Blood of Gato

William decided it was time to seriously expand his knowledge of mythology and the occult. If he was now part of this strange and frightening world, he at least needed to understand it.

Sitting in a dark corner of the university library, he leaned over a massive tome, its pages smelling of dust and old leather. The lamp above the table cast a golden circle of light, drawing the pages from the shadows.

"Bastet primarily had priestesses, not priests, unlike other Egyptian gods..." he read, softly moving his lips. "She often served as a protector of the innocent, children, and women. She was considered a symbol of love, warmth, and kindness..."

William huffed and leaned back in his chair.

"Yeah... love, warmth, and kindness," he muttered under his breath. "As if I didn't just devour that bastard's heart... Pure mercy, right?"

He involuntarily smirked but immediately felt a stab of doubt.

"I'm not even a woman to be her priestess," he said quietly, staring at the floor. "If it were Sam or Camila in my place... they would fit much better."

The faces of his sisters flashed in his mind, their laughter warming him slightly. He leaned over the page again.

"...She protected Queen Natwan when the hero Untku attempted to exploit the power granted to him by the demon Nakdun to destroy the city..."

Before William's eyes, a vivid scene came to life: the scorching sun, walls of white stone, and the blare of horns. On one side stood a giant in black armor, whose spear, as the legend said, could only be lifted by twenty men. He held it with one hand. On the other side was a slender figure in a cat mask, moving as swiftly as a shadow.

"Don't mess with women," William noted, examining the illustration where the warrior was eviscerating the giant, who, collapsing to his knees, still tried to lift his spear.

He turned the page.

"...However, Queen Natwa betrayed Bastet, even after she had saved her. When the goddess demanded the promised gifts and offerings, the queen refused. Moreover, she attempted to capture the goddess's daughter..."

Something inside William pricked, and he felt a strange irritation.

"Always like this... You help, and you get a knife in the back," he said grimly.

He continued reading.

"...and this led to the city's downfall. In great anger, Bastet unleashed her other child upon it. If one was mercy, the other became her scorching sun and wrath. The beast of Antkhat..."

In William's imagination, a monstrous creature emerged—black as night, with eyes blazing golden light. Its steps shook the earth, rivers turned to blood, and screams drowned out the beating of drums. People fled through the streets, and mothers, in their madness, impaled their own children, hoping to placate the goddess.

"Damn..." he breathed out, feeling chills run down his spine.

On the last illustration, Bastet sat on a throne, gazing at the crumbling city without a shadow of compassion. The stone walls fell apart, roofs burned, and above it all—the goddess's unmoving gaze, cold and eternal.

Thus ended the story of the foolish queen who considered herself equal to the heavens.

"People in antiquity sure knew how to throw themselves biblical weekends," William smiled wryly, feeling in his pocket for a crumpled silver wrapper and pulling out a piece of gum. The wrapper crinkled as he opened it, and the menthol freshness hit his tongue. He leaned back in his chair and, squinting, muttered, "Leticia said yesterday that Bastet isn't a goddess at all, but just another phenomenon, like me… and like her. So, I need to figure out where the bones are in these myths and where the nonsense begins."

He carefully closed the collection of Egyptian legends, running his hand over the rough cover as if to punctuate the end. Egypt could wait. Right now, there was another hunt.

On the top shelf, a narrow book with a cheeky title caught his eye: "Sanguisugae et eorum habitationes." The binding cracked at the spine, and the paper had a yellowish tint, like a dried lotus. William hooked his nail under the edge, pulled it from the shelf, and dusted it off.

"Sanguisugae…" — he grimaced. "If I'm not mistaken, that means leeches. Or… bloodsuckers. Guess it's in the same vein."

Flipping through, he listened to the dry rustle of the pages, the quiet ticking of the clock in the reading room echoing in the background. His fingers quickly skimmed over names—where was it? His eyes caught on the Latin lines, and he grunted, trying to recall anything resembling grammar from school. Finally, his gaze landed on the heading: "De Lamia Graecorum"—with the number "38" at the top of the page.

"Alright, let's see what you have to say about Leticia…"

He shifted his gaze to the parallel column with the translation and read in a whisper, as if testing his hearing:

"Lamia are creatures that take the form of beautiful maidens to seduce men and feed on their blood and souls. They abduct small children and then devour them. Lamiae are cunning and dangerous, skilled in deception and seduction. Their true form is horrific: women with serpentine tails and mouths filled with sharp teeth."

"Charming," he muttered. "Max and Grace would definitely love this. It could use a caption: 'Still Life with Appetite.'"

On the adjacent page were engravings: the very maw, twisted, almost theatrical poses, and folds in dresses transforming into scales. William found himself examining the details a little longer than necessary.

He turned the page, searching for the section "How to Kill Them." Suddenly, the lines swam into emptiness, as if someone had taken an eraser to the text. In their place were a couple of sentences presenting themselves as ancient wisdom:

"Only a chosen warrior, blessed by Olympus, can bring down a Lamia. The blessing of lightning is his seal."

"Are you kidding me?" — William pressed his forehead against the page and hissed, "So, do I need to fly to Athens, fall to my knees before Zeus, and ask him to zap me with electricity? Very practical, thanks."

The gum lost its flavor, so he took it out, wrapped it in the foil, and pressed it against the edge of an empty cup to keep it from sticking to the table. The mechanics in his head were already clicking. If Leticia killed someone, what then? Her regeneration was insane; you couldn't overpower her. So, it meant not hitting her, but drying her out.

"If I think about it…" — he took a pencil and pressed it to his lips. "Lamia need energy. Leticia said she was weakened. So, she replenishes herself like a battery from an outlet. The outlet is… other people's emotions, attention, fear, desires. If you cut her off from the source, she'll just… shut down."

He drew an arrow in his notebook: "Lamia → source." Next to it, he drew a thick cross. Then a circle, inside which he wrote: "How?" followed by three question marks. The plan in his mind thudded, growing.

"William, here! This is all the homework for the week!"

Sarah's voice sliced through the air like a shining knife through a curtain. A heavy stack of papers plopped onto the table.

"What?" He blinked and looked up. "Sarah, where did this come from… I mean… why now?"

"You haven't forgotten our agreement, have you?" She planted her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow as if preparing to tap it on the table.

He glanced sideways, pretending that the gears in his head were desperately trying to engage. Sarah snorted, not waiting for him.

"You promised to do all my homework if I went on that pathetic date with Kemar. I went. I suffered. I deserve compensation." She slapped her palm on the top sheet. "Now it's your turn."

"A deal's a deal," William sighed, sizing up the pile. "But why so much? Haven't you done anything… since last Easter?"

"Ha-ha," Sarah replied, maintaining a stone-faced expression. "Two weeks. And that's only because our chemistry teacher is a walking bore. You'll get through it quickly. You're smart," she added with a broad, predatory smile. "And by the way, don't chew so loudly; the librarian will kill you with her eyes."

"I've already been killed by ancient Greeks today," he muttered, pulling the stack closer. "What subjects are these?"

"History, literature, a bit of chemistry. And this essay on social studies," she squinted at the Latin book. "Do you want to be a doctor?"

"Research paper," he said tersely. "The goal is to broaden horizons."

"Ugh," Sarah seemed like she wanted to make a joke but changed her mind when she met his gaze. "Alright. I'll head out then."

"Next time, please bring some coffee in a thermos," he huffed. "I need a blessing of lightning here."

"Of course, darling. Maybe I should spit in it too?" She smiled faintly and assessed his condition faster than he could. "You look pale as chalk."

"That's just from the sauna," William joked. "Now go, before the librarian decides you're here picking up guys."

As Sarah stepped back, she couldn't resist; she snatched a wrapper from the table, rolled it into a ball, and accurately tossed it into the trash can.

"Bullseye," he said.

"I'm the chosen warrior of the trash can," she replied, and for a moment, the room filled with her small, lively laughter, which immediately died down, interrupted by the centuries-old "shhh" from the desk.

William was left with the book and the pile of assignments. Both weighed down the table in their own ways. He pulled his notebook closer and wrote in large letters: "Lamia — feeding — cut off." Below it, he wrote: "Talk: openly? conditions?" and underneath, in much smaller letters: "Do not provoke."

His eyes fell back on the illustration. The snake-woman grinned with eternal hunger. A vivid image of Leticia stubbornly resurfaced in his mind—not just a picture, but a living presence: her fingers brushing the edge of a cup, her gaze lingering on people just a bit longer than that of an ordinary person. It wasn't "evil for the sake of evil." It was like thirst—and that made it scarier.

He closed "Sanguisugae et eorum habitationes" and returned the thin blue ribbon with a faded gold edge as a bookmark. He pushed Sarah's top notebook closer to himself. "Alright, I'll tackle Sarah's tasks first, and then I'll try to talk to Leticia, but not like last time. This time, I'll aim to be more peaceful." With those thoughts, William began fulfilling his promise.