AN/ Trying to decide which person I like better in this story, First or Third. Your opinion is valued also. This chapter tells you under the title who's POV this is from.

Chapter one: Pot and Weed

Cassie

I lowered myself to the pavement, avoiding the blows of the thin bull whip that could easily slice me in half if at the correct speed. Commando crawled a few meters forwards, the texture of the floor aggravating my elbows. The street was almost pitch black, except for the flashlight that had been hit out of my hand minutes before.

I let out a deafening wail as the thin strip of leather beat my lower back. Tears obscured my vision for a split second, but that quickly faded and I resumed crawling across the tarmac.

"Fuck!" I yelled as the whip slapped my back again, and I resisted the urge to put my head up and howl in pain. Knowing if I raised any part of body the whip could send it spinning to the other side of the room, and I had grown rather attached to my head.

The silver cross round my neck was now across on the other side of the road, and I found myself crawling frantically towards it and wrapping it round my wrist. I felt slight embarrassment at that, being so sentimental over a piece of jewelry. But it had more than just sentimental value, it had kept me safe and aided me physiologically. The monster was eyeing my movements suspiciously, concerned that I was about to try and pull something off.

I rolled to the left quickly, avoiding a blow to the head from the creature's free hand. Looking at the monster from an upside down point of view, I saw that it had not stopped spinning the whip when it had stuck its arm out.

An ear piercing scream of agony made my head pulsate in pain, but that was all forgotten when I had to wipe the blood out of my eyes. A split second of looking away, but that was all it needed to throw its dismembered arm at me.

I jumped, and grabbed onto the lamppost above me. Quickly pulling myself up, and taking pleasure in the groans of annoyance beneath me. The arm had missed me by miles.

I leapt down, anger making me want to end this now and just go home to bed. Yet, I took the short interval to address the creature directly.

"Xavier Downheart." It looked at me with a bemused expression, puzzled as to how I knew it's real name. "You are wanted by the D.A.D for the slaughtering of-"

"I know, I know." He cut me off with a wave of his hand. I was taken aback by his voice, with his scaly legs I had been expecting something much more serpent like. Instead it was more of a deep, hypnotic rumble. As it stepped closer towards me, I could see he was walked on all fours. His torso a mass of white blood soaked fur, and a tail that looked more like a tumor was being dragged behind him. Xavier had a few good meters on myself, but lowered himself to my level as he replied.

"The murder of all 'em prossies in Amsterdam." He growled, saliva dripping down his chin.

I cocked my head, now it was my turn to be confused. The D.A.D wanted him for the killing of Sammy. A fellow agent who had not quite been able to measure up to the standards set by the association. He had died. Just like everyone else who weak. I had felt no sorrow at his death, stupid people died stupid deaths. Besides, his death had certainly boosted Pot and Weed's faith in me. Being female, I was expected to be weak, pathetic, and pretty damn useless. But if an agent like Sammy died, it proved that I was just as good, if not better, than the rest.

I sighed, "We can do this the easy way or the-" Xavier belted me round the middle, sending me crashing into the brick wall behind me.

"Hard way!" He bellowed, dragging out the phrase in an almost comical way. I massaged my stomach quickly, feeling for broken bones. One rib felt more tender than the rest, but I knew I had to chase after him.

Getting to my feet I saw that Xavier was hobbling down the road at a spectacular speed. Now with the absence of his arm he was going to be easier to catch. I smiled, pulling a short katana out of its sheath and testing it in my bloody hands. None of them ever made it easy. It always had to be an elaborate game of cat and mouse.

I rubbed my arms, positive that the temperature had plummeted. Fog was twisting itself round Xavier's silhouette, hiding him in the darkness.

I began chasing after him, dodging rubbish bins and old banana peels. I detested London. Litter, druggies, and the number one place on demons hit lists. But tonight it was strangely quiet. No music pulsating from clubs, no drunken yells, no cursing teenagers, the only sound I could hear was the rhythmic sound of my own two feet.

A cross road posed the first problem, which way to turn? Soon my question was answered when I tripped over a body on the ground. It was a young woman, covered in a fine film of saliva and blood. Her legs where located a few meters away, brutally torn apart like a rag doll. Her lower jaw was missing, and her tongue was blackening in her mouth. Out of pity more than human decency I put my fingers to the neck. Dead. Not that I had suspected that the girl was still alive. Since her guts were littering the street, forming a trail.

I took the left and continued to jog, ignoring the aggravating sound of my boots on the cobbles. Looking to my right I saw that all the shops were closed, heavy metal bars offering mild protection. An excellent place to hide out if the battle got to bad.

The trail was easy to follow, almost too easy, as the blood made it glint in the moonlight. The trail soon ceased, and left me standing outside the monstrously huge doors of Westminster abbey. Even larger than the door were its towering spires. Fun to get impaled on, I quickly became disgusted with myself at thinking that. I pushed open the door, fully prepared for something horrendous on the other side.

"Knock knock." The voice echoed through the empty halls, rattling the many paintings on the walls.

I spun, the light giving an eerie shine to the floor. The voice sounded like it had come from the north, and a sign told me that to the north was Chapter house.

I didn't like the sound of my squeaking footsteps, so I stopped walking. The silence was disturbing. My breath formed twisted shapes as I inhaled deeply, trying to smell him out. I gulped, sweat was dripping down my forehead and I quickly wiped it away with my arm. Peering round the corner I saw that a memorial tomb was to my right, and I tentivly side stepped towards it.

Satisfied that no one was around, I got to my knees and looked up at the ceiling.

"To the Unknown solider I pray," I began, assuming a praying position. "May all my sins be forgotten, for I fight in the name of the Lord." My fingers found the crucifix round my neck and twisted it round my fingers and for the first time I considered it a high form of blasphemy. Wearing a crucifix when you didn't believe in God's existence. I had taken to wearing it at all times, even though my heart knew that Dracula was dead. Even though I had stood and watched him die, it didn't banish the fear that lay dormant in the back of my mind when I was distracted.

"Boo." The simple word echoed again through the draughty corridors. I got up quickly, fear making me turn my head frantically. It had sounded close. My hand was tightening around that katana, almost snapping its handle in two. Thinking quickly, I pressed my back against the wall, feeling instant relief that Xavier could only get her from one angle.

"Smashy, smashy!" He leapt down from the ceiling, cackling insanely. I threw myself to the side as he bought his single remaining fist down in one single dramatic thud. The tomb was reduced to dust.

I coughed, my head spinning. He was running…I got up and ran after him.

"Game over." I smiled and blocked the single exit. Xavier looked frightened for a split second, but then thrust himself out through the stain glass window.

"Well," I commented as I walked outside. "That couldn't have gone better." I eyes the body of Xavier, a huge piece of glass sticking out from his heart. His body would decompose fully within hours, and would never be seen again.

The sun was beginning to rise, and I walked quickly to the train station. I wrinkled my nose and tried to ignore the stench of urine and alcohol as I walked through the streets. My long black jacket I had dumped since it was covered in blood. I was cold in only a pair of jeans and a black and white layerd tank top. High boots shielded my legs from the water splashed in puddles, but did nothing for my wet hair.

I purchased a ticket quickly, and moved at an even faster speed to the compartment at the very end. Shutting the door behind me and sighing with triumph.

A man sat, legs elegantly crossed and face hidden behind a newspaper. He waited a full seven beats before speaking.

"You shattered the glass windows in the Chapter house." He stated bluntly over his newspaper. "Not to mention destroying the tomb of one of our own, how could you deface the mark of our Unknown Warrior?"

I retorted. "And Xavier Downheart's death doesn't justify it?"

"No."

We sat in an uncomfortable silence, both standing and hands on guns as Pot burst in. He gave us both a glance, and chose to look down at a armful of candy. Obviously he had assumed this would be a long trip.

"I cleared the scene." He said, as if expecting a medal. If he was looking for an award, now was not the time.

The two men resembled FBI agents, black suits and sunglasses despite their being indoors. Pot had that look of a boy who never grew up, and his appearance only strengthened that synopsis. Fluffy blond hair fell into his eyes and face was well rounded, and unlike most men his age he lacked the pot belly or six pack.

Weed on the other hand leant against the wall casually, the man must have been in his late twenties, and looked more the part than his partner. He gave me a single look of loathing, one that I had never even seen in the demons I destroyed, before facing his partner.

Pot and Weed were the last two people keeping the D.A.D (defense against the darkness) association going. Once in time there had been five, and now only one remained. Their roles in this were strictly caretakers, they monitored the world for supernatural activity, trained agents, but the fitting word for their places in the D.A.D had to be bosses.

"You could've tried to bring him in alive." Weed grumbled, and sat back down behind his newspaper. I wanted to retort with the childish gesture of sticking out my tongue but restrained myself, the last thing I wanted was an excuse for him to treat mr like a child.

After a few beats of no one saying anything, I felt compelled to say something. "Maybe I did try. Jackass."

"Well obviously you didn't try hard enough." He snapped. Then folded his newspaper and promptly stood a meter away…shooting daggers into my head.

"You think you're so great then you try it in the field." My comment stung like a slap round the face. Neither of them knew anything about really being out there on the front line. Both lived in the black and white side of crime, good and bad, people always cooperated. Good always triumphed.

All bitter sweet lies.

"I know that if you weren't so busy looking for your next high-"

"Shut it." Pot didn't yell, but the tone of his voice was so menacing we were both silenced. Everyone knew what he meant by my 'high'. My killing high. Sometimes weeks went without a kill, and when I finally slaughtered something…I felt so satisfied. It was wrong. It was sick. But damn it made me feel good.

Pot stood, hands on his hips giving him the look of an exhausted mother who had no clue as to what to do with her rebellious children. "Cassandra, we'll discuss this later. And, Weed, kindly go and…" Weed got up and left. Leaving me annoyed. There is nothing worse than being left out of the loop.

He gestured for me to sit, an offer I rejected, preferring to stand and gaze out at the countryside as they traveled home.

"Felix missed you." He attempted to start a conversation, I merely grunted, not in the mood to discuss my plainly adorable younger brother. I knew precisely where his conversation was going to turn next, and desperately wanted to avoid it.

"I got a letter from your mother yesterday." That remark captured my attention. Pot was so damn predictable. "She wanted to know how you all were…Cassie she needs to tell you about your father. Listen to her."

I pretended to think for a split second, and when he didn't pick up on the sarcasm of the motion she replied. "I'd rather crawl around the artic circle naked than talk to her." He opened his mouth, another futile attempt to change her mind. "No. Just don't say anything."

I had been five months old when I was abandoned outside the church, a small infant wailing in distress. When I had turned ten, the D.A.D took me in after the orphanage refused to keep me there any longer. According to them to this day I was a 'little hell raiser.' A few years later my sister and brother had joined me, but that was all nine years ago. Besides, dwelling on the past is so pointless. Mother sent me many letters, all of which I had used to light an amateur bonfire in my room.

The train stopped, I got to my feet and saw Pot glancing at the cross carved on my hand. It shocked me that he never asked about what had happened in Transylvania all those months ago…he probably wasn't brave enough to ask.