I’ve walked this earth for three hundred years, a monster hiding in plain sight. I feast on the wicked to preserve my timeless youth, but I have a code: I only consume the truly evil. My world tilted the day he moved in. A detective. He knocked on my door, holding a list of missing persons, and pointed to a face. “Ever seen this man?” I smiled. “Never.” He had no idea that every single person on that list was already inside me. 1. The Hound at the Door I was in the middle of processing the day’s… material… when the doorbell rang. The man had been a domestic abuser. A polished executive by day, a savage beast to his wife by night. She had cried out for help—to community centers, to friends—only to be met with the same cold refrains: “Don’t air your dirty laundry in public,” and “He’s just under a lot of stress.” No one would help her. So I did. I was meticulous, just as I’d been with the hundreds before him. His bones would join the others beneath the ginkgo tree in my backyard, becoming the finest of fertilizers. The doorbell chimed again, insistent, pulling me from my work. I wiped my hands clean, slipped off the blood-flecked apron, and changed into a simple, elegant dress. Only then did I glide to the door and open it. A tall man stood on my doorstep. His features were sharp, with deep-set eyes and a strong nose that gave him an aquiline intensity. A tailored black trench coat accentuated his broad shoulders and long legs. He looked at me with the piercing gaze of a hawk. “Hi, I’m Lucian. I just moved in across the hall.” His voice was a low baritone, laced with an undeniable authority. I offered a perfectly measured smile. “Hello. I’m Selene. Can I help you with something?” Instead of answering, Lucian held out a sheet of A4 paper. It was a printout of missing persons, a dozen black-and-white photos of varying quality, each with a name, age, and date of disappearance. My eyes swept over the familiar faces, my heart a placid lake. “I’m a detective with the city precinct,” he introduced himself, his gaze locked on me, searching for a flicker of reaction. “There’s been a spike in disappearances in this area. We’re canvassing the neighborhood. Do you recognize any of these people?” Maintaining my smile, I took the paper and made a show of examining it. Arthur Wells, 42, suspected of financial fraud, missing for three months. Ah, yes. He’d swindled several elderly people out of their life savings, causing one to die from a heart attack. He tasted of avarice and stale grease. Lila Reed, 35, a notorious bully, missing for two months. She had driven a young girl to leap from a school building. When I found her, she was in a bar, bragging about her “glory days.” Her soul had the sickly-sweet stench of decay. … My fingertips traced over the faces, a chef reviewing her menu. Lucian’s gaze sharpened. He raised his hand and pointed to the last man on the list. “This one is our priority. Kyle Miller. Have you seen him?” The man in the photo was the very same one I had just… processed. I lifted my eyes to meet Lucian’s probing stare, my smile deepening. “No, I don’t know him.” He studied me in silence, trying to peel back my composure to find the lie beneath. After a long moment, he took back the list. “He was last seen near this building. If you remember anything, call me.” He handed me a business card before turning to leave. I closed the door and tossed the card into the trash without a second glance. Back in the kitchen, I looked at my half-finished work on the countertop and found my appetite had vanished. This detective, Lucian, was like a bloodhound with a keen nose. For the first time in three hundred years, I felt a prickle of annoyance. The next morning, as I went to take out the trash, I ran into him again. He was out for a morning run, dressed in athletic gear, a light sheen of sweat on his brow. He stopped when he saw me. “Morning, Selene.” “Morning,” I nodded, ready to move on. “Your trash bag…” he said suddenly, his eyes fixed on the black sack in my hand. “I think it’s leaking.” I looked down. A single drop of dark crimson was seeping from the bottom of the bag, staining the clean pavement. Kyle’s blood. I’d been too hasty, and a shard of bone must have torn the plastic. My heartbeat didn't falter. I calmly met Lucian’s gaze. “Oh, it must be the leftover beef stew from last night. I was in a hurry when I threw it out.” His eyes traveled from the drop of blood on the ground, slowly, deliberately, up to my face. His stare felt like a scalpel, ready to slice me open. “Is that right?” he asked, his tone unreadable. “Funny. It doesn’t smell like beef stew to me.” 2. Trouble in the Garden “Perhaps my sense of smell is off, then,” I replied, my expression unchanged, before tossing the bag into a nearby dumpster. “If there’s nothing else, Detective, I should be getting back.” I turned and walked away without giving him another look. Back in my apartment, I stood by the window and watched his figure disappear into the morning light. This man was even sharper than I’d anticipated. Over the next few days, I kept “bumping into” Lucian. In the community garden, at the local supermarket, even at my favorite bookstore. He never initiated conversation, but he was always there, just within my line of sight, his hawk-like eyes a constant, silent presence. I knew what he was doing. He was watching me. One afternoon, I was in the backyard watering my ginkgo tree when someone knocked on the gate. When I opened it, Lucian was standing there, but he wasn’t alone. A plump woman I didn’t recognize was with him. The moment she saw me, her voice shot up. “That’s her, Officer! That’s the woman! The night Kyle went missing, I saw her creeping back home!” I vaguely recognized her now. Mrs. Gable from the next building, the neighborhood’s most notorious gossip. Lucian gave Mrs. Gable a brief glance before turning his professional gaze on me. “Selene, you are a person of interest in the disappearance of Kyle Miller. We need you to cooperate with our investigation.” “Me?” I feigned a laugh, as if it were the most absurd thing I’d ever heard. “On what grounds?” Mrs. Gable jumped in immediately. “On the grounds that I saw you! It was almost midnight, and I got up to use the bathroom. I saw her dragging a huge suitcase back home! It looked heavy, really heavy! Kyle was a big guy, over six feet tall. I bet he was in that suitcase!” My gaze turned cold as I fixed it on her. “Mrs. Gable, you can choke on your food, but you shouldn't choke on your words. Which one of your eyes saw Kyle Miller inside my suitcase?” My stare made her flinch, but with a cop by her side, her courage returned. “Well… I guessed! What’s a single woman like you doing dragging a giant suitcase around in the middle of the night? What else could it be but a body?” What a foolish, venomous assumption. I was done wasting my breath on her. I looked directly at Lucian. “Detective, are you really going to investigate me based on this kind of baseless gossip?” Lucian ignored her chatter. His gaze drifted past me, settling on the flourishing ginkgo tree in my yard. “We’re just asking some routine questions, Selene,” he said, then his tone shifted. “That’s a fine ginkgo tree you have. Must be well-fed, huh?” I felt an invisible hand clench around my heart, but my face remained a placid mask. “It does alright. I use kitchen scraps for fertilizer from time to time.” “Kitchen scraps?” A cryptic smile touched Lucian’s lips. “Something like… bone meal?” The air crackled, thick with unspoken meaning. Mrs. Gable, oblivious to the undercurrent, kept flapping her gums. “Officer, you have to search her place! I’m sure you’ll find evidence! A woman like her, with no history… she’s up to no good, I tell you!” My patience snapped. I’ve lived for three centuries. I’ve met more people than Mrs. Gable has eaten hot dinners. Women like her—leeches who live vicariously through others, their only joy found in gossip and slander—were the one type of creature I truly despised. “Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “You, of all people, should know what kind of man Kyle Miller was. His drunken rages were loud enough for the whole complex to hear. A man like that goes missing, shouldn’t you be setting off fireworks? Why are you so eager to find his supposed killer?” Her face turned the color of raw liver. “What are you talking about! That’s just how some married couples are! What would a single woman like you know about passion?” “Passion?” I scoffed. “The kind of passion that lands someone in the emergency room?” “You… you…” She sputtered, trembling with rage, pointing a finger at me. Lucian cut in smoothly. “Selene, please answer my question.” His eyes were like nails, pinning me in place. “What, exactly, is in your kitchen scraps?” I met his gaze head-on. “If you’re so curious,” I said, my voice a low challenge, “why don’t you grab a shovel and find out for yourself?” I expected him to back down, or at least to go get a warrant. But he just gave me a long, searching look, then turned to Mrs. Gable. “Ma’am, we have your statement. You can go home now.” She left, grumbling under her breath. Now it was just Lucian and me at the gate. “Selene,” he began, his tone softening slightly. “I’m not targeting you. But Kyle’s wife… she’s not doing well. She’s pregnant, and her husband is gone.” I laughed silently. Not doing well? She was probably ecstatic. “That’s her business. It has nothing to do with me.” “You’re sure you don’t remember anything at all?” Lucian pressed. “Nothing.” He stood there for a moment longer, then turned to leave. Watching his retreating back, I didn’t feel relief. I felt a heightened sense of alarm. The hound was closing his net. 3. The Trap is Sprung As expected, trouble arrived on my doorstep. The next day, the property manager, a paunchy middle-aged man named Mr. Henderson, knocked on my door with two workmen in tow. “Ms. Selene,” he said, his face stretched into a sycophantic grin. “So sorry to bother you. We’ve received a complaint from another resident. They’re concerned the roots of your ginkgo tree might be compromising the building’s foundation. We need to have our guys take a look. We might… have to move the tree.” Compromising the foundation? The excuse was so flimsy it was insulting. This building was fifty years old; my tree had been here for less than thirty. I didn’t need to guess who was behind this. “Mr. Henderson, don’t you think that’s a bit of a stretch?” I said, blocking the doorway. His smile faltered. “Well, Ms. Selene, it’s a safety issue. And the complaint came from Mrs. Gable. You know how she is. Our hands are tied.” He shrugged, absolving himself of all responsibility. “And if I refuse?” His expression hardened. “This is a community matter, not a personal one. If you obstruct our work and something happens, will you take full responsibility?” The two workmen behind him clutched their shovels and pickaxes, looking ready to force their way in. I knew then they were digging up that tree today, one way or another. What lay buried beneath it could never see the light of day. I took a deep breath, preparing to use… unconventional means… to persuade them to leave, when a voice cut through the tension. “What’s going on here?” It was Lucian. He was standing off to the side, his face a cold mask as he observed the scene. The moment Mr. Henderson saw him, his demeanor changed instantly. “Oh, Detective! You live here too? We just received a complaint and came to deal with this tree.” Lucian’s gaze swept over the tools in the workmen’s hands, then settled on me. I said nothing, simply meeting his stare, waiting to see his next move. “Dealing with a tree requires this kind of equipment?” Lucian gestured to the shovels. “Are you here to transplant it or to excavate?” Mr. Henderson stammered, “Well, you know… just in case.” “According to city ordinance 34B, trees on community property belong to all residents. Unilateral removal or transplantation is illegal,” Lucian stated, his voice calm but imbued with a chilling authority. “Do you have a resolution from the homeowners’ association? Have you filed the proper paperwork with the Parks Department?” The string of technical questions left the manager completely flustered. “We… uh…” “If not, please leave,” Lucian ordered. “If this happens again, I’ll report it myself.” Mr. Henderson’s face cycled through shades of red and white. He hadn’t expected the new tenant to be so well-versed in the law. He shot me a venomous glare that screamed This isn’t over, then scurried away with his workmen. Just like that, Lucian had diffused the crisis. I looked at him, feeling not a shred of gratitude, only a deepening suspicion. Why had he helped me? “Thanks, Detective,” I said flatly. “Don’t thank me,” he replied, his expression complex. “I just don’t believe in using illegal methods to conduct an investigation.” He paused, his eyes locking with mine. “Of course, when I conduct my own investigation, I’ll be sure to use legal ones.” The threat was unmistakable. “Like a search warrant?” I raised an eyebrow. He didn’t answer, which was an answer in itself. “I’ll be waiting,” I said, before closing the gate. Leaning against the cool wood, I listened to his footsteps fade away. That familiar frustration churned inside me again. He was a stone tossed into the placid lake of my three-hundred-year existence, sending out ripples I couldn’t control. Worse, I was beginning to realize I couldn’t see through him. He suspected me, yet he stopped others from digging up my yard. What was his endgame? That night, I made a decision. I wouldn’t wait passively for him to corner me. It was time to go on the offensive, to create a diversion that would draw his attention elsewhere. I needed new prey. It didn't take long to find the perfect target: a loan shark named Leo. He had ruined several families, and was currently in hiding after a deal went bad. Conveniently, his last known location was near a different precinct, far from Lucian’s direct jurisdiction. I dressed in black and melted into the night. Finding Leo was easy. He was holed up in an abandoned warehouse with a pair of goons. They were no match for me. Leo dissolved into a blubbering mess, falling to his knees and begging for his life. “Don’t kill me! Please! You want money? Take it all!” I looked down at him, my expression as cold as a butcher’s slab. “I don’t want your money,” I said. “I’m just here to deliver a message. Some people are not to be trifled with.” Then, I snapped his neck. Before I left, I carefully arranged the scene, leaving behind a few calculated clues—enough to link this case to other unsolved ones, creating the profile of a phantom killer, but nothing that could ever trace back to me. By the time I was finished, the sky was beginning to pale. I returned home, took a long shower, and believed I had finally bought myself some peace. But the next afternoon, my doorbell rang again. I opened it to find Lucian on my doorstep, his face as dark as a thundercloud. Behind him stood two uniformed police officers. “Selene,” he said, his voice hard as steel as he looked me in the eye. “You are under arrest for suspicion of involvement in multiple homicides.” He produced a pair of gleaming steel handcuffs.
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