Chapter 8 #2
He’s funny that way sometimes. If your lies suit him, he doesn’t care to hear the truth.
Although I suppose you could say that about most people.
It takes me almost forty minutes to reach the Demon Quarter. It’s about as far away as you can get from campus without running into the haunted forest on the East end, which is no accident.
Most people tend to stay away from the demon-folk. Too worried they might influence them to make a deal, or something.
But as for me, Mother’s favorite teahouse is around the corner.
I park the bike a few blocks from Valorath Rd. Partially so I can sniff around, but mostly because it isn’t exactly inconspicuous.
The engine is loud, and the classic black-and-chrome styling tends to draw attention, especially in this part of town.
But the streets are almost barren at this hour.
Too late in the day for the evening crowd to be wandering around, and too early for the real nightlife to be out.
So there isn’t much to see as I make my way down the sidewalk.
A few yokai idling on the curb, waving passersby into their dimly lit shops, and a single wendigo begging on the corner.
He holds his hand out in need, but the pedestrians steer clear, unwilling to risk his hunger. I drop a few drac in his palm as I pass him by, and he smiles politely, tipping his hat before swallowing the coins whole.
It turns out the address I was given is no address at all, as it leads me to a boarded-up shop with the words “CURSED DO NOT ENTER” painted over the windows in fresh, white paint.
Beyond the foggy glass, the building is empty, save for a few broken display cases, and when I check the door, it’s locked.
“Fucking idiot,” I grumble, just as my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Unknown
Down the alley.
“Oh, that’s great.”
There is an alley on my right. But it’s narrow. Too narrow. Barely enough room to shift, and it’s unlit for about fifty feet, after which a single lamp, hanging off the side of the building, illuminates the brick wall that marks a dead end.
Perfect.
My phone vibrates as I idle at the mouth of the alleyway, a single word flashing on the screen.
Unknown
Now.
“Alright,” I shout. “Impatient.”
Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I begin to inch my way into the dark, thinking maybe I should have dragged Dred along with me.
Not that he’s much use in a fight. He’s a little too reactive. Tends to make a huge mess. But I’ll need somebody to corroborate my story when they find the body, and he’s the best liar I know. Aside from me.
My steps feels loud, in the quiet night, almost deafening. Even as I step over the stray wrappers and plastic bags, there’s no avoiding the noisy scrape of my boots on the cobblestones, or the unmistakable squeak of scattering rats.
Hells, couldn’t we do this literally anywhere else?
The pungent odor of garbage and sewage clogs my senses, making it impossible to smell anything. So I don’t notice the fragrance of the person standing behind me until it’s too late.
“Elliot?” a voice calls out.
I catch the image of a woman emerging from the empty street as I turn, but I can’t make out her features as she stops just short of the streetlamp.
“You came,” she says, a smile in her voice as if we’re here for a blind date and not extortion.
“Didn’t have much of a choice,” I answer, shielding my eyes to try and get a better look.
From where I stand, she looks short, thin, and long, and there’s a tail swishing back and forth behind her, full and bushy—a wolf.
“We always have a choice,” she answers. “And I’m here to give you one.”
The sound of crunching paper echoes through the alleyway as she makes her way into the light, and my tail stiffens as the flickering lamp catches her face.
I know this wolf. She’s one of ours. A shy, mousy little thing that I last recall seeing perched in Deacon’s lap. Only she looks much different from how I remember.
The girl I’m familiar with is quite reserved, to say the least. I don’t think I’ve so much as seen her ankle in the past three years. But the girl standing in front of me seems to be trying on someone else’s idea of confidence.
She’s dressed in very little. A short pink skirt, platform heels, and a black sweater, all hidden beneath a heavy trench. Her long brown hair is tied into two pigtails, and her delicate face is slathered in a generous amount of makeup.
I’m almost positive she usually wears glasses, but they’re missing now, replaced by a daring look in her eyes.
Dame would be disappointed to know that I cannot remember her name at the moment, but I’m not sure it matters.
I frown as I take her in.
“What kind of choice might that be?” I ask, though I think I have an idea.
In confirmation of my suspicion, she gestures at herself, and I shake my head.
“I’m flattered. But you’re not my type.”
“I could be,” she mutters, eyes rounding as she takes a step closer. “I could be whatever you want me to be.”
I take a few corresponding steps back.
“I seriously doubt that,” I say.
While crazy is my preferred flavor, I like a woman who will just outright kill me. All this scheming from the shadows isn’t really my thing.
Her face sours at my rejection, but she recovers quickly, plastering on a pretty smile.
“Just tell me what you need,” she coos. “I’ll be whatever you need.”
I bare my teeth as she steps closer and rests a hand on my arm.
She’s sweating beneath her jacket. I can smell it. A salty musk, mixing with the scent of lilacs and rain. She’s nervous.
“Do you think this is a good idea?” I ask her, testing her resolve.
She blushes softly at my question, a rosy pink finding its way to her cheeks as she tries to cover her embarrassment.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because the only reason I haven’t killed you yet is that you’re Crescent. But I’m still deciding if I’m going to.”
She smiles, baring her canines, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Oh, come on, Elliot. You expect me to believe she makes you happy?”
I scoff.
Happy?
What a stupid fucking question. I don’t care if Iris makes me happy. I care if she’s safe. And right now, the only reason she isn’t is standing in front of me.
“What do you want?” I ask, patience now paper-thin.
The blush returns, tenfold, but she manages to swallow it down to get the words out.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she whispers. “I want you, Elliot.”
Her hands find my chest, fingers clawing at my jacket as she leans forward, eyes shut, reaching on her toes in an attempt to bring her mouth to mine.
Despite her new persona, she hovers over my lips, too timid to take without permission, and I can’t help but chuckle as her legs start to shake.
This must be her first time blackmailing someone. Probably her last, too. She clearly doesn’t have the stomach for it.
“Get out of my face,” I demand.
She flinches, retreating a few steps, and I laugh a little harder as I watch the confusion play out.
“Wh-what?”
“Get home safe,” I say. “And maybe change. This look doesn’t suit you.”
She blinks, mouth ajar, and I push past her, stifling my laughter. But it seems I may have underestimated her as she makes one last-ditch effort.
“You deserve something better!” She calls out. “Not your average succ-slut!”
Her words echo through the deserted alleyway, and my dampener constricts, nearly strangling me, but I don’t bother trying to ease the pressure as I turn on my heel.
“The fuck did you just say?”
“You deserve better,” she repeats. “Than a slut like Iris Ashbourne.”
As her name leaves her mouth, I realize whose costume she’s wearing.
The skirt, the heels, the pink.
She’s dressed like Iris. Or, rather, a crude caricature of her.
What I see in front of me could hardly do her justice. Iris doesn’t derive her confidence from her clothes or her sex appeal. She’s confident because she’s one of the most dangerous women lurking around Highcrest. The fact that she’s fine as fuck is just a happy coincidence.
But my new friend here is right about one thing.
I don’t deserve Iris. No one does.
I stalk back, jamming my forearm into her throat and crushing her against the wall.
“This is over,” I growl. “You try this shit again, I’ll have your tail, do you understand me?”
Fear swells in her eyes, and she claws at me as a gurgling sound makes its way up her throat, and she chokes out, “Yesss.”
“What was that?” I snap, increasing the pressure. “I can’t hear you.”
“Yes!” she wheezes, fingers paling as she wraps her hands around my arm in a feeble attempt to free herself.
It’s a useless effort. Even with my dampener, the only person who stands a chance is Kitty.
“If I hear even a whisper of what you saw that night, I will sever your bonds and leave you lone. Is that what you want?”
Her head shakes, eyes glistening with unshed tears, but she cannot get the words out.
As I release her, she crumples, kneeling in the sticky fluid coating the ground.
“And I don’t want to hear her name come out of your mouth ever again. Is that clear?”
Her head bows.
“Yes, Beta.”
I stare at her a moment, wondering what could possibly possess someone to be so stupid, but I don’t bother helping her up. She’s lucky this dampener works so well, otherwise her head would no longer be attached to her shoulders.
As a matter of fact, I can think of a few people who are lucky this dampener works so well.
My phone rings as I exit the alleyway, and her name lights up my screen when I free it from my pocket.
Princess
You were right. I hate this book.
I laugh a little and shake my head.
She’s got to stop taking recommendations from Kitty.
Maybe next time you’ll listen.
Princess
To a man? Never.