THREE | FIRST LIGHT

I pulled up next to my Dads’ car, a huge, industrial-looking black off-roader. My tiny Renault Clio looked pathetic next to it, with a fat dent on the front bumper and mud splattered up its wheel arches, but it did what I needed it to, and got me where I needed to be.

The sun was just cresting the horizon and I slipped out into the frosty morning air. My toes were going numb in my trainers, and I bounced up and down on the spot as I searched for the two familiar figures I was sure would be down by the lake.

I slid my tote bag onto my shoulder, shutting the door behind me as quietly as I could. The first glint of morning sun reflected off the window, burning orange against the cool blue light of the dawn.

I would’ve preferred to be wearing a rucksack or a utility belt, at the very least, but with my shift at the diner starting in a few hours it was easier, for a basic patrol like this, to come prepared for what lay ahead. It meant that I could go straight from the patrol to the diner, which in turn meant that I could avoid Harper’s early-morning round of sleepy questioning. My heart leapt at the thought of his heavy-lidded eyes, the sweet smile on his tired lips, but I forced the wave of emotion down.

That was another life. I was a hunter now, not a girlfriend, not a friend. I was barely even a daughter, I thought, stepping neatly through the dew-damp grass towards my two Dads. They were dressed up to their necks in neutrally coloured hiking coats, with matching walking boots and waterproof trousers. I personally preferred my outlines to be a little sleeker: black jeans, black jacket, black boots.

I already regretted leaving my boots behind today. The wet grass was soaking the toes of my trainers, making my socks squelch with every step I took. I wouldn’t have a chance to change before work. I wanted to sigh, to wrinkle my nose at that, but I kept my expression flat, blank, save for a tiny smile of greeting as I neared my Dads.

“Good morning, Cals,” my Paps beamed, giving me a little, excited wave.

I grinned back. He was more laid back than my Dad, and he still treated me like the little girl he’d adopted, so many years ago. I imagined, had he not been a hunter, he might have been cloying, protective. As it was, he was sweet. Caring, and more cautious than my Dad, but fiercely proud of me, too, with a solid belief that I could do anything I set my mind to.

“Morning,” I said, trying to stifle a yawn. My cut stung with the movement, and I felt the plastic butterfly tape stretch with my skin. 

“How’s the cut?” My Dad asked, nodding at the injury. His eyes were quiet, assessing, like a general taking stock of his soldiers.

“Fine,” I lied. Usually, a slash like that would have started to close up. My wound was still open and sore, and I was certain that it was going to scar. Not that it mattered. We’d taken down the enemy, cut or no cut. The cold air bit at my nose and fingertips, and I repressed a shiver. 

“That’s good, Cals, I’m glad.” There was a trembling warmth in my Dad’s eyes, something tremulous and searching. He usually took the bad-cop route when it came to parenting, but it seemed like it hurt him, sometimes. I wondered if Dad and Paps had drawn from a hat when they’d taken me in, and I wondered if he ever regretted being so firm with me.

I didn’t. He’d made me into a warrior, and, in doing so, he’d saved innocent lives. 

“Me too,” I said idly, my gaze focused on the shining lake. “So, why here?”

Paps clucked his tongue against the back of his teeth. “Trigger thinks a new clan of vampires have moved into town. I disagree, personally, but she wanted a morning patrol with us stationed right across the town.” He leant closer to me, then, conspiratorially. “Your Dad and I volunteered to take the lake. We wanted the Falls, but,” he paused, rolling his eyes, “Susan had already jumped in and grabbed that spot.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. My Paps had taken an immediate dislike to Susan when she’d joined our band of hunters. Like him and my Dad, she’d moved to Seafall from London, but, unlike my Paps and my Dad, she kept referring to it as, “The City,” and gazing dreamily into the distance as she recounted the supposedly great times she’d had there.

“If it was so great,” my Paps had muttered to me once, in the middle of a meeting, “why can’t she go back?”

I’d had to work very hard to keep my expression in check, feeling a laugh bubbling in my throat.

“Typical Susan,” my Dad said, shaking his head at me, a reluctant smile brushing across his face.

I jostled my tote bag, pulling it higher up on my shoulder. “Does Trigger really think we’re going to find any vampires hanging out round the lake?”

We fell into step, following the uneven trail around the lake’s edge. I stuffed my fingers into my pockets, stomping with every stride to try to warm my wet toes up.

My Dad turned back to face me, one elegant eyebrow arched. His dark brown skin shone in the golden sunrise, the first rays of light stroking artful lines across his hard-edged, handsome face. His dark, intelligent eyes said no, of course not, but my Paps spoke from behind me before he could.

“Obviously not, Cals. But she thinks we might find bodies. Or maybe a rogue werewolf sniffing around – the full moon is coming up, after all – or perhaps a will o’ the wisp, luring people into the water.” I heard his thick, waterproof coat crumple as he shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just glad we didn’t get stuck with the cemetery.”

My Dad shuddered. “Me too. Though the lake is a more likely ditching ground than the graveyard.”

“Maybe Susan will get what she deserves, taking the Falls from you like that,” I said jokingly, neatly side-stepping an exposed root. “If a vampire was looking to cover up a death, the Falls would probably be a good place to throw a body. Anyone could get caught up in the current at the bottom.”

“Good point,” my Paps laughed. I checked the path ahead – clear, I noted – and then turned back to face him, my eyes squinting against the sunlight. I’d expected rain, and the sudden appearance of the sunshine was more than welcome.

My Paps was the same age as my Dad, almost to the day, and he had the same dark brown skin, but that was where their similarities ended. My Paps had a softer, rounded face, despite the intense workout regime we all followed as hunters. There was a plump gentleness to the curve of his cheeks and lips that made him look younger and sweeter than my Dad, who was all hard lines and sharp looks. His hair was shorter, too, cut close to his scalp; my Dad’s was longer, coarser, and often pulled back in braids or one trailing French plait.

I loved them both, unique as my upbringing had been. All I knew about my heritage was what I could glean from my own reflection, and I’d spent years staring at my brown skin, my thick, dark eyebrows, and the ghost of hair across my upper lip that I’d waxed religiously. I’d decided that at least one of my birth parents must have been Indian, and then, one day, I’d decided that it didn’t matter.

My birth parents had left me, but Dad and Paps had taken me in. They’d loved me and cared for me, and I had loved and cared for them; as I still did, to this day. To become a hunter had been my choice, in the end. All they had done was led me here; I had been the one to step through the gateway. 

It was how they’d met – at a hunter’s gathering, back in London, over two decades ago – and it was a piece of me, now, too. It was my heritage, more than my brown skin or dark eyes, more than my small, pointed chin or my straight, sharp nose. It was a way for me to carry on their legacy, and I’d been eager to begin.

“So,” my Paps asked, his tone carefully light and conversational, “how did Harper take you coming home with half your face sliced off?” It slipped into teasing, and I turned back to shoot him a look of amusement.

“Joseph,” my Dad hissed. “Did you drop your subtlety in the bin before you left this morning?”

“It’s fine, Dad,” I laughed, pulling the straps of my tote bag back onto my shoulder as they started to slip. “He was worried – he always is – but he patched me up and didn’t ask too many questions.”

My Paps let out a happy little sigh. “Oh, I do like that boy, Cals.”

“Me too, Paps. Me too.”

“Are you sure he wouldn’t be interested in learning the trade?” My Dad asked.

“Who’s lost their subtlety now, Marcel?” Paps teased.

I grinned, rounding the worst of the bumpy dirt track. My trainers were soaked, now, and scuffed with mud. I should have thought ahead, been better prepared, and brought a spare pair of boots with me for work. Maybe I would have to go back home, after all. I tried to remember what I’d written on the note I’d left him, my eyes squinting as I forced my foggy brain to recall my curling handwriting, the kitchen light too bright as I’d scribbled down my (fabricated) whereabouts. 

“You know I don’t want Harper involved in this,” I sighed, unable to keep a slightly glum undertone out of my voice. I’d imagined hunting with him – of course I had – but, as alluring as the images of us fighting side by side were to me, the reality of it wasn’t worth the risk.

I was happy to gamble with my safety if it meant that I could keep others safe in my place. I wasn’t willing to gamble Harper’s.

“I know, sweetheart,” Paps soothed from behind me. “Your Dad is only teasing.”

“No, I’m not,” he said. I watched his long, weaving braid slap against the back of his coat with each step. Thump, thump, thump. There was something ominous about it, like a ticking clock, something looming and watching and waiting, counting down.

I shook myself. Maybe I had a concussion, or maybe the blood loss was finally getting to me.

“Either way,” I shrugged. “Harper isn’t part of this. I chose this life. He didn’t.”

The sun climbed steadily higher in the sky, its light stretching across the horizon and then growing upwards, the first beat of heat rolling with the cold yellow light and touching the numb tip of my nose. We fell into easy chatter, discussing their dinner plans for the evening – a new Italian restaurant had opened on the high street – and if Harper and I had anything in the pipeline for our night off.

“Nothing much,” I said, kicking some upturned earth and stones out of my path, “it’ll just be nice to relax. He’s been taking on extra shifts at the ward, so we haven’t seen much of each other lately. What with Trigger’s paranoia about the vampires, and everything, I’ve not been around that much either.”

“Well, she was right about those ones last night, Cals,” my Dad said. “And she says there have been other signs. A trail of bodies down the west coast, and heading southeast from there. And then they just stop, right outside Seafall.”

“Okay, I’ll admit, it’s weird. But I just want to hunt something other than vampires,” I groaned. “What about a good old fashioned faerie dog?”

“The crossroads have been clear for the last year,” Paps shrugged, his coat bunching and crinkling. “Tell you what, maybe after we sort out these new vampires – if there even are any – we could go on a road trip. We could go up to Scotland, maybe.”

“You want to take on the Loch Ness Monster?” I laughed, turning back to wriggle my eyebrows at him.

That was when I saw the silhouette of a body, blackened by the bright sun, submerged in the pooling water at the edge of the lake.