Demon Hunt by A. W. Hart Page B

beautiful presentation of Oysters Rockefeller sat untouched to one side. Troy reflected that his master probably had enough of regular food and needed something more soul satisfying, as he often said. The man who mentally referred to himself as Manius’ ‘bitch’ examined his own appearance in a nearby mirror before approaching his master. The wool slacks and tasseled loafers he wore were immaculate. His oxford shirt and silk tie spotless, his hands scrubbed clean and nails manicured. If slutty little Cassie could see him now. But then, she couldn’t see anything anymore, could she?
    “ Troy, it’s not nice to think about poor little Cassie that way,” his master said aloud, not bothering to glance behind his chair. “She served a purpose.”
    After five years, it still spooked Troy how well his master could sometimes read his mind, even though he was well aware that the immortal’s powers could be awe inspiring. Manius knew Troy’s every desire, jealousy, and perversion and seemed amused by his perversions. He completely controlled Troy, and never let his servant forget that he could squash him like a bug any moment.
    But the rewards Manius promised took Troy’s breath away. He didn’t know where the man got the gold, but the vampire was never without a large amount of the local metal in the form of battered bars, inscribed with Spanish words and Roman numerals. When they made one of their frequent treks down to Colorado Springs or to Denver, Manius always stopped by a seedy pawnshop specializing in such items.
    The walking dead man sucked up modern society and its conveniences like a starving man might inhale a hamburger. He was mesmerized by television for weeks on end. He read every book and magazine Troy could find while hiding out in an empty Cripple Creek vacation home before entering the brave new world, where he appropriated every possible comfort and luxury for himself.
    Clothes, furniture for the new homes they bought and refurbished, delicacies and wines, art, everything Troy could imagine wanting. The pair traveled the world, indulging every vice and causing as much chaos, mischief and death as possible while waiting for something. But what something was Troy wasn’t sure of.
    Troy knew his master fed off of the pain and fear of others. Manius became positively jolly when they were near a war zone. The more vicious the conflict, the happier he was.
    Troy spent nights gazing at the plastered ceiling in the suite Manius provided to him, dreaming of what he would do once his master unleashed his will on the world. The new 4x4 he spotted the other day at the Land Rover lot in Colorado Springs would be good. He had seen some of the world at his master’s side and could imagine a bit more than a 4x4 truck. If he had sold his soul, he would make the sale worthwhile.
    Upon their return from abroad to the mountain town, Manius anxiously spent months searching for signs of something. He scoured the town at night after meditating for hours, invading the minds of the more susceptible citizens and the secluded homes of the less alert who made the mistake of inviting him in. With some kind of deadline looming, Manius sent Troy to Denver to snatch teenaged girls to hold prisoner at the Castle to sacrifice for power and knowledge. The vampire wasn’t ready to hunt openly.
    The butchering of chunky young prostitutes on a convenient block of granite in the secluded garden didn’t bother Troy any more than the other kidnappings and slayings of hookers they committed throughout the larger cities they had inhabited over the years.
    Manius, if he were feeling magnanimous, would allow Troy to play with the sacrificial victims first. The girls wept, begging for mercy and would do anything. The power of those moments intoxicated Troy. But he lost his taste for watching the actual killing after a few months. Like watching the fifth installment of the latest slasher movie franchise, after a while, the scenes were just