CHAPTER ELEVEN – SHE WHO HUNTS

Cold night air whipped around the shoulders of three women as they made their way through the streets of the innermost streets of a sleepless Metropolis. Streetlights cast eerie shadows across their faces and made their eyes look like hollows. They walked with purpose, facing straight forward and taking long steps; even the woman on the right, whose walk was more like a shuffle. The first woman was short and stumpy, shuffling along and standing on the right. She was significantly older than the others, and wore a strange golden charm around her neck. The second was of medium height and build, wearing a black shawl that covered her arms down to her elbows. She didn’t move her arms when she walked. The last woman walked at the front, almost a pace and a half ahead of the others. She was tall and thin, wearing all black and keeping her head held high, despite injuries on her back.
They were only walking, but somehow they appeared to be accomplishing something with each step. Their long, powerful strides brought them closer and closer to their destination every second, until finally it was upon them. They had come to a large apartment building in Cave Street.
The building was owned by one of the many employees of Michael Gates, and so it served as home to a multitude of Vampires. Rental history was hard for Vampires to explain, since they never seemed to age, and eventually they would have to change their accommodation, or people would become suspicious. That was why it was easier to live under the roof of a fellow Vampire, who would understand the circumstances.
They entered the lobby of the building; it was a long, narrow entrance leading into a large parlor area where gold-painted wooden chairs with embroidered white cushions and pot plants lined the walls, and large paintings and tapestries were hung. The three women walked right past the receptionist as though unseen, and continued toward the elevator.
Once inside they stood in silence, communicating with each other through momentary glances. The woman at the front stood with a severe, icy expression on her face. Her hair was black, recently cut into a sharp black bob, which framed her angular, white face. Her entire upper body from her neck to her waist was covered in bandages, leaving only her hands free, and she wore a black tank top over the bandages. Her fingernails were painted black, and she wore a short cape around her shoulders.
The elevator finally arrived on the floor they’d determined, and the women stepped out. Beyond them was a long hall, with a cream-coloured carpet. The woman in black counted the doors as she walked, tracing along their knobs with a delicate finger. Behind her the other women whispered.
“Surely she wouldn’t be here,” the short, stout woman muttered. She had an almost comic face; two big brown eyes, crossed with the effort of trying to look past her long, hook-like nose. Her hair was in white wisps, tied back in a loose ponytail. The wrinkled skin of her forehead was pulled back by the tug of her hair, and her cheeks sagged on either side of her face. She looked like an old witch doctor, the kind one would find mysteriously living in a jungle. Her bulging, bumpy figure was hidden, badly, beneath the folds of black rag-like clothes.
“I doubt that’s what she’s looking for,” the other whispered back. This woman, the medium, was a middle aged, graceful shadow. The way she walked was more like hovering than stepping; her hands were folded in front of her body, and she wore a long skirt with a part down one side. She was dressed in deep maroons, which looked black in the right lights and plum in others. Her hair was brown, hanging loosely around her shoulders, and she wore blood-red jewelry. Her eyes were bright blue, and her lips were thin and white.
“It most certainly is not,” the third woman turned back to them for a moment, motioning for silence. They had reached the door that the woman intended to find, and she turned to face it. “Hilda.”
“My turn,” the fat old woman grinned, with crooked teeth, and stepped up to the door. The others stood some distance away, and Hilda braced herself as though she were about to enter a wrestling match. She held her hands out either side of her body and closed her eyes, and slowly she raised them, groaning as though she was lifting a heavy object besides her arms. Lightning coursed between her hands, and fire glittered into existence in the palm of each. Suddenly the tiny sparks erupted into two mighty fireballs, and she threw them at the door together. The result was a mighty explosion, and the medium woman threw her hands out to either side, silencing it completely; despite the flash and the fire not a sound was made as the door splintered off its hinges and flew into the apartment.
The door collided with a man, who cried out as he was thrown to the ground by the force. Splintered pieces of wood flew everywhere, knocking over a glass vase with flowers in it; it fell to the ground, covered the floor in water and shards of broken glass, but still there was no sound.
Another man burst into action. He ran toward the intruders, raising his hands in the air and unsheathing hidden claws. Fur burst out in tufts on the back of his hands, and his fingertips became mighty wolf-like claws as he ran toward Hilda; but the medium-sized witch stepped into the way. She held her hands toward the Lycan as he ran at her, and suddenly he was blasted back as if he had run full-force into an invisible trampoline. Hilda and her sister, Gloria, stepped into the apartment.
The bobbed woman walked in last, and the two witches stepped out of her way.
“Be still,” the woman glared at the men. They’d picked themselves up, and they glared at the invading women. “We are not looking for a fight.”
“Which explains perfectly why you blew our door down!” one of the men growled. He was the one who had attacked them; his arms from elbow down had grown bluish grey fur, and his hands had become paws rather than hands. His claws were fully extended, sharp and black, and his teeth had become fangs. The transformation was only partial, but enough to give him the necessary power to fight.
“If we had knocked you would have run,” Gloria smiled, knowingly. “You have a number of enemies, don’t you?”
The Lycans said nothing.
“We have come here for information,” Hilda grunted, breathing heavily. It seemed that the effort of the fireball spell had worn her out; or perhaps it was movement. Her flabby arms rested on her sides, and she heaved through what seemed like a blocked nose.
“Regarding?” the second Lycan stepped up, placing his hand on his partner’s shoulder. His eyes were golden, and his hair was salt and pepper. He seemed to be around ten years older than the other man, who was a fine specimen in his late twenties.
“Tell us what you know about Miss Hayley Reader, and her sister Stella.” The woman with the bob demanded, stepping toward them.
“The Reader girls?” the Lycans exchanged looks. The young Lycan stepped forward, meeting eye to eye with the bobbed woman. “Who wants to know?”
“I am Nina Ferric, of the Council of Vampires,” she placed her hand on her heart, and then removed it and nodded her head. “I have been hired to investigate those girls. We believe that they may have something to do with the recent murders.”
“Murders of Vampires?” the older Lycan sneered, angrily. “I don’t believe Hayley would do that.”
“We have reason to believe that Hayley Reader and her sister Stella Reader have significant part in a faction of Vampires who, for one reason or another, have turned against all of Vampirekind and are committing heinous crimes.”
“I’m telling you, Hayley would have nothing to do with it!”
“Or,” Nina’s eyes leveled with the Lycan’s, and she pierced him with them. “You just don’t know.”
“How dare you!” the Lycan howled angrily, leaping at her and slashing. She caught his arm in mid-air and twisted it, stepping out of the way and allowing him to fall to the ground. The second Lycan leapt at her, and again Gloria caught the man in mid-air with her magic, throwing him down to the ground. She lifted her hand, conjuring a spear of lightning. The smell of singed fur and a yelp of pain came from the Lycan as she plunged the lightning spear into his back. His entire body shook violently as the lightning coursed over his flesh, and he began to cry.
“Cero!” the younger Lycan cried, reaching out his hand toward his fallen comrade. Nina stepped forward, plunging her hand into the flesh of the Lycan with immeasurable speed. She wasted no time, punching him, hard, in the back of the head and threw the Lycan, gasping for breath, to the ground. Her hand was covered in his blood, and she lifted it to her face, examining it for a moment. The Lycan tried to push himself off of the ground, looking through bleary eyes at his partner.
Cero was dead, slumped in the corner of the room, and Hilda had made her way over to him. Hilda, Gloria and Nina stood in a circle around him, and the Lycan fell to the ground. Nina held her hand out to her side, palm upturned, and a fireball flickered into life. The heat was so intense that the blood on her hand dried in seconds, and began to flake away.
“Tell us everything you know,” she whispered, her voice cold and cutting, “about Hayley Reader.”
“I’ll never…tell you…anything,” the Lycan muttered, choking. The hole through his chest had missed his heart, but he could hardly breathe. “I don’t…believe you.”
“Then believe this,” Nina growled, kneeling down. “I have fought Stella and Hayley myself…they are not as they were. They’ve changed…and they cut this into my back… ‘We are coming for you’.”
“…What…does that mean?” the Lycan looked up at her, his eyes tearing up. The parts of his body that had changed and grown fur and claws had reverted back to normal, leaving him human again. He choked, but his gaze never left Nina’s eyes.
“…This was a terrible mistake,” Nina’s expression turned into a frown, and she stood up. “These Lycans know nothing.”
“Apparently not,” Hilda muttered.
“Definitely,” Gloria sighed.
“What a shame,” Nina mumbled, turning away. The three of them began to walk out of the room, leaving the spluttering Lycan to bleed to death on the floor.
“Wait!” the Lycan gasped, rolling onto his side and attempting to push himself up. Nina turned on her heel, pointing two fingers at the Lycan’s head. The distance between her fingers and his forehead suddenly erupted into yellow light as a ray of her own energy pierced his brain, and his eyes flew open wide. The light faded and his body slumped, dead.
The smell of burned skin and singed fur hung in the air, and blood and water curdled on the tile and carpet. Broken glass, splintered wood, and the bodies of the Lycans littered the floor, and the force of Gloria’s barriers had upturned furniture.
The women left, cloaking themselves in magic, and disappeared unseen into the night.