'She's lovely,' I think, watching her sip blood-red wine from a heavy drinking glass; the kind normally used for juice or milk—not so potent a substance as wine. The carpet, worn in places where feet have tread time and time again, feels scratchy against my bare calves.
Though it is swelteringly hot both outside and in, she dresses in a full skirt and a long-sleeved, high-necked blouse. She appears untouched by the heat, her hair still perfect, not a bead of sweat marring her skin. Her lips, painted a shade of purple that would look gaudy upon another being, are currently molded into a small smile. A smile that seems secretive, as if those amethyst eyes of hers know what occurs beyond the thin walls of the tattered apartment she currently lounges in.
Her feet are bare except for a smooth coat of red upon each nail, and now she wiggles her toes and shifts in the worn lazy-boy she has draped herself across. I watch enviously; even the slightest of her movements is deliberate and graceful. I could never move as such. I look down at my own feet—caked in grime and rough with calluses—and grimace.
“Do you know…” She begins, placing her wine glass upon a nearby end table with the effortless extension of one long, slender arm. “Do you know why the moon shines red?”
I watch her silently as she rises to her feet and glides to the open window. A dilapidated screen sits in its frame; a futile attempt to halt intruders of the insect kind. No thieves would bother this worthless place.
She turns to me, expectation clear in her eyes. The lights in the apartment are off and so her cat-like pupils are dilated fully in the dim lighting that streams in through the window.
“No…no, I don't know.” I reply slowly, knowing that the moon outside is golden as ever, full and glowing above the destitute city.
“Blood.” A smile lights her beautiful, China-doll features. Her skin is pale as an angel's and her features just as flawless. I know, however, that beneath the asymmetrical fringe of her hair lies a spiraling burn marring half of her face. Her horns, branching around her head like two sides of a broken crown, glint neon as they reflect light from one of the signs across the street. I nod at her answer, pretending to understand while my mind wanders elsewhere. The rent is due in a week, my skin itches from fleabites, and my neighbors next door appear to have the tenacity of rabbits. Even as I consider this last thought, turning it over in my mind, creaks from protesting coils can be heard through the walls separating our apartments.
She grimaces in feigned distaste, wrinkling her nose but otherwise not moving from her position at the window. Her wings—vestigial wings—flutter involuntarily and I glance at them moodily. Their surfaces crawl with ridges of scar tissue and their edges are rough and torn. They are, however, the most normal part of her—they might belong to anyone.
“You should let me out…” When she turns, it is with a pout upon her lips, though a moment later a faint smile reveals glinting canines. “It's boring being here…all day…every day.”
I make no response but instead maintain a show of inspecting the crackling plaster covering the wall to my right. My toes curl into the scruffy carpet.
We sit there silently (well, she stands, but motionless, like a statue), the strange solace we attempt to achieve interrupted only by the noises of my neighbors next door. I wonder if I fell asleep at some point, because all I know is that one moment she is there, and the next she is gone. As is her custom.
It was dark and smoky. Music blared from crumbling speakers that were situated within the craggy shadows of the club. Strippers clung and danced against poles, the metal paint chipped and worn from use to reveal the heavy, industrial plastic that lay beneath. The sequins of the dancers' costumes reflected the establishment's flashing neon lights that revolved on mechanical hinges to catch the gaze of glinting ruby, onyx, and amber eyes.
The club's patrons varied dramatically in size and appearance. Some were shaggy and boasted fins and claws; others were more humanoid with gracefully tapering ears and dexterous fingers. The dancers varied just as much, some flashing toothy smiles like those displayed by dragons, others watching through wide, deceptively innocent eyes.
Beneath the pulsating beat of the wild music that careened through the packed club, two figures spoke in lowered tones. They were seated at the bar, their fingers resting upon its sticky, grimy surface as they occasionally lifted glasses with chipped rims and cracked sides. Her drink was a deep sapphire in color, matching the wrappings that cloaked her hands; his was clear as water and rapidly vanished down his throat.
“I'll do it.” Her tone was pitched as deliberately bored, her delicate fingers drumming lightly on the counter to reinforce the act. Money changed hands, sure enough, and the demon she consulted with soon rose, with a sweeping bow, and vanished into the writhing crowd of dancers.
She was easily overlooked, sitting there whilst calmly draining her drink and contemplatively fingering the nylon bag her companion had handed her. She was generic amongst a crowd of abnormality. An awesome task, but one she accomplished nonetheless, her beauty masked beneath layers of clothing and a half-mask of cobalt cloth. Her gaze was apathetic, and when she rose it was to vanish, like her former drinking buddy, into the crowd. None missed her presence, and none watched as she walked to the shabby apartment complex just across the street.
I eye the bag hungrily before setting it aside in favor of getting dressed. My clothes are simple, dark, and deceptively normal. They feel good and familiar against my skin, which I have thoroughly washed at the public baths with some of the money contained within the bag. For once my skin glows, as if it, too, is pleased at the loss of month's worth of dirt.
I know I should be angry that she went out without my knowledge, but the job she picked up makes it worthwhile. A faint, nagging doubt lies in the back of my mind, but it's like the fly one can never seem to rid the kitchen of; it lies there, buzzing occasionally, but is always just out of reach. I dismiss the annoyance caused by this doubt, firmly telling myself that she is looking out for number one, just as I should be. If I receive money, it's better for her too. That's all. That must be her reasoning. Besides, it's not as if this is the first time she has snuck out—and it's often helped me. I see no reason why this should be different.
It will be a relatively easy job tonight. The target is guarded, yes, and rich—definitely—but he is also overconfident…cocky. I slip twin blades up each sleeve of my attire. A small, delicate gun is added to the holster that hangs from my belt. Poisoned darts—spindly yet packing quite a punch—are slipped into the coils of my hair alongside the pins keeping it in place.
I release a long sigh, slipping easily into what has become a habitual, pre-job trance. And when I open my eyes…
She had caught the attention of all of the male creatures that danced at the banquet. Flashing gaze and the unusual coloring of her hair were enhanced, perfectly, by the dress she wore. A low bodice revealed the curves of her breasts, and a half-smile lured in the unwary. Her eyes shone from behind the mask of a fierce, white hawk. Coiffed hair had begun to loosen, but artfully, from its bondage and now swirled in shoulder length waves as she changed partners in a graceful whirl of skirts.
Her lace-veiled hands linked with many that night, though it was only towards one of her partners that her demeanor changed. That secretive little half smile blossomed into a full one, set upon coquettishly pursed lips that were painted a vibrant scarlet. His hand around her waist, hers upon his shoulder, she leaned forward to whisper something in his ear that made him tip back his head and laugh.
He was darkly handsome with an aquiline nose and a full, usually grimly set mouth. His eyes were narrow and held a certain spark of vicious intelligence that suggested staying on his good side was a necessity. He appeared very much human, an appearance as deceptive as his rich, smooth voice. Indeed, the only sign that he was anything more than human were the slightly tapered ends of his ears and the pointed teeth hidden behind his now smirking lips.
If he replied to her comment, it went unnoticed, for she had stopped dancing to eye the opposite end of the room, another smile flitting across her face. Her hand in his, she tugged him off the dance floor, glancing back every now and again with laughter in her eyes.
She led him to a small door, one nearly hidden beneath the decorations erected for the ball. It swung open when she twisted the doorknob, revealing a room covered from wall to wall with darkened mirrors in which their paired reflections gazed back at them.
When I open my eyes I am in an unfamiliar room. Mirrors line the walls, revealing reflections of myself over and over and over…I become aware of the dress that lies crumpled before me on the ground in one of the many reflections, and then of the man behind me whose slightly puzzled gaze pierces my own. His hands rest familiarly upon my hips, one hand having slipped beneath the slick black cloth of my shirt to idly trace circular patterns against my stomach.
“It seems you've almost run out of layers of clothing…” His voice is teasing in my ear, and comfortable, as if we've known each other for some time. The familiarity of our position and in his voice is what startles me from the daze I find myself in.
It is an instinctive reaction. My hand flies up to my hair and plucks from its tendrils one of the thin, bone needles I had placed there earlier. I feel as though I am watching, removed from the scene, as I twist in his arms and jab the needle into his jugular vein. His eyes widen and I detect emotions I would never have expected from one of demon kin. Though he surely has some time to retaliate he makes no attempt to harm me. The whites of his eyes redden as blood vessels burst, and blood drips from the corner of his mouth. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but manages little more than a wheezing cough as his legs buckle and he falls to the ground. Twitching.
Seizures wrack his body and I feel my lips thin into a straight line as I pull my gun from its holster. One shot to the head puts an end to his movements. Impassively, I watch as blood pools around his still body, soaking his elegant clothes and worming across the tile so that the caulk between each snow-white panel turns red with blood.
The target is dead and yet I feel oddly indifferent to this fact. The completion of a job normally brings a sense of relief and security. The completion of a job means I'll be clothed and fed for months to come. This time, however, I feel a strange sense of dread as I lift my eyes from the target to the mirror.
Her beautiful features are drawn into a feral snarl as she glares at me. I feel myself shudder in response to her anger.
“You killed him.” Her tone is accusing, the words guttural as they spew from scarlet lips. “How could you?”
“H…I…How are you here?”
Her voice whispers in my ear as if she stands directly behind me. “You know perfectly well. Celis.”
My name. Her name. I shiver again and my fingers, which have been clutching the gun convulsively, abruptly go limp. The weapon slips from my hand and falls with a clatter upon the tile, splashing flecks of blood onto the leg of my pants. “But you accepted the job…”
“I wished to help him, you interfered.”
“You ruined…
Everything.”
“I want you to leave. Get out of my head!You don't mean that.Ido! AllIwantedwasto…”
She knelt to pick the gun back up, the edges of her skirt dyed with his blood. Her fingers clutched the weapon's bloody handle as she peered at herself in the mirror, amethyst eyes bright and clear. Searching. She absently straightened the bodice of her dress, retying its laces with steady fingers that left behind fingerprints of red. A tear slid down one cheek, rolling silently down the ridged, scarred flesh. The other remained; perfect. Unmarred. A doll's face.
She smiled at her reflection once as she bent to gently kiss the dead man's cheek. The kiss of an angel. Then she left. Vanished. As was her custom.