Summary: The problem with meeting the dead on a daily bases is that religion starts to be missing the point completly... seriously, it doesn't make sense. Which is why I've been a proud atheist my entire life. And apparantly, this is why I was thrown into some crazy rollercoaster ride of angels and Demons and a very annoying young man, all in order to revive God... And here I was, being told Gods couldn't die in every religion and mythology I've heard off. except maybe the Norse version. I just wanted to get to my job in time, and now I'm chasing every possible kind of vampire, succubus and what not to revive an entity I do not believe in... There are better ways to spend your afternoon...

This one is best dirscriped as a pain in the ass. Keeps getting stuck, doesn't end up like I want it too, keeps undergoing plot changes... In other words, summary (which will start soon, promise) might be changed multiple times. And in overal view, it will be slowly updated, but on the other hand the chapters seem to be quite long. So it's slightly compensated. Just bare with me on this one, and do review. I'm open to improvement.


The heat lay heavily on my shoulders; it was a damp heat and unusual heat for this early in spring. I felt as if I walked into hot damp laundry hanging out to dry, as I left the -air-conditioning providing - school building. My dark red hair stuck to my shoulders, neck and face. - That was partially hidden behind my massive sunglasses - I adjusted the position of my bag, hanging from my shoulder, before walking down the steps and onto the pavement.

I was supposed to be in a hurry, for I had to work in about an hour, and I had to eat beforehand. But I found it simply too hot to rush, and besides, the boss wasn't in today. His son, Lucas, probably wouldn't mind if I was late. And if he did, I knew exactly how to make it up to him.

I joined the group of teenagers who were also waiting for the traffic light to turn green. As I stood there, someone behind me started to hum an old English drinking song that could be heard in every pub, tavern or bar on the British islands during the eighteenth century. The song originated in London, where its main subject - a young and attractive playboy and criminal - lived his short life.

Before I even glanced over my shoulder, I already knew who was there. My expectations were met, when I was greeted by that arrogant smirk I had come to know so well. He glanced at me with his piercing blue eyes from under his hat; he wore his long, ebony hair tied together with a black ribbon. All in all he looked like he just stepped out of a costume drama. While in fact, he still looked the same way as when he stepped out of his corpse about three centuries ago.

"What is it?" I whispered, very much aware of the fact that no one else could see or hear the tall man. He nodded to our right, and I followed his glance. It leads to an alleyway. I raised my eyebrows. "What is that supposed to mean, Dave?"

He rolled his eyes. "You gotta help him!"

"Who him?" I hissed, annoyed now.

"Just get a move on!" He taped my shoulder; cold sensations went over my skin. Within my mind an image formed: an image that wasn't seen through my own eyes and that wasn't mine. The image showed a boy of about eighteen years old. I could see his face and shoulders, and it looked like he was running. His light blonde hair moved up and down and his pale blue eyes were filled with panic.

"Oh… Him." I mumbled sarcastically, but the ghost was already gone. I closed my eyes for about two seconds, fully aware of how what I was about to do could get me in trouble of all sorts. Then I started making my way forward. I glanced to my left and right; nothing suspicious, just a group of students, waiting for non-existing traffic to come by; the roads where absolutely abandoned. My eyes drift back to the ally. Clearly, Davey had a reason for worrying about someone else besides himself - the man's rather egocentric - so I felt like I couldn't ignore his words.

"Oh, for the love of Zeus…" I was about to just march into that ally and yell the loving God out of whatever moron was chasing the boy and get it all over with - since it really was too darn hot for all this excitement - when something stopped me dead in my tracks.

There was something in the air, as if the density of the air has multiplied by ten times, and weighed down heavily on me, making it impossible for me to exhale. Gasping for breath I stumbled back and the pressure disappeared.

Shocked I looked around. "What for the devil is going on?" my eyes caught a figure, or rather, a bunch of figures; suspicious looking men in long black coats approaching the crossroad. But who seemed to be stopped by the same phenomena that kept me from moving forward. I was more and more wondering what Davey had thrown me into, and just exactly who was chasing that boy.

Davey had always acted in my best interest - which is rather out of character for him - so I trusted his judgement. Yet I had no interest in joining him in the land of the dead, so he'd better know what he was doing.

I took another deep breath, before jumping forward again, simultaneously with an old fashion car that came racing onto the crossroad. I doubt it was a coincidence, but this time I slipped through the fingers of whatever was holding me back the first time, and rushed onto the road. About this moment, the boy came storming out of the ally. His eyes were widened, and he was clearly panicking. When he arrived, the men seemed to be trying to get past the strange boundary. I couldn't help but notice that one of them was fiercely staring at me. I shook it off for the moment, for the car and the boy were on a crashing course.

And there was something sincerely strange about that car, as if the idea of it being a car was a delusion or mirage. Behind it lingered the idea of a carriage, being pulled by four huge, eight legged, black horses with white foam on their mouths and devilish red eyes. On the box sat a strange fellow, he was tall, with jet black hair and a carnal expression on his face. He was barely visible, and seemed to be in that same state of invisibility as the ghosts I've seen. But this was most certainly not a ghost, its creepy fangs told me at least that much.

In the few seconds my brain registered all this, I never actually stopped moving. I leaped forward, pushing the boy by his shoulders. We both hit the street and rolled over, and the strange car - which I doubt was even remotely close to being a car - raced just past us. I scrambled onto my feet and checked myself for damage. My arms and legs were covered with only some scratches and bruises, and my lip was bleeding. On some point I had lost my sunglasses, but I didn't bother looking for them. Instead I turned to the boy.

"Are you suicidal?" I yelled at him.

He looked up, at first relieved, but then his eyes widened again. He crawled back, still on the street. From the corner of my eye I could see how the car was coming back at us. And I could definitely say that that was not a car. The boy on the other hand, didn't notice.

Without acknowledging his protests, I came closer and grabbed his wrist. "Get up!"

He tried to release himself, on which I tightened my grip. "Get up!" I repeated louder now through gritted teeth, while pulling his arm. The carriage was getting closer and closer and I was running out of time. The boy pulled back to release his arm, and I lost my balance, causing me to fall on top of him.

"Prasec," I mumbled under my breath. "Now you're gonna get us both killed." I didn't know if he heard me, but he looked up at me like I was the devil himself.

I glanced over him and saw the carriage. It was too close to avoid now. So I clenched my fist, closed my eyes and braised myself for the impact.

But the blow never came. I felt a movement of air above me. Then I heard the sound as if a blade was being pulled from its sheet, and then the sound I suppose demonic eight legged horses make when they are injured, followed by the feeling of warm liquid being sprayed on my face. I slowly open my eyes and it took a moment for my brain to comprehend what had happened in front of me.

I was still lying on the boy. - In a rather awkward position, I might add. - Before us stood a man. He was tall, with broad shoulders. And he wore a long, black leather jacket and a hat, all in all he reminded me of Van Helsing, from the equally named movie. I couldn't see his face, for he stood with his back to me. Before him the carriage laid on its side, the wheels still spinning. Two horses were on the street, their legs literally cut off, another heavily injured. My stomach turned as I looked at it, - I didn't even eat meat, because I couldn't stand the idea of ending a life merely because one could call the taste and smell of a charcoaled corpse appealing - I shakily moved my hand to my face, when I looked at my fingertips, there was a black and sticky substance on them; blood from the horses.

Then the boy suddenly started screeching "Strigoi!" from underneath me.

I knew that word, very well. But at the moment I couldn't remember it's meaning for the life of me. Next thing I knew, someone grabbed me by my hair and yanked me off the boy. I screamed, then crawled up and attempted to protest, but a blade was pointed at my throat and I immediately lay back down.

I looked up to the man holding me down, he looked exactly like the man standing by the carriage, only this one had long blonde curly hair, the other one had brown curly hair. They both had it hanging till their shoulders. His face was made up with sharp lines, a straight nose and if he smiled -which I doubted he often did by the look of it - he could be considered attractive with his navy blue eyes.

Then I heard someone clear his throat. Obviously it's Davey, and I cursed at him under my breath.

"Michael, I doubt that really is a Strigoi." The man by the carriage spoke.

"Obviously" I blurted out. On which the mentioned Michael closed the distance between his blade and my throat, the cold tip pressed against my skin.

I got the message.

"You did not say so five minutes ago." Michael replied to his friend.

"A Strigoi will not risk her life for a mortal who is being chased by another mortal." The man had still not turned his face to us. Michael groaned and pulled back the blade.

I rose up to my elbows. "Thanks."

"But she spoke Romanian!" the boy protested.

"Slovenian." I corrected him coldly. "And even if I did speak Romanian, do you even have the slightest clue of how many completely harmless, normal, mortal people speak that language?"

"You have blood red hair and blue eyes!" the boy yelled at me.

"Watch it or I'll regret saving your sorry ass" I hissed at him.

"Speaking of which..." The man by the carriage turned to face us. He had a beard of a day old, a scar over his right cheek and eyes that would be considered a warm dark brown if he didn't look so stern and serious as he did now "How did you do it?"

Before I could answer his relatively vague question, I saw the strange figure that drove the carriage climb on top of it, ready to lunge at the man.

"Watch out!" I yelled at him, jumping up to my feet. He turned around, and I realized that he couldn't see the driver. The same way I had realized no one else could see ghosts a long time ago. I cursed under my breath, jumped forward and kicked the man's feet from underneath him. He fell, halfway turning around and taking me down with him. On the same moment the driver leaped over us and landed on the street without a sound.

The man gave me a lethal look, and pressed a knife against my throat, - God may know where he got it from - I couldn't really think clearly, my mind was numb from hitting the street.

"What was that all about?" his voice was low and threatening.

"Driver." I mumbled.

"That carriage had no driver" I just shook my head at this, which hurt - a lot.

Then the driver lashed out to him, his nails left marks on the man's face. Surprised he looked up. Inside I thanked whatever it was, for proving my point.

"Michael, we are leaving. Tell the ones in charge of cleaning up we have a possible Voper on our hands." Michael immediately relayed the message to someone out of my sight. "Tristan, get up." The man ordered the boy, who crawled up to his feet, starring open-mouthed at the blood dripping from the man's cheek. He then put his knife away and got up, only to bend over again and offer me a hand. I took it and he helped me on to my feet. When I wanted to pull my hand back though, he wouldn't let go. I looked at him, ready to order him to release me, when he beated me to it.

"I am sorry, but I really cannot let you go just yet. You will have to come with me."

"What?" Was all I could produce until my brain had wrapped itself around the meaning of his polite words.

Once realisation had settled in, I started to rant about the situation to Davey. But since my mind was still a bit foggy, I didn't know if he was actually there and I could just as well have been ranting to thin air and the birds passing by.

"You bloody bastard! This is definitely the last time I have listened to you, you egocentric old man. If you weren't dead already, I'd kill you myself! You can count on an exorcism the next time I see yo-ahh!"

The deceased in question appeared his face not even an inch from mine. I stumbled back, causing the man's grip to tighten. I glanced at him, and barely noticed the baffled expression on his face.

"YOU. CALLED. ME. OLD!" Davey spoke very slowly, empathising every word.

I glared back at him. "YOU. ARE. OLD!" I replied, mimicking his tone.

"I'm only twenty-three!" He shouted at me.

"You were twenty-three when you died, at least three centuries ago!" I yelled in return.

Next I felt a sharp pain and my head turned from the impact. I knew it wasn't Davey who had hit me; he couldn't, not without a physical body. Michael was standing in front of me.

"Gabriel, take her away." He ordered.

The other man tucked my arm, and I followed him. Carefully, I looked up from the street at him. He looked back with an apologetic expression.

"Michael is not always like that. You have only appeared on a rather unfortunate moment." At least ten replies went through my head, such as how the moment would've ended a whole lot more than just unfortunate if I hadn't appeared, but I decided to keep my mouth shut. My cheek was still hot and painful.

"I'm sorry." I heard Davey behind me. I decided to take the worst revenge on him I could think of: to ignore him completely. I just stumbled after Gabriel, off the crossroad, my hand still in his. When we turned a corner, I stopped walking, completely and utterly flabbergasted.

I have lived in this small quiet town for my entire life. I knew every street and every building like the back of my hand. And let me tell you, there was no cliffside palace anywhere near it. Heck, we didn't even have cliffs anywhere in the entire nation.

A/N: I just realised I haven't named her yet... I would've sworn I had put it in there somewhere... I'll make sure you'll find out somewhere in chapter three, which is the one I'm working on as we speak - or type and read - Further more, I am asking for patience once more. DC - Lol, love the initials^^ - tends to be more work then I expected, but on the same moment I really don't want to give up on it.

Either way, I'll do my best on it, and I hope you like it. All i aks of you, is that you'll point me on errors I've made in grammar and spelling, English is not my first language and sometimes me and word overlook things. besides that, I really love reviews and critiques of all kinds except the downright rude oes. I am always trying to improve my skills, and feedback is a great help. Of course, I mostly want you to just enjoy it. And I hope you did and you'll come back for the next chapter.

Love, Melaye.