He picked off the hardened demon blood that was marring his torn sleeve. It was embedded into the material like thick paint, and though he knew his efforts were in vain he still did it anyway as he walked up the street toward a backpacker’s hostel near the corner of King Street. With an irate sigh he gave up, relenting to the fact that he would be throwing out more clothing.

​

He paused, looking back over his shoulder to the east where the sun was beginning to crest Melbourne City’s high-rise buildings. He had missed a whole night’s worth of sleep, and his body was beginning to notice.

​

It was a typical late-autumn, early-winter morning in Melbourne. The rising sun was shining through thin clouds and even a little mist, but Melbourne’s weather was notorious for its unpredictability so despite the sun making an appearance now, it was very likely the sun wouldn’t hang around long.

​

He approached the hostel’s door, glancing at the blacked-out windows beside it. There was no sign on the hostel’s front awning, or anything on the door to signify what it was, but that was on purpose. The owner wasn’t advertising vacancies, even if he did have a few, because this hostel was only for a select group of people that had put a lot of effort into making the owner actually trust them.

​

Above the door handle, however, was a small ‘Z’. It was scratched into the wood, and anyone who didn’t know it was there wouldn’t notice it.

​

He turned the handle and stepped inside to the front reception, which opened into a communal lounge with bookshelves, couches, a television mounted on the wall, and even a vending machine. No one filled the room though.

​

His body getting heavier by the second, he let out a tired sigh and crossed the lounge to the staircase on the other side.

​

‘Kael.’

​

He stopped and turned, finding an older man standing at the archway into the kitchen that adjoined the lounge. He had a five o’clock shadow and slight-greying hair that he knew was beginning to annoy him because of its scruffiness, and though he was older and was showing signs of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, his gaze was as sharp as ever – just like his canine fangs, when they wanted to be.

 

‘Zed,’ Kael replied in greeting. ‘The rusalka is dead. What it was doing all the way here in the Yarra River, we’ll never know.’

 

‘Nor do we care,’ added Zed lightly. ‘I’ll arrange for payment and get you your share this afternoon.’

 

Kael waved his hand at him in acknowledgment and began heading upstairs, but was stopped again by Zed’s sharp ‘Oi!’

 

‘What?’ Kael called back impatiently. ‘I’m tired, Zed.’

 

‘I don’t doubt that, but I want you to know that if you’re up for it tonight I’ve got another bounty for you,’ Zed responded, leaning against the edge of the archway.

 

Kael could’ve declined, but then Zed would have given the bounty to someone else. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

 

‘Wraiths.’

 

Kael’s brow lifted in surprise. ‘Who the hell ordered a bounty on wraiths?’

 

‘The Immortals,’ Zed replied, his expression turning sour at the mention of the God-loving, demon-hating race. ‘Guess these wraiths pissed off the wrong people. You accepting it or not?’

 

‘I suppose. Where are they?’

 

Zed scoffed. ‘No idea.’ He turned back into the kitchen. ‘You’re the bounty hunter; it’s your job to find them, not mine.’

 

Kael would’ve rolled his eyes, but he was too intrigued by the idea of a bounty being placed on a group of wraiths, considering they were nothing more than demonic messengers.

 

Whatever the reasoning, Kael suspected this would be an interesting job.