During those two and a half months Aedan continued his work as usual, finding spirits to put to rest and demons to exorcise. Part of him did wonder if Bianca had no use of him anymore, and that part of him was a little… crestfallen. If it wasn’t for his highly generous payments, he’d have assumed she’d found a replacement for him. So, when he got a call from her one night, not three hours after he’d finished his last hunt, he felt oddly relieved, if a little bitter that he wouldn’t get to finish his cigarette and beer he was indulging in to unwind.
“Speakin’,” he said in affirmation to her checking it was him, tapping some ash off the end of his cigarette. Hearing her voice on the other end of the phone again was strange; he’d quite forgotten how odd it sounded, how the pitch of her voice made her sound so young, whilst the weight beneath her words demonstrated her significant wisdom and age.
Still, he listened raptly to everything she told him; a potential missing persons case, said missing person - Layla - being of particular significance to the Miami queen, possible suspect of treason, brought back alive if possible. He committed it all to memory, being quite good at remembering details such as these from his years of experience, though he was glad for the text that contained the extra information of Layla’s details, and of course having a picture of her was helpful. Though he had to admit he was surprised, if somewhat honoured, at Bianca’s words: If it’s you or her, I choose you.
“No, I don’t think so…” he said as he racked his brains for possible questions. Of course, he was curious to know who this Layla was exactly, but he knew it was none of his business, nor would such knowledge aid him in finding her any quicker. “I’m out o’ town at the moment, yer majesty. It’ll take me an hour or so t’get t’the address, but I’ll keep ye posted,” he promised, allowing her to end the call when she was ready.
He took a final drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ash tray of the motel he’d been staying in - despite being offered grander places to stay, and having the money to do so, Aedan still found himself going back to motels. Perhaps it was the result of growing up with a mother who was nothing but frugal. or maybe it was just old habits. Still, he got his stuff together, paid up, attached Bianca’s pin to the collar of his jacket, and had left for the address on his phone in under twenty minutes.
Upon arriving at the apartment, Aedan couldn’t help but think it was rather unassuming. He didn’t know what he expected, but he supposed being a possible comrade of Bianca, Layla might have lived somewhere more grandiose, rather than a downtown apartment. However, setting his mind to the task at hand, Aedan parked his car, took a machete and his favoured pistol out of the trunk, and headed into the building. He took the elevator to the third floor before finding Layla’s room, number 312. His hand was already digging around in his pockets to find his lockpick, before he spotted the door was already ajar. Stepping up to it, he took out his pistol, his machete sheathed safely in his belt, before gently kicking the door open, to reveal what could only be described as a bombsite of a room.
Aedan walked through the wreckage, eyes scanning the broken furniture for a sign of anything other than what had clearly been a struggle of sorts. But as he stepped into the living room, he found his answer, and smelt it too. There, on her back, was the fragile, still, impaled form of Layla, surrounded by shattered glass and with what could only be a chair leg plunged through her chest into her heart, the smell of death and rotting flesh lingering in the air.
The girl didn’t look old at all, and if Aedan wasn’t so sure she’d been a vampire, he’d have likely found the scene ten times more upsetting than it already was. As it were, he had a job to do, and after checking this Layla was dead, Aedan got out his phone and picked out Bianca’s number. He ran a hand through his hair and paced whilst waiting for an answer, and when the queen finally picked up, the first thing he said was, “She’s dead.” He looked at the corpse once more before continuing. “Not by my hand, yer majesty. The door was open when I arrived. Her flat’s in disarray. Signs o’ one hell o’ a struggle here. Found her in the lounge, a wooden chair leg straight through her chest.” He paused here, uncertain what to say. He wanted to apolgoise for her loss, but this was a job,and he would remain professional until the end. “What do y’want me t’do?”
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