Photo courtesy of Peter Griffin

Lawson gazed into her pale face, running his fingers through her long, dark hair. "Endolyn?" he whispered, but she did not stir. He kissed her forehead, and walked out of the room, leaving the door ajar.

He sat down at his workbench, and turned the lantern clock over. Opening its back, he gazed inside, and noticed a brass gear slightly bent to one side. He reached in, and fished it out, setting it on the table. Banging down with his riveting hammer, he straightened the metal disc, and eased it back in place. Lawson turned the clock upright, and watched the pendulum begin to swing.

As the clock chimed, Lawson spotted his wife across the room. "My love, what is it?" He jumped off the stool. "You should be resting. Come, have a seat." He led her to the table.

Endolyn sat down, gaping at her odd surroundings. As he took her hand, the skin darkened and bruised over. She whimpered, and placed her head on the wooden table.

"Hang in there, dear." Lawson patted her softly. "The doctor will be here by morning."

She beat down her fist, over and over until it bled.

Photo courtesy of Peter Griffin

The hunter galloped up the cobblestone, raising his repeating crossbow as Vissorouy fell away. As brambles swept over the hill, he squeezed off three successive bursts. Arrows whirred through the air and erupted, incinerating the thorny tangles, and flattening the hill. Dirt and thorns flew high into the air, blood spurting out the broken vines. While the brambles smoldered, Lawson veered off, thundering up the path, and snaking around the flank.

As he whipped around the bend, the hunter unleashed a second volley. Silver needles arced into the valley, detonating one after another, and severing the lines extending from the forest. Blackened tendrils flailed, desperate to shake the flames from them and rethread with the core.

Photo courtesy of Vera Kratochvil

Buckets sloshed from hand to hand, running along a human chain from the pier to the street. Snails squealed at the steady onslaught of seawater, pressing forward defiantly, and backing the men into the dock. One pounced, snapping a man in two, and tossing his remains into the sea.

Essinger cut off the advance, striking out with both swords, and fracturing teeth as they snapped down. "More seawater!" he shouted.

Saltwater splashed against the snail's wounds, scorching layers off its amorphous mass as the vampire carved it to pieces.

"Brothers, your women and children lie at your back. Do not founder!" Essinger screamed. "Hold fast; do not give an inch. The community is your shield; together we shall stand!"

Photo courtesy of Amy Quinn

The crusader bounded from rooftop to rooftop, glancing at the street below. Zombies pawed at the townspeople as they fled, aroused by the commotion. As they pursued, slugs exploded out of the mud, tossing women and children aside, and devouring the witless cadavers.

Essinger peered over the rooftops, and spotted the brigade ahead. Fifty men idled by the docks, staring listlessly as families screamed and fled.

"Hey," Essinger called out; but before he could jump down, the roof jerked forward. He tripped over the crown, smashing clay tiles as he tumbled, and snagging the edge of the roof with one hand.

"Please, help." A woman cradled her child.

Photo courtesy of Voltphoto

"My lord!" Lawson dragged aside Lord Vangley as the cobblestone walk crumbled.
Demons erupted from beneath, black and gold stripes adorning their amorphous forms. One slithered out, spearing a cadaver with its crooked teeth. As it took the zombie in its mouth, a second monstrosity snapped off a piece for itself.

Laurent gasped. "They are nearly the size of a house."

"Any other infestations I should be aware of?" Lawson raised an eyebrow.

The behemoths snaked forward, twitching eyestalks dangling from their bulbous heads. They prodded the adjacent grounds, snatching up the remaining corpses before setting their sights on the hunter.

Laurent cocked his bow.

"No Laurent, you are too close!" Lawson screamed as he pulled the trigger.

Photo courtesy of Renaude Hatsedakis

The hunter dropped the cadaver, and sawed it open. "More seeds," he uttered. "No doubt this is a fabrication, but how did Enura plant so many so soon? Graveyards are scattered throughout town; even plots exist by the estate house. Surely we would have seen her."

"Perhaps they came with the rain," said Laurent.

"Seeding clouds would be impressive, but not feasible," Lawson replied. "Besides, why not just poison the rainwater?"

"I know from whence they came," said Deverrell.

"And so should you, just the same," said Dionte.

The hunter crossed his arms. "Well, speak."

Photo courtesy of Sigurd Decroos

The undead corpse of a vampire snapped at one of the spectators, before turning its attention back to the rose bush.

"That's odd," Lawson said, staring at the courtyard.

"What is it, Lawson?" Laurent asked.

Without answering, the hunter unbolted the front door, and stepped outside.

"Are you mad? Surely they will attack you." Laurent tried pulling him back inside.

"Will they?" Lawson walked to the center of the courtyard and stood. Zombies devoured the flowers and bushes, not paying any heed.

"They do not appear interested in us, at least not yet," said Lawson. "Without inhibitions, a vampire's first inclination should be to attack a mortal, but even that appears secondary to their newfound hunger."

Photo courtesy of bxtr

Lawson gasped, and hurled his fork at the intruder. The zombie staggered, and then fell down, moaning at the splinter in its eye.

"Lawson, what have you done?" Lord Vangley stood. "I told you no weapons in Vissorouy!"

"My apologies, my lord. I guess I overreacted."

Tears filled Vangley's eyes. "Eleanor...could it be? Oh, momma." He stepped forward and embraced the cadaver. "Look at you, aren't you adorable?" He kissed the hole in her cheek. As he held her close, the shriveled corpse peeked over his shoulder with its one good peeper.

Photo courtesy of Photos8.com

The hunter descended the grand staircase, his polished boots echoing off the marble stairs. "So nice to have the opportunity refresh oneself, especially with warm water." He joined Lord Vangley and his sons below. "But we must not breathe too easily. Rain provides the cover Enura needs."

"Even with the downpour, there are eyes on the forest," Vangley replied.

"There is something else, my lord," said Lawson. "During her visit, I noticed a series of bumps rising from her back. My arm grazed them as she held me close. They were firm, like bone." He stepped forward. "Enura is transforming; I am afraid we do not have much more time."

"Or, that whore caught something she cannot shake," the elder chuckled. "Do not fret, Lawson. Come, have a bite to eat. Olivia prepared something extraordinary for us this evening."

"Did she?" He forced a smile.

They stepped into the dining hall as servants placed a large silver platter in the center of the table.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Please, have a seat." Olivia stroked the point of a knife.

Photo courtesy of Konstantinos Dafalias

The hunter jumped on his steed, and sprinted down the pier. Jerking his reigns, he galloped over the sandy dunes, and thundered into town. Amid the sprawling structures and uneven streets, he lost sight of the hillside. Rocky cliffs to the south, he had no choice but to blaze through the center of town, and catch the trail farther north.

Families huddled in the streets, whispering and pointing at Lawson. Miffed they did not know enough to clear his way, he shouted, "Fire!" Still unmoved, he circled the cobblestone walk, and dashed through the unfinished framework of The Black Swan Inn, ducking down an alley before rejoining Main Street.

"Fire," he called again as he passed through the Vangley estate. Gardeners gaped at him as he galloped by, more concerned about the debris kicked up by his horse than the impending firestorm. Every moment crucial, the hunter cursed as he slowly traversed the bend. His steed still fresh, it was simply more strides than he cared to remember.

Photo courtesy of Ivan Bliznetsov (iStockPhoto)

"Then that would make you responsible for the tragedy in Mayenne," said Lawson. "Why do you do such things, my lady?"

"We both scouted Mayenne for the same reason, Lawson. After all, they were vampires. Surely you do not object," she replied.

"Vampires did not control the entire village. There were innocents, too." Lawson turned aside as they trotted along. "I doubt you came all this way for a horse. Why are you here, Enura?"

"Shhh..." She closed her eyes. "Do you hear that, my love?" The wind swept through her ivory hair. "The shore is not far. Come." She whipped her reigns.

The tan mare bolted forward. Lawson pursued, careful not to lose her as she zigzagged through the crowd. He had been wise to give her a timid Caspian; no matter how far she thundered, he easily closed the distance. As Taurus broke across the white sands, Enura disappeared from view. Nearby, the caramel steed lingered, dipping its snout in the tide.

Photo courtesy of Fernando Weberich

White and crimson petals danced in the wind as the hunter ambled through the courtyard. Loose roses tumbled by, inviting him to step around or crush the virgin bulbs.

Olivia's mark still fresh, he circled the stables, noting the sweet scent of olives. He stepped inside, noticing a woman in a silk dress stroking Taurus' mane with her glove. The lady turned, her ivory hair falling out of her white tricorn hat. "Good afternoon, Lawson," she said.

The hunter gasped. "Enura."

"I am pleased you found your way to me." Her pale eyes pierced him.

"My lady." He bowed slightly. "I was not expecting you here."

Photo courtesy of Shonna Clark

Lawson slipped inside the room, hanging his bloody coat on the brass veneer. He stripped off his stained shirt, and wiped specks of blood from his spectacles. As he checked his glasses, he noticed a telescope by the window. Though in desperate need of a bath, he resisted the urge, and crossed the wood floor.

Peering through the eyepiece, he stared off into the distance. Mist snaked in and out of the foliage, the recipient of a recent downpour. The hunter scanned for signs of the witch or her brambles, but saw neither.

Suddenly the door opened behind him. He jumped back, catching sight of the naked body exiting the adjoining bath. "I am terribly sorry, my lady." Lawson turned his head aside. "I did not anticipate you here."

Olivia made no effort to cover her voluptuous form. "What troubles you, Mr. Parker?" She dried herself with a towel.

Photo courtesy of aschaeffer

The clatter of boots rang through Lawson's ears as he neared the Vangley estate house. Spotting the domes and spires a short distance away, he took a deep breath, and rushed forward. As he crossed the stables, a cast of unshaven ruffians poured out, halting his advance.

"You must be the Salander's brigade," the hunter caught his breath.

Dozens of roughnecks snaked around him, the largest stepping forward with an ash bludgeon in hand. Without warning, he struck Lawson in the ribs, knocking him back.

But the hunter did not fall.

"Seems I am not the only in need of manners this afternoon." Lawson shed his coat, and tossed it on the ground.

Photo courtesy of Gareth Weeks

Icy beads trickled down the hunter's spine as he approached the northern outskirts of Vissorouy. "A dozen, perhaps more," he whispered to himself, taking note of the clatter of boots across cobblestone. Powerless to confront the shadows skulking him, Lawson pressed on, the echo of heels close and steady.

As he turned the corner, the hillside came into view. Hundreds of volunteers combed the golden brush, depositing weeds and scrub into tall piles. A man in a dark cloak caught his eye, every patch of flesh concealed despite the sweltering heat. "Laurent?"

The vampire peered over his shoulder, brown hollows gleaming. "Lawson, what are you doing here?"

"I went to the estate house to speak with your father, but he was not there. How is your progress?"

"Another hour and this section will be clear," he replied.

Photo courtesy of Frances Magee

The hunter ripped open the door. "Why does Vissorouy not have a firehouse?" he exclaimed.

Two men sitting on either side of a desk stared at the intruder.

"Would you mind if we picked this up later?" Salander Roach said calmly, closing the file before him.

The client nodded, and exited the room.

"What is this all about?" Roach primped his brown curls. "Would it kill you to spare a little courtesy?"

"There is no time for courtesy." Lawson stepped forward.

Photo courtesy of Bern Altman

"Thank you for taking me on short notice, Mr. Didier. Time is scant; forgive me in advance for my candor." Lawson booted over the cobblestone drive.

"My...pleasure." The portly man struggled to keep up.

"Approximately how many souls are in Vissorouy? 1,000? Perhaps more?"

"Frankly I am not sure. Less, considering all the killings." Claude gasped.

The two clanked over wooden planks as they entered the boardwalk.

"What of Vissorouy's fleet? Please, be candid."

"Easy, there is none."

Photo courtesy of Bertil van Kolthoorn

The hunter spread a map over the desk, and pulled a drafting compass from his leather bag. He stabbed one end on the Vangley estate, and the other on the edge of the forest. Comparing the expanse to a scale on the map, he shook his head. "Still too close."

Laurent entered the room, dawning a fresh shirt and pants. "How is father?"

"As usual, his plate was full, but I did manage to address our concerns."

Laurent stared at Lawson, and then smirked. "Did he use the lame hen routine again?"

Lawson hesitated, and looked down at the map.

"I've warned him of his indiscretions, but what can I do? I am only his son. Hopefully Olivia will not poison him again when she finds out."

"Poison?" Lawson looked up.

Photo courtesy of Cynthia Berridge

Though day, the hunter knew Lord Vangley would be restless, toiling over the day's affairs, and surmising what he would have done differently. As Lawson approached the door to his office, Laurent excused himself to tidy up.

"My lord, if I may have a moment." He tapped gently. "There is an urgent matter I wish to discuss."

The clanking of furniture greeted him, followed by the sound of hurried hands over paper, a thump followed by a groan, and giggle of a woman.

"Come in," came the elder's voice.

Lawson stepped inside, and pulled the door shut.

Photo courtesy of Cherie Wren

Shafts of light slipped through the cracks of the boarded window, coaxing the hunter from his sleep. He removed The Conquest of Massadin from his chest, and considered its parting wisdom. "Defenses," he uttered.

Lawson stood, and wandered a few rows back. "Laurent?" he called. "Laurent, please wake." He shook the broken pew.

The vampire did not rise, not even when Taurus licked his pale face.

"We must leave at once, Laurent."

The vampire cracked open his eyes. "I dreamt of a goddess kissing my brow, but as often the case, she turned out to be a horse." He brushed the long, black locks from his face.

Taurus bowed its head, and sneezed.

"I also dreamt a waterfall washing over me. Might it have been?" He sniffed his clothes.