Red Irises

If the cap fits, steal it.

Red Irises

What can I say, that day started worse than average. I woke up about half an hour earlier than usual, just as my heart was arbitrarily trying to break through my ribs, beating fiercely. It wasn't a very pleasant experience.

After that, I marched grimly into the bathroom. I knew full well that I should avoid the mirror as much as possible, yet my first trip led there. The huge, dark circles under my eyes greatly deteriorated my usually handsome appearance.

"Good morning, sweetie!" my reflection said with a wide grin.

"Shut up," I growled.

"Oh, I see you're in a charming mood today as well," the bogey stated.

"If you keep annoying me, believe me, you'll regret it," I threatened him as I poured water into my cup.

"Come on, I'm just having some fun!" My reflection continued to smile.

"Have fun with Alex," I said, putting toothpaste on the toothbrush.

"But he is already on his way to school," Berry replied.

"Then spare me and disappear before I smash your mirror to pieces," I ordered threateningly.

Berry sighed one last time, then the mirror took over my drawn-out expression. I was finally able to start brushing my teeth. Sometimes, I was wondering if vampires were brushing their second row of teeth, though as yellow as those fangs are, I guess not.

By the way, in this aspect, despite the vampire blood flowing through my veins, I was fortunate: only my canines are longer than average, but even that is only noticeable when you purposefully watch for it.

I went to school, but after the first class, I realized that I shouldn't have woken up that day. Listening to the teacher's speech, I started to feel that the idea of ​​throwing myself out the window the next moment was becoming more and more appealing.

And if I have a bad day, I get everyone else to have a bad day, too. Alice glanced at me anxiously every second, and I got closer and closer to the point where I'd stand up nicely, walk over to him, smile at him, and then charmingly break his neck.

My only pleasure was terrorizing Alex, but of course, it wasn't new, I was tormenting him even when I was in a good mood. The constant target of my bullying was my dear roommate, and I seriously didn't understand why he tolerated me despite complaining about how much he hated my little pranks. Of course, this thought did not mean that I would stop one of my favorite activities just for his peace of mind.

Thursdays were a relatively quiet day of the week, with only seven lessons — plus optional classes were canceled this week, so I only had to survive for six lessons, which was a friendly number.

Alex and I finally went home together. This was important because this way fewer people dared to address me so I could find some peace of mind next to him.

"What would you like to eat today?" he asked.

Alex has been making a living from music lately. He had an ancient guitar, but he was also excellent at playing the violin and piano. He played in all sorts of bars when he had the opportunity, but sometimes he even played music at Széchenyi Square1 for hours if there was no other work.

In addition, of course, he took on any job. He has already worked on many construction sites, he had been once a shop-loading boy, a cleaner, and even a bouncer. In short, my dear roommate is learning very quickly and is versatile. Despite all this, he is not employed right now. God knows why since he is quite likable.

Anyway, he was contacted twice about music last week, and then the big nothing. On Monday and Tuesday, he was a cashier at a nearby grocery shop, but then he confessed last night that he was fired – still a mystery for what reason.

In a nutshell, things were not going well at all, and it could mean only one thing: overtime for me.

Anyway, Alex, to not feel so shitty about the situation, may have decided to cook me something delicious. The thought of food immediately reminded me of minced meat-and-cheese pasta, but I soon discarded it, after all, it's not the most sober thing to dream of lasagne when one is broke.

"Whatever," I shrugged.

The bus stopped in front of us, we stepped on, showing our passes, and then I immediately plopped down on the last available two-person seat. Alex, too, flopped down next to me and put his bag on his lap, I on the other hand put mine on the floor between my legs. The werewolf pulled out his earphones and plugged one ear in, and I immediately reached for the other plug.

He smiled and did not start searching through the music list, just tapped on the play button. The wolf was more fond of metal and rock music anyway, and I was not picky at all, so we never argued about which song to choose. I listened to the first few lines of the song Waking the Demon. I could have even taken it as a sign, thinking back.

(...)

It was a lazy, late October afternoon, just a week and a half from the first full moon in November, which was due to the fifth. The world seemed calm, rather lethargic, despite the imminent culmination of the moon.

Everything was gray: the sky, the city, the streets, the pub, and even the customers. It was pulling with rain for the fourth day in a row, unstoppably; the water had already slipped out of the ditches, gathered in the streets, and slowly reached to my ankles. It was a time when any creature's — be it a human's, a werewolf's, a vampire's, or even my — will to live threw itself out of the window screaming, just to drown in the continuous stream of muddy-wet slush. Excellent.

The effect of charming weather was also affecting the number of customers, as the time was already around ten p.m. and the pub was hollow and empty. Only two drunkards were snoring at one of the back corner tables, but they were actually here when it was raining, snowing, or even when the weather was sunny.

The number of rainy days was inversely proportional to the number of our customers. I didn't even blame the poor devils if I had to make a choice, I'd rather stay at my warm and dry home, and I would have opened one of my secretly reserved bottles of alcohol set aside for an emergency. But if it goes on like this, I must admit that we will go bankrupt in a short time.

For about three minutes, I had been glancing at the figure behind one of the windows. Judging from his height, it must have been a child's form, his eyes longingly surveying the otherwise not very promising, yet dry place, while he was shivering outside.

When he noticed that I was looking straight at him, — which would have been difficult for a human in such light conditions and rain curtain — he hid behind the wall by the window. I sighed deeply, got my leather jacket on, and pulled its hood over my face.

Those two drunkards won't be looking for me for a while anyway, because one was rushing to the toilet with a green face, and the other was just drooling, so I allowed myself the opportunity to leave for a minute. With that, I crossed the room, stopped in front of the back door, then grasped the doorknob and pushed the door open.

I stepped out onto the concrete platform, which was hugged by stairs and a black railing on both sides. The rain drummed rhythmically everywhere, suppressing my silent footsteps. The boy was just looking through the window again, his eyes widening in shock and fear. I think he could have looked for me with his gaze, but I was already standing next to him.

"What are you doing here, kid?" I asked.

The proximity of my voice surprised the boy, who immediately jumped in fright. He didn't answer, he rather decided to flee; he was about to turn his back on me, but I was faster. I grabbed his wrist and then started dragging him towards the glass door. I didn't even feel his protest as he tried to stand still and stop. Meanwhile, he mumbled something, apologized, and kept begging, but he did not really say for what.

I didn't care. I grabbed the doorknob, pushed the door in, and then before the moist, cold air could slither in, I slammed it behind us. I pulled him all the way to the counter and then, not even feeling his weight, lifted him up and sat him down on one of the barstools.

I stepped behind the counter, dropped my coat on the hanger, and even though I didn't have my hand on him anymore, he didn't try to escape. He squirmed on the soft, leather-covered chair, keeping his gaze all the way on the glossy lacquered wood, not even accidentally looking into my eyes.

He smelled like leaf litter and wet fur. A shapeshifter. I sized up the child once more. He had tangled black hair that now wetly clanged to his forehead, his skin pale which stood in great contrast with the dark bags under his eyes — he looked very worn-out and exhausted.

His clothes were soaked, torn in some places, and dirty anyway, so I quickly washed my hands, getting rid of the mud stuck to them. What seemed most awful, though, was the boy's thinness: when I lifted him, I could feel his ribs under my fingers. For how many days did he starve?

I grabbed the towel and threw it on his head. There was no kindness or sympathy in the movement, yet the boy looked up at me, albeit scared. His eyes were unsettlingly green. His gaze was like that of a scared, stray kitten. His pupils were vertical. Cats... They just meow all the time. They love fish. They cough up hairballs after bathing. And I just can't stand them.

He muttered a thank you, to which I did not answer. I never answer, because if someone needs my help, that is always a problem. He rubbed his hair a little, but when he was done, he didn't put the wet fabric away, he let the towel still cover his curls; it fell on his shoulders and back — maybe he found it reassuring, just like some kind of hiding place from the world. You know, like a child finds his blanket reassuring because he believes that it can hide and protect him from the demons lurking in his closet or under the bed.

From the tiny fridge under the counter, I picked up a box of milk, then my usual mug, and some cocoa. For a moment, I disappeared behind a door that led to the kitchen — for the place surprisingly also served food, and orders were often taken out for the elderly.

Finding the micro, I filled the mug with the white liquid and then waited a few minutes for it to warm up sufficiently. After that, I hurried back behind the counter, meanwhile, the boy was still trembling barely noticeably under the wet weight of the light blue towel.

I opened the cocoa and put three spoons of the dark powder into the hot milk, and I even stirred the drink, which slowly turned brown. I sighed deeply and pushed the mug in front of the boy.

"You have to put up with this" I stated, "I can't serve alcohol to anyone under the age of eighteen."

The boy held the simple white mug between his two palms and, after taking one sip of his drink, sighed with satisfaction.

"Thank you," he muttered softly.

"It'll be five hundred."

It was expensive, but it was my own cocoa!

"Pardon?" He looked up at me with huge eyes.

Now seriously, did he think I'd give him anything for free?

"The cocoa. It costs five hundred forints2," I explained quickly reaching my hand in anticipation.

"I... I...," he stuttered, but he didn't really make any sense, he was repeating that one syllable.

"Listen," I said, fed up with his lack of communication skills. "If you want something, say so, but don't stutter like an idiot."

"I don't have money," he finally muttered.

I wanted to open my mouth again to speak but he suddenly cast his gaze toward the black door, then looked at me again scared shitless.

"Please... !" he pleaded, "Please! They're coming for me!"

After a moment, I understood why he was so terrified: Geri's characteristic scent hit my nose. I quickly grabbed the neck of the torn sweater, lifted the boy above the counter, and let him fall to the ground. Just in time, for the next moment, the door opened.

The hunters entered with Geri at the front, who, after getting rid of his hood, flashed me a bright smile that made me blind in an instant. Despite all this, I also put on my slight smile, which we both knew how fake really was.

"Hi!" he waved to me.

"What brings you here?" I asked.

"We found the thief and followed him this far," he declared, surveying the place barely noticeably. "Did you see a kid around here?"

My heart skipped a beat. I felt thin fingers gripping into my jeans.

"Kid?" I asked instead of answering.

I knew right away who it might be.

"Yes, he is around a hundred and forty centimeters tall, he has black hair. He looks pretty war-wearied, so he would have caught your attention," he described the pickpocket, showing his height by waving idiotically in the air.

"Okay, let me think." I nodded, then pretended to think. "No, I didn't see him."

For God's sake, if they take the problem child away, they won't accidentally forget the shard of life here either — and I would be happiest if Alistair gets the brat with the amulet first and only then hunters.

"Are you sure?" Geri asked.

"Absolutely," I nodded again.

"Then we won't bother you any longer," he said, but I didn't like the smile on his lips. Geri used to grin like this when he knew something I didn't.

"Goodbye, Shay," he waved, turning his back to me, then headed for the door. The other hunters nodded silently and followed him.

I thought about that smile even after the hunters left. Then the next moment I understood everything.

"Damn it!" I hissed.

The boy stood up, looking around carefully as I stared at the still steaming cocoa with such murderous rage that I wondered why the mug hadn't exploded into a million tiny pieces yet.

"Thanks..."

"Don't be so happy," I growled, "they'll be back."

He followed my gaze and he instantly understood why I said that. We stood there in silence for moments, then the brat moved, and it was written on his face that he wanted to escape again.

"Where are you going?" I grabbed his wrist.

"I have to get out of here," he replied.

"No," I said, my voice imperative, and he immediately shuddered back. "I'm quite involved because of you, so start talking. Then I'll see if I hand you over to the hunters or not."

The boy looked up at me but stubbornly remained silent.

"Why did you steal the amulet?" I asked.

His fingers involuntarily gripped his sweater around the chest area, as if he was afraid of me taking his pendant from him. Poor, naive kid, he thinks his resistance would matter... I'll take pity on him. Or not. Rather not.

"I have to save someone," the boy stated.

I had to hold myself back so I wouldn't laugh out loud.

"What?"

"I have..."

"I understood what you said," I interrupted him.

He remained silent. The phone was in my pocket, and I knew I should call Alistair right away. Never in my life have I been so sure of what to do. What would be the simplest, easiest, and right thing to do. Yet I did nothing, just a quiet, yet hard word left my mouth.

"Scram."

He didn't answer, just walked slowly to the door, opened it, and stepped silently into the frosty rain. After a few moments, I saw the green eyes at the window, the same place where our gaze first met. He merely gave me another skeptical look, still not sure if I would let him go so easily.

Then his eyes widened, and another figure appeared beside him, picked him up, then disappeared. It left nothing but the memory of red, burning irises in my mind. Vampires.