Ghosts and Demons: The End of the Beginning Part 2
Written by @Lassiter_SASBDB
https://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1srccph
As I walked through the harsh morning sunlight the leftover scents of Caldwell’s seedier nightlife bombarded me. There was booze, weed, sweat, old sex, blood and worse on the air. The smell of a day-old DB roasting in the August heat assaulted my nose as I walked past an alley. The squeak of rats, normally nocturnal beasties, assured me that the odor was gonna be short-lived. A regular backyard barbeque for the little buggers. Ben would have been thrilled for them. After I walked past the tunnel of stinko, I glanced at my reflection in a shop window. Black and blond hair pulled tightly back into a braid that fell to my hips, shades covering my silver eyes, tight black leathers, and a black muscle shirt under a long black leather coat (that I was fricking sweating my balls off in) made me look like a badass. And it was necessary to hide various and sundry weaponry. All the piercings just added to the effect. Guess it’s a good thing I /am/ a badass. Posers are such shits. I’d left the purple spandex back at the manse. No point in getting taken for a gay hooker in the middle of broad daylight and somehow, I didn’t think sparkly tights would strike fear into the heart of the bad guys anyway. Especially not THIS bad guy…or girl. What the hell do you call a female bad guy? She-Bitch, demon princess? Apt. Demon anyway, but she’d skewer anyone who held she was less than a queen. I’d waited until the Brothers were all locked down for the day. I didn’t want them anywhere near this. I had no idea /why/ Devina was in Caldwell and if she wasn’t aware of the Brotherhood, I wasn’t gonna give her any clues. Creator damn Devina, I fumed. Can’t that bitch just fuck off and die? Or at the very least find somewhere I’m /not/ to haunt. But no, she had to be here. I’d seen her last night a Zero Sum shaking her ass at some poor schmo who was gonna regret the day he was born, provided he’d lived out the night. And even more if he hadn’t. It’d been all I could do not go take her out right then and there but I knew Rehv wouldn’t appreciate cops crawlin’ over his place gettin’ samples of splattered demon blood, so I’d gone invisi and hung around until she left. The converted warehouse I’d tailed her and her flavor-of-the-hour to was in a neighborhood that had recently made the transition from dump to expensively trendy. Being an evil bitch must come with hella perks. And it had the added virtue of being on the edge of Caldwell’s rougher part of town. Close to easy pickings and I knew she thrived on the vibe desperation and despair give off. In my mind’s eye I can see her walking the streets at night, absorbing the pain and anger poverty spawns among humans when the sun goes down and seems to take their hope away with it. As I walk the storefronts gradually become more reputable. Starbucks and Seattle’s Finest, doing a hefty business among the young urban business crowed, replace dive bars. New age shops filled with crystals and herbal teas have nudged out strip clubs, and their owners are opening for business. High end tat artist shops stand in place of tattoo parlors whose owners would have been more at home doing prison art. In place of hookers ready to head home from a long night, street vendors hawking breakfast burritos occupy the street corners. And, I dunno if it’s the black leather or the expression on my face, but they’re /all/ giving me a wide berth. When the main street of yuppiedom begins to intersect with residential ones filled with renovated urban lofts converted from old leaky warehouses I hang a left on the first one and walk halfway down before stopping in front of a weathered brick three story with a bright red front door and glassed in window that must have been a garage bay once. Where the others obviously had multiple apartments, this three-story was a standalone. Why the fuck did evil always look so shiny and pay so well? As I walk up to the crimson door the knocker shaped like a human face captured in a demonic scream catches my attention. The neighbors probably think its some swank new artsy thing, but I know what it is. One of her victims. Rather than touch the impure abomination, I lift my fist and bang on the door insistently. I can hear her shouting, inside…. ‘I’m coming, I’m coming, for Pete’s sake!’ As I slip my shades into my pocket, she swings the door open, wearing only a black silk robe that’s slipping off her shoulder as she tries to tie the belt. She’s starts growling something about somebody forgetting their key and then shoves her long dark hair back and looks up. Her snarling stops short as her black eyes meet my silver ones. When the expression of initial shock at seeing a ghost fades to her normal calculated suggestive smirk I shove her back and push my way in, kicking the door shut behind me. “Bitch, we need to talk.” #TBC
