Trillium- chapter 1

In the early year of 2029 Earth was plagued by The Great Destruction.

No one knows why or how it started. Some blamed global warming while other more religious groups proclaimed it was the end of the world as we knew it.

It happened so fast that nobody could stop it. At first there was a steady decline in crops because of a world-wide drought that eventually wiped out all livestock and cut the supply of raw materials drastically. Famine was inevitable. It dropped life expectancy by more than a decade. There was death and destruction in every part of the world. Except one place. Trillium, a country in the Northern part of the content that was once known as Canada.

Everyone sought refuge in the last known safe haven. Only a few passed the rigorous screening process and were granted asylum.

It didn't take long for the rest of the world to be overthrown by the Zeffer- an elite group of specially enhanced agents with pure essence that run through their veins.

No one is sure exactly when the Final War ended. Depending on who you ask some say the war lasted four days, the amount of time it took for the Zeffer to gain control of what was once known as America.

Others argue the Final War lasted a total of twelve days, when a Treaty of Rights was officially enacted.

As result, the delusive government restructured the population and enhanced their genetics. Not everyone survived. Then again, not everyone was meant to.

Mankind has lived in Peace and Prosperity for two decades.....

"What a load of crap....", I mumble softly.

I don't know why mother makes me read this book every night before I go to bed. If she did it purposefully just so I would fall asleep then she succeeded. As if getting quizzed in the morning on The Letter of Laws wasn't bad enough! Father isn't any better. It doesn't help that he is the commanding officer and works right beside the General.

I put the brown weathered worn out book that's twice the size of my palm in its rightful place, back under the wobbly leg of my bed where it belongs. Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, depending on which way you look at it, my parents are unaware of the state in which I treat the stupid thing.

With the wave of my hand the light switches off. I pull the covers up to my chin, trying to get comfortable for the night knowing full well it will be another sleepless night.

Trillium preface

(Set in the dystopia of Trillium, a country in the Northern part of the continent that was once known as Canada.)

Your essence is in your eyes. It is your soul. Your lifeline. Without it you are nothing.

Sixteen year old Cedric O'Hare has a special kind of essence. He is a pure bred and highly valued. For this reason he is on the run.

Being a grifter in the outer ring of Trillium is dangerous. However, there is an upside to being a pure bred. He can start fires out of thin air with just the snap of his fingers. Alas, it is this very action that can cause attention to the wrong people. That is why he never uses it.

Soon, he finds himself near the boundary lines where a resistance is forming against The Zeffer- an elite group of genetically enhanced agents that are in charge of containing the population of Trillium.

Not one to care about politics, hopefully Cedric can get out of Trillium for good without getting caught by The Elluit- a crude group of teenagers who have taken over the outskirts, a slummy part of Trillium located not too far from The Outer Wall.

the ritual- chapter 4

Murphy

     The pain in my head radiates down to my shoulders. I open my eyes and immediately regret it when the dull throbbing sensation pierces my vision. Much to my relief the room stops spinning. Slowly the space around me comes into focus. I look around and can't help but wonder Am I dead? If so, I always wondered what heaven looked like. I just never thought it would look like this. Everything is white: from the walls, to the bed I'm lying in, and the nightgown I'm wearing.

         A blonde woman sits in front of me with one leg crossed over the other. She has a perfectly sculpted face; with an interesting shade of dull grey eyes, a straight petite nose, and high cheek bones. To complement that she has skin that glows despite the lack of light inside of the room. She makes a strange noise with her throat. I blush hoping the beautiful stranger didn't notice me staring. Even though I don't know her I feel a connection towards her. Which is impossible because we are both on different sides of the social class. She raises a plucked eyebrow oblivious to how awestruck I am. I look down instantly remembering my place. Is she the angel of death? Has she come to collect my soul? It would make sense. Her beauty is unearthly.

"My name is Auxiliadora De Luka, but you may call me Axel." the lady, Axel says. Her voice soothing to my ears.

       I shake my head trying to clear my brain of this strange effect she has on me. "Am I dead?" I ask still in a daze. I cringe at my sudden outburst and instantly regret it. I should not have spoken. I broke the number one rule. Never speak unless spoken to. Hesitantly I look up this time making sure not to stare into her eyes.

         Surprisingly Axel does not chastise me for speaking out of line. Which is something I would expect from someone like her. Instead she cocks her head to the side. An amused expression on her face. "Heavens no." Her voice takes on a more serious tone as she speaks. "The Masters of Whitely needed a new servant. The last one, well, she left. Her departure was rather sudden. The betting grounds were over, but they managed to pick you out from the group."

          Somehow the more I try to remember the events of that night the more my head hurts. Dehydration and malnutrition must have gotten to me more than I thought.

 Suddenly the walls around me start to cave in and a wave of nausea washes over me. I don't know why but I feel like throwing up.

         I push the blanket off and put my head between my legs. I take a couple of deep raged breaths and wait until the pounding in my head lessens. I probably caught a bug in the betting grounds. A lot of the enslaved get sick. I hope it will go away before I meet my new masters. I don't want them thinking I'm too ill to work for them. They would kill me within seconds if they thought that.

          With that thought in mind I slowly sit up and notice Axel watching me. Eager to distract myself I stand up and look around the room with wide eyes. Everything seems so foreign and expensive. The furniture looks brand new and doesn't have any scratches or dents as opposed to the furniture at the house I grew up in. Not even my old masters house was this lavish. I didn't notice it before but the bed is huge with at least twenty pillows lying in a neat row. I grimace at the sight of the once white sheets. I am pretty sure the stains won't come out easily. I feel bad for whoever has to wash them. Across from the bed are a huge black dresser and a vase on top filled with fresh flowers. I smile at the sight of it. There were no living plants in the betting grounds. I thought I would never see fresh flowers ever again.

      I walk closer to the dresser. The color of the flowers are a deep blue with purple streaks. They don't look familiar. I wonder what they are called. I deeply inhale its perfume-y scent and instantly regret it. My nostrils itch and my eyes feel watery. I rub my nose with my palm and walk away from the dresser. I don't like the way they smell or the sensation I get from them.

"Is this my room?" I whisper in awe. I don't know why I asked that. It kind of blurted out of my mouth. That has been happening a lot lately. Oh well. I cannot take it back. And I cannot make her answer me either. Surely no one would put an enslaved girl in a room as elegant as this one. I never had my own room before. In my old masters home I slept on a cot filled with hay and grass. And before that I shared a mud bed with my family in the hut I grew up in. I never imagined something like this existed until now.

"Yes it is." says Axel. The boredom is evident in her tone.

       She must be used to such extravagance. She probably thinks I am a country bumpkin who has never taken a bath. If that is how she thinks then she is not wrong, except for the bath part. It would not look like it but I take cleanliness very seriously. If not I would get an infection.

      Since the enslaved do not get hospital visits so many of us die at an early age. When I was young and still lived as a carefree girl, a villager from my tribe taught me how to make my own herbal medicine from plants and leaves. If anyone found out I would be accused of witchcraft, which is ridiculous because witches aren't real. That is why I keep my herbal remedies a secret. It has gotten me this far and I do not intend on getting caught.

       I walk straight ahead and open one of the two doors. There are clothes hung on a wire. I pick up a sparkly dress and hold it against my body. I trace a finger over the shimmery beads. I have never seen something so beautiful. The tag is still on it. Whoever bought the dress paid a hefty price. No matter how much I saved up it would never come close to the number on that tag.

      I never owned a dress before. Let alone wore one. I wonder where a person would go wearing it. Probably to a fancy party. I sigh wistfully and place the dress in its respected place on the rack. I should not think of such things. I never cared much about materialistic items before and I can't start now.

      I turn away from the clothes and notice a rack of shoes on the wall. I grimace. Some of them look painful to wear. How can all of this be mine? I own none of these things. All I had were rags the bald man at the betting grounds gave me and I don't even have those anymore.

I walk out of the closet and close the door behind me.

I open the other door and walk into what must be the bathroom. It is as big as a bedroom. There are white candles on the counter and a vase of fresh flowers sitting on top. This time I do not smell the flowers. My nose still tingles from before.

      I look to the left and notice a white tub. It is deep and had holes in it. I shake my head. Why would anyone buy this? How does the water stay in? How do they expect me to bathe? Surely it is broken. That is the only possibility. Unless I am meant to have a broken bath. That would make sense. An enslaved girl in a opulent household will not be treated any differently. Well then I suppose I could use the sink. After all it practically has the same use as a tub.

I walk out of the bathroom and close the door slowly behind me.

      This is all just too much. I pinch myself in the arm just to make sure I really am alive. A red mark stands where my fingers were. Axel wasn't lying. I'm not dead and this isn't heaven. There are so many things I want to ask. Like what happened to me? How long have I been here? Where is here exactly? And most importantly what do they want from me? I doubt Axel would answer any of my questions.

Axel got up and smoothed the non-existent wrinkles in her form-fitting skirt. "Get dressed. We have wasted enough time." Axel says and leaves the room.

Someone had put clothes and a pair of shoes at the foot of the bed. I peel off the nightgown and change.

      Whoever picked it out got the size right. There is a pair of black shoes on the floor. I never wore shoes before because I didn't have the money. One time I tried wrapping leaves around my feet but it would tear so easily. In the end I would just take them off and end up walking barefoot. I never minded the fact that we were destitute. I liked the feel of dirt and grass between my toes. It made me feel connected to the earth. Now I have no choice but to wear them.

      I put them on one by one. They are a little small in the toes but I manage to walk in them. To say they feel weird is an understatement. My feet are cramped and sweaty. There are no mirrors in the room so I can't tell if I look decent. I feel sticky and I'm sure I don't smell so great. What I really want is to take a shower before I meet my new masters. I want to scrub myself clean of the dirt that is all over my body. But it is obvious Axel does not have time for that on her schedule.

It's now or never. I grasp the bronze door handle and turn it. As the door opens I notice Axel tapping her heels in my direction. Her face smooths just a little when she looks me over.

"It fits. Good." Axel mentions. "Your Masters would like to see you now."

       I follow her through a long and narrow corridor. The glow from the wall candelabras provide enough light so that I can see in front of me. I want to stop and look at each painted portrait that hangs on the wall but I keep on walking. If I have time I will look at them later. The only noise I can hear is the sound her heels make with each step she takes. I have to run just to keep up with her. Along the way I take in every detail. The walls are painted in a warm gold color, the floor is shiny, and there are black leather couches to sit on. I walk down the staircase and trip on the last step. I manage to catch my hand on the railing before I embarrass myself in front of Axel. I don't want her thinking I am a klutz. Especially since she is already not too fond of me.

       I head to a stop behind her as she knocks on a large wooden door. I can tell the door was intricately carved by the hands of a woodcarver. My pop was a blacksmith. On occasion I would go to work with him. No matter how I insisted pop never let me near the shop. He would instruct me to sit outside on a stool until lunch time arrived. Across from where pop worked was a wood shop. Being the curious soul I was I would sneak into the tent and browse at the bowls that were beautifully made wishing I could afford one for momma. There were other things on sale besides bowls such as statues and chairs. All of them as beautiful and unique as the last. The burly men never chastised me like pop did. Occasionally I would help by gathering wood or lacquer gloss on the finished pieces. One day pop caught sight of me piling wood near the tent. He said a mans work is too dangerous for a girl. Despite being scolded I could tell he was proud of the fact that I took interest into more than just housework like all the others girls my age did. I was never allowed to leave mommas sight again.

      Looking at the door I can see a crescent moon and dozens of six pointed stars with a large wolf standing on top of a hill. The wolf has a sword and shield at its feet. It stands strong and proud but its eyes look faraway as if its looking somewhere in the distance. Below are words I do not recognize engraved in small letters: lex est denique vox. I wonder what it means.

Finally the door slowly creaks open.

I follow behind Axel and keep my eyes to the ground. From an early age I learned the art of invisibility. It has kept me alive so far.

A loud buzzing noise jerks me away from my thoughts.

"This is her?" someone demands.

the ritual- chapter 3

　

　

Luka


        The dreary weather is nothing unusual in the small town of Old Haven. As promised it is freezing cold in the early fall month of October. Although it has been morning for quite some time Luka can still hear the humans sound asleep snoring, unaware of the Supernatural World that lives among them. If the humans ever knew about Luka's kind, they would undoubtedly bolt their doors and never leave their luxury-style homes. That would do little good though since Werewolves are much stronger than the average human race. Fortunately for them Werewolves do not eat humans. Their meat is rotten and their blood a rancid flavor to the point of incessant revulsion. It is not known if the same is true for the other Supernatural. As far as Luka is concerned everyone else is on his or her own. After all, he has his own pack to look after.

       The streets are lonely roads with no sign of vegetation that go on endlessly for miles. Birch trees that surround the forest shield Luka from the outside world. His wolf is not a threat to humankind. He simply enjoys his privacy.

       There is a constant fog that hovers just above the ground. It could be because of the dense forest, or the clouds that never seem to go away. Whatever the reason, it makes it easier to blend in. There is no sunshine, just gloomy darkness that clings helplessly in the air with nowhere else to go. Neighbors tell stories of ghosts that haunt the town. Ghosts aren’t real, of course. Much like his kind, when you die there is no life after death. To Luca, such a thought would be considered ridiculous and a complete waste of time.

Humans don't stay out long after dark.

Maybe it’s because of the silly fable tales of vengeful ghosts. Luka thought indifferently.

       It is dead silent in the great halls of the mansion. There are no greetings of a good morning or pitter-pattering of feet on the waxed imported marble flooring. There is no crackling of fire wood in the grand fireplace of the study hall either.

       Luka silently watches as fog slowly creeps upon the stained glass window and etches itself permanently until a thin layer of ice is all that remains. Rain splashes hard against the window pane, making the petrichor a pleasant and refreshing distraction even if it only momentarily subdues his headstrong residual temperament. From what Luka can tell the high pierced wind rustles yellowish brown leaves to the unfertilized mossy ground. Luka grimaces at the sight of it. There will be no gardener to clean up mother-nature's aftermath. Rightfully so, no one is foolish enough to step foot onto the property.

       Luka's golden brown eyes dilate in the darkness allowing him to pick up every detail inside the room. To his trained eye nothing is left out of place. The sculptures are free of dust and debris and neatly placed on top of the tiered bookshelf. The computer screen is black and turned off. His desk is clutter free of paper and pencils; the many files that he has are organized by alphabetical order inside of the desk drawer. The furniture is polished making it seem brand new. There are no cobwebs in sight or pieces of trash left on the floor. Much to his pleasure, everything is just as he left it the previous day before. However, the clean ambiance does nothing to ease the tension slowly rising inside of Luka.

       Feeling slightly restless Luka paces back and forth while habitually counting each second that passes by on the bronze face of the antique grandfather clock. As he walks past the furnished clock it chimes four times with the big hand signaling it is, indeed, already four in the morning. Although Luka hasn't slept at all in the past twenty-four hours he is most definitely not tired. In fact, he feels more alive and acutely sensitive than he has in a very long time. And with the Full Moon soon approaching in less than twelve hours he will only become stronger. He can already start to feel the moons energy pulse through his veins. Because of his family lineage he is more hypersensitive to the effects of the Full Moon even though it’s still daylight outside.

       All Supernatural have their own affinity towards the Full Moon. Witches celebrate the goddess with their covens hastily chanting spells and casting charms, Vampires hunt their prey sometimes accidentally turning humans in the process, Pixies relish on the sacred day by haunting the living causing others bad luck, while Elves and Leprechauns cast good luck to keep the balance in order, and Fairies happily celebrate the fertility of the goddess by drinking their personal allotted assortment of Fae wine and doing the 'dirty' with each other. As for his kind, werewolves are known to ceremoniously hunt in packs feasting on wild animals found in the forest beyond. On all accounts it is a sacred time for the entirety of the Supernatural World. In a way it brings everyone together yet at the same time it shows just how different their beastly natures truly are.

       Distressed by the lack of recent events Luka casually leans against the hand carved mantel. His respected family crest was carved into it by hand with a chisel: A large wolf standing in the forest with armor resting by its front paws looking up towards the moon in proud victory. It took a couple of days to finish, but it was well worth the wait. The many businesses that Luka owns have the same family crest embedded around town. Simpleton humans are unaware that his family crest is also considered to be his pack seal. This way any non-pack intruders that step onto his claimed land will have to ask for permission in order to safely travel through on to another town.

       Even an Alpha takes orders from a more important group of Werewolves. The Council is made up of a group of Elders. They are respected and feared for a good reason. Any disobedience will only lead to bloodshed. An execution is made not just for the pack member accused but the whole pack as an entity.

From the moment Luka sent news to the Council his fate had been sealed. Unfortunately he put something into motion that cannot be undone.

       Yesterday Luka entrusted his second in command to bear a message for the Council. As protocol dictates Marco hasn’t tried to make contact. There wouldn't be a problem if weren't for the small fact that the window of opportunity was closing. And if Luka meant to see this whole ordeal through, which he so clearly intended on doing so, there was still much to prepare.

       If Luka's current dilemma weren't troubling enough, the moon is set to rise today of all days and Marco's presence is needed in order to complete the age old formality that is practiced among his people before any ritual can commence.

       There are no other packs on this side of the world, unless Marco came across one of the Rogue. Rogue are known to flee Alban and cross the border searching for a better way of life. Although it is safe to say 'normalcy' is far from their intentions.

       Rogues do not travel in packs. If they did they would kill each other. They are not tamed and do not know how to live within a pack or maintain the rules each pack lives by. Rogues are dangerous because they kill anyone who they encounter whether Supernatural or human. They have no conscience and they do not care about the Canine Lupus Laws. If Marco has encountered a Rogue he is more than equipped to care for himself. After all, he was named second in command for a reason. Below Luka he is the second strongest in the pack and trained to kill in battle.

       Outside in the hallway there is a loud commotion of fast-paced footsteps along with hushed murmured voices. Luka's sensitive hearing can detect a mans deep baritone voice and a woman's more lighter musical tone. Luka remains silent, intent on figuring out just what has gotten his people so riled up for.

       After a moment of silence the familiar scent of musk travels past Luka’s nostrils. Upon further inspection, Luka detects the slightest undertones of grass and dirt coming from the slit underneath the door.

Without a moments hesitation Luka opens the large wooden door. "Come in", Luka commands.

       The man standing in front of him lifts his head and exposes his throat as he crosses the threshold. It is the most polite and sincere introduction of obedience and respect that could be given. Of course, there wouldn't be any other way to greet an alpha.

       Luka studies the all too silent man sitting down on one of the many artisan leather armchairs positioned right across from his expansive desk. A desk that, according to his beloved fiance, is an incredibly hard to find antique from the 19th century.

The solemn-looking mans shirt is torn around the collar and his pants are stained. He must have gotten into a fight. And from that smug look on his face he won.

　

"It's nice out, brother. The perfect time for a hunt, don't you agree?" Marco light-heartedly asks.

Luka formally nods at the man. "It is."

       Eager to get things started Luka walks over to the cabinet and pours himself a heavy drink. He laces it with Type O Donor animal blood kept in a bag. Werewolves need blood to survive. There is no way around it. It is a simple fact. Just as humans consume food in order to keep satiated Werewolves drink blood to function properly. What is a Werewolf without it's strength? Not a Werewolf at all. Luka thought conclusively.

"What is word on the Council?" Luka inquires none too hastily.

"They have agreed to meet us come next Full Moon." Marco begins to explain but then stops abruptly as if something dire just occurred to him. "We must prepare for their arrival!" Marco looks at Luka with wide mirthful eyes.

Luka good-naturally laughs at the expression on Marco's face. Whenever Marco is not making an ass of himself he can be quite entertaining.

"Relax, brother. Everything is in order." Luka informs nonchalantly.

       Luka may have entrusted Marco with a message to the Council but he cannot have everything turn sour just because of one man. It is highly known that Marco likes to party with dirty humans and get high off on blood. Instead, he gave his third in command, Blaze, the responsibility of preparing rooms and transportation for the Council. When Luka ordered Blaze for the job he figured it was best to give Marco a much deserved break. From what Luka has heard there is a party tonight in the grove and more than not Marco will want to attend in true high fashion.

"The human, when is she to arrive?" Luka asks mildly interested by the change of subject.

       Sellers do not keep records of bodies that come in and out of the betting grounds. There are way too many of them to count and if Luka were to be brutally truthful about the entire situation they were expendable. However, Murphy is an unusual name for a female. Luka wonders if her looks are as unappealing. Although, in all honesty, it does not matter either way.

"Soon" says Marco. "Alastar and Declar are on their way as we speak."

The two familiar names leave a bad taste in Luka's mouth.

       On any other occasion Luka would not do business with Vampires but they came highly recommended. Alastar is the ringleader of the two. They started off as local buyers and made their way up in the underground community. They can find anything for the right amount of money. Unfortunately they also have a wild streak in them. That is what makes doing business with them so risky. They are Vampires and if anything they are greedy. If they try any funny business they will never see the rest of their money. That and Luka will kill them for two-timing him.

Pleased by the information Luka pats Marco on the shoulder. "Excellent! The Council will expect full cooperation."

"What if she doesn't play by our rules?" Marco wonders out loud.

       Luka takes a swig of his gin and tonic. The taste of stale blood lingers in his mouth. It is not fresh but it suites him just fine. "Then we will take care of her, like we did with the other one.", Luka says looking at Marco over the rim of his glass.

So long as the human named Murphy stays out of my way no harm will come to her. Luka smirked to devilishly.

The Lost Key: Finnigan's Redemption- chapter 2

I step off the wooden fence and turn to Tyson. He's holding the binoculars next to his thigh and is biting his bottom lip with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

As if he can sense me staring he looks up at me. "What?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Nothing." I mumble and look away

He rolls his eyes and grins. "Whatever. I'm starving. Lets get this shit done. I've got a hot date tonight
and a shitload of recorded episodes to catch up on."  

I nod in agreement and he silently follows.

         When I get to the wire fence I place both hands on the cool metal and lift myself up off the ground, climbing at a comfortable pace. Thank god it's not barbed wire. I had a not too pleasant experience a while back. There was this ‘69 impala the boss wanted. It was in good condition and still in its original paint job. Four large Rottweiler’s came out of nowhere. Fuck alarms man. All you need are a couple of overaggressive hungry beasts. I have a couple impressive pink scars on my forearms that are still healing. Oh well. At least I got the car. That's all that mattered. 

         Once I get to the top of the fence I balance myself and swing a leg over. I sneak a quick glance behind me. Tyson is climbing the fence with a look of determination in his eyes. Soon he'll be at the top. I look down at the ground in front of me. There are a couple loose rocks and some broken bricks laying haphazardly on the ground.  I swing my other leg over so that I'm standing on the other side of it with my hands holding onto it tightly, al the while I'm making sure that I don't fall on my face or worse twist my ankle.

I hop off of the wired fence, barely missing an old tire, and buckle my knees, bracing myself for impact as my boots come into contact with the dirt pavement. A few seconds’ later Tyson lands beside me with a soft thud.

He walks up to me and brushes his arm with mine. “Here”, he whispers, his soft lips touching my ear lightly. His minty cool breath leaving goose bumps on my neck and shoulders. Damn. He shouldn't have this kind of effect on me.

Especially now of all places. 

Determined to get this night over with I shake off the feeling his proximity brings and take my dads’ binoculars and stuff them back in my pocket.

I jog ahead of him with ease towards the empty building with Tyson hot on my heels.

Adrenaline courses through my veins with each step that I take. The cool wind breezes past me and ruffles my hair to the side, but i don't mind.

It’s eerily quiet despite the occasional car zooming by in the distance. I can vaguely hear the sound of our feet touching asphalt.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Tyson grinning like the fool that he is. I roll my eyes at the dumb look on his face. It’s apparent who will make it to the warehouse first.

ME.

         Being a fast runner I always manage to outrun other people. I’m just naturally gifted, I guess. I slow down until he comes head to head with me. Pfft. The poor loser thinks he actually has a chance.

As if.

I turn my head slightly at Tyson. He has a huge smirk on his face. I mean sure he’s a good runner and
all, but nothing compared to me.

I shake my head at his poor attempts.

I use the rest of my strength and can feel the muscles in my thighs burn as my stride becomes longer, my heart beating at a fast yet comfortable pace as I leave Tyson behind.

Since there are no lampposts next to the warehouse I take a flashlight out of my side pocket and use it to guide me as we round the corner to the only entrance/exit.

I point the flashlight to the golden nob as Tyson comes up behind me.

He shoots me an irritated glance before he fishes out a set of lock-picking tools. “You cheated.” He grumbles softly, a bit winded.

I chuckle at his childish behavior. “Stop being such a sore loser, Ty.” I whisper handing him the flashlight so that he can get a better look at the hole.

I turn around as he does 'his thing' and look out for any sign of life that might be around besides the two of us.

         If I squint my eyes I can see lights from the city and I can hear the occasional splash of waves from the lake that’s right next door to the docks. No one swims on this side of the lake because it’s polluted with chemicals, trash, and the random car parts. Its like one big trash can for the city.
I hear a soft click behind me and I turn around to see a cocky Tyson leaning against the now open door.

I roll my eyes and he chuckles at my jealousy.

When we first started working together I asked if he would teach me how to pick a lock. He said that was 'his thing’ and that I should get my own specialty.

The jerk.

After a couple more ‘jobs’ that I pulled I became known as the 'spotter'. I think it's because of my slight OCD tendency. That and I'd rather not get caught by the popo any time soon.

In Ty’s own way I guess he was right. We all have our niche. It just takes practice to find it. Even so, I still want to learn how to pick locks. Imagine the hassle and time that I could save.

Tyson gestures with his free hand for me to go in before him. “Ladies first.” he smirks.

 I roll my eyes at his 'chivalry' and walk past him into the cold warehouse.

the ritual- chapter 2

 Murphy

          A powerful emotion washes over me, shock which turns to relief. At least now I will be able to get out of this heat and never have to step foot here again.There are four of us left, myself included. One of the muscular men decked out in leather comes over to us. He lifts the chains in his hands and shackles the others until they are standing in one straight line.

          When its my turn I lift my wrists out as far as they will go. His dark chocolate eyes meet mine. He quickly breaks eye contact and mumbles something under his breath walking past me to the small group that has now formed on the podium.

          I look at the others hoping one of them knows something I don't. They cast their eyes to the ground, avoiding my questioning gaze as they are escorted into the truck that will take them to the underground brothels. Confused and a little scared I can feel my eyes start to water. What's happening? Did I do something wrong? Am I so revolting and displeasing that death would be a quick and merciful act? I quickly blink away the unformed tears as two figures stalk towards me. From the sidelines someone hands them a lantern that glows faintly in the dark. By the outline of their shapes I notice a short pudgy figure and a more taller slim physique closely following behind.

          For some reason all I can think about is Trevor. I have not thought about him in a while. But I guess it seems appropriate seeing as how I might die in the very spot I stand. Trevor was Taken from a village not too far from mine. He had blond curls that went passed his ears and faint light green eyes. We shared the same cage, only making conversation when necessary. For some reason he jumped in front of me while I was being attacked. The guards beat him to death that night. He would not stop screaming each time a whip sliced his skin on top of freshly open wounds. It was a high pitched noise that died away once he hit the ground. To this day his face haunts me. If these people would kill a thirteen year old boy, what would stop them from killing me?

          The two figures stop a couple of steps in front of me. I can see them more clearly now. The pudgy figure is the balding man who is holding the lantern in his right hand. It turns out the more taller figure is a guard who is dressed in nothing but leather pants.
The balding man comes up to me. He eyes me up and down.

"Well. I guess you will do.", he sneers. "Walk.", he motions with his small plump hand.

His whip hits my calves causing me to stumble. I can feel the thick blood trickle down to my ankles, and dry out by the sweltering heat. We walk past the cavern until we find a small tent.

"Get in." He shoves me.

          I hit the floor hard. There will be yellowish bruises on my knees by the morning, but none of that matters because I have nothing left to live for anymore. What little hope I had to be set free one day died the moment I realized that I wouldn't make it out of here alive. I guess I should be thankful that I've lived to my sixteenth year but all I feel is a deep sense of emptiness both in my heart and in my spirit.

         Coming to the conclusion that I can't lie helplessly on the ground any longer I push the pain away and use the last of my strength to stand up. There is a small cot to the side and a mattress on the floor right next to it. I hear a shuffling noise behind me. Out of nowhere a man wearing a pinstripe suite with a red tie stands in front of me. His face is strikingly beautiful with flawless pale white skin and large round black eyes.

I take a step back and try to put some distance. Who is this strange man? And what does he want with me?

He grins wickedly and moves a strand of greasy hair from my face. "Such a prize." He whispers. His cool breath tickles my skin. Goose-bumps form on the back of my neck and along the tops of my arms. "The fun we could have. It is unfortunate, isn’t it? But, then again, you wouldn’t say anything would you?"

Frozen in place, I lose myself in the pool of his dark eyes. I cannot remember where I am, or who I am. There is just him and me. All I know is that I crave his touch. I want him to caress me, to release this foreign desire that is growing inside of me.

He chuckles. "So eager to please Me." I quiver as he lifts his hand and touches my cracked bottom lip. I can feel the area between my thighs start to ache. "Don’t fret, my love." he murmurs softly.

A whimper escapes my throat.

His fingers trace down my cheek to my collar bone. I know he might kill me but for some reason I don’t seem to care. It's like we are the only two living souls in the dessert.

I hesitantly lean in fill to that final gap between us.

"Enough!" a loud voice booms. A tall blond man enters the tent. He's holding a cane with both hands placed firmly on the silver handle. His dark blue eyes focus intently on the man who is holding me in place.

"Artamis, I did not here you come in." The man standing next to me says. I wince as his grip on me slowly crushes the circulation in my arm. I look up at him trying to catch his attention but his deadly gaze is focused on Artamis.

"Tsk.Tsk.Tsk. She is not yours to play with, Declan, although I can see why she would have such a hold on you." the blond man, Artamis, searches my face in a calculating gaze. His eyes roam down my body and land on my arm where Declan's grip is.

Declan quickly releases me and hesitantly backs away.

I don’t know who is more dangerous; the man who has a strange effect on me, or Artamis the scary blond who, by the looks of it, can easily kill the both of us.

In a flash Artamis roughly grabs Declan by his collar and shoves him out of the tent.

          I want to scream for help but it will not do any good. My throat is too dry. I try licking my lips but I don't have enough saliva. If Artamis doesn't kill me then I will die in the dessert due to dehydration. Besides, even if I can muster up enough strength to call out for help no one would hear us. Who would help a girl not even fit to be an Undesirable?
Artamis looks at me and smiles allowing me to see his pearly white teeth flash a brilliant white against his dark skin. "Finally we are alone."

He walks up to me so that we are standing just inches from each other. "Don’t be frightened child." 

He grips my chin and forces me to look at him. I wince at his cold strong grip.

I look deeply in his dark glistening eyes. "You will not remember any of this." Artamis says slowly.

          I try to shake off the dizziness in my head but I can't. The space around me spins in circles. I take a step forward but stumble and fall into his strong arms. Something sharp pierces my neck. I scream out in pain, but it only comes out as a soft mumble. It feels like my blood is on fire, the sensation exploding from my head and all the way down to my toes. My heart beats up faster, and then slows down until I can hardly breathe.

The Ritual : chapter 1

Well, the truth is, for this story I can't come up with a good title. =( But I hope this chapter makes up for it. =)  This is one of my favorite stories. Enjoy!

Murphy

{somewhere in the dessert}

The silence around me is audible; a beckoning to the enslaved, who, like me await our fates, our new lives.

All I can see is dirt. It settles in the air and acts as a thin layer on my skin.

          In the dungeon there are twenty, maybe thirty of us, sitting and waiting. The stench of grime, sweat, and pee engulfs me. A bucket near the wall passes for a toilet. I can hear the flies buzzing in the air, intoxicated by the smell of it. I’m pretty sure there are maggots, and other wormy creatures that inhabit the small bucket too. I haven't had the need to use it. But if the need came I suppose I would.

          It's dark outside. I can tell by the shadows in the cavern illuminated by the setting sun. I'm hungry, weak, and tired. I can't remember when I got here, or how long I've been stuck in this dingy cage. The thought is depressing.

         Stories of the enslaved used to frighten me as a young child. Of course they were meant to educate us. But nothing could have prepared me for bondage of enslavement. The betting grounds do something to a person’s soul. I think it may be the fact that no one will ever come looking for us. Once we are Taken from our villages we are no longer our parents problem. That's not to say that our families won't miss us, because they will. It's just that the Law is sacred and anyone who dare go against the Commanding Officer will be punished by death or worse become a blood slave.

        There are two kinds of slavery. The first is the bonded slave. A bonded slave is a person who is bonded to their master but can be sold or traded. The second type is a blood slave. A blood slave is someone who is bound to their master forever until death do they part. Usually a blood slave wears something that shows what family they belong to. Either be it a branding seared into flesh or a collar worn around the neck. A blood slave is treated worse than a dog that will never be able to escape the confines of servitude. At least a bonded slave has the chance of being set free one day.

          The first few weeks in the betting grounds are the worst. It takes a while for the human senses to adjust. The stench of rotting corpse that lingers in the air becomes unbearable until one day the need the throw up goes away. The heat from the sun rolls off in waves gradually making it difficult to breathe. Some have passed out more than once. The unfortunate ones have never woken up from their slumber adding to the carcasses that pile near the far-end of the cage.

          I hug my arms over my stomach carefully positioning the metal chain aside. I can feel the outline of ribs protruding through my taught skin. I grimace as I slide my fingers up and down my sides. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten a proper meal. We don't get much food around here and when we do it's usually a small piece of stale bread. I can no longer hear the hunger pains that used to taunt me in my sleep. It's more like a hollow emptiness that never seems to go away. Whenever I do eat I get uncomfortable stomach pains. I usually give my rations to the guy sitting next to me. At first I used to get weird looks because of it but now it has become a sort of regular thing. Until three days ago that is. On impulse I grabbed my portion and stuffed it in my mouth. At first I felt embarrassed because of it but as soon as that feeling came it left. I don't know what came over me but the smell of meat ignited the ravaging hunger I suppressed. It was like a primal instinct and I savored every morsel. The flavors of butter, rosemary, and garlic exploded in my mouth like a rapture. It was heavenly and a treat indeed. Most importantly it was the last meal our captures gave us. Even now I think some part of me knew that I would never get another chance at a simple meal of meat and potatoes. I'm still convinced our captures gave us food to make us look lively, well, as lively as we can manage.

A balding white man in dirty travelers’ clothes comes up to the cage. He has a key in one hand, and a whip in the other.

"Get up! It's time!" he yells.

       Since my hands are shackled, I use my legs to stand up. The long chain sways back and forth against my bare thighs. When I first arrived, the same man who opened the cage gave me two cloths. I had used one to cover my bare chest, and wrapped the other around my small backside. The once form fitting strips now hang loose over my frail body.

          I am stick thin with no ounce of fat in me that I can tell. I still cannot get used to the way my skin stretches over my bones. How the blue veins in my legs and arms are so noticeably visible. The others look just like me. All skin and bones. Their eyes hollow and lips chapped with dried blood from the beatings they received. Their bodies battered and caked in dirt. All the way from here I can see the wounds that have yet to heal and probably never will. Open lacerations that will most likely get infected. And since the enslaved do not receive medical attention the sick will die as nature sees fit.

          As much as my pop tried to shield his only daughter from the dangers of living in the wild he couldn't 'baby' me forever. I learned survival techniques from the villagers: how to hunt fresh game, how to properly weave baskets, and the technique used to clean and chuck fresh fish. It's not like I had much of a choice, really. The fond memories of my family send a warm pang to my heart. I will never see them again and yet I know some part of them will always be with me.

          I look around careful not to trip on the small mountains of lifeless bodies that scatter the dungeon. As I get into formation the others start to huddle around me. I can hear the sound of chains scrape against the floor the closer that we inch to the opening. There are two guards one on each side of the door with their whips in hand ready to use if any one of us dares to take a step out of formation. The balding mans calculating gaze sweeps over us making sure that all eyes are on him.
Hastily everyone goes silent.

          We stop walking and wait for instruction. Not even the breathes of the others can be heard. My heart pounds erratically in my chest both in anticipation and anxiety of what is to come. I steady my breathing and focus on the balding man in front of us.

"Take one step out of line and my men won't hesitate." he instructs.

          We walk out of the dingy cavern, two-by-two in a line. The sound of chains echo in my ear: clink-clank, clink-clank. Even though the sun is setting it’s still hot outside. The muggy air makes it hard to breathe. Beads of sweat form at my temple and run down my neck. The sky overhead is a bloody red hue with tones of blue and purple mixed in. The further we walk in the hot desert sand the more shards of colored glass and sharp rocks I see on the floor around me. I manage to side step around a huge chunk of blue glass. I sigh in relief. It would have been painful if I cut myself. Thankfully I don't see anything in the sand that can do serious damage to the nerve endings in my feet.

          We walk passed the podium and I try to still my beating heart without much success. I can see the buyers in the boxed seats, watching us from above. They look like ants from here. If only they were as harmless. I can feel their eyes watching me, surveying my every move. No doubt looking for any imperfection that I possess. I look down, my nerves getting the best of me. I can't help but notice my feet. They are blood red and sticky. I don't remember stepping on anything sharp, but then again, it's impossible not to get cut by all the impurities on the ground. Judging by the amount of blood that has started to pool around me in a faint circle, by tomorrow my feet will be sore and tender. Sadly there is nothing that I can do to assess the damage on the bottom part of my feet until I am released from these damned chains.

A horn is blown in the distance and my earlier concerns no longer seem to matter.

The balding man is standing between us and our soon-to-be masters.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the betting begin." he booms.

          His men are standing around us in a circle, each with equally threatening weapons. The trade goes by faster than my last. One by one a buyer walks up to the podium and offers a price. If the balding man doesn’t like the number he offers the slave to someone else, until he is satisfied with the amount. I cringe inwardly as a jewelled collar is tightly fastened on to a young woman's slim neck. From this day on she will be considered a blood slave and will be treated as such. Her head hangs forward probably with shame and defeat as her tattered long brown hair cascades over her hallow cheeks. I watch as her new master tugs on the golden chain with enough force to nearly make her fall down to her knees. The guards do nothing to help the poor young woman, she is after all, at the bottom of the social class.

         With impatience and a fierce glint in the masters eyes he back hands his new blood slave. To my surprise she does not make a sound. Instead, she quickens her pace until she is only a few steps behind her new master.

          Wanting to shake the image out of my head I focus my attention to the boxed seats above. I squint my eyes together trying to get a better look. There are not many heads left to count. Two, maybe three? If someone doesn’t buy me soon I will become Undesirable and put into prostitution.

          I have heard that sex is a powerful thing. Unfortunately for me I don’t know anything about that. I figure I will learn how to make men grovel with desire in their eyes. I shiver as goose-bumps form on my spine. Just the thought of touching a man freaks me out. Let alone having to figure out where to put my hands.

          I could break out of formation and try to escape but one of the guards will more than likely shoot me dead in my tracks. Then I will bleed out until my lifeless body no longer spasms on the floor. I may be enslaved but I’m not a coward. I will not die here in front of these strangers who laugh and mock at me. If being Undesirable is how I end up than I will do it with the little dignity that I have left.

The balding man blows his horn. "The trade is done. Until next time." he bows.

The Last Key: Finnigans Redemption - chapter 1

Chicago, Illinois.

The best place on earth.

How could it not be? With its tall buildings, vibrant nightlife, and of course lets not forget the epic cuisine.

My hometown.

My inferno. 

I could never imagine myself living anywhere else. Probably because I never seem to have more than 20 dollars in my bank account. Then again, most of the money I acquire isn’t exactly fresh neither.

The way I see it if you can’t beat 'em, join 'em.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

I lower the surveillance binoculars from my face and glance at the guy standing next to me. His muscular frame is leaning against the rickety wooden fence. His hands shoved deep into the pockets of his worn out black dagger jacket. The wind has picked up and as result a strip of his shaggy black hair has fallen in his foolishly determined blue eyes. 

He is right. I don’t have to be here.

There are so many reasons why I shouldn’t. But I want to. How many times do I need to say it?

I huff and roll my eyes. “I have nothing else better to do. Besides, you need a spotter.”

He smiles but I can tell it's forced. Something is obviously bothering him. Whatever it is, it’s making him think too hard. I don’t have time to bug him about it, though. We have bigger problems going on right now. Like finishing this ‘job’ and making it to the other side of town before midnight. Whatever personal issues he has can wait.

“Thanks man. I appreciate it.”, he says.

I nudge him in the ribs. “It’s whatever, dude. Now, can you stop being such a pansy?”

He grins and snatches the binoculars from my loose grip.

Bored, I look around with little interest as Tyson lifts the binoculars to his eyes.

I can barely make out anything past the wire fence that’s five feet away but I am able to catch a glimpse of the loading docks to the left and just beyond that is the Stevenson-Riley Warehouse. It’s nothing special, really. In the daytime it looks just as warn-out and abandoned. I guess that's why nobody gives it a second glance when passing by the on-ramp that leads to the highway. The faint sound of cars zooming by lets me know we are not the only ones here, even though it feels that way.                                

For tonight I opted to wear my usual all-black get-up which consists of a hoodie, cargo pants that have multiple pockets, old worn-in leather boots, and gloves that tie at the wrist.

As for Tyson, well, it looks like the kid just threw on the first thing he found in his closet. And knowing him, that’s exactly what he did. He definitely has the whole 'school boy' vibe pinned down. By looking at him you would never guess that he has a killer right hook. Fortunately for me I have never been on the receiving end of his wrath. I can’t say the same for the other poor bastards who like to challenge Ty both just for fun and for his position. I don’t know about them, but I like my nose the way it is thank you very much.Years of dedication in the gym has done the boy some good, I'll give him that much.      

It was a Tuesday morning, one of those rare occasions when I actually attended school, when he told me about a ‘job'. He promised a share of the cut. He thinks it's because I need the money. And as much as I could really use it, I really just want to keep an eye on him.

As smart as his 'GPA' claims him to be, Tyson is known for his ‘spur of the moment decisions’. And in the line of work that we are in, that type of characteristic can be deadly.

Being the more cautious one, I took it upon myself to study the layout of the warehouse. I also made sure to bring my dads’ old hunting binoculars. They are a bit awkward to hold because they are bigger than the average size but strangely light as a can of chicken stars.

I kept my old mans bulky camouflage binoculars because I thought they were cool-looking. It's times like these when I'm glad that I did.

The warehouse is 25 feet by 30 feet and has wire industrial shelving.  Since there is no alarm in the building I don’t have to worry about the police being notified about a possible breaking and entering. Although sometimes they do take the back roads that run past the docks on their way to the apartment developments where domestic disturbance reported is not a taboo subject on this side of town. That and the gunshots that blast in the distance that’s almost always due to a drive by shooting. But we haven't gotten much of that in the last few days.

There’s a war going on between a suicidal Dominican named Steele who has a thing for short women and ‘the boss’ who doesn’t give two shits about no one.

Word is Steele hijacked some rims full of premium powder. You could imagine why ‘the boss’ would retaliate.

That’s a quarter million down the drain.

More than I would ever see in my lifetime.

The thought should depress me. But it doesn’t.

Once this night is over I’m going home and sleeping until noon. As long as we stick to the schedule we won’t be late for a stand-up meeting with ‘the boss’.

The warehouse doesn’t have a high-security system alarm installed. Instead there is a fat middle-aged guard who sits on a plastic chair right next to the door, usually with a cup of coffee in hand and a book to keep him company for the six to nine hours he clocks in for work.

I look at the sports watch on my left wrist. It’s almost ten o’clock and his shift ended an hour ago.

We better get this done soon.

‘The boss’ wants us back before midnight and at the rate we're going we won't make it in time.

The Temptress - Chapter 4

Hastily everyone goes silent.

Blondie takes a step back away from me and lowers his gelled back head in submission.　

　　　　　　　　 Little Tony stalks towards us from his table at the far-end of the room. His tight sweater stretches to the shape of his pectorals and rippling biceps. The matching black tailored pant suit molds his strong legs and hints to an impressive anatomy of his body that from what I hear through the grape vine does little justice to his name. The black loafers on his feet shine under the light from the chandeliers that are hanging from the high arched hand-painted ceiling.

　　　　　　　　 Great. As if things couldn’t get any better. His black aura is now tinged with red. The muddied color taints the space around us. The magnitude of it is so powerfully overwhelming that it radiates off of him which in turn corrupts the carefree and joyous mood of everyone around us.

　　　　　　　　 The wise guys that were enjoying themselves just a minute ago are now sitting quietly and watching from the sidelines. Their personal body guards are standing at attention in front of them in case something goes down.

　　　　　　　　 I really hope something doesn't go down. I can't take them all out by myself with just one clip of bullets and only two spare throwing knives. That would be almost as bad as turning myself in to Darius.　

　　　　　　　　 I resist bowing to Little Tony in submission like all the others. He narrows his eyes dangerously at me and then looks to Blondie.　　

"Leave us." He says dismissively.

　　　　　　 Blondie bows at his unimpressed master. He then regains his composure and walks past me to the door. I didn’t miss the glance that was thrown at me on his way out. It held promises of unfinished business. I look forward to expending him if we ever meet again. 　　

Little Tony closes to distance between us and smiles cordially.　

　　　　　　　　 After sensing no danger everyone resumes their conversations as if the incident never happened. The wise guys pay no attention to us as they finish off their meals and dry out the remnants in their glasses. Finding no threat their body guards heel their stance and step in the background much like the golden-leaf wallpaper along the walls of the room.　　

Little Tony crosses his arms in front his large chest. "To what do I owe this untimely inconvenience?" he asks.

　　　　　　　 I glance around the room before looking back at the vampire in front of me. "Is there some place we can make this a little more...Private?" I ask in a low voice.

　　　　　　　　 I don’t want to draw any more attention than I already have. And I certainly cannot afford to have any curious eavesdroppers listening in on our conversation. I might not recognize any of Darius’s men in the room but that means nothing. For all I know Darius might have an informer playing sides.　　

After a moment of silence Little Tony motions for me to walk with him. I silently follow him across the room and back to his table.

"Sit." he demands.

　　　　　　　　 Instead of arguing, since that would get us nowhere, I do as he says and pull back a white chair opposite him from the pre-arranged table. I take the purse off my shoulder and tuck it firmly between my legs. Little Tony might have let the incident back their slide but I don’t want to take any chances. Besides, I feel more comfortable with the knowledge that I have something to defend myself with in case he decides to change his mind about the whole forgive and forget thing.　　

　　　　　　　 On top of the round clothed table sits a big plate of uneaten Spaghetti ai ricci. He tilts an empty wineglass and starts pouring red wine from an already open bottle.

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind." I look around and notice a few of the wise guy vampires staring at us. Their auras contain mixed emotions that settle somewhere in between honorably troubled to dumbfound confusion.

　　　　　　　　 It’s no secret that my kind carries a special hatred toward the bloodsucking parasites. And yet, here I am, about to share a meal with one. Pitty.

He hands me a glass half full of the red wine. "Have you eaten?" he asks.

I raise an eyebrow. I haven't exactly had the chance to sit down for a meal ever since I found out Darius wanted my head on a spike.

"Yes." I say. The last thing I ate was a yogurt parfait for breakfast. I wasn’t about to tell him that though.

"What have I told you about lying?" he asks mildly amused.

　　　　　　　　 Little Tony raises his glass and takes a sip before placing it right by his plate. "It's a bad habit you know." He adds casually. "And, no, I didn’t read your mind. I can hear the adrenaline pulsing in your veins whenever you neglect to tell the whole truth."

　　　　　　　　 He reaches over and grabs the large polished fork that’s nestled upright in the spaghetti and places a heaping pile of the warm sea urchin pasta on the oval plate in front of me. The heated steam rises in the air. I can smell notes of garlic, fresh seafood, and tomatoes.

"Eat." he commands

　　　　　　　　 Instead of doing so I sit back in my chair and watch as he serves himself a good amount of the spaghetti pasta. He grabs a spoon and fork and twirls a small round neatly. Before I would have thought the sight of a vampire with manners unheard of but I’m used to it by now. Just like his expensive taste in the luxurious, Little Tony’s polite manners could make anyone else seem unnaturally barbaric. What can I say? He just has that effect on people. 　　

　　　　　　　 The smell of food becomes arousing. Much to my displeasure it causes my stomach to growl uncontrollably. Thankfully Little Tony decides not to comment on the obvious fact that I’m too stubborn to admit when I’m hungry.

　　　　　　　　 Fed up with the silence I grab the fork next to my plate and use it to spin the long noodles in a messy circle. Unlike my dinner companion I don’t know much about etiquette. I was trained to catch people who don’t want to found not to become someone’s unfortunate housewife. 　

　　　　　　　　 I raise the fork a good few inches in front of me. From what I can see there are red specs of tomato, strips of fresh green basil leaves, finely minced garlic, and bite sized pieces of the sea urchin in between the strands.

　　　　　　　　 If it were poisonous then Little Tony wouldn’t have eaten it. I don’t peg him for being suicidal. If he died then his reign over the vampires would die as well. And if there was anything he liked more than food itself it would have to be his absolute dictatorship among his own people. Yes it was cruel and old fashioned. But it was necessary. There are plenty others who could do a lot worse than Little Tony. I’m sure his followers knew that as well. That’s why so many of them are overly cautious whenever it comes to their ‘king’ and his safety.　

　　　　　　　　 I capture the bundle on top of my fork in my salivating mouth and chew the aldente pasta slowly. I can taste a slight hint of the imported olive oil that was drizzled on top. The slightly chewy urchin goes down my throat with a unique aftertaste of its own.

Little Tony watches me closely. "It’s a family recipe. Sicilian urchin doesn’t compare, am I right?"

Not wanting to seem rude I settle my fork down and use the large white napkin to wipe any remnants of red sauce from the corner of my lips.

"It’s definitely an acquired taste." I fold the used napkin aside and eagerly fork another small round of spaghetti in my mouth.

　　　　　　　　 When you’re on the run you lose resources for basic necessities. A homemade meal was one of them. The food here is free and I don’t know when I will get another chance at a hot meal. So I eat as much of it as my stomach will allow.

He smiles pleasantly and sips more wine. "I’m glad that you enjoy it. I made it myself, you know."

He swirls his glass by the stem. "And here I was thinking that I would be dinning alone." He casually admits.

His dark eyes bore into mine. A curious glint flashes in them. "Tell me, why haven’t we done this before? It’s much more…..civilized."　　

　　　　　　　　 Instead of answering him I turn my attention to the glass in my hand and watch the vortex of red liquid spiral as I rotate it around a few times. "We aren’t exactly friends." I confess.

Eager to end the conversation I bring the glass to my mouth and hungrily drink the remnants of the wine.

"Would you like to be?" he asks.

I almost spit out the un-swallowed mouthful all over him. I forcefully gulp down the alcohol and place the glass on the table far away from me to let the waiter know I didn’t want anymore.

"I’m sorry, what did you just say?" I ask hoping that I misunderstood.　

　　　　　　　　 He rests his forearms on the side of the table and leans in towards me. Unfortunately his eyes are locked on mine the entire time. "I get the impression you’re evading the subject…..yet again." He ponders lightly.

　　　　　　　　 Unwilling to be the first that surrenders I don’t break eye contact with him. Not even when he tucks a curly strand of hair behind my ear.

　　　　　　　　 Amused, he sits back and eats the remaining of his pasta as if the unwanted intimate moment was all an illusion and never happened.

　　　　　 　 I clear my throat and try to regain my dignity. "This isn’t a social call." I remind him. "And I’m not one of your whores." I add the last part firmly hoping that he gets the point.

"So it seems." He sighs. "Fine. We’ll do it your way then." He snaps his fingers and a circular energy shield instantly materializes around the both of us.

　　　　　　The sound proof barrier is more than effective. I can no longer hear the hushed voices in the background or the ‘clink’ of shot glasses.

　　　　　　　　 It took some pretty advanced magic to create the large force field. I glance at his hand and I find the source behind the magical summon. It seems ordinary enough. I’m surprised that I haven’t noticed it before. On his left pinkie finger is a gold ring with a large black ruby cushioned in the middle. For a pinkie ring it’s definitely over the top. Especially for a heterosexual.　　

Little Tony looks at it faintly. "Do you like it?" he asks. "Personally, I thought it was a bit much. But it grows on you." He shrugs nonchalantly.

I look up at him. "Where did you get that from?" I demand.

　　　　　　　　 Black rubies are hard to come by and contain many mystical properties that strengthen any magic casted upon it. Effectively making the spell bound object successfully compatible to whoever puts it on. Better yet, the energy that’s emitting from it is strong. Whoever enchanted the piece of jewelry has fully active powers running in their blood line. If someone hell bent on destruction were to entrap the person who created it, it would become disastrous for all of us. Not even Lilith would be able to interfere.　

His eyes gleam dangerously, the amusement in them long gone. "You’re not very subtle are you?"

"I’d rather get straight to the point. The rest is meaningless." I tell him dismissively.

He huffs and dramatically rolls his eyes. "For Lilith’s sake! I didn’t kill anybody for it."

He crosses his arms in defiance. The act causes his biceps to contract out of muscle reflex. "If you must know, I acquired it. Someone needed my help. And as you know I’m a very busy man. I can’t just drop everything on a whim. These idiots would burn the place down if I did. Do you know how expensive it is to import furniture from Italy? If I didn't have my second job I'd get shut down just for expenses alone. I would hire new employees but I’m not a very trusting man." He shrugs his large shoulders nonchalantly.

"So, what, you demanded for it instead?" I ask impatiently.

Little Tony throws his unused napkin on the plate and pushes it away from him. "I thought this wasn’t a date." He states.

I grind my teeth. "It’s not."

He raises an eyebrow. "Then why do you want to know what I do for a living so badly?" he asks.

I cross my arms and roll my eyes. "Forget it." I huff.

Not wanting to let the subject go I narrow my eyes at him. "I’ll find out eventually, you know."

He hums in thought. "I’m sure you will."

He snaps his fingers and grins. "Until then how about some dessert?"

Little Tony sits back comfortably in his chair and summons the waiter.

　　　　　　　　 An elf of about average height wearing a black apron shimmers to our side of the room and takes both Little Tony’s clean plate and my half eaten one. In the end it turns out that I couldn’t eat much. I wanted to bag what was left but that would have been rude of me. And I get the slightest impression that I’m not exactly winning over Little Tony’s good side if he ever had one. Hell, I haven’t even gotten straight to the point of why I was here in the first place.

　　　　　　　　 Little Tony is good at distracting people I’ll give him that. Once the table is cleared the waiter places one small lemon meringue tart in between the both of us. The torched whipped topping is piped in nice tall brown peaks. From what I can see of it the crust is buttery and golden.

"Bon apetit." The waiter says.

　　　　　　　　 He puts two spoons down on the table and shimmers out of the room and back to wherever it was that he came from. I’m guessing the kitchen.

　　　　　　　　 Little Tony leans over and grabs one of the spoons. "I love bitter things and this seemed appropriate." He says as he helps himself to a large spoonful.

　　　　　 　　　I watch as he closes his eyes and hums appreciatively at the sweet and sour flavor. As if he can sense me staring he looks at me rolls his eyes. "The kid gave us two spoons for a reason, ya know."　

　　　　　　　　 I look from the half eaten tart and back to him. There is no way I’m going to eat that. I know it’s not poisoned. I just don’t really care for the sourness of lemon is all.

When I don’t eat any of it he sighs heavily and grabs what was supposed to be my spoon.

　　　　　　　　 He pushes it down in the tart to cut the crust off and lifts a piece of it in front of my unopened mouth. The sweet smell of burnt sugar, fresh lemon, and buttery crust fills in the air around me.

He narrows his eyes and sighs in irritation. "Stop being stubborn and open your big mouth."

I roll my eyes in agitation.

　　　　　　　　 Unfortunately there is no one else that I can turn to for help. And I know he will easily turn me down if I don’t play by his sick game. My patience is running thin and quite frankly I’m getting tired of his attitude. Clearly out of options I blow the air out of my mouth and lean towards him.

I bring my lips over the spoon and quickly take the chunk in my mouth.

　　　　　　　　 I fight the urge to barf it out and lean back in my chair quickly chewing the piece of meringue. The sweet whipped topping balances out the sourness of the lemon custard. I still wouldn’t eat it voluntarily any time soon. I grab a perspired glass of water from the table and quench my assaulting taste buds with the chilled water. 　　　

　　　　　　　　 Annoyed, I glance at Little Tony. He seems more than pleased with my compliant attitude as he cleans my spoon with his saliva.　　　　　

I scrunch up my nose. "That’s disgusting."

He shrugs his large shoulders and puts the spoon back down. "Are you always this offensive? Or am I just the exception?" he wonders out loud.

I tilt my head in thought. "I would say don’t think too highly of yourself but it’s too late for that."

He fixes his solid gaze on me. "Your use could easily change, you know." He says darkly.

"True. But where would the fun be in that?" I ask thoughtfully.

　　　　　　　　 Since Little Tony doesn’t trust easily not many people are fortunate enough to be acknowledged by his inner circle. I’ve known him for some time and nobody knows we're on speaking terms. Until now that is. I guess you could say I know where we stand. Well, sort of. Honestly, I'm not sure what to think. How about an 'it's complicated'. Even so, I never doubt for one moment that he wouldn’t kill me on the spot.

He drawls out a low growl deep in his throat. "Since we’re in the business of asking personal questions it’s only fair that you answer one of mine." He starts to explain.

I raise an eyebrow at his bold statement.

　　　　　　　　 Oh really now? First he forces me to eat dinner with him in front of witnesses. And now he wants to get personal? Since when?

　　　　　　　　 We never talked for long whenever I needed help to find a perp. And even then it was only to complete a business transaction. I haven’t come to him with a case in a couple of months. What's changed?

I cross my arms and roll my eyes upwards. I really hope I don’t regret this. "Fine. What do you want to know?"　

He leisurely props an elbow on the table and rests his chin in his right palm.

He smiles widely allowing me to see the sharp fangs protrude from his mouth. "Tell me. What do you know of our Queen, Lilith the damned?" he asks curiously.