Could he have said ‘blood’ anymore times in that explanation? Verdy felt a little tense, but said nothing as she turned this over in her mind a few times. As a woman she had no particular aversion to blood, but when it was used in this unnatural way... Could this stealing of blood, thoughts and mutations be why he needed so desperately to come back and apologise? Possibly. All things that thrived on blood were seen as bad, mosquitoes, leeches, some bats, did this by extension make him bad? He had been nothing but polite and helpful towards her, so he couldn’t be bad, surely not. There was a word for what he was, a word more specific than ‘mutant’.

“Vampire?”

All the movies and books which had surged back into popularity recently had that same thing in common. Blood. But he had changed, had sacrificed in order to become something less than what he was.

“An... ex-vampire?”

It was a little confusing, but she found herself more fascinated, than disgusted or scared.

Hunter studied Verdigris’s face intently while keeping his own blank. She seemed more curious than concerned. Finally she said the word. Vampire. “Would it surprise you to discover that I am the origin of all vampire myths?” he asked, still keeping his face neutral. This was after all a lot to process. Perhaps more than discovering he was immortal.

“I believe many would now use the term ‘vegetation vampire’” he said unable to keep the look of contempt from his face, “As coined by that dreadful novelist Stephenie Meyer. I put a lot of effort into cultivating the mythology that surrounded me. But over the past few years she has made vampires all cute and cuddly.”

He paused, closed his eyes and sighed. “My apologies,” he said opening his eyes again, “I am a very proud man. It’s one of my flaws. I spent three hundred years cultivating the vampire myth and it has taken her just five years to ruin it. It should no longer matter, I am no longer that person, but ‘sparkly vampires’ touch a nerve. I always preferred Joss Whedon’s version of vampires. Although I think I look better with my fangs extended than his do.” He smiled at his little joke to try and lighten the mood after his rant. One of these days he really needed to have a talk with Stephenie Meyer.

All vampire myths? Yes, that did surprise her, and she felt her eyebrows raise slightly. He had been a busy chap seeing as they came from every corner of the globe. After all she had seen and experienced in her life, from her own mutation manifesting unbidden, to the giant animated clay Cthulhu which the youth of the mansion had fought and finally destroyed (with the help of some well-timed rain) believing someone to be as old as Hunter, and even to possess the abilities he briefly claimed was easy.

A snort left her, unbidden, as he mentioned the soppy romance novels, barely brushing the horror genre at all. Books meant for a certain young-to-pre-teen girls prone to squealing. They were, unfortunately, what many of the younger generation thought of when the ‘v’ word was mentioned, terror no longer held a place in their minds, or a shudder down their spines, there would be no ritualistic staking of their bodies. She gave a small nod as he apologised, she knew what he meant, often she had wished to rant on the stupidity of the novels on reading them from the library or in snippits in bookstores.

“Not a problem. Even Spike?”

Oh yes, she was familiar with the vampires he spoke of, and it was a tough call to be better looking than the chip-sporting ‘vamp’. Curiosity filled her mind though if he was the source of all vampire myths, old and new, then he was the inspiration for Dracula, Interview with a Vampire and hundreds of thousands of other books, poems, films and stories thoughout the ages. She tried to think of everything she could that she knew about vampires of the non-sparkly kind.

“Bursting into flames in the sunlight? Don’t appear in mirrors? Garlic? Crusifixes? Minions of the dead? ... Sorry, I’m being rude.”

She dipped her head. He hadn’t peppered her with rapid-fire questions when she spoke of her own mutation, she was hardly being fair. Although, she didn’t have an entire genre in film and novel based on her efforts over four hundred years.

Verdigris’s reaction from the mention of the Twilight series’ author elicited a smile from Hunter. She was curious about him, not afraid. Or at least she was more curious than afraid. “While I won’t deny that James Marsters is a good looking man,” he admitted, “He loses his eyebrows when he pops his fangs. That’s not an attractive look for anyone. Me on the other hand...” Hunter flashed Verdigris a smile and extended his fangs. His canines extended to a little over an inch. While nothing seemed to change about his face it all seemed more intense somehow. Especially his eyes. Then he retracted his fangs and the intensity faded.

The string of questions that spilled forth from Verdigris were the usual suspects. All these weaknesses that he didn’t really have. “Answering questions one through five,” he said with a smile, “I was always a night owl. I made sure to keep my fangs in during the day and soon people started guessing that vampires couldn’t come out in the day. The mirror trick was something I used to do when I had my psychic abilities. At first I did it to freak people out. Then I started doing it regularly. Soon enough it was woven into the myth. I never liked garlic, especially with a heightened sense of smell. Over time that too became part of the myth. The crucifixes were a thing of the time. At first I believed as everyone did that I was a daemon. A spawn of the devil. As such I didn’t pick fights with God. Minions of the dead, that began with Reverend Beklea I think. A few sermons about how I was the dead come back. Apparently I was a punishment on the world. That spread and somewhere along the line someone added zombies and skeletons. Any more questions?”

He’d not directly mentioned that he had killed anyone but nor had he lied. It wasn’t unlikely that Verdigris hadn’t worked this out. If she asked directly he wouldn’t lie. No longer would he keep his past hidden. He wouldn’t conceal who he had been. But he wasn’t him anymore. If that was too much for her, if she didn’t want anything more to do with him, then he would let her walk away.

Eyebrows were indeed a feature needed by a face, whether of the pencilled or caterpillar variety a face just wasn’t quite a face without them, they were just as much a recognisable feature as a nose or the eyes themselves. Hunter grinned at her and she found her head cocking slightly as she inspected the elongated teeth, surprisingly white considering the era he had lived through. She looked up and was startled by his eyes, it was if all the knowledge, pride, and every other emotion of four hundred years was right there staring at her. Her first impulse was to shy away, her second to touch. She suppressed both and limited herself to her questions.

His answers all made sense and she was sure that all of them were truth. While she was still slightly dumbfounded that one man- minus the minions- had been the truth behind the myths she found herself believing it. The idea that bits and pieces of the myths were based in fact, but that none of them were a true protection against the monster sitting placidly across from her drinking tea was at the same time terrifying and funny. There were other questions, but they might have been considered rude, ruder even than her previous ones, but he had asked, after all.

“Unable to eat or drink anything but blood? Well, I guess that’s not right ‘cause we’re drinking tea-”

She felt a little ill and inspected the cup’s contents, it was a yellow colour and the flavour, while a little salty, lacked the metallic taste of bitten lip.

“This... is tea isn’t it?”

Verdigris seemed momentarily spellbound by Hunter’s true face. It wasn’t one he showed often and always seemed to have a powerful effect on those who saw it. Usually it was abject terror, and there was a hint of that in the girl’s face, but there was also something else that he saw from time to time. Wonder.

He could not help but chuckle at her latest question. “Yes,” he said with a broad smile that didn’t show a hint of fang, “This is just tea. Exotic tea from a far away land but there are no red ingredients in the recipe. I’m a vampire not Hannibal Lector.” In all his years Hunter had done a great many terrible deeds and inflicting all manner of horrors on people but not once had he forced or tricked them into consuming one another. Blood had been for him and him alone.

The feeling of illness lingered for a moment, before gradually dissipating. It was just tea.

"Yes, well, yes... So the 'just blood' is negative"

What other myths were around about vampires? Ones that didn't have a hint of sparkle or sappy romance.

"A person bitten will become a vampire themselves?"

She remembered reading, or hearing something, about how corpses were staked before or during burial to prevent them turning into blood sucking monsters.

"On that note, the stakes themselves... Obviously you couldn't die if you got a splinter, or you wouldn't be here... I think through the heart is the general perscription of dealing with a vampire."

She raised one eyebrow, an inication of her jest. It wouldn't be fit to offend such a nice person, especially when said person could tear you to shreds in an instant. Wracking her brains for other associated things she discovered somthing that startled her, it was not easily explained away.

"Werewolves?"

Was there further explaination of her question neccesary? Did she have to outline how the two mytholigical- heh creatures were so often used in the same sentence. As a man of four hunded years he probably already knew.

Hunter nodded at her summary. He not only could but needed to eat and drink, just like everyone else. “Biting won’t make the victim a vampire,” Hunter answered. It took a full blood transfusion with Hunter, replacing all of your blood with his. Very experimental and it had only worked once. “Someone made that up, probably hoping to get a measure of my power.”

“The key is wood,” he told Verdigris, “I’m allergic to wood. My healing factor doesn’t work on any wound inflicted by it. Any fatal wound caused my wood will kill me. A stake trough the heart is one way, but not the only one.”

“Werewolves are just mutants like you and me,” Hunter explained with a smile, “I think it’s at least partly hereditary but I’ve not fully looked into it. I’ve met a few over the years. Most are an adrenaline induced transformation. One was linked to the moon, but I think that a psychic had tried to contain his ability and the moon link was a side effect.”

An allergy to something as common as wood… that would suck something chronic. His werewolf explanation made sense, or as much sense as could be made concerning a mythological creature. More and more she was finding that as long as something was linked to mutants the gene made it acceptable in her mind. She could believe things that for years had been dismissed as children’s stories. Maybe there was such thing as the Easter Bunny, or Santa or Tooth fairies, if the x-gene was to blame, then why not?

“You don’t heal from wood? Wow… at all? Or just at an average rate?”

To still be carrying open wounds from four hundred years of splinters, scratches from brambles, even jabs into the gum from a nasty toothpick… it was surely impossible, by now he would have surely bled out.

“That must have been really hard when everything was wooden… I guess now its easier? Because of plastic?”

To be allergic to all the common household objects that used to be made from wood, from utensils to furniture, would have made life very difficult and a walk through the countryside insanity.

“I just heal at normal rate,” he told Verdigris, “Or else I’d be dead many times over by now. Truthfully it’s not so bad, especially now. Back then I had to be a little more careful but everyone was trying to kill me with swords. It took a while before I took the first club to the back of the head. I didn’t actually notice it at first truth be told. The whole accelerated healing was new so when i didn’t from a small scrape here and there it didn’t really register.”

“I have to admit though that the reduction in the usage of wood was one of my favourite things about technological advancement. Of course now though it matters little. I have suppressed my abilities and so no longer heal any faster than you from anything.” To do so would cost someone else blood and possibly their life. It wasn’t something Hunter was willing to do, not any more.

The absurdity of their conversation had dawned on her a few times, glimmering like a coin in the bottom of a wishing-well, but not really changing anything. The mention of swords was one of the glitters. The club a more substantial one.

“Ouch.”

Suppressing his abilities, that was why he had run away. Although it would be nice not to worry about injuries- the dance with Slate and his instant healing of all her small cuts and scrapes was a teasing indication of just how nice it would be- suppressing it for something you believed in was admirable.

“So now that your abilities are suppressed, are you mortal? To the point of, in a couple of decades you will actually die like everyone else? Have you aged already?”

She surveyed his head for twinges of grey, but found none amongst the jet-black hairs. Perhaps her relentless questions were rude, but he was fascinating to her. Most mutations were, but to have free reign to ask all kinds of questions about a mutation as ancient as this… it was an intoxicating feeling. So much to know, to learn. So much had been seen by this man before her.

Her question was one that Hunter had been wondering himself. He was still getting used to not having his full strength and speed available to him. It would take some time before he stopped feeling slow and weak, despite still surpassing normal people. Aging though, that was something else. He hadn’t tried to actively suppress it, but it might be tied in to his healing factor in which case he was no longer immortal. A thought both scary and exciting.

“Ask me again in five or ten years,” he told Verdigris with a smile, “I really don’t know myself. I suppressed each element of my powers individually. While I have made no active attempt to suppress my immortality it might be linked in with another aspect of my abilities. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

She nodded slowly, time was needed to answer her question. After four hundred years, if every second of being mortal felt like your life was slipping away that would have made sense. But not being able to feel it, to tell if your sand was trickling through the timer to a ever-growing puddle on the floor, that would be understandable too. Who was to know? And maybe he could feel it, he just didn’t know what the feeling meant.

“Fair enough, I just thought you might have felt different already.”

A lot could change in two years. Lives could be altered, or disappear altogether, people were born, and grew, and changed in that time. But after four hundred years, two would be hardly noticeable. Comparatively it would be like a couple of months to her, and aging in that time was barely noticeable.

“So. Have many other people taken advantage of your advertising? Or to date just me?”

It felt a little awkward to be the only person desperate enough to go searching for balance anywhere other than within, but at the same time she was glad that he had been there for her to visit. Even his simple self-help technique already made her feel more confident about facing Slate without issues. If worst came to worst, she could think about socks.

“I feel the same as I have for the past four centuries,” Hunter replied, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not aging as we speak. I might only have another sixty years or so left. Only time will tell.”

He could sense her unease when she asked about how many clients he had seen so far. Verdigris didn’t want to be the only one in New York City coming for help. While seeing the need to ask for help as a weakness was a view he had once had Tibet had changed that. He would not be the man he was today without the help of others. After all as John Donne has said ‘No man is an Island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the Continent’.

“You are my sixth client and I have a few more lined up before the end of the week,” he told her with a reassuring smile, “I only started Monday, so for now you’ve got a good chunk of my time and attention. I hope that over time I will be bale to help more people so I may have to shorten sessions.”

She wasn’t the only person off-balance in the city. That had been almost a given, in a city the size of NYC it would be folly to even consider such a thing, but more than not being the only one, she was one of several who acknowledged their lack and came specifically to Hunter for help. It was reassuring to know for certain that there were others.

His extended explanation, outlining the fact that this was an abnormally long session. Considering the number of people who would pour in, if his first few days were any indication, it was a blessing that she had received this long at all.

“Thankyou, for seeing me I mean, I really appreciate it.”

He was well on his way to redeeming himself in her eyes, but four hundred years worth of sins, little slip-ups and white lies… even with her questionable beliefs in an afterlife, it might take a little more than helping one young woman to find her way to annul past issues. Especially if they were bad enough to make one flee the country for two years and live with monks.

She hesitated, still sitting cross legged on the floor. Should she leave now? A glance at the street, visible through the multiple layers of glass, showed the dimming light, she had been here far longer than the average half-hour councillor appointment on the shows and movies she had seen.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

Because even immortals redeeming themselves could use a little help now and then.