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Rated: E · Short Story · Fantasy · #977703
The third installment for my 'avid' readers.
Demon Hunter
Chapter 3


Vincent stared around, several well dressed ladies were enjoying a quaint picnic above a horse drawn carriage. The wheels of which were spewing slurry all over the various people lying in the gutters.
“Ah, 18th century London, just as I remembered it,” he muttered under his breath; lost in a world of nostalgia. He was sharply awoken, however, when a window opened above him and the contents of a bucket where thrown out. Reacting quickly Vincent dived to the right and narrowly avoided the bucket’s foul smelling contents; he ended up sprawled upon the cobbled road and just in time for him to be ran down by a small cart driven by a farmer.
“Stay out of the road you darned fool!” the farmer cursed as he cracked the reins and carried onto some unknown destination. Vincent groaned and turned over and out of the corner of his eye he saw a lady running up to him.
“Oh you poor, poor man, I must take you to a physician immediately!” she cried as she reached the stricken Vincent.
He was about to comply when he realised where he was and quickly decided he would end up worse off than he was now if he went to an 18th century English doctor.
“Nah I- ahem, I mean, No not at all my good woman, any malice I may have incurred from my misfortune is surely temporary. Look now, I am barely bruised, but I thank you and am eternally indebted to you for your kindness.” Vincent hastily replied with a low bow taking the lady’s hand and kissing it lightly, “here, take this token as a symbol of my gratitude,”. He reached into the inner recesses of his clothes, took out a small gold coin and handed it to her (this, of course, was merely to try and get rid of her, Vincent's gentlemanly conduct died along with the dinosaurs). Then, bowing once more, he hastily retreated down the street.

The lady stared at the coin in her hand for a moment; she noticed it’s strange design as the head stamped on it’s front was not that of a king of Europe to be sure. Quickly coming back to her senses she started to run towards Vincent calling out,
“Surely I am not worthy of such a fine gift milord, please allow me to repay you by helping you find your way in this bustling city. Your mannerisms clearly mark you as a stranger, and London can be confusing even to a native such as myself”. Vincent considered her proposal and stopped in his tracks: he hadn’t been here in a while and could do with a guide. He turned around and greeted the flustered woman.
“I thank you for your proposal, I am in need of a guide for I am indeed a stranger to this fine land; I may need lodgings as my business here may detain me longer than I had originally intended. If you could direct me to the closest establishment you may consider your debt repaid.” he said, “allow me to introduce myself, my name is Vincent Tanoan esquire, at your service madam,”.
“And mine at yours good sir, my name is Emily, Emily Smith, and if I may be so bold, I have a room to let and I would be happy to have a gentleman lodger.” she replied. Vincent eyes darted around: on one hand he did need to get on the track of this demon but on the other he found this lady to be somewhat compelling. After an intense internal battle he came to a conclusion.
“That sounds positively divine Ms.Smith, but may I see the property before I make my decision?” he asked with a smile.
“Of course you may and I am delighted to meet you; one does not find many gentleman of such fine standing such as yourself in London today as there are far too many ruffians and brutes. Now, if you would follow me we shall soon reach the property in question.” she answered blushing slightly. Then without further ado she grabbed Vincent by the hand and dragged him along………

Back in the modern day, a mysterious massacre in Prague effected all of Europe. Millions watched the news; desperate for any reports on this grisly genocide. The police suspected them to be religious and ritualistic as on the back of one of the bloody cadavers the sign of the pentagram was clearly defined. The police were baffled and after a few months of no leads, helped along by the mysterious death of the chief investigator of the case, it was filed as unresolved. Meanwhile in a train headed to Moscow a finely dressed gentleman sat in the back of the carriage reading a newspaper shared a private joke with himself as the train headed to it’s destination………
© Copyright 2005 An abecedaric belesprit (the_fools_fool at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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