I thought instead of a normal update, I’d actually put up a piece I am working on. It has gone through one edit process, my own. I have to give it to some others to read and to finish it really. (The last few chapters are mere scenes that I strung together.) But, I still want to get some of it out to those who follow this blog…
I looked at the scumbag in the seat across the desk from me. He gave me his normal smile, without his fangs. “Look Nash, you know I’m good for it,” Pyke said, his hands dry washing each other. He opened his mouth, closed them, working his lips for a moment to not fumble his words. “Really, I mean–”
“Uh huh, tell me another.” I held a small silver dagger in my hand, giving him an eyebrow raised stare. The Witch-Eye flared up, seeing the aura of black around Pyke. It would be black, he was a vampire after all.
His eyes flicked outside to the window. I’d purposely left the screen open to make the vampire twitch a little. “Can we hurry this up? I need to get back home.” Best thing for that kind is to show them you know what can hurt them, start from a position of strength.
“I still want my money, Pyke,” I said, “Then we can hurry this along.”
“I truly hate that nickname, Nash. Please you know I’m good for it.” Pyke’s voice fumbled back to a slight Irish lilt with the word “hate.”
I continued to give him the cocked eyebrow. “And when can I expect the payment if I do let you go now?”
I did some math tricks in my head. “Isn’t that when your ancestor’s going to be revived?”
The vamp twitched more, his hands moving to grab a cigarette. I’d already told him he wasn’t allowed to smoke. He brought it to his lips, the flame from his zippo close.
“Put that out. And answer the question,” I said, stabbing the desk with the dagger.
Pyke jerked backward. Hands coming up. The Witch-Eye flared a touch more when his eyes grew pure jet. “Nash, look…I promise the money will be here. Doesn’t it really matter how you get it?”
“I don’t want to deal with an Antediluvian if I can help it, thank you.” I scowled at him for wasting his time and mine.
“Come on Nash,” Pyke pleaded.
“You know I could make you give me an extension.” He gave me a smile, the black pupils expanding again to blot out the iris. He’s expending some power and not even full, what a dick.
“Doubtful,” I said.
“Have you put it to the test,” he asked, referring the Witch-Eye.
Yeah, more times than I can count. “More than a little vamp like you, and survived.” The Witch-eye is a gift and a curse. It is a protection spell given to me by my father. Who then tried to kill me so my brother could have it. There was some kind of ritual thing. I never asked. I just ran. It also helped me see supernatural creatures that could hide from the people who they wanted to hide from. You know like how mortals think that vampires sparkle and live in Washington for some reason.
I felt him try and hit me with a bit of charm. His crooked and broken teeth were disturbing to look at, which was better than looking at his fangs when they grew. Which did emerge with his use of his vampiric charm. It hit the Witch-Eye field around me and faded to nothing. “Nice try, sparkle boy.”
Pyke gave me a grimace. “You know I hate those books.” Again with the Irish lilt.
Good, I like being under his skin.
“Yeah, but bored housewives love them. No matter how shitty they were written.”
Pyke stood up. He closed his eyes for a moment and mumbled something. I felt the Witch-Eye flare for a moment, then subside. Pyke looked the same. Pike’s eyes tainted pure black for a moment before resuming the color of mud. I wasn’t sure if he could see anything. Those who could see the Witch-Eye said that it looked like a bright red wall that cocooned me. The harder someone tried to get through it, the brighter it got.
“What are you doing, Pyke?”
He held his hands up for silence and then looked at me. “Nash, you will get your money. But, I have to go or the sun will turn me into ash.”
For a moment, I wanted to keep him there. To argue more. But that’d be cruel. Plus I’ll never get my money. I gave him a shooing gesture and he left in a hurry. He walked out of my office and I let out a sigh of relief. I hate dealing with blood suckers if I can help it. Though he was a client. Not much of a paying one, but still a client. He needed help making something disappear, something that I could help with. So, I helped him. It’s what I do. Since most things that could hurt me in this supernatural world were afraid of the Witch-Eye, or so damn awed by it that they left me alone.
For the most part.
The door banged opened and a figure walked into the room. “Franklin Nash, your time–”
Before it could continue speaking, I pulled out my Glock and fired three bullets at the thing. Acting fast in my line of work is best. Something bursts in, shoot. I had felt the flash of the Witch-Eye. Whatever this thing was bad mojo. Two bullets were cold iron, and one was silver. I’d have an idea, which hurt it more depending on where it grabbed.
Except, it dodged all three rounds and moved towards me. The thing was wrapped in blackness, only the small lamp on my desk and the light above my head gave an indication of form.