John sat, sifting through a stack of newspapers. Most, including the paper that was in his hand, were from cities he’d never even heard of. They’d made some pretty significant progress since they’d left, more than he could have expected. It had been three weeks of moving from one cheap motel to another, but this morning had seen a breakthrough.

A door opened, and Cassandra stepped outside, finding John seated at the motel’s empty bar.

“Morning,” Cassandra called, wiping at bleary eyes.

“You were right, he’s in Fremont.” John tapped the paper in front of him. “It was part of the first one I killed’s memories. I just didn’t realize what it meant when I saw it.”

“Told ya.” Cassandra smiled. “Too many people disappearing there for no reason. So, what are we waiting for?”

“The rooms all paid for ‘till the end of the month.” John stood. “I can do this next part without you.”

Cassandra pinned him down with a glare. Or rather, she tried to.

“I’ll come back,” John assured. “I promise.”

“Mom told me the same thing.” Cassandra shot back.

John sighed. This wasn’t an argument he was going to win.

John stepped from an old taxi, Cassandra right behind him as they surveyed the old country road. Nothing for miles but farmland, and overgrown fences in bad need of repair.

John waited for the cab to fade into the distance, then started forward.

“It’s this way,” John gestured to a farmhouse on the horizon.

Cassandra looked at the horizon, skeptical.

“How do you know?”

“Both of them had some sort of attachment to this place,” John answered.

As they walked, the farmhouse getting closer, it became clear the building was a husk of its past self. Parts had been burned away completely, while what was left was blackened with ash.

“Stay here,” John instructed, ensuring his tone left nothing to be argued. “I’ll be back once I’m done.”

Cassandra looked reluctant, but she eventually nodded.

As John made his way down, the smell of scorched air seemed to linger. That was odd. Judging by the state of the farmhouse, it had been abandoned for decades, if not longer. He kept an eye on his surroundings, looking for anything odd.

As it turned out, it was a waste of effort. John had only taken a few steps past the home when he saw a burly farmer in the distance, wearing the same wry expression he’d seen on the man in the train station. He was resting on a small rock in the middle of a clearing, a rifle draped over his legs, and eyes locked on John.

The man smiled as John walked closer.

“Been waiting for you.”

John didn’t respond, he continued forward, even as the man hefted the rifle from his side.

“So. . .” The farmer, Pa, started, “What did that old bitch promise you for me and my families’ lives?”

“I’m not here because of her.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I can’t let you keep killing innocent folk.” John responded.

The farmer laughed.

“I’m sure she put the same hunger in you as she did us.”

“Maybe.” John circled around the man. “But I’ve never killed someone that didn’t deserve it.”

Pa sneered, only to pause a moment later. His smile widened as he looked at something past John.

“Once you’ve lived long enough, you realize nobodies’ innocent. Every one of them deserves death.” He shouldered the rifle. “Leave now, and this ends here. You’ll never see or hear about me again.”

“Only thing that gun’s going to do is slow me down,” John taunted.

“It ain’t for you.”

Pa shouldered the rifle. John was about to charge when he realized the man wasn’t aiming at him. Understanding hit just a second too late, he turned, finding Cassandra standing by the farmhouse.

Bang!

Cassandra slumped to the ground, blood blossoming from her shirt as John rushed forward, charging the farmer. Just as his hand brushed for the man’s throat, the ground beneath John gave way, plunging him thirty feet into an abandoned well.

The air was knocked from his lungs as he slammed into the dirt thirty feet below, the branches and grass concealing the well’s entrance falling along with him. John rushed for the edge of the well, trying to climb his way out, the nails of his hand breaking on the hard packed earth only for the wall to give way a moment later. Before he could try again, Pa moved to the edge, grinning wide as he dropped Cassandra’s limp body into the well.

John quickly reached out, trying to cushion her landing.

“I got you, I got you.” John held a hand over the bleeding wound, she was already pale.

Cassandra looked up at him then, trying to speak, but only managed a blood-filled cough.

“Don’t try to talk,” John said. “Just hang in there.”

Pa looked down from the edge of the well, still smiling.

“Hurts to see the ones you care about die, doesn’t it?”

John ignored the man, keeping his focus on making sure Cassandra didn’t bleed out.

“If you fed on her, you might buy yourself a little time before the hunger drives you insane,” Pa taunted. “And it will. That’s how the old bitch controls us.”

John spun, lunging at the dirt wall. He managed to scale a few feet closer to the top before the side gave way, and he tumbled back to the the dirt below.

Pa laughed, amused as he turned away from the well. But as he did, he came face to face with the black dog.

Pa was frozen for just a moment, staring into the eyes of the beast, then his gun was raised. He fired just as the black dog lunged, the shot going wide as its teeth tore into the man’s neck. Pa stumbled back, and into the well behind him.

The man landed hard, bones snapping as they impacted with the earth. Then John was on him, giving Pa no reprieve. Black rivulets tore out of Pa’s arm, trying to find purchase, but John was stronger, hand wrapped around Pa’s throat and squeezing. Smoke poured from the man and flooded into John, memories taking hold as the soul was devoured.

A pagan shrine, a burning home, the word “heretic” written on a barn. Images flowed into John unbidden. Then he saw Pa’s family, beaten, bloodied, left to die in a field as their home burned.

The images receded, and the world came back into focus. John straightened, releasing the now limp body in his hands, and looking to Cassandra. She was quiet, and completely still.

“No,” John stood. “No, no no.”

She wasn’t breathing, the bleeding long since stopped.

“No.”

She was dead, glassy eyes staring towards the sky.

John slumped back against the wall, head in hands, his eyes misting in frustration, and grief.

Then, a rope suddenly unfurled from above, landing beside John.

It took John a few minutes to ascend from the well, rope in one hand, Cassandra’s body slung over his shoulder. He found the black dog waiting for him, a familiar old woman standing just a few feet behind it.

“I’m sorry,” the old woman said. “It’s never a good thing when an innocent dies.” She smiled. “But it’s good to finally meet you properly, John. Despite the circumstance.”

He stepped forward, rage building as the old woman just stood there.

“If you care about that child,” she warned, “-you’ll think very carefully about your next move.”

John stopped, understanding what she was doing.

“Do it,” John begged. “Bring her back.”

“I can’t, unfortunately, her soul is not her own.” She gave John a meaningful look. “Apparently, it’s been given to you. And that complicates things.”

John looked at Cassandra’s still form, the deal she’d made suddenly coming back to him.

“She’s. . . she’s a kid, she didn’t mean what she said.”

“Binding words,” the old woman said, voice light. “But maybe, if you were to give it to me, then we could make a deal.”

John pushed down the anger that building in him.

“You don’t make deals, you make monsters.”

“Quite the opposite, I make people that destroy monsters. And we did have a deal, John. Perhaps never spoken aloud, but you’ve done admirably nonetheless.”

John paused, considering.

“Bring her back, the way she was, not like I am. You do that, and I’ll give you her soul.”

“That’s not possible. The gifts I give come with a price. Death will change a person, in one way, or another.”

“She’s just a child.”

“You’re all children. Bigger bodies, same brain.” She motioned to Cassandra’s body. “Make your choice. I won’t be able to help if you wait much longer.”

The old woman glanced at the well, then back at John.

“Fine.” John answered. “You can have her damn soul. Now bring her back.”

The old woman smiled.

“Not quite yet.”

“What?”

“I said I’d be willing to make a deal.” She gestured to John. “So, here it is. I want you to work for me, John.”

“Fine,” John replied without hesitation. “Whatever it is. Just do it.”

The old woman arched an eyebrow.

“No argument?” She glanced back at the dog. “Perhaps you were right about him.”

Before John could respond the old woman was in front of him, gently pulling at Cassandra’s corpse. He let the body go as the old woman kneeled down, resting it on the ground.

She leaned in, whispering into the girl’s ear.

“Wake up.”

Cassandra took in a sharp breath, eyes snapping open.

“Your soul was entrusted to me,” the old woman began, “-and so, the gift you carry is my own.”

“Who are you?” Cassandra asked, still in shock.

“What does that mean?” John interrupted. “‘Her gift is yours?’”

“She’ll know those that strayed from their purpose. Like that man at the bottom of the well.” The old woman gestured to John. “And your job will be to put an end to them. Those are my terms.”

“. . .That’s it?” John asked.

“That’s it.” The old woman smiled, heading towards the lip of the well. “For now, you two will follow the dog.”

“Wait.” John held up a hand. “Wait! Why do this? Why me?” He swallowed. “Why are you keeping me from my family?”

The old woman turned, her smile faltering.

“Because a great shift has started.” The woman’s voice took on a reverent tone. “And people like you ensure the balance will tip in our favor.” She smiled again. “You’ll get there, eventually, John. We all will.”

With that, the old woman hopped into the well. John moved to follow, only to find the old woman, and Pa’s body, gone.

The dog barked. Cassandra jumped.

“He can talk?!” Cassandra asked in surprise.

John stared at her, confused, Cassandra was watching it intently, as if it was saying something.

“Can you. . . understand the dog?”

The dog for its part just stared at the two, then started towards the road.

Cassandra watched it go, still confused.

“You can’t?”

The black dog led John and Cassandra down a dirt road. To his surprise, Cassandra had readily accepted what happened, at least once John had a chance to explain. Now, the shock had transformed into curiousity.

She eyed the dog as it walked.

“So, he’s a familiar?” Cassandra asked. “A spirit,” she added seeing John’s blank expression. “I’m fourteen and I know more about this stuff than you.”

“. . .Right,” John answered. He gave Cassandra a worried glance. “Are you. . . okay? With this?”

Cassandra slowed, considering that. Then she shrugged.

“Better than being dead.” She looked up at John. “So, I guess we’re the same now. Kind of like a family.”

John smiled at that, not entirely accurate, but it wasn’t exactly wrong either.

“Yeah. . .” John said. “I guess we are.”

Cassandra reached up, grabbing John’s hand. John stiffened, turning only to see Cassandra’s worried expression as she stared at the dog. He squeezed her hand as the dog led them onward.

All they could do now, was put one foot in front of the other.