"And I suppose you've come to destroy me as well?" He laughed heartily. "Perhaps, you might find me a bit more formidable."
"I came to talk. To talk about responsibility - "
"I think you mean slavery. Responsibility? To who? Humans?"
"Did you not think it irresponsible to give such power to such vain, arrogant, immature creatures? They were a danger to us all."
His face pinched in disgust. "My children were glorious! True hunters in the way we were meant to be."
"Murderers!"
"Hunters, not murderers," the shopkeeper countered. "You, my good fellow, are pathetic. You're decadent. Are you forgetting what you are? Weare superior. The humans should worship us. Like the old days."
"Humans have advanced far beyond that. They have evolved while we merely fight extinction." Francois, after all, had predicted the Age of Reason centuries before it came to be and was correct to foresee that it would provide a better world than the ignorant, superstitious one left behind.
"You just don't know what it's like being worshipped. A hundred and fifty years ago, I was worshipped. You can't know - "
Something within my mind clicked. "You're Cornish, aren't you?"
A loud laugh exploded from deep within my gut. "The Cornish lead miners who settledWisconsin , it was they who worshipped you, was it not? You are the original Bucky Badger. Were your ceremonial robes cardinal red?"
Anger seethed from his pores at the mention of the ridiculously anthropomorphized weasel who functions as mascot for theUniversity ofWisconsin athletic teams and is the noted emblem for the entire state ofWisconsin .
"They feared me all right!" he roared, then calmed and shook his head condescendingly once again. "I can't believe what a pathetic, poor excuse for a vampire you are." He shook his head sadly in a badly contrived gesture. "Is this what the modern world has come to? Good God, man, you've got the noble blood of Isis and Osiris coursing through your body, yet you slink through the shadows, relying on rats and other vermin to satisfy your hunger. You're a coward, that's what you are. A coward!"
Why does my kind so often fall prey to the popular mythos of our origins? The truth is that not one of us has any idea how we came to be, though some like to invent such noble origins.
Without tensing or flinching, he raised his hands up to the counter, pushed down and leaped at me.
Bending my knees, I twisted away from his lunge and shoved the shopkeeper hard as he passed. He crashed into a wall. I spun and slammed the back of my fist against the man's jaw. He kicked upward blindly, connecting squarely with my chest, staggering me. A breath brought a sliver of pain. The kick had caused a hairline fracture of my breastbone, which might split in two even pieces if he connected again before the bone repaired itself.
The shopkeeper leaped to his feet, feigned with an elbow to the head, then came underneath. A fist pounded my sternum. A foot struck the back of one of my heels. I toppled backward, pain slivers transformed to razor-sharp shards. The shopkeeper jumped on top of me, pressing against my torso with all his weight. An edge of my sternum pressed against my lungs. My mouth filled with the salty taste of my own blood.
Razor sharp fangs lowered toward my jugular, eyes glowing obsidian, surprisingly strong arms pinning my shoulders and arms to the floor.
A shock of realization washed over me. One thousand years of existence would end here because overwhelming pain obscured my ability to muster enough concentration to turn to mist and escape his grasp. Given just a short interim, the injury would heal enough for me to escape, but time was indeed a luxury; the shopkeeper lowered for the kill.
No! The mind can think. The mind can reason. The mind can sift for possibilities, even when none seem apparent. Despite the fire burning in my chest, despite the utterly hideous sensation of bone knitting back together, an idea came to mind. For a very short moment, I pushed futilely against his grasp with all my might, then relaxed, giving up any semblance of struggle.
With a harsh cough, a bubble of blood formed on my lips. I allowed my face to contort into a look of fear, conceding defeat, showing him resignation, hoping he would take the opportunity to savor his victory.
My attacker's smile broadened. His descent stopped. Yes,