibly come out today?" The man's voice was quiet, with a soft German accent.

"Ok, yes. Thank you." He hung up the phone and leaned back in the chair, sighing and closing his eyes. This was his life now. Here he had thought he'd signed up to help lead the church, not fight...vampires. The word still sounded ridiculous.

"Is my chair more comfortable than your bed, now, Father Luca?" The young man jumped, his eyes opening quickly. An older woman had made it into the office without him hearing. She set her bag down on the desk and smiled warmly at him.

"No, heh," Father Luca stood, letting her have her chair. "I was just making a phone call. Good morning, Mrs. Gloria." It was still odd having people who could easily be his parents or grandparents call him 'father'. But that was just part of it, he guessed.

He chatted with the older woman for a moment before excusing himself to go take care of his morning duties. He had to go check to make sure the homeless ministry was running smoothly and that no one was fighting in the breakfast line. After that, maybe he would get some breakfast for himself.

Amelia Draculesti

On the outskirts of town, perched on a densely wooded patch of land in the hills outside town, the morning fog rolling off the ground giving a smoky haze. A surreal blind to the surrounding environment. The mansion was in the neo-Victorian style with a more modern gothic finish to the outer edifice of the building. The gentle glow of light fixtures, the chandelier in the main foyer, and on the second floor to the left of the main hall a gentle glow of candlelight.

The room was large, with a California king sized bed, a desk with neat stacks of paper and pens held in a dish, whoever lived here was artistic within the realms of calligraphy. Illuminated texts, hand made, were fixed in cases along one wall. The lush carpet was soft to the touch. Heavy black drapes masked the windows, diminishing the blue glow from outside, and giving a pleasant atmosphere.

pat pat pat

The pitter-patter of feet on the hardwood floors outside in the hallway resounded down the corridor. A figure dressed in a black tuxedo with a red-black bow tie, coat tails fluttering, moved rapidly down the hallway. Fitting a key into the lock at the door, the handle turned, and the man entered the room with a bead of sweat running down his face. Wiping it away with a handkerchief he faced the Northern wall.

A second pitter-patter of feet erupted down the hallway, the man turned a second before pulling one of the light fixtures near a book case and it swung out of the way, a second individual came into the room right as the first man was entering from the opening in the wall. A vault door having swung away internally. The second man gave chase. Down the stone, cold, dark passage way they entered a secret bowel of the mansion. Moving into a circular chamber located below the mansion that was finely furnished. But with older antique furniture that would be priceless on today's auctions. Ancient and medieval weaponry hung neatly on wracks on one side, suits of armor on the other, along with plastic wraps pieces of old clothing from various eras. Chests and lockboxes dotted the place. It was cold. Eerily cold. But most of all was the presence of a black coffin in an alcove set into the Western facing wall.

The first man dropped to his knees before the coffin, "My Lady some--."

The second man erupted in, "A familiar doesn't get to---."

"What. Is all this---ruckus."

Both men froze in place, and slowly turned, a woman dressed in a white gown was behind them. The coffin had been empty. It's occupant stood before them, not decayed, not dried skin hanging limply from bones. No, the woman before them was tall, and most of all her flesh was perfectly intact. Her gorgeous face and body, skin soft and unblemished, lips smooth, eyes of an electric green-yellow, hair like black silk, and it was almost bare to them. The gown not quite see through but made no illusions to her form, bust, and physique. Her eyes bore into them like a cat, like a predator, and the second man gulped. In her right hand was a silver goblet, lifting it to her lips it became clear that the redness of her lips was not natural, a crimson liquid filled the vessel.

"My lady a fami--." the second man made to speak but was cut off by a raised hand from the gorgeous woman before him. "I care not for trivialities so you might as well dispense with the pleasantries Kornelius, or should I leave someone else in charge of my affairs when I sleep?" The second man was silent as he looked at the ground. His tail between his legs. The butler was a familiar, not a vampire, a human retainer.

"Speak." said the woman to the man kneeling. He looked up at her, "Lady Amelia, there has been a development in Middleborough." A moment of silence as Amelia peered down at the man. Her electric green-yellow eyes locking with his dull brown. He spoke once more, "A body, murder is what the police say, you know what this could mean."

Amelia's eyes winced, not in fright or surprise, but with a righteous anger. The seething in her voice apparent, "Time to make a social appointment. Does Father Luca still reside within Middleborough?"

"Yes." replied the familiar.

"Time for a phone call." said Amelia with a slight smile.

Twas nestled safely, deep in the tall mountains guarded by the lush overgrowth of the evergreens Middleborough was famous for. A cozy, three bedroom cabin, quite rustic yet with all the modern amenities a home needed in this day and age. It was owned by a fairly wealthy woman, a Miss Claudia DeFeren. She was radiant, but she had peculiar habits.

A recluse she was, her presence only temporary in the quaint little town of Middleborough. She would only make a few trips during the week, either to just sit at her corner booth at the cafe, drink her hot cocoa spiced with cinammon and read a book in demure silence, or frequent the town bar, where she could be seen chatting with a langushing look in her eye towards a lovely lady, only for the two to disappear into the cold winter evening.

As such had happened last night. She managed to charm quite the beautiful but rowdy biker woman into her home for a bite to drink...and a bit of fun of course.

Never would she forget the night she spent alone with the rugged blonde, kissing her lips so tenderly and caressing her tone body with such loving arms, feeling the warmth of her heart as their bare skin touched. The excitement and the pleasure were all too much for the vampire woman that she couldn’t count how many times she blacked out from the overwhelming ecstasy in her veins.

She had bitten her, but only enough to draw a necessary amount to sate her appetite. Besides, they were both pretty rough with each other.

It was a cold and drizzly morning when she awoke, no sun to greet her, but no matter how bright the sun had shone when it crested over the eastern horizon, its white light could not penetrate the thick curtains draped over the windows of the woman's cozy abode.

For she and the sun, while beautiful in the morning, didn't really go so well together.

Even on this dreary late December morning, when a chilling rain whispered through the forest in a calming lull, the woman still preferred the company of shadows. So of course, she had not a clue as to the time of day other than her own biological clock.

She had stirred from her slumber after an hour or so, giving a stretch and a stifled yawn exposing the glinting daggers of ivory in her mouth. Her fiery red hair was a tousled mess, yet so was her bed. My, what a passionate night it was. A soft smile had graced her lips just thinking about it.

Her company for the night had gone early, as was indicated by the other side of her plush queen sized bed left empty.

There was a note left upon the nightstand, no doubt from her absent paramour. Claudia read the note, a frail smile curling her lips,

Thank you for a lovely night, hun! You're one hell of a girl, Claudia! Hope to see you again! Maybe next time I can tie you up, you kinky thing~

Love you always,

Joyce. XOXO

Claudia kissed the letter with a loving sigh, folding it back up and placing it back on the night stand. She brushed her hair and dressed shortly after, descending the stairs to her living room.

The grand fireplace crackled with a soothing heat, vermilion flames undulating. Gently did the rain patter against her living room window as the woman stood there, warmly dressed in a cozy, burgundy wool sweater dress, a pair of festive winter leggings, and a grey cardigan. Her face was pressed somewhat against the cool glass, gazing out unto her lovely view of the mountains and the surrounding pines and cedars that composed the verdant forest of evergreens. Softly, snd rather bored, she sighed, taking a delicate sip of her piping hot tea from a small porcelain cup.

Looked like it was going to be another typical day, gray skies hanging over head, the temperature absolutely bone chilling as a brisk wind mournfully whistled through the warm cabin. Another day of lazing on the couch reading a book or watching television. Maybe there were some good movies on, some classics like she enjoyed back in the '30s in Munich.

What irony it was as she lounged across her couch and flipped on her television, the channel she had left it on was airing an old screening of Nosferatu. Honestly. Her nostrils curled at the sight of the grisly ghoul gracing her tv screen. If only mortals truly knew about vampires, they wouldn't portray them as such...monstrosities. She huffed bitterly and changed the channel over to some news, her usual for the morning.

Never did she think, though, that on this paticular frosty morning, she would be met with....some very unsavory news.

"The body of a young female was discovered late last night in the small town of Middleborough. Police are still searching for suspects and are warning people not to go out late at night. The victim, identified as twenty-three year old Samantha Ginsby, was found lying face down beside the road when a trucker passed by noticing the body half buried in the snow. According to investigators, Samantha had apparently been drained of blood as was the cause of death. Similar cases have recently popped up, leading local police and other law enforcement to believe a serial killer is on the loose. Now, police are urging people to stay indoors after hours until the killer is caught. We will have more on this shocking story after the commercial break. Stay tuned."

Claudia clicked the remote, a sickening twinge in her gut. This was not the workings of mere mortals, these attacks, and they were becoming more rampant by the day. The redhead...she was suspicious as to who might be orchestrating these scandalous nightly feedings.

Yes...that lovely barmaid.

She reached for her cellphone, fliiping through the contacts hurriedly and dialed a number. Impatiently she huffed tapping her bare foot against the cool hardwood floor, muttering to herself, ~"Come on, Amy deary! Pick up! Oooh, that woman better not be behind this or all Hell is going to break loose in this podunk town!"~

Flynn

Sweat beaded down Flynn's face as she sat up in bed. Her chest heaved up and down as she took a very long few minutes to collect her thoughts, her sanity. "Shit," she groaned as the headache and nausea hit her hard. Wincing against the pain and hand on her head, she eyed her cell phone-- to find it dead. Frustrated, she tossed it to the other end of the bed before groggily climbing out, gripping the bottle cluttered nightstand for balance. The dim sunlight streaming through her window was both a relief and trigger for panic: what time was it? For a normal woman working full time during the day, this unknown element would push her into hyper-drive. Piper Flynn Holmes, however, lazily put on pants and shambled out of the room to prepare for the day, leaving the light on behind her.

It was one of the busiest times of the years for autoshops. The threat of ice reminded people to change their tires, install automatic car starters, and few people wanted to be out in the cold to do any of these things themselves. So, for Flynn to be running late on a cold, winter day was a problem... But typical. So she leisurely smoked a morning cigarette, staring outside as her coffee cooled beside her. The hangover clung to her, leaving her groggy and unable to enjoy the late morning. "Ugh," she groaned after discarded the cigarette butt. She downed her coffee, pulled on a beanie over her dark hair to protect her from the cold, and donned sunglasses to protect her from the bright light.

For most, it would be far too cold to ride a motorcycle. However, with her sunglasses and a face mask to protect her against the chill, Flynn hopped on her bike. She was yet to be able to afford a car, and it wasn't a terribly long ride to the shop. So she was off--but she didn't quite make it to the shop.

The loud roar of her bike warned churchgoers and the homeless that hung around that she was coming. However, through her sunglasses, she grew fixated on men she didn't quite recognize from this small town. They hung around the church, they were tall, dressed in dark colors. Panic clutched her heart as violent memories flashed in her mind and--

There was no loud crash or scene, but suddenly Flynn was on the ground--her bike had slid away from her. The world was spinning and she struggled to reground herself in the world. And when she did, it hurt. "Ow, god damn it!" she yelled, the face shield muffling her curses. She was barely aware of the few people who had seen, one being an officer with a suspicious scowl. It wasn't a secret that she liked to drink, but this early? That was unfair. She slowly stood, waving away an arm she didn't recognize. "I'm fine! I just skid out," she said, irritation in her words as she brushed herself off. Her pants were frayed from the slide and her head felt extra rattled, but she was standing well enough.

Although concerned about the bike, her hazel gaze shifted back to the church again. There had been talk of murder and blood draining. Flynn had mostly avoided such talk, and did her best to push it out. But a sudden familiarity had crept into her mind, and she felt especially cold. "I'm fine," she repeated to no one in particular. Then, she pulled her bike up from off the curb to inspect the damage it took.

---

Rowan

The small town had a quaint cafe, run by an older woman who liked to provide the local youth with work so they'd stay out of trouble. Flynn may have been elusive in that sense, but Rowan was perfectly happy spending his mornings making coffee. Especially in the winter, where he could make it to the cafe before the sun would rise. By the time it rose, he would be safe inside, preparing for open and the regulars coffee. The old woman, Maryanne, had a variety of regulars: Billie who only ever ordered blueberry pancakes, the Sheriff enforcing nothing but the donut-eating stereotype, and others. Rowan, since arriving in town a few years ago, had learned the customers' patterns and tastes, and often had the food ready just as they walked in.

Today, though, he had to return the donut to the bakery. He could feel there was something...off in the air. Something tense. And nervousness set in. The body must have been discovered. However, Rowan wasn't the type to stay down for long. As the morning went on, the regulars came and went. It wasn't terrible busy, especially thanks to the cold, but that left the barista time to clean and stock. He checked his phone often, open to word from Amelia or even Father Luca. Though any correspondence would no doubt leave a little guy like him out. So, Rowan stayed on his duties.

Tending to the cafe allowed Rowan to blend easily with human life, and the work provided him the money he needed to keep up with hobbies. Housing was provided by Amelia and the coven, so he had life pretty good here in Middleborough. It did grow dull from time to time, but with the recent "animal" attacks, things have been...less boring. He didn't allow himself to dwell, however, and poured himself a cup of hot chocolate to sip at the counter.

Where are you going, Dad?

What are you doing up?

I heard a noise. Are you leaving?

...Yes. I am, sweet pea. I have important business. Something very important is happening in Middlesborough.

Middlesborough?

Yes.

...How long are you going to be there?

Just a few days, sweetie. At most. Your mother will take care of you.

...I wish you weren't going.

Me, too, sweet pea. Me, too. Now go back to bed. It's a school day tomorrow.

Clayton John

Clayton John pulled slowly into the local church's parking lot. He'd heard it on the news. A young woman drained of blood found dead, and there was a known coven in the area that had "agreed" not to feast on the innocent anymore. But he knew that those fiends could not resist their own savage bloodlust, not without the help of the Holy Spirit. He opened up the car door, steadily stepped out and closed the door behind him. He made sure his scarf was secure and placed a black hat on his head. Glancing towards his glove department, Reverend John inwardly went through his inventory.

He had his bible on him, a canteen of potable water, and his cross. In the globe department his was looking at was his .357 revolver with silver bullets, some holy water, and a bag of unsalted pretzel sticks. In the trunk were some spare changes of clothes, his shotgun with silver pellets, and probably a football.

Rubbing his shoulders against the cold, Clayton surveyed the town around him and the church he wished to enter.

It was a quaint place, with older looking buildings and small streets. But as the grey clouds hung overhead, there was something ominious here. He could feel it in his bones.

Shoes clacking, arms swaying, Clayton made his way up the steps and to the front door of the church. It wasn't a Sunday, but the place shouldn't be locked. If all went well, Father Walter should be able to give him the sitrep of what was going on and they could get to work.

Clayton knew the place was a cathedral, not technically Christian, but when it came to matters like this, they were on the same side. No time for petty arguments now, although he was never into that sort of thing. A big waste of time when there were bigger things at work.

Even if no one was inside, he figured a quick prayer couldn't hurt. There were troubling times ahead, and he needed all the help he could get. Briefly knocking on the large wooden door, he pushed it open and closed it quietly behind him. There inside were rows of pews, a statue of Christ on the cross, and vaulted ceilings.

No sign of Father Walter, but that was to be expected. The place was mostly silent.

He sat down in one of the pews and closed his eyes.

He thought about his family, his friends, vampires, if his team was going to win the next Sunday game, what kind of new barbecue grill he should get... he needed to clear his mind, so he turned his thoughts to Heaven, placing his palms together and kneeling forward.

A half eaten piece of rye toast with strawberry jelly sat on the desk in the young priest's office. It had long since gone cold. The half empty bottle of protein shake next to it had gone warm. Luca tended to hyper focus when he worked, so trivial things like food often got forgotten. As he would clean it up later, he would hear the words of Mrs. Glenn in his head.

"You're too thin, dear, you need to eat more."

This statement was usually followed by a plastic wrapped plate of baked goods being thrusted at him. Luca was always happy to except gifts, especially home cooked food. It was true that he'd lost several pounds since his priesthood began. When he had first come to the church as a teenager, he had been fairly well built from years of hard work on the farm. He slowly lost that mass as his focus turned to education. And now that he was helping to run the church, his face was wearing near gaunt. The stress probably had something to do with it.

Nothing stressed him out more than the idea of professional killers taking harbor in his church. It had been several hours since he called the hunters, and he had done his best to put it out of his mind. He turned to his work; Luca was paging through his Bible, writing down notes on his outline for that week's sermon. He also paused every once and a while to write quotes that he thought would work well for the homeless ministry.

Speaking of which, he needed to make the daily thought cards. He had gotten behind on that recently. It was just a little verse written on a card and handed out in the ministry. Something to give those who lived there something to think about throughout their day. Luca got up and picked up the one he had written; he needed to go make some copies. He picked up his plate and tossed the bottle into the trash as he headed out into the church.

The young man stopped by the kitchen to put his dirty plate in the dishwasher, then headed to the office to have Mrs. Gloria make him some copies. When he got there, the two chatted some more. Mrs. Gloria offered him a peppermint candycane, leftover from Christmas. Luca smiled and tucked it away into the front pocket of his sweater to save for later.

He left the office with two small stacks of card, rubber banded together. He cut through to chapel to get to the ministry, but paused about halfway down the isle. There was a man in one of the pews that he didn't recognize. While it wasn't overly uncommon for people to come in off the streets, Luca wondered if maybe this was one of the hunters.

He approached quietly before he voiced himself. His voice, as always, was quiet and a bit on the meek side, his accent notable. Where it was from, however, was a bit harder to place.

"Excuse me sir, can I help you?"