Ember of the Night || Xera & Jude
The French Quarter was an area of town Xera was very familiar with, at least in the daytime. By night the place turned into something almost unrecognizable. The parties came to life, the bars woke up and the people spilled out in droves drunk on anything from life to your run of the mill beer. It wasn’t a scene Xera cared much for. There were too many people for one and for two it was just too loud. Her anxiety got the better of her and she ended up hiding in a corner pretending that she wasn’t there. She didn’t like it when people were around her, especially when it came to drunk loud people. Too much could go wrong. Too much could happen.
She’d expected her trip into the area to go smoothly. Quick and easy, but she’d been wrong. The voodoo doctor she’d taken a meeting with had been unhelpful in his magic and less than forthcoming about the future the cards supposedly foretold. There were times when witches were nothing more than a parlor trick looking for a payout. This guy had been one of them, though she had been hopeful.
Toward the edge of the French Quarter, the crowds thinned and the sounds of the world muted. She liked it better with the exception of the spike in crime that was common in the area. She tucked her hands into her jacket and put her head down as she walked. Her chucks made very little noise on the pavement but it allowed her to listen to a separate set of steps. Every time she stepped, they stepped. When she stopped, they stopped. Turning around the fire witch did her best to locate the source of the sound but found nothing. Her heart hammered in her chest and the flames that simmered under the surface twitched with a desire to be free. She was alone, no one was around.
She turned on her heels to head in the direction she had planned when she suddenly came face to face with a squat man, larger than he was tall. She stepped back, a gasp escaping her lips.
“Sorry to scare you,” he said with a wicked grin. “A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be walking out here alone. Let me walk you home.”
Xera skirted around the guy, a pleasant, albeit tight smile on her lips. “No, thank you, I’m nearly there.” She started to walk again but the guy stuck with her clearly not taking no for an answer.
“Aw come on, don’t be like that. I won’t hurt you. I just wanna make sure you get home safe.”
“I can do that on my own. Please just go.” Xera didn’t want to be rude, but the guy was scaring her a bit. She wished he would leave her alone.
Before she got to the end of the street, a hand wrapped around her arm and tugged her to a stop. She gasped again and her eyes slid to the guy who didn’t want to take no for an answer.
“I said I wasn’t gonna hurt you,” he said, teeth bared.
“Well, you’re hurting me now.” Xera made an attempt to pull away from the man but his grip was too tight and she wasn’t strong enough. She was a thin woman with very little in the way of fighting skill, all her tugging did, was make the man laugh.
“Whose fault is that?” His voice had turned cold and frightening as he pulled her closer.
The panic grew to a fever pitch in Xera’s mind. She thrashed and tugged against the man’s hold but nothing came of it. She considered screaming, wanting to yell for help, but the words stayed locked inside her head. The panic was dizzying, making her feel light-headed as she struggled and then suddenly it was gone.
She stopped struggling against the man’s hold and a wicked grin spread across her lips. “Yours,” she said flatly as she reached out, her free hand wrapping around the man's throat. She was taller than him, longer limbed. Her fingers pressed into the flesh of his throat and the fire that longed to be released early warmed her touch, searing the skin of her attacker. She watched his eyes go wide in shock and heard the scream of pain that came with the burning touch. “Let me go,” she said simply. The man did as he was told. “Thank you.”
The blonde released her hold on the man, tossing him to the ground. “You might want to get that looked at,” she said sweetly. “It looks bad.” She laughed maniacally while the man on the ground whimpered in pain. Truthfully, she doubted he’d live long enough to get to the hospital. He was already going into shock. It wasn’t just his throat her magic had burned. His insides probably looked like the grill top of a fourth of July cookout.
Walking away from the man was easier now than it had been before but her direction had changed. She was no longer going home, instead, she decided to head back to the French Quarter and have a bit of fun.
