“Move in,” she whispers, her left index finger pressing into the small device aptly hidden in her ear and secured behind raven tresses, and it’s discreet—the order—masked as a casual turn of her head as she pretends to rummage within her bag. Deciding it’s better to actually bring something back, she frees a cigarette from its box and a lighter, igniting the end as she turns back to Calina, eyes fixated on the enemy turned friend—friend turned mission. “Before we go inside,” she gives the woman a faint smile, apologizing for the disgusting habit, but she isn’t that sorry once the smoke fills her lungs and the nicotine soars through her bloodstream.
“I was thinking drinks first, and then,” she pauses to take another drag, arm crossing over her chest to prop up the hand holding the cigarette between polished fingers, “dinner at our favorite spot. And…” she pauses once more, but only to lean in closer to the Spade as if she has a salacious secret to share, “I may or may not have told them it was your birthday simply for the free chocolate cake,” she says with a wink, and it is true; she had made a reservation for the both of them at 11PM sharp, and she’d told the hostess it was a celebration despite Lucrecia knowing they’d never arrive. But it was a nice thought, a hopeful idea that per some random act of the universe, the two women would make it through the evening without either ending up hurt, but they both know—at least Lucrecia knows—that is a pipe dream.
She turns her head back for a split second, eyes searching quickly for the black van Tiberius and Odessa were driving, and the moment she does, it feels as if a thick lead brick sinks to the bottom of her stomach as opposed to the usual rush of adrenaline and euphoria normally accompanying a task such as this. An engine roars and tires squeal in the distance, and she knows it is them—she knows it’s time.
Before we go inside. It’s disconcerting how quickly alarm bells ring, worse still that they are of concern that Lucrecia might want to discuss something that will surely place the evening in decline. There are plenty of topics between them that remain unspoken for that very reason - because, even as they’re supposed to be on the same side, they must be willing to detach from work if they’re to remain friendly. Calina’s somewhat of an expert at it, or the illusion of it, for she’d be very lacking for company if she could only spend time with those with goals to match her own.
She stalls, turns, is even relieved to see the cause of the words, relaxes to lean back against the wall a few steps away - careful to avoid the smoke.
“Well, no one’s waiting up. Although you’re more than welcome to the cake, and you can even have the wish. I’m going to deal more with the drinking portion of the night.” She looks to Lucrecia, hand out to bump her on the arm, “You really know how to treat a girl.” Only to notice Lucrecia’s looking away, imagines it’s the tires she heard. Still nothing seems amiss, the noise all too familiar from St. Petersburg, only registering because it calls Lucrecia’s attention.
“Did you quit?” a change in direction as she gestures to the cigarette instead, returns to folded arms. “Maybe you’re just sneaky, but I didn’t know you smoked.”
The van nears and still she’s paying attention to all the wrong things, focus numbed by other considerations and a lack of admission - after all, she’s just as angry about the fashion show as everyone else, even if her reasons are entirely different.
I’m ready when you are.
The Vernon girl must’ve been ready hours ago if that was the case. To dish out this kind of payback on the Spades was all the Capulet captain could think about. But he was forced to wait, forced into holding his position until the timing was right. And that’s when he heard it, Lucrecia’s low, smoky voice slipping in through the ear piece they had all agreed to wear, to help with easy communication. Move in, was the command, and Tiberius’ fingers curled and uncurled in almost giddy anticipation. Lucrecia was stalling, the conversation between the women continuing to carry on outside the club’s doors. It seemed everyone was in on the particular joke but the Spade woman, that there had never been any intentions of them stepping foot in The Tempest that night.Â
“I’m going for the grab,” Tiberius informs Odessa, and points to the drivers seat, silently instructing she occupy the seat he was once in, “Once she and Lucrecia are in, you drive.”Â
The van creeps just those few feet closer before coming to a halt before the women, Tiberius hidden behind the door, hands pressing to it eagerly. Everything after that happens in a flash – the door rips open, the black sack in his hands shoved over her head, she begins her fight then. Unable to see, she strikes and scratches at whatever she can reach, and he hisses, her nails having dug into his skin through the long sleeves of his shirt. Her body’s wriggling, thrashing violently to free herself from his grasp. He only tightens his grip then, so hard he knows she’ll bruise, but they can’t lose her, not when the Witches were counting on them. Lucrecia pushes, and he pulls, rough in the way he manhandles her into the van and tosses her to the hard floor. His hand hits at the drivers seat twice, the signal that Odessa should go, go, go.Â
And just like that, Capulet and Montague moved as one. Odessa scarcely recognised that the two people, who were, for all intents and purposes, on her side, were technically members of the enemy. In this moment, they were all made equal - eyes trained forward towards a common goal. Soon, it would be over - but for the moment it was a glimpse into what a different life might have liked like, when the two sides would work in tandem. A little bittersweet, if she was being honest. Tiberius seemed like one hell of  a sparring partner - now that she knew he didn’t kill her Father. And Lucrecia? She was one hell of a woman. In a different life, she might have been  sort of mentor.Â
Although she objected from being relegated from the action on sheer principle, Odessa accepted Tiberius’s order without complaint, recognising that he was the old hand when it came to these situations. He had a hundred fights to her three - and they only had one shot at kidnap. Should Calina escape, the whole setup would be a disaster. And no one wanted to risk the wrath of the witches - not now they had shown what could truly happen when they flexed their muscles. Nodding at his instructions, Odessa slid into the drivers seat as soon as he hopped out, foot on the clutch ready to depart. From the wing mirror, she watched the kidnapping unfold with baited breath - desperately hoping.
A mere few minutes later - and Calina was secure. As the back doors slammed, Odessa stepped on the pedal - pulling away in a hurry (but not so much so that the Police, although corrupt, would try to stop them). One eye on her fellow kidnappers and their captive in the back, she kept her second on the road making sharp turns along ancient roads towards the hotel. “We’ll be there in five minutes.” Or less, if she ran a few red lights. Descending into silence, Odessa sighed under her breath, seeking to break the uneasiness that had fallen. “No one hurt?” It seemed polite, after all, to ask.