It was the second time in as many days that Zac walked home after a fight, his clothes torn and bloodied. He'd killed Alistair, but had dug himself a deeper hole. An ancient dead witch who had claimed to be the creator of all vampires had marked him for a slow and painful death. Best birthday present ever.

It was well after midnight when he finally came home, wandering up the driveway. Opening the front door with a little less force than last time, he shuffled into the parlor and headed straight for the scotch. He thought it was best to get a few drinks in his brother before telling him the bad news. Zac poured Sam a glass as he heard his brother sit on the sofa behind him.

“Do I even want to know what you've been doing all night?” Sam asked, exasperated. “I have a good idea, considering Liz came over and told me what happened with Alistair.”

“Well, I killed the bastard,” Zac said, getting right to the point and handed the glass to him.

“And?” Sam took a large mouthful of the liquor as if in preparation for what was coming next.

“And, his dead witchy overlord is out for my blood. Refill?” he asked sarcastically, waving the bottle of scotch at his brother.

“Wait,” Sam said, holding his annoyance in check. “Start from the beginning. You killed Alistair? How?”

“I challenged him to a duel,” Zac replied sarcastically. “Slapped him with a leather riding glove and everything. Very authentic. Then I staked him.”

“Zac...”

“That, brother, was the truth. I challenged him to a fight to the death. Book smarts won over brute strength.” He tapped his temple.

Sam closed his eyes and held his head in his hands. “And what if he'd killed you? Did you stop to think about us?”

Zac took a long draught of scotch straight from the bottle. “Yes, I thought about it. This was my issue to deal with, Sam. I did this to protect everyone. I did what I had to do.”

“You could’ve warned me.”

“And you would’ve stopped me,” Zac replied.

“Well, that's just great.” Sam shook his head. “Murderous vampires and now dead witches? Shit.”

“Can you see into the future, Sam, because I sure can't,” he yelled, the now empty bottle smashing into the large fireplace, alcohol flaring in the flames. “He wouldn't have stopped until we were either dead or exposed. Killing him was my only option.”

“And this witch?” he asked calmly, trying not to exacerbate his brothers mood.

“She claimed to be a founding witch named Katrin, but she was transparent. Very much dead and ghostly. Dripping with ectoplasm.”

“You could have come to me, Zac. We could have found another way. One without killing.”

“Well, I'm so sorry I can't be the kind-hearted human wannabe vampire you so desperately want me to be,” Zac seethed. “Guess what, brother. We're vampires. We fight, we hunt and we kill. It's what we are.”

“There's always an alternative, Zac. You just have to be open to hearing it.”

“You might be content in fighting your true nature, but I've made my peace. I understand what I am, even if you don't.” He walked across the room before turning around. “I’ll speak to Gabby in the morning. You can stay out of it if that's what you want.” He left the room, leaving Sam to make his own decision, his mind already well and truly made up.

Gabby wasn't too pleased about being woken up at eight am on a Sunday morning and even less pleased to hear Zac's voice. Pleading wasn't his thing, so he suggested it might be a good idea to help him being guilty by association. She'd reluctantly agreed to come over to the manor once she was ready.

Zac was already into the alcohol by the time his brother woke. He was riled up already and he had a feeling it was going to be a trying day and that meant he needed all the calming down he could get. And he was getting hungry. He sat heavily on the sofa, leaning his head back, staring at the ceiling. Dead witches pretty much took the cake so far. They'd never encountered so many supernaturals in one place before. Witches, vampires, werewolves and now ghosts. Next it would be voodoo spirit lords and Aztec witch doctors.

“I'm surprised to see you here, brother.” Zac glanced up as Sam sat across from him.

“We're brothers, Zac. Your shit is my shit,” he replied firmly.

“And so eloquently put.”

Sam snorted as they heard the front door close and footsteps approaching down the hall. Gabby strode in, carrying her grimoire in her arms. The tattered book that was over five hundred years old, protected by magic from deteriorating and falling apart.

She flopped down on the leather armchair and said with a hint of sarcasm, “This better be worth giving up my Sunday for.”

“Long story short,” Zac announced. “I killed Alistair, his dead witchy overlord appeared out of thin air proclaiming that she was the founding witch Katrin, whatever that means, and that I will die a long and horrible death. Thoughts?”

Gabby stared at him in surprise, not expecting a tirade of that magnitude. At least not one that included the words 'founding witch'. She glanced slowly to Sam, who nodded. Well, at least it was a truthful tirade.

“Well,” she began, opening the grimoire carefully.

“Is there anything in your diary about this Katrin?” Zac swirled his drink around in his glass.

Gabby glared and glanced back to the grimoire, turning the pages. “There's a passage about the founding witches and the one who broke her covenant with them,” she stated. “Katrin. She betrayed her sisters for power and created a creature that could do her bidding long after she had passed. Vampires. She bound them to herself, so they would follow her for eternity.”

“She seemed to believe that she had created Alistair,” Zac said.

“Then maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe she is one of the founding witches,” Sam said. “She was an apparition, so maybe her spirit still lives, that's why Alistair was bound to her.”

“And how she knew he was dead,” Zac added.

“If she is, then she would be strong enough to do it. The founders were the beginning, the most powerful of us, ever. But why would she create vampires?”

“To do her dirty work,” Zac said.

Gabby shook her head. “Probably, but I don't think that was the only reason. Why create a predator who needs blood to survive who can only walk in the night, when all you need is someone to do your bidding after you're dead?”

“You're right, it doesn't make sense, but all we need to know is how to get rid of her,” Zac pointed out, exasperated. “I'd rather be the one doing the hunting, not the other way round.”

“You don't want to know anything about the first vampires?” Sam was surprised.

“Why? We've been doing okay. The more we meet, the more trouble we get into.”

“Don't you mean, the more you piss off the more trouble I get into?”

“You're the one who chose to come along for the ride. Don't have a cry now.”

Gabby sighed loudly. “If you two are finished bickering like children, I have more.”

Zac rolled his eyes. “Do please enlighten us, Glinda.”

“Right.” Gabby stood and began gathering her things. “If you don't want my help, you just have to say so. I have better things to do than take shit from you.”

Sam stood hastily. “Gabby, I'm sorry. We do need your help. Please stay.” He turned and glared at Zac who shrugged.

“What?” he asked, annoyed.

Gabby sat back down with an exasperated sigh. “There's a summoning spell in the grimoire that caught my attention.”

“And what does it summon?” Zac asked.

“The one known as the Witch Hunter.” Gabby flipped to the page and began to read. “The one betrayed by their own. The one who punishes the ones turned evil, the hunter of witches who would do harm. Cast this call and perchance the hunter will deign to speak.”

“You want us to summon a witch hunter?” Zac laughed at the notion.

“It's all I’ve got,” she replied. “But, there’s a warning that goes along with it. The Witch Hunter is a very old and powerful vampire, unpredictable and only serves their own end.”

Zac snorted. “Well, they sound like a riot.”

“I don't think it's a good idea,” Sam said, warily. “It could do more harm than good.”

“From what I can tell, the Witch Hunter helped my ancestor, the one who wrote the spell. For a vampire to help a witch, that's kind of a big deal.” She looked pointedly at Zac, who glared at her in return.

“Is there anything else about this Witch Hunter?” asked Sam.

“Not much, but this spell was written in fifteen forty two. It's one of the first in the book and one of the only ones I can read,” she said, not mentioning that she thought it was an omen. For good or bad, she didn't know. “The story goes that the Church and Crown in Wales passed through a law naming witchcraft a felony and those found practicing would face punishment of death. The first law of its kind. The witch who wrote the spell was accused, having been framed by another witch, who was using her power for evil. Exploiting the townspeople, summoning devils and monsters. That’s what drew the Witch Hunter to the village. They formed a tentative alliance and under the cover of darkness the Hunter tore the devils to pieces and stole the evil witch’s light.”

“What does that mean?” asked Sam, intrigued by the story. “Stole her light?”

“They probably took her power by the sounds of it. Anyway, the Hunter left a trail of mutilated bodies in their wake, horrifying the good witch. The next morning some angry townsfolk, who had been spying on them, tore her from her bed. She had no trial and was tied to a wooden pole at the center of the village. They intended to burn her for the crime of witchcraft and murder because they believed it was her that had really summoned the devils. As the flames grew around her, the Witch Hunter came back and saved her from the fire and took her far away from the angry mob to live out her days without fear of exposure. She married and had a family and passed the grimoire to her daughter.”

“It seems that the Hunter has a heart, at least,” Sam said absently.

“If you call tearing apart devils, mutilating their bodies and stealing witches power, having a heart, then we have a serious problem,” Gabby exclaimed, snapping the grimoire shut.

“Pfft, it's just a story,” scoffed Zac.

“It's meant to serve as a warning,” Gabby scolded. “One you would do well to heed.”

“Do it,” he said. “Damn the consequences.”

“No,” Sam said warily, shaking his head. “Rushing headlong into situations like this is what got us into this in the first place.”

“Can you banish a founding witch’s spirit for eternity, let alone find her?” he asked both of them. When they remained silent he said, “Thought so.”

“I'll do it,” Gabby said with a sigh. “Just know that I'm reluctant, but I'm helping you anyway. You owe me, Zac.”

“And we thank you for that,” Sam said pointedly, understanding what Gabby was sacrificing to help them. Witches and vampires had been at war for hundreds of years; that they had become friends in the first place was a miracle.

“What do you need to do for the spell?” Zac asked, interrupting Sam.

“It's part potion and incantation,” she replied, reading through the pages again.

“Okay, so it's an outdoorsy thing,” he said.

“If you want. The spell will leave a calling card of sorts, attached to the place it was cast. It would lead the Witch Hunter here, if here was the place we chose to do it,” Gabby explained, leaving the choice up to the brothers.

“The old cemetery,” Zac said. “I don't want any witchy residue in the house.”

“I have to go get a few things. I will meet you there in an hour or so.” Gabby slipped the grimoire into her bag and made for the front door, not waiting for an answer. She hardly believed that she had been roped into helping them. When Liz found out, she'd be furious.

The cemetery was located on the edge of the main manor grounds, off to the side of the original plantation. Over one up hundred and fifty years, the land had been reclaimed by nature, the swampland encroaching back to its original form.

Most of the cemetery itself was overgrown; falling out of repair as the locals began to forget it ever existed. It was full of people who had died over a hundred and fifty years ago, many Degaud plots among the headstones, their family having been one of the first to have settled in the region. The cemetery was technically located on private property, which was mostly the reason for the lack of upkeep. A space was cleared at the center, which Gabby had worked on herself months before the brothers had returned to Ashburton. It was the place she came to learn her powers and be alone.

The vampire brothers lounged in the afternoon sunlight. Winter was leaving and the humid summer months were creeping closer. Zac had hated the humidity of the swamps since he was a young boy. Travelling north with the Confederates had seen a summer that was devoid of air uncomfortably heavy with moisture, something he had never experienced before. Civil war had opened his eyes in more ways than learning how to kill a man. War had given his human life purpose when his life was a meaningless disappointment to his family and had given his new one the release he had needed.

“You know I have misgivings about this,” Sam said. “We have no idea what meddling with this ancient spell might do. Who it might be calling.”

“Well, too bad. What other option do we have?” Zac sat on a cracked headstone, his feet dangling over the edge, tapping on the side.

“We could find a stronger witch, find a way to deal with this ourselves.”

“Oh, c'mon. Even you're not convinced by that hair-brained scheme. It's written all over your face.” Zac folded his arms, detecting the hesitation in his brother’s plan. “A million bucks says you wouldn't leave in the first place.”

Sam sighed and cocked his head to the side, to let him know that Gabby was approaching. They would continue this later, no doubt. She strode into the cemetery, the grimoire in her arms and a bag slung over her shoulder. “Let's get this over with,” she said, getting right down to business.

They watched as she picked up a long stick and began to draw a rough pentagram in the dirt. Once it was complete, she placed the bowl in the center and poured a dark brown liquid into it from a plastic bottle. Sitting on the ground at the base of the pentagram, she drew her bag close and pulled out a hunting knife. “I need some of your blood. Who wants to do the honors?”

“Why?” asked Sam.

“Vampire blood must call vampire blood. It won't work another way,” she gestured for one of them to come forward.

“Fine. Use mine.” Zac held his hand out. The sooner this was over the sooner they could deal with the bigger issue. It wasn't the greatest feeling to be stalked by a rogue witch from beyond the grave. He'd done some horrible things in his time, but self-preservation was more tantalizing than repenting.

Gabby cut his hand with the knife and wasn't gentle about it either. Clenching his fist, he remained silent as blood dripped into the potion, sizzling as each drop collided with the surface, even though the liquid was cold.

“Now, read this while I do the incantation.” Gabby held out the translation of the spell she had written on a scrap of notepaper.

Snatching it from her he read the incantation and scoffed. “You witches just love your poetry.”

Gabby rolled her eyes. “It's what was written in the grimoire. Just read it and shut the hell up.”

Reluctantly, he began to read as she chanted in some old language they'd never heard before. Witch speak, most likely. “Blood of my blood, I summon thee, blood of my blood, I beseech thee, blood of my blood, in heaven and hell come save me.”

The potion burst into flames and they leaned away from the sudden heat and smoke.

“I guess that means it worked,” Gabby said nervously.

“If it worked where is the vampire?”

“It doesn't work that way, Zac. We put out the call, now we have to wait for an answer.” Gabby stood and began to gather her things.

“So we just go home and wait?”

“Yes, you wait. I didn't want to do this, just you remember that. And it’s all I can do, so you'll just have to be satisfied.”

“C'mon, Zac.” Sam started to walk away. “If the Witch Hunter wants to come, then they’ll come in their own time.”

He watched Gabby's receding form until she disappeared through the trees. Listening to the cemetery closely, he heard nothing but the normal sounds of the forest and Sam's heavy footsteps. How could he wait when he was the one being stalked by god knows what? He knew there was nothing he could do but follow his brother home and keep one eye open at all times. And that annoyed the hell out of him. Hesitantly, he followed Sam home.