Lilith/Cain

"Who are you texting?" Vivian asked Arthur as she gently rubbed the back of her hand.

"I sent a picture of the hunter's mark and the other crests we found to an acquaintance of mine. I'm going to send him the one on your hand and see what he can make of them."

Vivian scrutinized the back of her hand. Thankfully the redness was gone and it no longer hurt. "I feel like I've seen something like this before. The thorns she'd recognized as a part of the Manigault crest, but the sword was also familiar.

She pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers as she tried to block out the deafening construction long enough to concentrate. "Ugh, where was it..."

Meanwhile Arthur had a feeling deep in his bones. It was an old feeling, one he had hoped to put to rest. Something was coming, something big. He had to be prepared for it.

"I'll need to head back to the storage container." He let out a heavy sigh.

Vivian's head shot up. She looked at him sharply. "That's where you stashed your old gear." Her eyes narrowed. "You're retired. You promised me."

"I am retired." He kept his tone reassuring. "I'm not going to start hunting again. This is about your safety, Vivian. Someone is after you, and they managed to hurt Callie from a distance." Pain that seemed centuries old cast a shadow over his brown eyes. "They're not human."

Vivian's golden eyes turned to hard amber. "If this is for me, then we're going to do it my way. Forget about your old hunter stuff. I'll get something better for us."

She pulled out her phone and swiped through her contacts. She hit one and put the phone to her ear. "You're calling your brothers, aren't you?" Arthur guessed.

"Carlos?" she asked once the line picked up, confirming his suspicions. "It's Vee. I need some protection." She listened for a moment. "Preferably silver." She listened for a longer moment. "Thank you, I love you too."

She hung up and pocketed her phone. "He said to give him an hour."

Arthur checked the time on his flip phone. “We’d better leave now, before rush hour starts.”

“You’re leaving?” Sybil asked worriedly.

Vivian covered her hand with her own. “Just for a few hours. We’ll be back before dark.”

“But…”

“We promise.” Vivian’s smile was warm and reassuring.

As she watched them leave, Sybil felt a knot of tension in her stomach that tightened uncomfortably. She really hoped nothing happened to Angie’s mom, and not just for Angie’s sake. Vivian was kind and generous, even if her words and features were sharp. She could see where Angie had learned her softness.

xxxXXXxxx

Arthur was deep in thought as they headed down the stairs. His silver brow was furrowed and his mouth pressed into a line. Vivian put her hand in his. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He blinked at her. “It’s nothing really. I’m just thinking about Sybil. She’s unlike any vampire I’ve seen before.”

“How so?” Vivian asked, concerned.

“Not in a bad way. Quite the opposite. Her restraint and control is phenomenal. She was starving and yet she waited patiently for me to go out and buy her pig’s blood, without even one complaint.”

“That’s understandable. She’s worried about Callie. Who can think of food when your girlfriend is sick?”

“True, but that’s how humans think, not vampires. She should have lost control and attacked the first humans she saw, but she managed to restrain herself long enough to travel two boroughs away and come get us. Even the sight of your blood when you gave it to Callie didn’t set her off.” He shook his head. “That’s not the way vampires act.”

“Not in your experience, no.” Vivian snorted. “A vampire doesn’t enter a hunter’s radar till after they’ve killed someone, right?” Arthur nodded. “So honestly the only ones you’ve ever met were the ones that couldn’t control themselves.”

“If that’s the case, then how many others are really out there, integrating into normal life? How many customers does Butcher have?” He looked as if he didn’t know whether to be worried or amazed.

Vivian giggled. “Vampires getting boring night jobs and falling asleep during the day with Netflix on. Vampire security guards, vampire baristas, vampire drive-through attendants.” She covered her mouth with her free hand as she laughed.

His expression only deepened, so she nudged his arm with her shoulder. “Come on. It’s like natural selection, only you were the one doing the selecting. The ones that behaved themselves got to keep their heads.”

Her smile made him relax instantly. His expression softened. “I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” she said matter-of-factly.

He glanced down at their joined hands. His other hand went to his coat pocket. “I missed so much time with you the first time around…”

She released his hand long enough to wrap her arm around his, her chest pressing against his elbow. He was still surprised at just how much this simple contact made his heart race. “I’m not letting you get away this time,” she told him.

His fingers grasped a small box deep in his pocket. The feel of the smooth velvet and the sound of her voice combined to make his throat close up. “Vivian…” His voice came out low and husky.

A chime from her back pocket loudly cut through the moment. She stopped her descent and released him immediately, pulling out her phone. She checked the lit up screen, her expression turning from cheerful to worried.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur had stopped as well.

“It’s from Chris. He says that he loves me.” Her eyes were warm honey-colored sadness, but then hardened back up to amber glass. “What kind of trouble has that boy gotten himself into this time?” she muttered to herself as she continued walking down the stairs. “He’d better be looking after his sister.”

Arthur let her go ahead of him as she tapped at her screen. He let go of the box in his hand and it settled back down to the bottom of his pocket.

After getting no response to her text, she tried calling her step-son, but only got his voicemail. “Leave a message after the beep, or just hang up now and save us both some time. BEEP!”

She exited the building still studying her screen. Arthur followed close behind. They were so engrossed in their own thoughts that they walked right by the plywood partition that separated the construction going on from the rest of the street. They passed right under a large sign depicting an artist’s conception of what bland apartment complex the final building will be. Next to this rendering was the company logo: a thin black sword, pointing downwards. Underneath it read ‘Enoch Industries’.

xxxXXXxxx

While construction was still underway for many buildings all over the city, there was one that was newly finished, stark black like a slice of void cutting through the landscape.

Many of the offices it housed were empty, but they would soon be filling up. Thousands of employees would call this tower their second home.

At the base of the spire was a wide front entrance, all lit up with a conservative office park out front. Cut into the thick black glass over the entrance was the silhouette of a huge sword. The tip of the blade pointed downwards.

A sleek black limousine pulled up in front of the building and all doors opened. Four women stepped out. Three shut their doors and moved to stand together on the sidewalk. The fourth held the door open for the last occupant.

The four women were all dressed the same, wearing long black coats, black gloves, and mirrored sunglasses. Their hairstyles and body types were different, but they all wore the same professional expression.

The sky was overcast, though there was no rain. Even so two of the women opened black umbrellas as their employer stepped out of the car.

He was taller than all of them, but they still held the umbrellas over him. His shoulders were wide and his frame was thin. He held himself with a lazy sense of authority, one hand in the pocket of his black slacks and the other held his smartphone. He wore a black suit jacket. The collared shirt underneath was silk and the color of red wine and his tie was solid black.

His hair was long. It draped over his shoulders fluidly, like black tar. His face was pale and his features were sharp, but not unattractive. The angles of his chin were accentuated by his closely trimmed beard and thin mustache. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of ruby-tinted, frameless sunglasses.

He lifted his head up at the tower. One scarlet eye glittered over his sunglasses. His lips spread into a possessive grin, his fangs gleaming. He put his phone to his ear without breaking his gaze away from the spire. “Papa’s home.” He hung up with a press of his thumb and slipped the phone into his jacket pocket.

He walked to the entrance, his entourage surrounding him. Two carried leather briefcases. Both sets of glass doors were opened for him. His slick Armani shoes tapping against the marble floor was the only sound to echo through the large front lobby.

This area was mostly deserted, other than the two security guards at their station. The grand fountain in the center wouldn’t be turned on till the next day. A row of silver elevators stood across from the entrance, but he didn’t head for those.

A private elevator was open and waiting for him off to the side. He entered that one with the two attendants who carried briefcases. One had long blond hair that was shaved close to the skin on one side. The other had short auburn curls. Their mirrored sunglasses remained on even though they were indoors.

The blond pressed one of two buttons on the elevator panel and the doors slid closed. He didn’t face those doors. Instead he was focused on the back wall, which was made of glass. He could see right out the tinted glass of the building and as the elevator rapidly ascended the whole of the city lay before him, dark and silent.

At the top he looked up at the sky and sneered. “Look how close I am now.” He turned and walked out the doors. They let right out into his office on the top floor. It was a wide open space, plushly carpeted in dark gray. A massive black granite desk sat in front of the back window-wall. It was empty, and dim light from the recessed bulbs in the ceiling ran over it like water.

He stood behind that desk, but faced away. He wasn’t done looking out over the city. Soon to be his city. He smiled in delight as he spotted a familiar building not too far away. “Mechanex looks positively tiny from here.” He turned to the two women on the other side of his desk. “That reminds me, Smith. My one o’clock.”

xxxXXXxxx

Dexter and Simon sat in an elegant waiting room. It was furnished with low mahogany tables and comfy sofa chairs, but they’d been waiting for hours now and Dexter was starting to fidget with the strap of his leather satchel. Simon flipped through a magazine for the umpteenth time, looking bored out of his mind.

The room had one other occupant, a middle-aged man in a gray business suit. He carried a briefcase and looked at his Rolex every five minutes on the dot.

Finally one of the massive double doors opened silently. The auburn-haired attendant from the airport stepped out. “Mister Baxter?” she called politely. “Mister Adamson will see you now.”

The man with the briefcase stood up, muttering irritably under his breath. “Finally! It’s well after lunch time. I thought I’d been left out here to die.” He hurried over to the door.

“Mister Adamson apologizes for the delay. He would never attempt to starve you to death.” The attendant’s expression was unchanged.

The man straightened his tie before entering the room. “I meant that as spot of humor.”

“Of course.” The attendant closed the door behind them.

It took a second for Mr. Baxter’s eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. He blinked a few times till he was able to take in his surroundings.

Adamson stood behind his desk, looking just as insufferable as always. What kind of pompous jackass wears red sunglasses indoors? Still, Baxter had to be polite, gracious even. Without Adamson’s persuasion, he wouldn’t have gotten the CEO chair at Mechanex.

“I’m glad you’re here, Baxter. I am deeply troubled right now.” Adamson spoke solemnly, but without a trace of concern on his face. “Despite all of my best efforts, there is no sign outside of Mechanex headquarters that reads ‘A subsidiary of Enoch Industries’.”

Baxter stiffened. He was going to play this way right off the bat, was he? “With all due respect, Adamson, but you only own ten percent of our stock.” He approached the desk.

Its surface was bare except for a wooden chessboard set up in the center. Only two pieces were on the board, the two queens. They sat facing each other in the center. One was made of black glass that glittered dark red in the center. The other was brilliant crystal, throwing off rainbow gleams. There was no sign of any other pieces.

Baxter narrowed his eyes at Adamson’s bizarre sense of aesthetics.

“I called you here today to discover why it was that I only own ten percent of Mechanex’ stock.” Adamson’s voice had a slippery quality to it, curling around him like snake’s coils. “I seem to recall that just a short while ago Mechanex’ stock price plummeted to pennies on the dollar. After all I’ve done for you, why was no action taken in my interest?”

Baxter blinked in surprise. “You’re talking about the five minutes that passed after the news story of the terrorist attack went live?” Adamson’s gaze was steady, waiting. Baxter could feel himself starting to sweat. “I was busy doing damage control at the time. Almost quite literally putting out fires. I didn’t know about the price drop till afterwards.”

Adamson tsked as he slowly shook his head. “Someone was on their toes enough to take advantage of the drop, sadly it wasn’t you.” He placed the tips of his fingers on the desktop, spreading them out as he leaned forward. “You’re not keeping up your end of our bargain, Baxter. Worse yet, you’re lying to me.” His dark eyes glittered over his sunglasses. Was it his imagination, or was there a spark of red in that gaze?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Baxter’s voice quavered slightly. He covered it up with a soft cough. He squared his shoulders.

“It’s true that a third party managed to get away with the Lion’s share of Mechanex, but what about that leftover thirty percent? I know that it was you who acquired it.”

Baxter’s chest puffed up with indignation. “That is certainly not true.” He opened his briefcase and retrieved a paper from within. “I have here a list of all our major shareholders. My name is not on this list.” He placed it on the desk.

Adamson lifted on hand and pointed to the second name. “This is your wife’s maiden name, is it not?” He sneered. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice such an amatuer subterfuge?”

Baxter swallowed. “That’s just a coincidence.”

“You did indeed have your wits about you during the attack. You were quick to take action, but only for yourself.”

Those black eyes held him in place, and as he watched, they slowly turned red. “Humanity has three basic needs, Baxter.” One hand glided silently towards him. Adamson’s voice was soft, hypnotic. “Shelter I’ve taken care of on my own. Enoch Industries has acquired more real estate than we frankly know what to do with. New homes are going up every single day.”

He drew closer, leaning over the desk while Baxter remained rooted to the floor. “Food is being taken care of as we speak, as soon as my Vice Presidents finish the rest of the paperwork with Monsanto.”

One hand lifted off the desk. Those long fingers curled around Baxter’s tie and still he couldn’t break his gaze away from those eyes. He was frozen in place, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a bird frantic for flight. “The remaining thing that humanity needs is medicine. That is why I need Mechanex under my control.” Adamson’s lip pulled back over one sharp incisor. Baxter’s hand tightened around the handle of his briefcase. “I will be the one to take care of humanity’s needs.”

Baxter blinked and the moment was broken. Adamson stood on the other side of the desk as if he hadn’t moved at all. “You’ve not only failed me, you tried to take what belongs to me. I’m disappointed, to say the least.” He shifted his gaze over to his blond attendant. “Smith, destroy him.”

She stepped forward at once, hand in her pocket. Baxter shrank away fearfully. She pulled out a cellphone and put it to her ear. Baxter’s expression turned to one of confusion. Adamson waited patiently behind the desk. Once the line picked up, she spoke calmly. “Alexander Baxter, CEO of Mechanex.” She pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the screen. It chimed a few seconds later. “It’s done.”

Baxter looked back at Adamson, who smiled. “Do you love your wife, Mister Baxter?”

A growing sense of unease caused him to answer warily. “Why do you ask?”

“Out of politeness, mostly. I know that you don’t. No one who truly loves his wife would sneak off to a hotel with a nineteen year old model twice a month. Pictures from your most recent rendezvous have reached your wife’s inbox by now.” Baxter’s phone started to ring in his pocket. “That will be her now, I’m guessing.” He hurriedly took out his phone and muted it. “Not going to answer it? I don’t blame you. The things you did to that girl…”

Adamson continued speaking, ignoring Baxter’s discomfort. “My lawyers will be approaching her any second now. They’ll buy the Mechanex shares off of her for a song, in return for not leaking those photos to the press. They will then inform her that your infidelity nullifies your prenuptial agreement.” His lips pulled back over his perfectly straight incisors. “I’m sure the judge will be quite generous to her. No, I’ll make sure of it.”

xxxXXXxxx

Dexter looked up as the door opened again. Mr. Baxter stepped out, his eyes wide and his face white as a sheet. His hands shook as he clutched his briefcase to his chest. “I’m ruined…” he whispered hollowly.

Simon snapped his magazine closed in relief. “We’re up, then?”

The auburn-haired woman stepped out. “Doctor Merrick. Professor Barnes. Mister Adamson will see you now.”

Simon hopped to his feet, tossing the magazine on the cushion behind him. Dexter rose from his chair. Simon reached over to him with both hands. He buttoned the top button if his shirt and straightened his collar. “Gotta make sure you look presentable.”

Dexter’s eyes stayed on Mr. Baxter as the middle-aged man walked away with all the feebleness of someone twice his age. Simon had to lead him by the shoulder into the office.