It is said that the walls of Jericho were brought down by the sound of horns and trumpets. While I cannot attest to the historical accuracy of that story, I can say with some confidence that it is realistically possible, because after last night, a sound of comparable quality reverberates through my head and it feels like it threatens to shatter my skull.

I groan and roll over, burying my face in a pillow.

"Ugh. Shut up, Sirthis."

What? I wasn't saying anything.

Each of his words feels like a hot knife slicing through the windings of my brain, and I wince.

"I said shut up, please, for the love of everything unholy."

Before he can continue to chat, I scramble out of the sheets and quickly strike a match to light a candle on my dresser. The flame flicks to life, and with a quick spell, the yellow turns a characteristic blue. A pair of tiny white eyes regards me critically.

"What?"

"You look like shit," the demon comments. His voice sounds small and squeaky when he resides in such a small flame. As if he ingested helium. It's hard to take him seriously when he is in that form.

I catch a glance at myself in the mirror above the dresser across the room. The candle casts and unflattering blueish hue on my face, and the bags under my pitch black eyes make me look about 30 years older. I groan again.

"You're draining me, Sirthis. That's why."

"Stop complaining girl, you made this pact with me out of your own volition."

Technically, he is correct. I summoned him, knowing full well the potential risks of offering my body as a host. Demons aren't malicious per se, but they pursue their goals at all costs. Most of them simply desire to cross the threshold between their world and ours. Hitching a ride in a meatbag for a sight-seeing trip of the mortal world. What, exactly, they find so interesting about it eludes me, and not even Sirthis was able to explain it. They are simply drawn to our world, drawn to us. But the deal with Sirthis had an additional catch. I sought something, and so did he. He wasn't satisfied with merely being a passenger, not even with taking control. He had no desire to take the steering wheel, as long as I would fulfill my end of the deal.

"If you put in a little more effort, you'd be done already" Sirthis chides me in his helium-voice.

I ignore his comment, his squeaking is barely audible over the sound of the trumpets anyway. Yet I pick up the candle and languidly traipse into the kitchen. It's the biggest room in the house, furnished with dark wooden cabinets and a central island counter with polished stone surface. The old fashioned furnishings and the familiar scent of dried herbs immediately puts me at ease a bit.

Some witches say it is improper to conduct magic in the same room you prepare food. All I'm saying is, not all of us have the luxury of a basement or attic furnished for ritualistic purposes, and if you've ever spilled a bowl of goat blood on your carpet and spent an hour scrubbing dried bird entrails from your dinner table, you reconsider your stance and begin to appreciate tiled floors and stone surfaces.

That's why I have most of my witching supplies in the kitchen. But the cabinet I rummage in holds something different - regular meds. There's certain situations where good old fashioned modern medicine is superior to witchcraft and alchemy. A killer headache from a hangover is such a case.

I wash down a painkiller with a glass of water.

"You are right, of course," I finally admit to the candle on the kitchen counter. "I think I should get some more sleep, if I'm about to hunt again tomorrow. Since last night was such a-"

The realization strikes like lightning the moment the memories of last night return, and I almost drop the glass in my hand. I completely forgot about my... overnight guest.

Immediately, Sirthis' flame jumps at me to take his usual spot within my eyes again, and I rush towards the living room. The late morning sun is hanging lazily in the sky and piercing through a gap between the curtains, its rays slowly creeping across the living room floor towards the carpet. Slowly, I move around the couch that blocks my view.

There he is, lying flat on the floor, stiff as a board. Immobilized by the dagger I plunged back into his chest when he started to annoy me. He is paralyzed, but his wide-eyed gaze darts to me as I approach. I see rapidly alternating flickers of panic, fury and confusion in them.

So it wasn't a dream.

I staked a vampire last night. And when he started to argue with me, and I was too drunk to figure out what else to do with him, I staked him again.

I am sober now – mostly. But I have to admit, I still don't know what to do. But he doesn't have to know that.

I clear my throat and brush a fold out of the oversized T-shirt I've been wearing to sleep to appear more proper. Though I have a feeling that my get up won't help me much with establishing my authority anyway.

His eyebrow twitches. I think he's angry. And then his gaze moves to the window, and I understand. He thinks I left him here on purpose. The sun is rising, and once the rays move across the floor and reach him, he's in for a world of pain. Direct sunlight can't kill vampires, to my knowledge, but they are extremely sensitive to it. It would definitely burn him crispy.

I move towards the window, and lightly pull at the curtain. I might as well use this opportunity to put some pressure on him.

"So... have you reconsidered my offer?" I ask, trying very hard to put some seriousness and gravitas to my voice, but probably end up sounding more like Sirthis in his candle-form.

Slowly, I approach the vampire, whose gaze remains fixed at the window. As I bend down over him, in the faint morning light I cannot help but notice that he has freckles. A vampire with freckles. Somehow I find that so ridiculous I have to smile.

Be careful, child.

I know what I'm doing, Sirthis.

Oh, are you now?

Shut up, old man.

I am fully aware that as soon as I remove the stake, all that keeps me safe is the circle of runes in the floor. Lats night he seemed to be hungry. By now he must be ravenous. Of course, I could simply kill him. But I don't want to make a mess on my carpet again. And I can't let him go either – one of us wouldn't survive this encounter one way or another, unless I get the vampire to commit to a pact.

Slowly, I start to pull out the dagger from between his ribs. As soon as I feel him twitch under me, I rapidly jerk it out the rest of the way and jump back. He's on his feet in a split second and tries to lunge at me, but once more hits the invisible wall of the runic circle. I've put daggers through the hearts of many creatures in my time, but this is definitely a new experience for me. Normally, things stay rather immobile once you do that to them.

Now the vampire narrows his eyes at me. He's alert, his posture indicates that he is ready for a fight. I grab the dagger in my hand more tightly.

"Why should I trust you?" he croaks.

"You tried to kill me!"

He sounds legit offended.

"As if you hadn't planned to kill me," I comment drily.

"That's not the same. I hunt to survive. And you couldn't have known."

"Oh please. I can smell your kind a mile against the wind."

He scrunches his brows in doubt. "Vampires?"

I give him a look that makes him swallow hard.

"Predators."

He falls silent after that, and I take a moment to properly look at him. Judging from his appearance, he was turned in his late 20s or early 30s. He has an unnatural paleness about him, but he isn't exactly pale – his skin looks tanned, and yet has a sickly whitish hue to it, probably a consequence of not having fed in a while. His eyes are bloodshot, his irises the color of light amber. In his human life, they were probably brown. The Gift makes them more attractive, their bodies stronger and more lithe, it gives them fuller hair and smoother skin, that sort of thing. Still, for a supreme being designed to seduce humans, he kinda looks like shit. I can't blame him thought, we both had a rough night, and I know I probably look the worse for wear just like him.

"Alright. I will let you go, but you will remain bound to me by a blood pact. You will be indebted to me. A life for a life. Sounds fair, doesn't it?"

"How exactly is any of this fair, when I'm stuck in a life-threatening situation?" he whines, and gestures at the window.

"Listen, these are your options. Die, or owe me a favor." I point the dagger at him. "Your choice."

He groanes and turns his back at me. From the tension in his shoulders I can guess that if he wasn't bound by the circle, he'd kill me in a second without hesitation. He begins to pace around in his little runic prison and seems to ponder his options.

"How exactly would that favor look like? What does my debt entail?"

"A life for a life," I shrug. "You'll save my life someday, and your debt will be considered repaid."

"And how would that work, pray tell? If you got yourself in any danger and I were to protect you, what would keep you form simply claiming that you could have helped yourself, and my debt is still not repaid? How can I be sure that you will let me go of this oath one day at all?"

"Smart of you to ask," I admit. "But that lies in the nature of the spell I intend to cast. It's not something I have a say in. Once the favor is returned the spell will dissolve by itself, and you will no longer be bound to me. You will be free to go."

"That's not a very satisfying answer."

"I'm not here to please," I confess, and crack a smile.

He heaves a heavy sigh and crosses his arms before his chest. Admittedly, I can see why he is conflicted. To be indebted to anyone like this is a burden, and the consequences pretty unpredictable. When I made my deal with Sirthis, I certainly didn't expect to end up with a vampire trapped in my living room.

"Listen, I'll be honest with you. I don't want to kill you, I just want to get rid of you. But I'm worried that you'll kill me the moment you get a chance. That's why I want some sort of..."

"Protection?" he says in a mocking tone.

"Reassurance."

We stare at each other for a few moments, and silence descends upon the room. Then his gaze moves to the spot of sunlight slowly creeping across the floor towards the circle that traps him.

"Come on now, it's not gonna be so bad, I promise. Just make the pact, and you will be free to go home. One day I might ring you up, ask you to be my wingman when going out, we'll have a fun little night, and you'll be forever free."

"I have a feeling you won't make it that easy for me."

"Come oooon." I'm starting to get impatient. I'm hungover and tired, and also I really gotta pee.

"It will be great, you'll see. You survive by sucking blood, I cast my magic by shedding it. If that doesn't make for a wonderful collaboration..."

He sighs again. But then he nods.

"Alright then. You shall have my word."

"Excellent!" I jump to my feet and clap my hands together. "Now, let's perform the ritual, and then I will let you go."

"I'll believe it when it happens," he comments drily.

He knows he doesn't have a choice. But I believe he also knows that I do have a choice – and I choose to let him live.

"Your name," I request. "I need to know it for the spell to work."

He hesitates for a moment. He probably knows of the power a name holds.

"Ashton... Hawthorne."

That makes me wonder how old he is. His name sounds old, almost like royalty or something. I wonder about his past, and who he was as a human. When he was a human.

"What about your name?" he asks, as if he read my mind.

"You don't need to know it for the spell to work."

"I know. But I'd like to know who I'm indebted to."

His voice drops low, he almost purrs his question, and he narrows his eyes ever so slightly as his lips curl up into a cordial smile. I, in turn, press mine together, and suppress any inkling of a reflex to respond.

"Oh come on!"

Clearly he's not used to somebody resisting his vampiric charms.

"You don't need to know."

"A nickname, at least?"

I don't answer, I just turn around and start cleaning up the mess from last night's ritual, and prepare for the blood pact. The circle of runes is still in place, keeping him bound to the spot beyond the couch. But with the curtains mostly drawn, he is safe for now. I, however, am not. Without a pact, nothing would keep him from trying to hurt me, especially as long as he is so hungry.

"Bones," he mutters behind me.

"'Scuse me?"

I turn to face him, and find him staring at the wall above the chimney. There, intermingled with framed pictures of landscape photography, are various preparations of bird, fish and rodent skeletons and carcasses.

"What are those?"

"You said it yourself. Bones."

"Yes but... these aren't like any animals I've ever seen."

"Yeah, well. I... made them."

His eyebrows rise to meet his hair line as he stares at me.

"Please tell me you made these sculptures from animal bones after their death, and didn't just mean to imply that you created these abhorrent chimeras while they were still breathing."

I scrunch my brows and frown at him. "Abhorrent?! You know, some people consider it art. It's a hobby."

"You piece together these fantastic skeletons from animal bones? For fun?"

I shrug. "In my free time. I have a lot of those to spare, you know."

A look of recognition washes over his face. "Ah, so... shedding blood, using animals... you must be a black witch, then."

"Excellent deduction, Mister Hawthorne."

Still stuck in the runic circle, he continues to examine my creations from afar with an unreadable expression his face. I wonder how much he really knows about witchcraft.

"Last night, you said you have a deal with the devil," I begin.

"So?"

"You do know that's not exactly true, right? It's a demon."

"I - what do you mean?"

"Vis Vampiris, also sometimes called the vampiric curse, or Gift... the power that turned you, it's neither a curse nor a spell, nor does it relate to the devil itself. It's a demon. Much like Sithis. Except this one takes the form of something that can be transmitted, like a... virus. When you were bitten, you had the choice to accept the Gift, or die. That's when you made your deal, in exchange for your soul. But you made it with a demon, not the devil himself."

He looks at me pensively as I explain. He strikes me as a good listener, and that makes me think I should be more careful what I speak of in his presence.

"Which, of course, doesn't change anything about the impressive nature of your abilities," I continue, "So don't let it diminish your ego."

He scoffs at my words, and I smile. At least I also already know how to distract and tease him.

"That being said," I continue to explain, "it complicates this matter a bit, because our deal will differ from a regular blood pact between two humans, who would both have a soul as bargaining chip, and a pact between a demon and human, where only one has a soul to offer. But, we'll simply improvise a bit, and hope for the best."

From the kitchen, I procure a bronze dagger. I could use the one I staked him with, or a simple kitchen knife, but different spells and magical techniques are greatly facilitated by picking the right material properties. I know a thing or two about daggers, and I have the perfect one for our purpose. I'd love to perform the ritual in the kitchen too, if I had a choice, but the vampire is still stuck in the summoning circle, and I am not gonna let him out before he is bound to me by blood.

And so I come to stand before him, dagger in hand, and take a breath to focus my thoughts. The magic will flow by itself like the blood we are about to shed, but I will have to give it shape. I will have to make the know in the tie that we are about to create. The dagger in my hand seems to tingle, as if charged up with residual electricity. I pull it over the tip of my index finger.

"Very well then, Ashton Hawthorne. By this oath you shall be bound to me by our blood. I shall let you go in peace and not let any harm come to you, and you shall protect my life until your debt to me is repaid. Do you swear to honor this pact?"

I hold out my hand, palm facing forward, the blood from the cut trailing a thin red line as it runs across my palm. He looks at it pensively, and I see a flicker of something dark in his eyes. But then he takes the blade, and cuts his own hand. Just like from the wound in his chest, almost no blood seeps from the cut, but the small droplet that forms will be enough. I can feel the flow of energy softly tugging at the fabric of reality like a slight breeze on a silken curtain.

"I swear."

The moment our hands touch and our blood mingles, I sense the power of the pact, the magic swelling up and filling the air between us, and the invisible band being woven from its hum. I half expected him to lie about his name, but the spell works, so he must have spoken the truth.

The moment it reaches completion, I let go, and he immediately begins to lick the traces of my blood from his palm. Goosebumps rise at the back of my neck and travel down my spine. I cannot help but notice that his tongue is quite long and pointy. It's an unsettling sight, and yet I am transfixed, and continue to stare at the gruesome display.

Until a loud chirping noise rips me back into the real world.

"Oh, bugger."

I hurriedly scramble over to the couch and begin to dig for my phone among the pillows. I can feel the vampire's eyes at my back, but I have more important things to worry about now. The ringtone is unmistakable. I better take that call.

Finally, I pry the damned thing from the couch's grasp. I was too slow to pick up, but the message on the screen is clear enough. I won't need to call back to know what I have to do.

The vampire must have noticed how my face fell.

"Is something the matter?"

I look up and eye him pensively, wondering how much coincidence was in last night's encounter. I don't like to believe in fate. Humans have a tendency to find meaning in the littlest things. But I guess that doesn't make the connections we sometimes find any less mind-boggling, or potentially significant. With a sigh, I push back these thoughts for now and get up to my feet.

"Rejoice, Mister Hawthorne ," I proclaim. "Seems like you might get a chance to repay your debt sooner than we thought."