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People believe that those with power, rule the streets, whether it's drugs, money, or just their own desires. I came to this place with a different sort of power. The power to undo all that. The power to take those people who would mercilessly rule the streets, the parks, and the dark alleys and leave them broken, beaten, but not dead. Leaving them dead would not teach them the error of their ways. All it would do is breed more violence. This is my story, my story of what I witnessed, what I did, and I don't care about other people's judgements or faiths. I do what I believe is right, since there's only so much that the law can do.

I was moving to a quiet little place, rather distant from Houston. A small town supposed to be filled with kind folks, supposed to be easy going, quiet, and above all else, crime free. The moment my mother dropped me of so that she could head back for whatever family meeting she had, she could go to. Even she knew I would start shit. But I don't start it, I finish it. Eighteen years old and about to start my Senior year of high school, I was legal enough to smoke a cigarette, so with my bags of clothes in hand, I light one up, to try and ease my nerves. The place looked good enough, but the night life tells a darker side to any place than what the light shows. Chicago, Houston, L.A., New York City... they were the biggest offenders and examples of what I mean. It wouldn't be until I laid eyes on a beautiful ebony skinned girl who glanced my way and gave me a smile.

I had intended to just get a motel room for the summer, but when she came over with that smile, wearing her hair back in a ponytail, a simple blouse and tight jeans and welcomed me, my nerves weren't exactly firing with sexual desire, but rather interest. See, in Texas, it's kind of an unwritten law that people of other colors don't mix, just to save face. I guess this little town can be considered an exception to that, or rather, didn't give two fucks about it. I stopped and politely snuffed my menthol, just to be courteous before she opened her mouth to speak to me.

"Coming for a visit, or to stay, Stranger?" was all she asked of me.

"That all depends. I start my final year of high school after summer ends, my family wants to have a reunion and all, and I'm not big on it." is all I replied.

"Well, I can talk to my dad and see if he'll let you room with us."

"Very hospitable of you. Not sure how he'd take to his daughter inviting some non-local to room with his family."

She definitely wasn't a farmer's daughter, or some girl who knew how big cities went. She just didn't fit any of those molds, she just came off as a genuine human being, not even being Christian from no signs of such memorabilia on her person. She dressed modestly enough, but still had her own personality and she was happy to be herself. Rather than answer me though, she hefted both of my bags and led me to her place. Despite being a small town, it did have it's rich folk. Kind of odd for the daughter of one of the richest people in a small town to offer a hand of kindness to a stranger who doesn't belong, really.

The place looked huge and rather gothic on the outside, reminding me more of Dracula's Castle in those Castlevania games, or something close to that effect. That doesn't mean it wasn't without modern technology, as I could see evidence of that by the doorbell and the almost concealed cameras watching the front door. I also saw that the doors themselves were high enough tech to have powerful electronic locks on the doors. Security and privacy, that alone told me that this town wasn't all it seemed. Even though I'm eighteen years old, much less a scrawny white boy being invited to this part of town when I had no business here as an outsider by a beautiful dark-skinned girl, I learned to pick up on certain clues that told me just enough to actually start to pry for answers about what all is going on. This place is located at least 150 miles from Houston, but apparently, there was a darker side to this place to have the upper echelon on their toes.

When she opened the door and allowed me in, I smelled the faint scent of cherry-flavored tobacco. Pretty heavy. Probably a cigar. That was what first hit me, that is until I saw the furnishings. Not exactly Presidential or Politician blowing the country's funds on their own desires... but definitely not flaunting their cash either. Subtle, yet comfortable furnishings, with just enough decor to keep people around to talk. It felt homey, but spacious, something I liked. However, it showed a bit of class when I saw the family portraits hanging up in front of the mantle, all painted in oil-based paints. That showed true class and a desire to remember where they came from. Few people with this kind of money even bother to remember where the family roots lied.

Oh yeah, each portrait showed a white man with clean cut hair and facial hair trimmed to show mystery, yet hygiene, but the eyes of each one didn't do justice of capturing the man being painted. This caused me some confusion that I honestly was curious for answers about, and so I was led into the father's study, which we politely knocked and I waited until I was allowed inside. After some soft words that I was polite enough to not focus on, I realized that there were some things feeling really off.

My mind was brought back to the study when I was told I could come inside. Walking in, looking like someone who just turned eighteen, hair grown out to what people of the 70s and 80s would call Hairband Hair, a short sleeve white shirt, black jeans, and black military-grade boots, I got to see the man whom the ebony girl called father. I took a seat at his silent request, and his face reflected those in the oil-portraits, but his eyes were definitely more alive than the paintings could capture. I looked at his left hand, wearing a simple wedding band and holding a cigar, where the cherry flavored smoke drifted up from.

He nodded to the young girl for her to leave, leaving him and myself alone to speak. This was more like an interview, at least, that's what the room felt like without her presence. I couldn't really define his features so I pulled out my glasses case from my pocket and put on my oval spectacles, and I saw that, indeed, he looked exactly liked the paintings. Being far-sighted can be handy at times, and his manner of dress was the same thing as the paintings. Either he got some damn good genes, or something was not right, in the logical sense of the term. He stretched out a hand, which I accepted and gave a firm shake, feeling that he was holding back a ton of his grip before he withdrew it. His hand felt somewhat cold, kinda clammy, and not one beat of a pulse.

"Well, I am glad my adopted daughter brought you here, Outsider," he began, and already, the term was getting my blood simmering. But what calmed it down was his thick Romanian accent. That explains a decent amount of why he had such a dark-skinned daughter, she was adopted, and he obviously came to this country to try and build a better future for his family, no matter the origins.

"Not like she'd take no for an answer, sir." I politely replied, to which he gave a small chuckle.

"She is indeed... free spirited, that is the term, right?" When I nodded my head, he continued, "Back in Romania, I was to be a Count of the Walachian Peoples... but seeing how much they would despise the family name, I decided that it would be best to start over, so I came here to start a better future... and I have made a wonderful success as a lawyer for this small town. I guess I should have told you my name, forgive my manners. I am-"

"District Attorney Orlaf, originating from Walachia, Romania, decided to immigrate to the United States of America for a better future due to trying and troubling times, as well as the royal title for you and your family being one that would cause such an outrage that it would have gotten you killed, much less your family."

"Very astute of you-"

"You immigrated to the United States... in 1875." I finished.

He blinked at me, then smiled, not darkly, but rather with intrigue. "Not many would catch on to the fact that I am what many consider a... half-breed, is it?"

"I had my suspicions sir, but the Orlaf line in the Romanian History texts stopped in 1875, and when you confirmed that you, yourself, moved to the States for a better life, as well as to preserve your life from angry mobs, that was what tipped me off."

"You some Damphir Hunter or something?" he asked with a bit of anger in his throat.

"No, just prefer to spend my time looking into the history and cultures of other nations. I do not wish to unintentionally offend others of foreign nation birth."

He eased up from hearing my explanation, but my face had not changed, even from the slight anger he had in his voice, which in turn, intrigued him. "You never told my daughter your name. Perhaps you should tell me."

"My name is Thomas O'Brian, Irish descent, and I was dropped off here by my mother for the summer."

He gave a bit of a grin before speaking, "You are the one who was trying to stop the drug slinging and human trafficking last year in Houston. You started at the school grounds, left multiple young adults in the hospital with various dislocations, broken bones, but not one death on your hands. I am not so displaced from the large cities to not care about their day-to-day efforts."

And there it was, why my mother dropped me off here, she had dropped me off here for fear that I would beat the hell out of other family members, because I could tell how a person acted, talked, and even dressed, whether they were just following a trend that originated from prison systems, or whether they were active participants. Apparently, this DA/Vampire Orlaf knew me well enough, but only from the news articles. He didn't know my person.

"Care to explain your actions last summer, O'Brian?"

"I was sick and tired of being approached by my fellow students on the street for a variety of drugs. When I looked into their eyes, I saw an addicted young adult that had to sell to meet his quota for another hit. I had grown tired of it all sir, and Houston's various precincts couldn't catch those that were smart enough to evade the law. These people I rooted out, dragged out, and beat the hell out of them to show that common folk will not just idly sit back for long. There will always be that one person who gets fed up with it enough to do something about it, sir. I guess I was just that one who took justice to them."

"But you did not kill any of them. Why?"

"Why kill someone you're trying to teach a lesson to? Whether the lesson is humility, or the lesson is that there is someone with the power to undo what these people have done, it doesn't warrant the death of these people."

"And by, 'these people', you are referring to drug traffickers and... what is word... pimp?"

"Yes, because they believe they have the power to rule the streets, to be arrogant enough to do some of their 'business' in broad daylight in from of police precincts, to have police officers in their back pocket. When someone shows up and shows they have the power to undo all they had built over many years, that truly shows them that Karma comes back, and hits hard."

"Very interesting way to look at it... what do you see in my daughter?"

"I see a young lady who enjoys being herself, and stays away from trouble... usually."

"That is a summary worth nodding to. Evangeline! Show young Thomas his bedroom please."

That was something I didn't expect to hear. I had laid bare my own moral standing as to what I thought of the thugs on the streets, pinpointed that the DA was a vampire/damphir, and that I had a record for violence. And yet, he not only allowed me in his home, but he offered me a spare bedroom. When the ebony-skinned girl walked in with the happiest of smiles on her face, I wondered if she was just happy to have someone new to talk to, or why Orlaf just accepted me. Too many questions that I knew I wouldn't get to ask, but time would open up the ancient Romanian. Evangeline, who just said to call her Eve, showed me the guest bedroom. It was pretty cozy, with a decent sized bed, a mirror on top of a wardrobe, a decent sized closet, but nothing on the walls to say who, or what, was in here prior. I just nodded in thanks as I began to unpack. This summer would indeed be interesting.