“Most of them, yes. A slayer is a soldier. Obey the mission at all costs. Never mind if the enemy is waving a white flag or pleading for mercy or”—he glanced away, eyes closing for just a moment—“more human than any mortal you’ve ever met.”

“Monstrous,” Reg declared.

Sal agreed. “That was my conclusion too. Not that your former kind are any picnic though. Monsters on both sides, if you ask me, and I just couldn’t see the point of fighting in a war that will never end.”

Sal pushed his bowl to the side and folded his thick hands. “I’m surprised you’re interested. But then, I reckon you’ve never met a slayer?”

“Never cared to,” Reg said. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I’ve always wanted to meet one,” I said. “But when I pictured it, there was a lot more chasing and biting involved—not so much with the sad stories.”

Sal chuckled softly. “Well, the saddest part of all is that we spend a lifetime training to turn vamps to smoke when we are born with the power to turn them to flesh and blood.” He pulled his hands apart to spread them on the table. “No stakes required.”

I leaned in, watching his hands as if they might give up their secrets.

“How does it work, what you do?”

“It’s as simple as touch.” Sal lifted one hand, palm out, and Reg and I both leaned back, instinctively, even though there was no damage left to be done. “In the early days, we called ourselves healers, not slayers. Our kind emerged about two thousand years ago, in the time before immortals took care to conceal themselves. They lived in the open and turned people often—spreading vampires like a virus across villages. When someone was turned, families would try to contain them long enough to contact the local healer in hopes of reversing the damage. One touch was all it took back then.”

“And now?” Reg asked. He sounded as breathless as I felt.

“Powers have faded over the generations. One touch only works if you can hold on for a good few minutes and stay focused. And that’s if you can get your hands on ’em to begin with. It’s like trying to catch a ghost. But engage one in combat, get those fine motor skills going, and now you’ve got a fair fight.”

It was a valid point. Most vampires were invisible to humans when flat out running—barely more than a puff of air. But the finer the movement, the slower the speed. A vampire could probably set a dance floor on fire, but put a couple of knitting needles in their hands, and they’d be no faster than a human.

“Healing just took too much time,” Sal said. “So slayers got lazy and settled for the stake and the smoke.”