Night and Day
Meriam Caper
Several nights later, the token’s power was put into action. Meriam Caper, 26-year-old barmaid and a werecat to boot. Black jeans, a purple sundress over the top and purple converse. Blond hair in a ponytail, keys in one hand and handbag in the other.
Shuffling down the alleyway to her car, leaving the club’s back door behind.
Someone blocking the way out. Someone small, pale and smiling. Meriam Caper blinked, surprised.
“What are you doing, all on your own? Honey, where are your parents?”
The child shrugged and moved forward. This wouldn’t take long. Meriam walked backwards, instinctively matching the other’s pace. “Are you lost? What’s your name?”
Still no reply. Meriam’s back touched the wall. She jumped, surprised that she had been backing away in the first place. It was only a kid, after all. A minor! Why on earth was she so nervous?
The child smiled wider, tasting Meriam’s fear. Head tilted to the side, the ‘kid’ walked forward again, stopping when converse shoes met small, bare feet.
Now she was afraid. Now she was wondering whether things were not what the seemed to be. It was too late, though. The youngling let go of control, slipped of the mask, and showed Meriam her death.
No-one heard her scream. No-one heard the child laugh.
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No-one in the supernatural world could ever remember the Valiant Headquarters being so deserted. Instead of the usual frenzy of activity (sparring, intelligence reports, phone calls, diplomatic meetings, capture of rogue fae, shapeshifters, vampires and paranormals, Emmaline shouting at someone) there was only a skeleton crew of five manning the constantly updating computers and the ever-ringing phones. It was eerie.
Everyone was, of course, patrolling the streets. With the token out and about, the Valiant team were strung tight like wires, ready for the slightest sign of trouble. No-one could ever remember the streets being so quiet, either. The usual suspects were all tucked away for the night, avoiding the extra guards and patrols.
Somehow, though, they still missed it. The first sign of anything wrong was the scent of spilt blood, stiffening the shoulders of the vampires and shape shifters, jolting fae and paranormals alike into watchfulness.
Meriam’s cousin-shifter the werelion found her first. His mournful howl echoed through the empty streets and the surrounding patrols hurried over. This was it; they could all feel it. The only disturbance for kilometers around.
The alleyway was just an everyday, perfectly normal alleyway. Except for the dead body. She lay on her back in the middle of the alley. Her eyes were wide open and staring blankly, the pupils expanded until there was no white.
“She was about to shift,” the werelion said hoarsely, pointing to Meriam’s eyes.
“Does anyone know what the hell the symbol means,” Emmaline said abruptly. Meriam’s dress had been ripped away from just below her chest. A symbol had been carved into her stomach, like a modified treble clef with five-pointed stars attached to the open ends. Someone had washed the blood away until her stomach was clean bar the red, red mark.
Emmaline knelt by the body and ran a hand through the air an inch above it. The air filled with the scent of forest and damp earth, and her hand took on a green tint. When both scent and colour disappeared, she shook her head. “The symbol didn’t kill her,” she said.
She carefully lifted the body, setting Meriam on her stomach and baring her back.
Over the space where her heart would have been was a circular hole the size of a large fist in circumference. It the cavity had continued for two more inches it would have gone through to her front.
Retching sounds could be heard in the background. The acrid smell of vomit mercifully covered the scent of fresh blood. “Notify her tribe so they can pick up the body for the rites. Get a tracker team out to go over the alley. Close down the club until everything has been searched. The rest of you, go home.” Emmaline stood up and headed for the road. The group of Valiant workers and friendly supernaturals stood there, confused and shellshocked.
“Emmaline?” A red-headed fae, with wide purple eyes and translucent white wings. “Should we not continue patrolling the streets?”
Emmaline stopped, paused, turned on her heel. Somehow her eyes had remained dry, her poise perfect. The invincible, untouchable, callous queen. “There will be no more deaths tonight – no more against us, at least. The theif has struck, the token’s power has been accessed. Now they will wait for our reaction. Go home, mourn the dead and prepare for a long, long week.” She pivoted and walked alone for two blocks. It was only then she allowed her façade to break. Tears on her face and anger in her heart, Emmaline went home.
Shuffling down the alleyway to her car, leaving the club’s back door behind.
Someone blocking the way out. Someone small, pale and smiling. Meriam Caper blinked, surprised.
“What are you doing, all on your own? Honey, where are your parents?”
The child shrugged and moved forward. This wouldn’t take long. Meriam walked backwards, instinctively matching the other’s pace. “Are you lost? What’s your name?”
Still no reply. Meriam’s back touched the wall. She jumped, surprised that she had been backing away in the first place. It was only a kid, after all. A minor! Why on earth was she so nervous?
The child smiled wider, tasting Meriam’s fear. Head tilted to the side, the ‘kid’ walked forward again, stopping when converse shoes met small, bare feet.
Now she was afraid. Now she was wondering whether things were not what the seemed to be. It was too late, though. The youngling let go of control, slipped of the mask, and showed Meriam her death.
No-one heard her scream. No-one heard the child laugh.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
No-one in the supernatural world could ever remember the Valiant Headquarters being so deserted. Instead of the usual frenzy of activity (sparring, intelligence reports, phone calls, diplomatic meetings, capture of rogue fae, shapeshifters, vampires and paranormals, Emmaline shouting at someone) there was only a skeleton crew of five manning the constantly updating computers and the ever-ringing phones. It was eerie.
Everyone was, of course, patrolling the streets. With the token out and about, the Valiant team were strung tight like wires, ready for the slightest sign of trouble. No-one could ever remember the streets being so quiet, either. The usual suspects were all tucked away for the night, avoiding the extra guards and patrols.
Somehow, though, they still missed it. The first sign of anything wrong was the scent of spilt blood, stiffening the shoulders of the vampires and shape shifters, jolting fae and paranormals alike into watchfulness.
Meriam’s cousin-shifter the werelion found her first. His mournful howl echoed through the empty streets and the surrounding patrols hurried over. This was it; they could all feel it. The only disturbance for kilometers around.
The alleyway was just an everyday, perfectly normal alleyway. Except for the dead body. She lay on her back in the middle of the alley. Her eyes were wide open and staring blankly, the pupils expanded until there was no white.
“She was about to shift,” the werelion said hoarsely, pointing to Meriam’s eyes.
“Does anyone know what the hell the symbol means,” Emmaline said abruptly. Meriam’s dress had been ripped away from just below her chest. A symbol had been carved into her stomach, like a modified treble clef with five-pointed stars attached to the open ends. Someone had washed the blood away until her stomach was clean bar the red, red mark.
Emmaline knelt by the body and ran a hand through the air an inch above it. The air filled with the scent of forest and damp earth, and her hand took on a green tint. When both scent and colour disappeared, she shook her head. “The symbol didn’t kill her,” she said.
She carefully lifted the body, setting Meriam on her stomach and baring her back.
Over the space where her heart would have been was a circular hole the size of a large fist in circumference. It the cavity had continued for two more inches it would have gone through to her front.
Retching sounds could be heard in the background. The acrid smell of vomit mercifully covered the scent of fresh blood. “Notify her tribe so they can pick up the body for the rites. Get a tracker team out to go over the alley. Close down the club until everything has been searched. The rest of you, go home.” Emmaline stood up and headed for the road. The group of Valiant workers and friendly supernaturals stood there, confused and shellshocked.
“Emmaline?” A red-headed fae, with wide purple eyes and translucent white wings. “Should we not continue patrolling the streets?”
Emmaline stopped, paused, turned on her heel. Somehow her eyes had remained dry, her poise perfect. The invincible, untouchable, callous queen. “There will be no more deaths tonight – no more against us, at least. The theif has struck, the token’s power has been accessed. Now they will wait for our reaction. Go home, mourn the dead and prepare for a long, long week.” She pivoted and walked alone for two blocks. It was only then she allowed her façade to break. Tears on her face and anger in her heart, Emmaline went home.