Mayme stayed a few feet behind Percival, her eyes steadied on him— more notably upon the dark cape that cascaded down his back. A symbol of his affiliated group stitched into it large and proud with a light cream coloured thread. Perhaps it was white once, but time had muddied it. It was his axe-hatchet— Mayme still couldn't tell which— atop two broken triangles encircled with script. The threads were worn and frayed in some places, so even if Mayme wished to read the vile words it said about her kin she could not. The cape swayed like a grandfather clock's pendulum with each step the man took. Back and forth. Tik-tok. A reminder to the young lady she was truly on borrowed time. As each second passed she crept closer and closer to disaster.

  Surely he would come to realise her heritage eventually. Perhaps the light might hit her at the wrong angle and magnify the traits to give it away, or perhaps they would stumble into a church member with a particularly keen eye, and if not either of those he was seeing her home. Home. Where her clearly vampiric mother resided. It was true Mayme didn't think she could traverse the town without aid, not with all the beasts lurking about. Not with that dreaded church woman stalking the streets. But how much better of an option was travelling with him? An uneasy queasiness filled her stomach as he looked back at her. She lowered her eyes and nervously chewed her lower lip. She tried to think, tried to come up with a plan to both have his aid through this nightmare and abandon him before he even had the chance to discover her secret. She couldn't think. With each sway of his cloak, each step, a god awful sound echoed in her skull. The ticking of a clock.

  Tik-tok.

  Each second accompanied with gory visions of her own demise. An axe blow to the head, a bludgeoning that would completely decimate her, an eviscerating slash across her abdomen, a gunshot that would splatter her brains across the street and buildings. Her premonitions were painted so vividly in her mind she could almost swear she was truly foreseeing them.

  And if that weren't enough, breathy voices clouded her mind even farther. Townsfolk whispered and muttered from behind their barred windows and barricaded doors. The quiet dissonance floating in the air seemed to question Mayme's so-called choice to be out late. She was no killer. No fighter. The long skirt, the ruffled petticoat, and the shawl tied around her shoulders with a big billowing bow spoke that loud and clear… she was a lady and had no place on the streets during nightfall. Of course she drew attention. It made her squirm in her skin more than she already was. Perhaps, even, someone might whisper an astute observation about her a bit too loud and her secret would be spilled that way.

  Tik-tok.

  However, it seemed Mayme’s latest worry was unnecessary. Percival seemed not to notice the whispers, his ears and eyes strained for signs of the ill milling about. It was a difficult task for him. Not because of the whispers, but the soft clicks of the boots from the woman behind him. Each time he glanced back at her she lowered her innocent doe-like eyes that had no doubt been fixated on him before he caught her gaze. That much was hard not to notice, and it was harder not to assume why. It made his mind wonder. Her meek, shy expression spoke more than she knew, he thought. She must have been interested. He had heard of such phenomena plenty of times. Younger women falling smitten for men that could be their father’s age— a protector, a provider. It was flattering, how could it not be? She was beautiful in a way he hadn’t seen in many local women. They all looked tired, leathery, raggedy. Even the upper class could not escape the deep purple bags under their eyes and strands of early coarse grey hair. May was different. Her cheeks were round, her skin was smooth, her hair looked soft. And her body— oh her body— so delightfully petite. Maybe she could be called dainty or delicate, but something in his heart— or maybe loins— just knew she was… malleable. Her corset wrapped tight around her, teasing just enough of her shape when her movements allowed her shawl to whisk aside so he could catch a glimpse. He was almost sure he could wrap his hands around her entire waist. And furthermore, the corset held her shirt close to her chest; even if her collar was up to her neck the fabric still clung to her. It rose and fell with her breath to subtly outline her bust. Just a hint. Not even handfuls. A slight disappointment, but he could look past that. What she did have looked perky, and it at least suited her frame. Perhaps, he hoped, her breasts would be as dotted with freckles as her face was. Perhaps so were her arms, her legs, her hips… the whole of her porcelain skin, the whole of her doll-like body.

  His foul thoughts were dashed as the city they lived in made its issue known. Low, grumbling yaps and whines had replaced the whispers that once permeated the cold evening air. Percival's heart began to race as the prospect of spilling the blood of these rancid infected beasts filled his head. Not because he was particularly sadistic— well, not totally because he was particularly sadistic— but because of the fine young mistress tailing behind him and his wish to figure out just how many freckles her naked body had. Bloodshed would surely impress her. It would prove himself the strong, protective figure she was clearly seeking. And, perhaps if he could impress her enough, he would be rewarded by night's end.

  No. Not perhaps.

  He would be.

  It was just a matter of time.

  Tik-tok.

  With a smile plastered on his face, he carried onwards through the streets. His ears sharply listened to pinpoint where exactly he was headed. Once his eyes caught a glimpse of the hollowed grey faces down a shadowed ally he stopped and put down his arm to warn the young lady behind him to do so also. Mayme too halted, but only briefly before taking a few nervous steps backwards. Percival said nothing, but he did not need to. He inhaled deeply before taking a step forward, his narrow eyes set towards the back of the dark alley he stood in front of. Two sets of beady eyes on blood-splattered faces stared back at him and began to sneer. Spittle left their drooling maws in ropes as they hissed.

  Percival wrapped his hand tightly round the handle of the axe that was snug at his side. He vanished behind the corner and out of Mayme’s view. She dared not step forward to watch. She heard one of the beasts screech, and the loud slaps of frantic, hungry footfall. Mayme gasped, her hand wandered around her back and under her shawl, her fingers gently brushed over the grip of her gun still hidden half tucked into her corset. As if an instinct, her eyes shut tight. It was a pointless act, the city’s towering stone and brick buildings kept the ordeal away from her line of sight. It did nothing but put her into more danger.

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  She heard the goings on still, the sound of those ill creatures yowls only to be silenced by wet thuds and bloodcurdling crunches and cracks. The sloppy sloshing of blood and gore that regrettably reminded her of over-sauced pasta. She forced herself to pry her eyes open, if only out of self preservation. Still, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Blood had not reached outside the alley’s entryway. And now, it was silent. The air was absolutely still, only shaken by her unsteady breaths— until the slow, heavy, deliberate thuds of boots echoed between the towering walls that had the alley encapsulated. Perhaps she should be thankful. Perceval was doing his job. He was protecting her, that is what she wanted, wasn’t it? Yet, she felt as if she would almost feel more comforted by the side of beasts instead.

  She took a few careful steps forward and peered around the corner. She watched with wide, fearful eyes as Percival, cloaked in shadow, returned to her. She tried to keep her eyes on the man, but in her peripherals she could see the chaos he had caused. Mayme could not help but feel a deep, sorrowful pit form in her stomach. Sure, she had shot one of those things herself, but a single gunshot seemed so much more merciful than the scene that was splayed out in front of her. She didn’t even want to put into words the deviation. Words, thoughts, description… It all made it too real. It all whispered to her the fate she too was facing by this man's hand. She had to do something about it, she knew that. But what? What could she do?

  “They’re dead now, they can’t hurt you,” Percival said, as if that would soothe her. He even offered her a smile that made her skin crawl. His voice seemed calmer than it was back at his house. He had deliberately tried to soften it for her sake. That made her feel even more ill.

  Mayme just nodded slowly as she began to tug her shawl tight over her shoulders. Her body shook and her breathing grew more erratic. She tried to focus on the feeling of the gun– Elisabeth— pressed to her back under her corset. Tried to convince herself that it would somehow be her saviour, no matter how little she actually believed it. Pecival did not seem to notice her distress, or perhaps just did not see it fit to do anything about it due to it not being an immediate issue.

  “Come.” He demanded as he carried on the direction they were headed before the little distraction.

  She followed Percival through the streets. The whispers that once floated in the air were gone. The only sounds the girl could hear was her blood coursing through her head and the moans and groans from beasts that seemed to echo from everywhere, however Mayme was unsure if those were real or if they were simply her mind playing tricks on her. The stench of blood emanated off the man’s clothes, but again Mayme could not tell if that was real or not. It smelled like old coins after they had been held in a particular sweaty hand for a while. Due to her bloodline such things usually smelled better, but this time it was nauseating. It must have been in her head.

  Percival, however, was still unfazed, he carried onward without even a hint of worry. Not even slightly perturbed by the blood he had spilled. Not as if he feared beasts normally, nor was he bothered by culling them, however he would have normally had some kind of reaction to his actions. Being the protector of a frail young lady most definitely aided in his cool, collected demeanour that night. He glanced back at the girl. She was still clearly rattled. She looked clammy and pale and she was still breathing with quick gasps. Of course, he thought, she did have a poor constitution, after all. So in the softest, most gentle voice he could manage, he spoke— it was just barely above a whisper. “May, if you need comfort feel free to grab onto my cloak or sleeve, just do not forget to let go if we’re threatened.”

  Mayme looked at the cloak. The tired, torn threads existed just enough to see a vow to kill her kind as a murmur. She didn’t want to touch him— not his sleeve, nor his cloak, but something stirred in the back of her mind. A small voice that demanded she do so— not for comfort, as he would have suggested, but for her own protection. He thought her fears stemmed from the monstrosities that plagued the city, not him. She wanted him to keep thinking as much, and what better way to prove it than to act as if she seeked the comfort he offered. What better way to endear herself to him.

  Her stomach lurched at the idea, but regardless she reached for his cloak. As much as the dreaded thing made her want to wretch it put more distance between her and him than his sleeve would have. It was rough and scratchy in her hands, like burlap. Tiny threads and needle-like stray fabrics poked at her, but that did not deter her from balling her fists so tight her knuckles turned bone white. When Percival felt the sharp, unnatural movement of his cloak he could not help but spare yet another glance back. A smirk creeped upon his lips. It seemed to cement his assumptions about her. His amusement hinted that he thought this action was bold and needy of her, as if he had not been the one to suggest it. With a touch more pride and confidence in his stride, he continued to lead them.

  Oddly enough, the streets were relatively quiet compared to most nights. Bar the few beasts they had slain earlier in the evening, it was utterly desolate. Eerily so. Mayme had no idea that was the case, she simply assumed the city was less affected than her podunk lane that seemed to be infested by comparison. However, Percival definitely had noticed something was off. Instead of being thankful he found himself disquieted and perplexed. Of course he wanted to show off to Mayme, but that was not the main reason for his feelings either. While he pondered the reasons behind the situation Mayme spoke up.

  ”We’re headed towards the main gate, aren’t we? The one that leads into the inner city?” She inquired in a hushed tone.

  ”Of course, darling,” he said.

  She scrunched her nose at the pet name but decided ultimately it was best to simply heed it as little mind as possible. ”But… Isn’t it locked?”

  ”Of course, I might be older but I can still manage to scale a wall if I must.”

  ”Oh…” She suddenly felt mighty foolish for not even thinking that was an option. Right. She probably could have arranged some things and gotten up and over that damned thing. However, then she would have been alone. Alone with only five bullets… even if she had made it on the path home, who was to say she’d be able to get as far as her doorstep.

  ”Don’t worry, I understand you probably cannot. I’ll find a way to lift you over,” Percival mused, assuming the falling of her expression was due to her lack of ability. He chuckled at the thought; amused by the scenario his brain conjured up of watching her struggle in feeble attempts to make it over the wall. Would her little feet kick and her dress fly about as her arms failed to raise her? Would he grab her waist to lift her? Would he have to help push her up and over by pushing her bottom? Thoughts that only seemed to rack his mind, as Mayme glanced around for things she could possibly bring over to aid her in scaling the wall if she had to.

  As they turned and the gate came into view his queries were quickly washed away. In between them and the heart of the city lay nothing but a corpse of a beast, shot dead and cold, and an open gate inviting them deeper. Percival’s breath caught in his lungs at the sight as the puzzle pieces fell into place. Why had there not been many beasts along their way? They simply were elsewhere.

  Mayme peered out from behind him, for he had paused without noticing. Though she did not understand in full the horror of an open gate she did feel the dread that seemed to seep off her so called protector and it eclipsed her confusion. Her eyes flicked up to try and read his face. He, however, kept it strong and neutral. The only indication outwardly anything was wrong was the sweat collecting on his brow.

  “Percival,” she started in a breath, but the cloak knotted in her hands reminded her to be endearing, ”P…Percy?” She started over, clutching the cloak to her chest.

  His trace broke and he looked back to the young woman. He lightly ruffled her hair with a large, blood stained hand leaving her fringe in disarray. “Don’t look so worried, May. I’ll protect you, promise, aight? Shall we go?”