There was something tragic about the situation Castor was witnessing. Jared was a 19 year old peddling drugs on a street corner. He was a pawn for much nastier men. And in a few more years, Jared would be dead. Whether shot to shit by a rival gang or overdosing on his own product, it was an inevitable fate. Even on a night like tonight, with the rain pouring and the wind blowing, this kid was out trying to sell his product. It was astounding in Castor's mind, that someone would be earning the nails for their own coffin. Tonight he would correct that error in Jared's reasoning.

The power of his blood made could have made Castor move without a sound. Jared was looking at the street, not the alley that Castor approached from. The sloshing of his boots in water would have been muted. The rain drops would have to passed through empty air. There was no need though. Jared was hiding in his jacket and Castor was hidden by the storm. He made it to within two steps of Jared before the poor boy realized someone was there. Even then there was nothing he could do. Jared's body tensed and he started to turn but it was far to late for a fight.

One hand to Jared's jacket, a knife to his throat. The boy was puddy in Castor's rotted hands. Slamming him against the wall, Castor slid an inch from his face. "I will ask you this only once. I expect you to answer." His voice was like iron. "You come out here every night to sell poison. Why?"

Jared's face was a sheet, soaking wet and powdered by fear. "I....I....just...I don't...."

Castor pushed the knife into his skin just enough to draw blood.

"I don't know...." The answer came as a rushed sob ridden with fear. Jared was shaking under Castor's grip. He really was a small boy. At least 4 inches shorter than Castor and easily 80 pounds lighter. The coat made him look bigger than he felt. His small size could have been because of the drugs or natural metabolism. Castor couldn't say. But this boy was a twig trembling in his hands and it would have been all to easy to snap him like one.

Moving next to his ear Castor took on a much gentler tone. The predatory nature he had been projecting became soft. "Not ever again. Not one more night. You are done." Then without a word his fangs sank into Jared's neck. Sweet rapture filled every part of his body. Jared went limp under his hand. The blood was clean and warm, untainted despite the corrupting products the boy sold. Every part of Castor was warmed and rejuvenated as the precious vitae entered his cold veins. He drank deeply but quickly. The boy would be weak but not dead. No, he would have his chance to atone.

Drawing his tongue across the wound Castor sealed his bite and looked into Jared's bovine eyes. He was dazed and confused; lost somewhere between terror and bliss. With a rapid sweep of his arm, Castor bashed Jared across the face causing him to crumple to the ground. They make it so easy.

Mercy was virtue that the Cardinal had taught Castor. Sinner by choice or sinner by circumstance. It didn't matter because sin was sin, but mercy was to be offered to all. So too would this child have his chance at absolution. That was the grace that God granted the living. That was the grace that Castor had to show this boy. God grant him the strength and faith to overcome this sin, that this Demon will never visit him again. That the darkness of his past does not overshadow his future. Subside your anger and provide him the chance to claim salvation. Amen.

Opening his eyes from prayer, Castor dug through the boy's jacket searching for the drugs. They were in Jared's breast pocket. Little bags of white powder and assorted colored pills aside a small roll of money. His knife cut through the bags and the contents spilled onto Jared's unconscious body. Some of poison was washed away by the rain, some sank into the boy's clothing. The small roll of bills, Castor slid into his own pocket. Looking, there was something truly pathetic about this kid. He was unconscious in an alley, covered in his own drugs during a rain storm. No dignity or honor about him. They really are just sheep. Sheep of all different colors, but sheep nonetheless.

Then Castor pulled out a small golden cross. It had no decoration or markings. It was simply a cross. Castor slid it into Jared's hand and then stood looking down. After a while Jared would wake up remembering maybe half of what transpired, maybe less. "I hope you remember what matters." With that, Castor started back down the alley. There was no rush. He was fading into shadow. Ten steps later, there was nothing to suggest he existed at all.