“So you’re the mighty slayer who’s going to kill me? I don’t think so,” sneered the vampire.
“You can’t believe that or I’d already be dead,” I replied, pointing to the coffin with its chains and drifts of silver shavings and wild rose thorns. “You’d be luckier if I was merely a slayer,” I added while turning the cylinder’s nozzle and breathing through my mask. “What I am,” I added; opening my little case of instruments “is a vampire flayer.”