The Demon of War, who had been curiously examining her new claws until then, asked: — "So, who are these 'vampires' anyway?"

  — "Bloodsuckers," I answered curtly. "Essentially the same as demons, just with a messiah complex and a sun allergy."

  Shor Nois spoke up: — "Vampires are a distinct race. We feed on the blood of living beings. Humans, in particular, are... let’s say, the most nutritious. How we came to be—no one knows. Some blame an ancient curse; others believe us to be a natural step in evolution. It happened so long ago that the truth has turned to dust."

  He adjusted the cuff of his black coat. — "We are many times stronger than humans. We are nearly immortal. But everything has a price: the sun incinerates us, and silver... it causes an unpleasant itch. In our time, we caused such a ruckus in the world that all other races united to erase us from history. We retreated into the shadows. But then, Arkgrim appeared..."

  He looked at me. — "He carried out a literal genocide of our race. Although, by that point, most of us had already devolved, turning into ordinary humans with pale skin."

  — "You forgot to add that you used to be able to spawn your own kind through a bite," I interjected, remembering.

  — "Yes," Shor nodded. "But those times are gone. I cannot do that. I have lived a good life. Six hundred years is no small feat. I found love, I had children..."

  His voice suddenly wavered. The polite mask finally cracked. — "But recently, my wife was killed. Some pack of fanatics in a distant village decided to hold a 'witch hunt.' I... I lost control. What can one enraged vampire do against an entire army? As it turns out—a lot. I killed their king; I leveled their capital. Now I am hunted in every corner of the continent as Enemy Number One."

  I listened to this, feeling a dull ache starting at the base of my skull. — "Alright, stop, stop," I waved a hand. "Enough with the drama. Can we keep it short? No more details about ruined cities?"

  — "I can," Shor straightened his back. "They will find me. Sooner or later. Besides, I am aging. Strangely, frighteningly fast. In the last five years, I’ve withered as if half a century has passed. My strength is fading. But my children... they don't deserve a life on the run. I cannot give them the safety their mother dreamed of. My revenge has burned away my future. I intend to go against their army one last time and take as many enemies with me as I can."

  He stood up and gave a low, deep bow, almost reaching the floor. — "I beg of you... take my children under your wing. I know how it sounds. A stranger comes from nowhere and asks you to watch over a brood of vampires... But only you can protect them. I know your power, Arkgrim. Take them as servants, as slaves, however you wish—as long as they live."

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  "WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! What the hell?!" all my instincts screamed at once. "Greg, say 'no'! Run away! A vampire nursery on the farm is the last thing you need!"

  In my head, the word burned in clear, bold Caps Lock: NO.

  I opened my mouth to kick this crazy father out the door. — "Fine," I said, and was immediately surprised by the sound of my own voice.

  Why did I say that? Why?

  Shor Nois exhaled, and there was so much relief in that breath that the room seemed to get a couple of degrees warmer.

  I covered my face with my hands. Greg, you’re an idiot. People don't even need to manipulate you; you put the leashes on yourself.

  Shor left, and I remained sitting in silence, staring at the empty cup. — "Am I an idiot?" I asked aloud, addressing the void.

  — "Yes," the Demon of War and the Demon of Poverty answered in sync from the corners of the kitchen.

  — "Zenhald, do you even realize what you’re doing?" Poverty stepped closer. "Can't you just watch in silence while this world burns? Why do you keep sticking your nose in with your 'help'? You aren't putting out the fire; you’re just throwing coal into it!"

  — "I know, I know!" I snapped, running my fingers through my hair. "What a mess... Children are the worst thing that can happen in life. They’re noisy, they always want something, and they have to be watched."

  I glanced over at my demonic comrades. — "Though, on the other hand... are there any 'adults' here besides me? Well, technically."

  I looked at them more closely. War seemed to be getting smarter; there was a spark of reason in her eyes, but she clearly lacked interaction with normal, intelligent people. And Poverty... well, Poverty was Poverty.

  — "Alright, listen up, 'parents'," I slammed my palm on the table. "Since we’ve embroiled ourselves in this disaster, we need a cover story. An ironclad one."

  The demons leaned in closer. — "Here's the deal. I’m an orphan, the nephew of the Demon of War. You two are husband and wife. According to the legend, you’re both good-for-nothing screw-ups. You have no children of your own—or rather, the children will be those vampires they’re about to dump on us. We need names. Human ones. Or at least something that sounds like them. Any preferences?"

  The Demon of Poverty thought for a second, wiggling all his limbs. — "Alastor," he finally declared. "Sounds solid. A bit intimidating. I like it."

  The Demon of War sat on the edge of the bed and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling, as if trying to fish something out of the depths of her memory. — "Aya," she threw out curtly. "I remember a woman called that... she screamed very loudly when I was killing her daughter. It’s a good name. Short."

  I winced. — "Right. You guys have weird taste in names, but it’ll do. So: Alastor and Aya. Remember that, and don't mix it up when the next traveler stumbles in. We stick to this version until the end."

  I couldn't sleep that night. And it wasn't because of an existential crisis. From the upper floor, where my "relatives" had settled, came disgusting sounds: grinding, creaking, muffled screams, and thuds.

  — "What the hell are they doing up there?" I grumbled, pulling the pillow over my head. "Building a nest, or trying to eat each other in a fit of passion?"