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𝓑𝓛𝓐𝓒𝓚 𝓗𝓞𝓡𝓘𝓩𝓞𝓝

“This is the dusty, withered place where the devil’s children fester and evil permeates every corner. The Postbellum South is a sprawl of wasteland where anomic preachers warn passing folk to beware of the vampires who roam the land and their temptations. Violet, a hired gun ordered to settle a string of killings the town refuses to name, steps into a world that swallows men whole. And a woman rules its shadows, every move under her eye.

The woman is Sevika, the matriarch who rules what others fear to touch, keeps the trails open, the dead quiet, and the devil's children fed just enough to hold the peace. When Violet's work brings her close to the truth, their paths collide in blood and suspicion, and neither woman can decide whether the other is a threat or a desire that damns them both.”

Sevika x Vi fic • word count is ~11k • estimated whole word count will be ~60k • multiple chapters • slow burn • angst • eventual smut • southern gothic • better tagging on ao3 • chapter 1/18 • present Ekko, Mel, Sky, Ambessa, Jayce, Caitlyn are in the story

AO3 LINK (if you want to read it on here instead)

Violet heard about the rumors about this town. It carried through her time when she worked guarding the western lines and the railroads. Her friends who went there to party would come back drunk and bruised and then tell her stories of what happened to them in the saloons. Stories about music that would make your soul bounce in your chest, surrounded by sweaty bodies drenched in alcohol, and sporting women around every block ready to make them forget about their grueling work hours. Violet always wanted to visit it, because the bars in St. Louis rarely let her in, and on the occasions they did, she was bombarded with complaints on how she was too unladylike to be a sex patron. Expecting to only hear about the town through secondary stories from other guard workers, she gave up on fantasizing about night offs.

That is until Vi was assigned as a strikebreaker to protect shipments. Riding on her horse now, through the single dirt road, she remembered when this was the task for the majority of her job. Check and watch out for raiders. Most of the nights in the sparse fields consisted of one thing; riding Midnight while looking at stars. When there actually was trouble, Vi had learned over the years how to deal with it properly. Proper enough for a trading company to hire her to “take care” of the theft regarding their cargo. All reports circulated through the route going through the infamous boomtown. The previous boomtown is known for wild nights, its lawless land, and darkest temptations. The same boomtown that’s garnered notoriety for its death count, miserable residents, and the religious psychosis that poisons over everyone’s consciousness. Violet kept everything she needed for her trip in her saddlebag lunged on the side of her Mustang. Violet had been traversing to her destination for four hours—her surroundings being nothing but an orange sky and rolling hills that were indistinguishable from one another.

Vi approached more distinct shapes, and eventually a sign creaked a mournful rhythm above the town's single thoroughfare: REDWATER CROSSING. The letters were worn and peeling, just like the first layer of Vi’s skin. Midnight blew a hot, gusty sigh, its flanks twitching at the buzzing of fat, lazy flies.

Then, in another blink fogged with dirt, Redcrossing materialized from the heat-haze like a fever dream, sprawling along the baked earth. The dust, fine as powdered spices, rose in languid spirals at Vi's approach, clinging to the sweat on her brow and the worn leather of her duster. The sun was a beating force, bleaching the color from the world, leaving everything in shades of orange and white.

This wasn't a town so much as a wound upon the land. A collection of false-fronted buildings leaned against one another for support, their porches crowded with men whose faces were maps of hardship and violence. It’s been over three decades since the Civil War ended. The rebirthed south had been a promise of something new, but out here, it seemed only the old sins had survived, tougher than weeds and twice as bitter.

A saloon dominated the center of the street, its windows dark as a dead man’s stare when the blood stops draining out of their body. Vi squinted and was able to read the decal text above the entrance: The Last Drop. Further down, a church with a leaning steeple pointed a crooked finger at the sky. Between them, a hundred yards of hard-packed dirt served as the town's beating heart Vi presumed. It seemed like a place where deals were made in whispers and lives were lost with the casual indifference of a dead mouse under floorboards. Vi had seen her fair share of them.

Vi dismounted, her boots striking the ground with a soft thud that seemed unnaturally loud in the oppressive heat. She led her horse to the water trough, the water a stagnant, reddish-brown slurry. The town's namesake, she assumed with a grimace. She looped the reins around the hitching post, her movements second-nature, a lifetime of practice honing her into a creature of efficiency and quiet purpose.

Her gaze swept the faces in the passing crowds. One of the main pieces of information she was given for this mission was a description of a man who would help her around the town and learn its traditions. The description she'd been given was laughably vague: "A young fella, quick on his feet, with a rough drawl to his words, and big lips. He'll know you're coming." Not much to go on in a town teeming with desperate young men, each one trying to scrape a living from the unforgiving earth. Vi digresses and continues her walk down the road. She’ll just have to talk around, then.

A group of men clustered around the saloon entrance watched her. Some of their glistening faces were tilted, some were sneering, and others pretended she didn’t exist. Vi ignored them, her senses extending past the obvious, past the noise and the stink and the suffocating heat. She was here for a reason. A string of killings, the telegraph had said, though it hadn't dared to name the cause. The trading company wanted someone disposable. Someone who wouldn't ask too many questions. And when they offered Vi a payout only a saint would decline; she took it.

Vi had learned long ago that the questions were the only thing that mattered.

She stepped onto the boardwalk, the wood groaning under her weight. The heat radiated up through the soles of her boots, a palpable presence that made her feel like she was walking on the surface of a stove. Banners decorated the wooden buildings and poles. Some were colorful, and she figured they were for advertisements for Juke Joints, but others were warning signs.

BEWARE THE DEVILS THAT WALK AMONG US.

WALK IN PAIRS AT NIGHT—DO NOT STEER INTO THE DARKNESS!

THEY WILL TRY TO GET YOU ANY MEANS NECESSARY. DO NOT GIVE IN.

DEMONS USE A STRONGER WILL THAN OUR GOD. KEEP FIRE POWER AND SPIRITS WITH YOU IF YOU WANT A CHANCE OF PARADISE.

These were unlike any posters Vi has seen. Devils? Not burglars or bandits or rustlers. The residents in this town were more afraid than the people in St. Louis were. Vi never saw anything like these posters in the city. Maybe the newspapers delivered at her door would be warning of the usual things—starvation, sickness, the violence of desperate men. Sections dedicated to advisories about gun ownership to protect themselves. This—this was something else. It was a desperate cry for repentance and judgement about religion, but no mention of hell or damnation. It was a warning of physical harm. She figured that Redcrossing wasn’t afraid of criminals because of the reputation of the place, so then, what are they scared of?

Walking closer to the saloon, Violet passed a group of women of different backgrounds. Their faces sunken with their eyebrows knit, with their hands clutching prayer books as if the flimsy paper could ward off some unspeakable evil. A bible study, perhaps. It wasn’t as common to see people gathering outside the confines of walls meeting up about 33 years ago, but now that reconciliation was well developed Violet had seen groups at pubs downtown in her own city. Now that freed slaves were ingrained in society, they leaned towards religious readings to get their education. Vi liked it, even if they were reading verses that had helped her race oppress them, but a small step forward was better than only no steps back. In the formation of a circle, they were huddled against each other like the buzzing of flies. Violet could hear small phrases being read aloud. "...devil's children..." "...she walks with darkness..." "...the blood..."

Vi's jaw tightened. She wasn't a believer in such things, but she was a believer in the power of fear. It was a weapon, as deadly as any Colt or Winchester. And someone, or something, was wielding it with masterful precision here in Redwater Crossing. She rolled her eyes, lowered her buckskin slouch hat then continued until she reached the swing doors of the saloon.

There was a man smoking at the entrance. He was perched against the wall, a cigarette caught between their lips. Before Vi could enter, he got from his relaxed position and held a hand out—not to greet her—but to block the entryway.

“No.”

Vi’s eyebrow arched, a muscle in her jaw working. This was new. Saloons, in her experience, were places of grim equality. She’d never been turned away at the door.

She looked the man up and down. He had a long thick neck, a belly straining the buttons of a sweat-stained flannel, and a face that seemed to have been molded from bloody, raw beef. Not the "quick on his feet" type. The way he tried to cower over Vi’s frame and a demeanor that held no cowardice, gave the impression of a bouncer who enjoyed his work far too much. His hands were meaty, but one of them rested near the butt of a pistol worn low on his hip. Vi’s brows quirked at that. He was armed muscle.

“I’m just here for a drink,” Vi said, a carefully modulating the tone of a casual threat. The sun beat down on the back of her neck, but she didn't flinch. Men like this didn’t scare her.

The man took a long, slow drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke trickle from his nostrils like a bull. “We’re selective on who we serve,” he said, the words muffled by the filter.

Vi’s fingers, hanging loose at her sides, curled slightly. When she did so, she could feel the familiar, comforting weight of her own gun. It was tucked into the small of her back. She’d used it on men twice this size for less obstruction. But that wasn't the way this was supposed to start. She needed information, not a corpse and a town full of hostility before she'd even had her first cup of booze.

“Maybe you got the wrong idea,” Vi said, taking a half-step closer. “I’m not looking for trouble. Just a place to get out of the sun,” She cocked her head up, keeping eye contact.

He was unphased. "This ain't a place for your kind, lady." His eyes, small and beady identical to a pig's, flickered over her dusty trousers and her black fringe shirt. "This is a respectable establishment."

Vi almost laughed. Respectable. The word was a joke in a place like Redwater Crossing. Respectability to people who visited and lived here was a cape you threw over yourself; hoping no one would look too closely at the rotting sin inside. The bouncers' true words were clear. It wasn't about her gender entirely. It was about the look of her. The batwing chaps that hung at her waist, the pragmatic boots, the lean, hard-set of her jaw that was the opposite of the fatty cheeks of other women around her. She looked like what she was: a woman who made her living outside the tidy, fenced-in world of "respectable" folk.

"Fine," she said abruptly. "I'll find my business elsewhere."

She turned to walk away, her boots crunching on the dirt, putting on a convincing show of defeat. The bouncer watched her go, a smirk touching the corner of his lips. He was kept watching even when Vi stopped halfway off the porch. She turned back, the movement impossibly fast.

His eyes widened as he saw the glint of sunlight on the barrel of the Colt she now held, aimed not at his chest, but at the wood post beside his head.

There was a deafening roar that echoed off the false fronts of the buildings, a sharp crack that made the horses at the hitching post shy and whinny. A splintered hole appeared in the wood, a clean, dark puncture an inch from the bouncer’s ear.

A hush fell over the street. The women with their prayer books gasped. The men watching from the saloon doorway stiffened and jumped back. Violet stepped forward once more.

"The way I see it," Vi said, her voice dropping to a conversational level that was more terrifying than any shout, "you have two choices. You can stand there and keep blocking a paying customer, in which case my next shot won't miss the post. Or," she paused, letting the silence stretch, letting him feel the weight of the pistol in her steady hand, "you can step aside and let me inside so I can give my money to your boss. Respectably."

The bouncer's pig-looking face went a blotchy, purplish-red. He swallowed hard, the bob of his Adam's apple painfully visible. He looked from Vi's cold, steady eyes to the hole she’d bored in the post, then back again. With a jerky, resentful movement, he stepped aside, pulling the saloon door open for her with a belated, terrorized chivalry. He had hoped Vi hadn’t notice the shake in his hand.

Vi didn't holster her pistol immediately. She let it hang at her side as she walked past him, the barrel still warm. Only when she was through the swing doors and into the gloom did she slide it back into its holster. The doors swung shut behind her, cutting off the blinding sun and plunging her into a different world.

The inside of The Last Drop was exactly what Vi expected. The air was thick with the stale odor of spilled whiskey, cheap cigar smoke, and the unwashed bodies of men who had been sweating in the heat for far too long. A long, scarred oak bar dominated the far wall, its polished surface reflecting the dim light from oil lamps hanging from the rafters. The floor was a sticky mess of sawdust and mud. The piano in the corner emitting a soft comforting tune of blues played on the ivory keys.

Men with beards leaned against the bar, their conversations a low, indistinct murmur flowing through Violet’s ears. A few tables were occupied, card games in progress, the faces of the players illuminated in the wavering lamplight. A handful of women were scattered around the area, some laughing with the men, others sitting alone. They sat simple and beautiful in split riding skirts and cotton dresses. The crowd was a patchwork quilt of the New South now, a place where a Black man with the bearing of a former Union soldier could be playing cards with a sun-weathered white farmer who'd likely fought for the Confederacy. They weren't friends, but they shared a space, united by the shared pursuit of forgetting. It was a fragile truce, held together by potential profits and that in Redwater Crossing, old grievances were a luxury no one could afford.

Vi moved through the room with a loose-limbed grace that belied the tension coiled in her gut. She made her way to the bar, her boots sticking slightly with each step on the hardwood. The bartender watched her approach.

"What'll it be?" he asked, his voice a dry rasp.

"Bourbon," Vi said, sliding a coin across the bar. "And information,” she sighed out, the corner of her lips lifting.

The bartender's eyes narrowed. He wiped the bar with a rag that looked dirtier than the wood itself. "We sell drinks here, lady. Not stories."

"Well, I'm not buying stories," Vi said, placing her arms at the corner table separating them. "I'm looking for someone. Say, ‘a young fella, quick on his feet. Got a rough drawl to his words. Big lips.’ Supposed to know I'm coming."

The bartender paused mid-wipe. He glanced around the room, his gaze lingering for a moment on a group of men playing poker in the corner. He turned back to Vi, his expression unreadable. "A lot of fellas fit that description in this town."

Violet scoffed. "Not like this one," she said, her tone firm.

The bartender shrugged. "Haven't seen him."

Vi knew he was lying. The slight tightening around his eyes, the way he'd glanced away—she'd seen it a hundred times. This was all because she was an outsider, and outsiders weren't trusted. Of course she’d have to find him herself.

She took her bourbon and found a seat at a small table in the corner, her back to the wall. It was a habit she'd learned early in this line of work, a way to keep an eye on the room and an eye on the door. She sipped her drink, the cheap liquor burning a trail down her throat. Knowing she looked out of place and obviously suspicious, she made sure not to cause too much attention to herself that she hasn’t got already from her stunt outside. Her gaze swept the room, cataloging faces, assessing threats. She saw men with the hard, empty eyes of killers, men with the shifty, nervous look of thieves, and men with the dull, defeated gaze of men who had lost everything. But none of them matched the description she was given.

Time passed. The bourbon in her glass grew hot by now. The card games continued, the murmur of conversations rose and fell. She could feel the bartender's eyes on her from across the room, a constant, pricking sensation. The other patrons mostly ignored her, a lone woman in a sea of men. The body language she held universally told the patrons to keep their distance.

This is taking too long. She was about to give up for the day and find a boarding house when she heard a new sound, a rhythmic tapping that cut through the noise of the saloon. She turned, her eyes searching for the source. And then she saw him.

He was perched on the counter of the bar, one leg swinging freely. He was young, barely out of his teens. His leg bounced and his fingers constantly curled and stretched. He was dark-skinned, with a shock of stark white hair that rested just above his shoulders in a series of intricate thick ropes that Vi had seen only a handful of times. Locs, she remembered. He was whittling a piece of wood with a small, sharp knife, the shavings falling to the floor around him. He worked with a focus that was almost artistic, his hands moving with a speed and dexterity that was mesmerizing.

As Vi watched, he finished the piece. It was a small, bird-like creature, its wings outstretched as if in flight. He held it up to the light, a small, satisfied smile on his face. Then, he tossed it into the air. Instead of falling, the bird circled the room, its wooden wings flapping smoothly in silent motion. It was a feat of engineering, a marvel of delicate, hidden gears and levers. The bird flew over the tables, over the heads of the gamblers, a silent, wooden miracle in a world of harsh reality.

It was then that Vi knew she'd found her man. Young. Quick on his feet, in more ways than one. She focused on him and the bartender, watching patiently for words to be spoken. As the bird landed back in his hand, he spoke to the bartender, his voice a clear, melodious drawl. "Benzo'll be wanting his cut," he said, the words rolling off his tongue with a lazy cadence.

And as he spoke, Vi saw his lips, full and expressive, stretching into a grin. "A young fella, quick on his feet, with a rough drawl to his words, and big lips,” she murmured to herself. It was him. It had to be.

Vi downed the rest of her bourbon, the last of it a warm ember in her chest that reminded her where the hell she was. She stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. The young man looked up as she approached, his brown eyes, bright unhidden curiosity meet hers. The smile vanished, replaced by a look of cautious appraisal.

"I'm looking for someone," Vi said. He didn't answer immediately. He just looked at her, his head cocked to one side. He looked at her worn clothes, her dusty boots, the gun at her hip. He looked at her face, at the scar that cut through her left eyebrow, a pale white line against her skin. The utterly insane faded face tattoo under her right eye. He was assessing her, just as she was assessing him.

"Most people are," he finally said, his drawl more pronounced up close. Despite his hesitation, he let out a soft laugh. "What's it to you?"

"I was told a man like you would be expecting me," Vi said, not backing down from his gaze. "I'm the help they sent."

The young man's expression didn't change except the tight skin loosening around his eyes. He glanced at the bartender, who gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. He hopped down from the counter, landing with a cat-like grace that belied his lanky frame. He was surprisingly…shorter than he'd seemed from across the room.

"Come on," he said, gesturing with his head towards a door at the back of the saloon. "We can't talk here."

He led her through a maze of crates and barrels, and Vi started to worry about damp wood and mold. The sounds of the saloon faded behind them, replaced by the scurrying of rats in the walls. He pushed open a heavy wooden door, revealing a small, cluttered office. A single oil lamp cast a wavering glow on the walls, illuminating stacks of ledgers and a large, scarred desk.

He closed the door behind them, the click of the latch echoing in the sudden silence.

"You're later than they said you'd be," he said, leaning against the desk. He crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture of casual defiance. "We were starting to think you weren't coming."

"I had some setbacks on the road. My horse was going slower than usual.” Vi said, her hands sliding into her belt loops. “Then had some trouble at the door," Vi said, her gaze sweeping the room. It was a space of organized chaos, a place where business was done, secrets were kept, and power was brokered. She let out a short laugh. "Your bouncer isn't very welcoming."

"He's not paid to be welcoming," the young man said. "He's paid to keep the wrong people out."

Vi’s head moved just an inch, her uneven lips lifting upward. "Am I the wrong people?" Vi asked.

He looked at her for a long moment, unreadable to her. "I don't know yet," he said finally with a shrug. “But you're here now. And we've got problems that need solving."

He pushed a ledger across the desk. Vi leaned in, her eyes scanning the neat, precise script. It was a list of names, each one crossed out with a single, decisive line. A date was written next to each name. The last entry, just a week old, was a name she recognized from the telegraph: Mylo, a freighter who'd been found drained of blood in a ditch outside of town.

"They call it the 'Red Sickness'," the young man said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "The preacher at the church says it's a punishment from God. A plague sent to test our faith.”

"And what do you say?" Vi asked, her finger tracing the line through Mylo's name.

"I say I've seen the bodies," he said, his jaw tight. "I've seen the bite marks. I've seen the way the blood is gone, every last drop, leaving them as dry as a bone in the desert. That's not a sickness. That's… something else. Something that ain’t right."

"This is hurting business," Vi stated, her gaze still on the ledger. "The shipments from Arkansas. They're getting scared, y’know.”

"They're more than scared," he said bitterly. "They're stopping. They're rerouting. It's costing everyone a fortune. The railroads won't touch this stretch of land anymore. We're becoming an island, a place the world is happy to forget. Soon enough, people won’t come visit here to get loose. That revenue we getting wont last long.”

"They sent me to fix it," Vi said. "They said you'd have the answers."

He shook his head, a look of frustration on his face. The locs of white hair swayed with his movement. "I have questions, not answers. I've lived here my whole life. Even during the war. I know this town, every dirt path, every goddamn corner. But this… this is something that doesn't belong here.”

"They told me you were the best," the young man said, his gaze meeting hers, finally. "They said if anyone could get to the bottom of this, it was you. They said you were a ghost. That you could walk through a firefight and come out the other side without a scratch."

"Rumors are cheap," Vi said, a flicker of something—pride, perhaps, or just the grim acceptance of her reputation—in her eyes. "I'm just good at my job."

"My name's Ekko," he said, extending a hand. "And I'm the one who's been trying to hold this town together while the devils have their fun."

Vi took his hand. Bowing, grip was firm, which surprised her. "The town's changed," Ekko said, releasing her hand and leaning back against the desk. "It's always been a rougher place, but it has its own kind of balance. Now… now it's gone mad. Everyone's scared pantsless. They're seeing monsters in the shadows, hearing whispers in the wind. The preacher is having a field day. He's got them all convinced that this is the End of Days."

"Religion is a powerful tool," Vi said, her thoughts drifting back to the women with their prayer books, to the warning signs and posters that had lined the main street. "Especially when people are desperate."

"They're not just desperate," Ekko said, his voice low. "They're… different. The people who claim to have seen these things, the ones who confess their sins to the preacher, they're not the usual lunatics you’ve heard about in the paper. They're respectable folk. The schoolmarm down the block.The blacksmith five miles from where. They're scared. Really scared. And their fear is startin’ to get contagious."

He walked over to a small, barred window and peered out into the alley. "The shipments from Arkansas are the lifeblood of this town. They bring in everything we need to survive. Food, supplies, medicine, what not. Without them, we're nothing. And now, they're gone. The drivers are refusing to come through. They'd rather take the long way around, through the mountains, than risk a run-in with whatever's out there."

"Your concern tells me you're sure about this," Vi said, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "The trading company said you could find a needle in a haystack. That everyone will come to your say. They said you were the only one who could keep this place from falling apart."

Ekko turned back from the window, a wry grin spreading across his face. “… sounds like they've been talking about both of us."

"Maybe," Vi said, her gaze unwavering. "Or maybe they're just trying to flatter us into doing their dirty work."

"Maybe," Ekko conceded. "But it's working, isn't it?"

Vi didn't answer. She just looked at him, her expression unreadable. She could see the weight of the town's fear on his young shoulders, a burden he carried with a stoicism that belied his age. She respected that. He was trying to save his home, and he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty.

"So, what's the plan?" Ekko asked, his tone shifting, the seriousness returning. "How do you propose to fight something that might not even be human?"

"I start with the bodies," Vi said, her voice a low, steady hum. "I want to see the latest one, if you don’t mind. Where was he found?"

"In the old quarry," Ekko said, a shudder running through him despite the heat. As he shook his head, he sneered and closed his eyes. "It's a bad place. A place where bad things have always happened. They say it's haunted by the ghosts of the men who died in the blasting accidents."

Vi put her weight on her arm sitting at the edge of the desk, her body tilted to the side. "I'm not afraid of ghosts, Ekko," Vi said, her hand resting on the butt of her Colt. "Ghosts can't make me bleed.”

Ekko's grin returned, a flash of white in the dim light of the office. He chuckled then, running a hand to part the white locks that had maneuvered in his face. "I have a feeling," he said, his drawl stretching the words into a lazy, confident melody, "that you and I are going to be very good friends, Violet."

"Vi," she corrected him, her own lips twitching into a smile. "Just Vi."

"Alright then, Vi," he said, the name rolling off his tongue as if he'd been saying it for years. "Let's go see what the monsters left for us."

The sun was beginning its descent, painting the sky in streaks blood orange. The air had cooled, but only slightly, a brief respite from the day's oppressive heat. Vi and Ekko rode out of town, their horses' hooves beating a steady rhythm on the hard-packed dirt. The landscape grew more rugged as they traveled, the rolling hills giving way to jagged outcroppings of rock and scraggly, determined trees that clawed at the sky.

The quarry was a wound in the earth, a vast, circular crater carved out by the relentless work of men and dynamite. The walls of the crater were a series of jagged, sheer cliffs, their faces stained with the ghosts of mineral deposits. At the bottom, a stagnant pool of water, the color of rust, reflected the dying light. They were riding silently, leaving only the crunch of gravel under their horses' hooves audible along with the occasional, mournful cry of a distant hawk.

They dismounted once they got to the correct area. They left their horses at the edge of the crater. Ekko led the way down a steep, winding path, his movements sure-footed. He radiated a confidence of someone who knew their place around inside-and-out. Vi followed blindly. She thought to herself that she should probably be more hesitant about the guidance she’s been given, so she kept her hand never straying far from her gun. The air grew cooler as they descended, carrying the sharp, metallic scent of damp stone and coppery blood. Old blood.

The body was at the bottom of the quarry, laid out on a flat slab of rock like a sacrifice given to the underworld. It was covered with a stained, threadbare tarp. Ekko stopped a few feet away, his face a mask of grim resignation.

“…He’s under there," he said, his voice barely a whisper. At his sides were balled up fist.

Vi knelt beside the tarp, her movements devoid of any unnecessary emotion to keep herself under reaction. She pulled back a corner of the canvas. The face that stared up at her was a mask of terror, the eyes wide and unseeing, the mouth frozen in a silent scream. It was Mylo, the freighter from the ledger. His skin was a waxy, unnatural pallor, stretched tight over his bones. There wasn't a drop of color left in him.

She pulled the tarp back further, her gaze sweeping over the body. His clothes were torn, but not in a way that suggested a struggle. The fabric was shredded, as if by something with impossibly sharp claws. And then she saw them. The wounds.

Vi noticed the absence of both the body’s hands. It’s been chewed off, given the uneven cut at the wrist. She remember in her studies of animals which ones liked to eat hands. For animals, it was significantly more work to consume hands or paws for the small amount of meat. There were two small puncture marks on his neck, precise and clean, almost surgical in their neatness. Neat was never the way of an animal. Animal wounds were brutal and messy. The puncture marks were surrounded by a network of angry, purple bruises.

Vi had researched an impressive amount of what and which animals preferred to eat and attack body parts. She’d learned more then 50 techniques on the animal kingdom dissected each other, or humans that were at the wrong place during the wrong time. She’s been able to connect the dots to all of the victims she’d seen. But these… these were different. There was something unnatural about them, something that defied her understanding of violence. They were too perfect, too deliberate. They didn't have the ragged, chaotic quality of a human attack, or the tearing, savage nature of a wild animal.

"There’s the 'Red Sickness'," Ekko said, his voice caged with gritted teeth. "That's what the preacher down on Saints road callin’ it that to everyone here. He says it's a plague sent by God to punish the wicked."

Vi didn't answer. She was thinking of the posters in town. BEWARE THE DEVILS THAT WALK AMONG US. THEY WILL TRY TO GET YOU ANY MEANS NECESSARY. She had dismissed them as the ravings of a panicked, superstitious community. But looking at the two neat puncture wounds, the words echoed in her mind, no longer sounding so incredibly insane. She leaned in closer, her nostrils flaring at the faint, coppery scent of blood that still clung to the body. There was something else, too. A faint, almost imperceptible odor. Mylo’s body had been rotting here for a couple days, but it smelt like months of decay. A septic burn stench lingered around his neck.

"He was found just like this," Ekko continued, his gaze fixed on the body, “No blood. Not a single drop. The men who found him said the ground around him was dry as a bone. It was like… it was like something just sucked it all out of him."

Vi stood up, her knees creaking in protest. She walked a few feet away, her gaze sweeping the perimeter of the quarry. The sun had dipped below the rim of the crater, casting the bottom into deep shadow. The light was failing, the colors of the sky bleeding into a deeper orange, bordering on dark purple. The world was being consumed by the night, and with it, a new kind of fear was stirring low in Violet's gut.

"I've heard stories," Vi said, her voice a low murmur, more to herself than to Ekko. "Talk in saloons, whispers around fires. Stories about creatures that prey on men, that drink their blood and steal their life. I always thought they were just that. Stories."

"They not stories anymore," Ekko said, his tone grim. "Not here. Not no more."

Vi turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "If these stories are true, if there's something out there hunting these men, it has to be coming from somewhere. It has a lair. A base of operations." She paused, her gaze sharpening as the idea appeared in her brain. "Where's the closest place to here? A place where something could hide during the day and come out at night."

Ekko hesitated, a flicker of something Vi couldn’t differentiate—conflict, maybe, or fear—in his eyes. He looked away, his gaze fixed on the stagnant pool of water at the bottom of the quarry. "There's a place," he said, his voice low. "It's an old jook joint. About a mile from here, deep in the woods. They call it the Silt Bellows."

Vi raised an eyebrow. "A jook joint? That's where you think these… things… are holed up?"

Ekko grimaced, looking out to the horizon. "The people in town, they've been whispering about it for weeks," Ekko said, his reluctance palpable. "The preacher, he's been preaching against it. He says it's a den of iniquity, a place where the Devil holds court. Sayin’ the music they play there, the dancing, the drinking… it's an invitation to evil. He's convinced that's where the 'demons' are coming from.”

Vi's skepticism was something she always carried, but it was starting to feel a little thin. The two neat puncture wounds on Mylo's neck were hard to argue with. "What do you think, Ekko?" she asked, her tone direct. "Is it a den of iniquity?"

Ekko shook his head, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. He ran a hand through the messy cascade of white locs to hide the slight tremble they held. "No," he said, his voice firm, despite the tremor in it. "It's not. The Silt Bellows is… it's home, Vi. It's where I grew up. The people there, they're like family. They're good people. They're just trying to live their lives, to find a little joy in a world that's done its best to crush them."

He looked at her, his eyes pleading, a desperate need for her to understand. “Long before I was born, and long after the war was over, there wasn’t much meant for us. Nowhere to go that didn’t watch us close. The Silt Bellows was thrown together from scraps, built by folks who knew no one was coming to make space for them. It’s where we can dance and forget everything ‘round us. They call it a den of demons. But it ain’t. It’s a sanctuary.”

Vi watched him, saw the raw, protective love in his eyes. She understood, on some level, the need for a sanctuary, a place to retreat from the harsh realities of the world. She'd had her own, once. A long time ago.

"I believe you," Vi said, her tone softening, just a fraction. "But beliefs don't stop a killer. And right now, the Silt Bellows is the only lead we have. We have to check it out."

A war of emotions played out across Ekko's face in a matter of seconds. He took a deep breath, the decision settling in his eyes like a heavy stone. Vi never pushed him through his contemplating.

"Okay," he said, his voice raspy. "We'll go. But we go quiet. These are my people, Vi. I don't want them scared. I don't want them thinking I've brought a… a hunter to their door."

"I'm not a hunter," Vi said, barking at him harsher than he deserved. "I'm a problem solver. And right now, there's a body bled out in a quarry. Your people might be good, but that doesn't mean something evil hasn't decided to hide among them, like a wolf in a flock of sheep."

Ekko sneered at the analogy, but he didn't argue. He knew she was right. The thought was a poison in his gut, but he had to face it.

"Alright. We'll go," he said again, this time with more conviction. "But we walk in on our own two feet. Leave the horses. The path is narrow, and the sound of hooves will carry for miles in this quiet."

Vi nodded in agreement. It made sense. Stealth was their best ally now. They left the quarry, the body of Mylo a silent, accusing sentinel in the growing dark. The last sliver of sun vanished, and the world was plunged into a deep, velvety black, pricked only by the cold, distant light of the stars.

The woods were alive with the sounds of the night. The chirping of crickets, the hoot of a distant owl, the rustle of unseen things in the undergrowth. Ekko led the way, moving through the trees with an easy familiarity. Vi followed, her senses on high alert, her body a coiled spring of readiness. The darkness was a different world, a place where the familiar became strange and menacing, where every shadow seemed to hold a potential threat.

They walked for nearly an hour, the path winding deeper into the forest. The trees grew thicker here, their branches forming a dense canopy that blocked out the starlight, plunging them into an almost impenetrable gloom. Ekko moved with a sure-footed confidence, but Vi could feel the tension in him, a coiled wire of anxiety that vibrated in the space between them.

Finally, they saw it. A faint, pulsing light in the distance, a warm, inviting glow that pushed back against the oppressive darkness. And then they heard it. A low, rhythmic thrumming, the sound of a double bass, overlaid with the joyful, wailing cry of a harmonica and the intricate, driving rhythm of a piano. It was the sound of life, of defiant celebration in the heart of the wilderness. The Silt Bellows.

The building itself was a marvel of ingenuity. It was a long, low-slung structure, built from scavenged lumber and corrugated tin, patched together with tar and hope. A wide porch wrapped around the front, crowded with people laughing and talking, their faces illuminated by the warm light of oil lamps. The sound of music spilled from the open door and windows, a vibrant, intoxicating melody that seemed to call to something deep in Vi's soul.

Vi paused at the edge of the clearing, her eyes scanning the scene. There were men and women, young and old, their faces alight with a joy that seemed out of place in a town gripped by fear. They were dancing, their bodies moving with a fluid grace that spoke of years of practice. They were drinking, passing bottles of homemade moonshine from hand to hand. They were living. This wasn't a den of iniquity. This was a bastion of life. Ekko had been right. And that made the possibility that a monster was hiding among them all the more terrifying.

"Stay close," Ekko said, his voice a low murmur in her ear. "And try not to look like you're here to hang someone.”

Vi nodded, her expression a neutral mask. She followed Ekko onto the porch, her boots thudding softly on the worn wooden planks. The conversation around them faltered for a moment, a ripple of curiosity spreading through the crowd as they registered her presence. She was an outsider, a pale woman with the hard eyes and the visible gun of a bounty hunter, a stark contrast to the warm, welcoming faces of the people around her. But the pause was brief. The music was too compelling, the night too beautiful to let a stranger spoil the mood. It was favorable that Vi accompanied Ekko, a face that was recognized by most in this town. The conversations resumed, the dancers returned to their joyful rhythms, and Vi and Ekko were absorbed into the periphery of the party.

They pushed through the crowd, moving towards the heart of the building. The air inside was thick with the scent of sweat, cheap whiskey, and sweet, frying dough from a makeshift kitchen in the corner. The music was louder here, a physical force that vibrated through the floorboards and into the soles of Vi's boots. A dark skinned woman with a powerful, soulful voice was singing a blues tune about lost love and hard times, her words a poignant counterpoint to the joyous energy of the room. The gold freckled over her cheeks shimmered and twinkled despite the distance between Vi and the woman, and Vi had to look away before she got too distracted.

Vi's gaze swept the room, her mind working, cataloging faces, searching for anything that seemed out of place. But everyone seemed to belong. They were a community, a family, bound together by shared history and a quiet, stubborn resilience. It was then that she saw her.

She was standing near the far end of the bar, a place of quiet authority that commanded the room without demanding it. She was tall, taller than most of the men around her, with a broad-shouldered frame that spoke of a lifetime of hard physical labor. Her hair was a cascade of deep brown, cut short and styled with a deliberate, almost severe precision, that framed a face of sharp, handsome planes. Her skin was a tawny, rich brown, smooth and unblemished, with a few fine lines around her eyes that suggested she was older than she first appeared. She wore a simple, dark-colored shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms dusted with a fine silver of scars. A long, ugly-looking one ran from her left wrist all the way up to her elbow, a pale, jagged river on her skin.

But it was her eyes that held Vi's attention. They were a startling, luminous grey, the color of a stormy sea just before the breaking of a storm. She held a glass of amber liquid in her hand, but she wasn't drinking. She was watching, her gaze moving over the crowd with a proud analytical interest. She didn't join in the laughter or the dancing. She was an observer. A queen surveying her court.

There was a confidence to her, a stillness that was more powerful than any loud declaration of authority. Vi noted in her quick observation that the men and women around her seemed to gravitate towards her, offering her nods of respect, creating a small, respectful space around her that was as much a boundary as it was a vacuum. She didn't speak, but her presence hung over the room, a current of quiet authority that seemed to anchor the entire celebration.

Vi felt a pull, a magnetic attraction that was equal parts fascination and professional curiosity. She didn't know who this woman was, but she knew, with a certainty that settled deep in her gut, that she was the key. She was the center around which this whole strange, beautiful night revolved. Vi knew if she were to get any progress in her job, she must talk to her.

"I need a drink," Vi said to Ekko, her eyes still fixed on the woman at the bar. "And I need to talk to her."

Ekko followed her gaze, a flicker of apprehension crossing his face. "That's Sevika," he said, his voice low, hesitant. "Vi, maybe you should wait. Let me talk to her first. Explain things."

"There's nothing to explain," Vi said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I have a job to do. And…she looks like the person who has the answers."

She started towards the bar, moving with a purpose that cut through the festive atmosphere. The crowd parted for her, a silent acknowledgment of her intensity. She could feel Ekko trailing behind her, a reluctant shadow. As she drew closer, she saw another woman standing beside the tall woman, Sevika. This one was a stark contrast. She was lighter-skinned, with a ball of curly brown hair that had a likeliness to wood bark. She was dressed in a fine, green silk dress that was completely out of place in a humble jook joint in the middle of the woods. She held a champagne flute, her fingers long and delicate, a silver bracelet glinting on her wrist. She laughed at something Sevika said, the sound like the tinkling of small, expensive bells. It was a beautiful sound, but it felt hollow, a performance for an audience that wasn't paying attention.

Sevika didn't laugh. She just took a slow sip of her drink, her grey eyes watching Vi's approach with a cool, unreadable interest. She didn't look surprised, or alarmed. She just looked, as if Vi were an interesting new specimen that had wandered into her laboratory.

Vi stopped in front of them, the music and laughter a distant roar in her ears. She was close enough now to see the fine texture of the scars on Sevika's forearms, to see the subtle flecks of darker silver in her grey eyes fencing her irises.

"I'm looking for information," Vi said, her voice a low, direct cut through the din. Sevika raised a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. She turned her head slightly, her gaze moving from Vi to Ekko, who had stopped a few paces behind her, a look of naked dread on his face.

"Ekko," Sevika said, her voice a low, melodic rumble, like stones grinding together deep underground. It was a voice that was both soothing and unsettling. "You've brought a stray to my door."

"I’m not no stray," Vi said, stepping forward, inserting herself into the space between them. "And I'm not here to socialize. A man died a few days ago. In the quarry. His name was Mylo. I'm here to find out why."

The nicely-dressed woman, Sky, let out a soft, dismissive laugh. "Men die all the time in this town, darling," she said, her tone syrupy and condescending. "It's a favorite pastime. Usually, it's because they're foolish, or drunk, or both. It's hardly a mystery."

"This one was different," Vi said, her gaze locked on Sevika, ignoring the woman completely. "He was drained of blood. Every last drop. And he had two small, neat puncture wounds on his neck." Vi emphasized her words by taking two fingers in the pulse points of her neck, lifting her head up.

Sevika set her glass down on the bar with a soft, deliberate click. "The Red Sickness," she said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. "It's a tragedy. We're all devastated. But what does it have to do with me? Or with this establishment?"

"You run this place, don't you?" Vi asked, her tone hardening. "You're the one in charge. That means you know everyone who comes and goes. You know the secrets this place holds. And right now, a secret is exactly what I'm looking for."

Sevika's eyes narrowed, the grey darkening like a sky gathering for a storm. "This is a place of refuge," she said, her voice a low growl. "A place for my people to forget the troubles of the world. It's not a station, and it's not your personal investigation. You've got a lot of nerve, marching in here, flashing that iron, and accusing good folks of... what, exactly? Devilry?"

"I'm not accusing anyone," Vi countered, her hand resting on the polished wood of the bar, her fingers just inches from Sevika's. "I'm asking questions. And right now, you're the only one here who look like she's got somethin’ to hide."

The tension between them was a physical presence, a crackling energy that seemed to suck the air out of the immediate vicinity. The music played on, the dancers kept dancing, but a small bubble of silence had formed around the bar. Ekko stood frozen, his face a mask of horror, his eyes pleading with Vi to stop.

"Vi," he started, his voice a choked whisper. He hovered his hands over her forearm, reading to drag Vi out of here if she pushes too many buttons.

"Ekko, you might want to take a step back," Vi said, her eyes never leaving Sevika's. She jerked her arm foward to the woman in front of her, creating distance between Ekko's hand. "This is between me and the lady of the house."

Sevika smiled, but it was a cold, humorless thing, a baring of teeth rather than an expression of amusement. "You've got fire," she said, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "I'll give you that. But fire can be put out. And you’re a long way from home. You don't know the rules in these woods. You don't know the things that go bump in the night."

"Oh, I'm learning," Vi said, her own smile just as sharp, just as dangerous. "I'm a fast study. And right now, I'm studying you. There's something about you. Something... off. You're too still. Too calm. A man is dead, and you're acting like you're bored."

"Boredom is a luxury," Sevika said, her gaze unwavering. "One that I've earned. I've seen more death than you could imagine. I've held dying men in my arms. I've watched the life drain out of their eyes. One more dead freighter in a quarry don’t even register. It's just another Tuesday in the ass-end of nowhere."

"Ain’t that right?" Vi said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, an intimate, threatening sound. "Then you won't mind if I take a look around. See if any of your patrons have a matching set of bite marks. Or maybe I should start with you."

She moved with a speed that was breathtaking, her hand shooting out, not towards her gun, but towards Sevika's throat. She wanted to see the woman's reaction, to break that infuriating composure, to force her to reveal something, anything Violet can get out of her.

Vi never made contact.

Sevika's hand moved with an impossible swiftness, a blur of motion that was there and then gone. Vi's wrist was caught in a grip of steel, a grip that was so cold it seemed to burn. The force of it was staggering, a power that was far beyond that of any normal woman. Vi grunted, a sharp, surprised sound of pain, as her bones ground together. She tried to pull away, but it was like trying to move a mountain. Sevika didn't even seem to be trying. She just held her, her grey eyes boring into Vi's, a predator stare in their depths.

"Let go of me,” Vi snarled, her other hand instinctively going for her gun.

"I would advise against that," Sevika said, her voice a low, dangerous murmur. The music around them seemed to fade, the laughter and conversations dying down as the patrons of the Silt Bellows began to notice the confrontation. Ekko looked like he was going to be sick. He had warned her. Sky took a delicate sip of her champagne, her expression one of light amusement.

"You're strong," Vi gritted out, her wrist screaming in protest. She tried to twist, to use her leverage, but Sevika's grip was unbreakable. "Stronger than you look,” she lied to make a blow at the womans ego.

"I've had a lot of practice," Sevika said, her thumb pressing into the delicate bones of Vi's wrist, a subtle threat that was more terrifying than any overt display of violence. "I've been holding things together for a long, long time."

"Is that what you call this?" Vi asked, her gaze sweeping the room, which had now fallen into a tense, watchful silence. "Holding things together? Looks more like you're holding court."

"Semantics," Sevika said, her grip tightening, just enough to make Vi gasp. "You came into my house. You accused my people. You threatened me. I think I've been remarkably patient."

"You've been evasive," Vi shot back, her mind racing, trying to find a weakness, an opening. "A man is dead. A good man— maybe not—but a man nonetheless. And you're acting like it's nothing. Like it's just another piece of business to be handled."

"Business," Sevika said, a strange, unreadable emotion flickering in her eyes. "You think this is about business? You think I care about your shipping lanes and your precious company's profits? You're a fucking fool. You're looking for a monster, but you're looking in the wrong place. You're looking for something that walks on two legs and leaves a trail of blood. But the real monster, the one that's been killing this town, killing this world, long before you ever rode in here... it doesn't have a face. It doesn't have a name. It's just... the way things are. It's the rot that sets in when the sun goes down. It's the despair that eats a man from the inside out. That's the sickness. Not some… storybook creature with a taste for blood," Sevika gritted, a drop of spit flinging into Vi’s cheek.

Her words were a torrent of cold, hard truth, a cynical philosophy that was both terrifying and strangely compelling. For a moment, Vi was taken aback, her carefully constructed anger faltering in the face of what she just heard. Maybe it was because of the searing pain placed on her wrist, but then Vi's gaze hardened again. The words were just a distraction, a smoke screen. A philosophical treatise on the nature of evil didn't explain the two neat puncture wounds on Mylo's neck.

"This ain’t a philosophy debate," Vi said, her voice dropping back to its usual, hard-edged tone. "And I don't care who you are." Her eyes darted to the beautiful woman, then back to Sevika. "You're hiding something."

"Everyone hides something," Sevika said, her lips curling into a sneer. "You, for instance. What's your story, bounty hunter? What are you running from? What hole did you crawl out of that you're so eager to find monsters in someone else's?”

"Let’er go, Sevika," Ekko said, his voice cracking with desperation. He stepped forward, his hands held up in a gesture of supplication. "She's just trying to do her job. We all scared. Let's not make things worse."

Sevika's gaze flickered to Ekko, a mix of annoyance with seeming fondness in her eyes. She held Vi's wrist for a moment longer, a silent, final test of wills. Then, with a flick of her own wrist, she released her. Vi stumbled back, cradling her wrist to her chest, the skin already turning an angry red. The imprint of Sevika's fingers was a clear, brutal bracelet of pain.

"You've got a lot of nerve," Sevika said, her voice a low growl. "And a death wish. But you're right about one thing. I don't own this place. I'm just a patron. Just like everyone else." She gestured around the room, a sweeping motion that encompassed the entire crowd. "This is our sanctuary. Our home. And you,” Sevika sneered, “are not welcome here."

Vi rubbed her wrist, her eyes flashing with a mixture of pain and fury. She knew she was beaten for now. Pushing further would only get her killed, or worse, thrown out without a single scrap of information. Fuck. She had to retreat, to regroup.

"Fine," Vi said, her voice tight with suppressed anger. "We'll go. But this isn't over."

She turned her back to Sevika, a deliberate act to regain some of her pride. Ekko let out a shaky breath of relief and moved to follow her, his shoulders slumped in defeat. They pushed their way through the silent, staring crowd, the music still muted, the dancers frozen in place. The air was thick with unspoken questions and a palpable sense of menace.

As they reached the door, Vi paused, her hand on the rough wood of the doorframe. She turned, her gaze cutting through the dim light, locking once more with Sevika's grey eyes. The whole room seemed to hold its breath. Her hand tightened around the lumber. If she wanted to sink her nails into the frame, she wouldn’t have to grip too hard.

"You can lie to me, and you can lie to them," Vi's voice rang out, sharp and clear in the sudden silence, a shard of glass in the heavy atmosphere. Her anger boiled in an instant. "But you can't lie to the dawn. And I'll be there, waiting. When the sun comes up, and you're still hiding in your little den of sin, I'll find you. If you're what I think you are... if you're the thing that's been draining the life from this town, ruining these people’s lives... I will find everything in my power to be the one to send you back to the hell you goddamn crawled out of."

Her words hung in the air, a final, ringing curse. Sevika didn't react, her face a mask of unshakeable composure. But Vi saw it. A flare in those sterile grey eyes. Not fear, not anger, but something else. Something that looked like... amusement. The last thing Vi wanted to witness.

The silence stretched for a beat after the door slammed shut behind them, the sound echoing like a gunshot. The patrons of the Silt Bellows stood frozen for a moment, a tableau of shock and uncertainty. Then, as if on a silent cue, they all turned, their faces a collective question directed at the woman at the bar.

Ekko, however, was a mess. He pushed Vi out the door, his hands on her back, propelling her into the cool night air. "What in God's name were you thinking?" he hissed, his voice a panicked growl. "You can't just talk to her like that! You have no idea who you're dealing with, woman.”

"I have a better idea than you think," Vi shot back, her anger still burning hot. Vi ran a hand throughout her jagged hair that wasn’t under her cowboy hat. "She's not human, Ekko. I've fought men twice her size, and I've never felt strength like that,” Vi shook her wrist to let him see the evidence. “ And her skin... it was cold. Like a slab of meat in an icehouse."

"You don't know that!" Ekko insisted,"She's just... strong. She's always been strong. She's looked out for us, for everyone here, since before you were even born. She's ain’t a monster, Vi. She's just... Sevika."

Sevika. Vi already started to tense at her name. Vi wasn't listening, really. She was staring back at the jook joint, her mind replaying the scene over and over. The impossible speed, the inhuman strength, the coldness of her touch, the ancient weariness in her eyes. All the pieces were clicking into place, forming a picture she didn't want to see but couldn't ignore. The woman was a predator. A beautiful, ancient, terrifying predator, and she was hiding in plain sight, the queen of a kingdom of the damned. Vi was pissed.

Inside, the silence was finally broken. A woman near the door let out a nervous, tinkling laugh. Someone else cleared their throat. The piano player, a stooped old man with calloused fingers, tentatively plinked out a few hesitant chords. But the energy was gone. The joyful defiance had been replaced by a nervous, uncertain quiet. All eyes were on Sevika.

She hadn't moved. She still stood by the bar, her posture unchanged, her expression a wall of calm indifference. She picked up her glass, the amber liquid swirling in the lamplight, and took a slow, deliberate sip. Her gaze swept over the room, a quiet, commanding presence that seemed to soothe the frayed nerves of her patrons.

"She's just a dog with a loud bark and no bite," Sevika said, her voice a low, melodic rumble that carried through the room. It was a statement of fact, not an opinion, and it settled over the crowd like a warm blanket. "She's scared and lashing out. It's what frightened things do."

Sky had stepped closer to Sevika, her silk dress rustling softly. She placed a delicate, manicured hand on Sevika's arm. "She did make quite the scene, darling," she said, her tone a mix of amusement and disdain. "It was almost... theatrical. Like something out of one of those awful penny dreadfuls."

"A cheap performance," Sevika agreed, her gaze still fixed on the door. "And her threats are even cheaper. She doesn't have the faintest idea what she's dealing with. She thinks she's the hero of her own little story. If she come back, she gon’ know there’s no heroes here."

A man in the back, a burly dockworker with a thick beard, spoke up, his voice a low grumble. "What if she comes back, Sevika? With more men? With the law?"

Sevika turned to look at him, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across her face. A flash of white teeth in the dim light. "Let her come," she said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "The woods are deep. And it's so easy to get lost out there. A girl like that... a stranger…” Sevika couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, “no one would even notice she was gone."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, a collective, primal response to her words. They weren't intimidated by Sevika. They were reassured. They trusted her implicitly, without question, without reservation.

She turned her attention back to the room at large, her gaze softening with a look of fond, almost paternal affection. "Now," she said, her voice returning to its normal, commanding tone. "Enough of this nonsense. Our guest has departed. The drama is over." She raised her glass in a toast. "Let's get back to the party. We've lost enough of the night to foolishness."

The tension in the room began to dissipate, the knot of anxiety loosening its grip. The piano player, sensing the shift in mood, launched into a lively, rollicking ragtime tune. A few people laughed, the sound still a little shaky, but genuine. The conversations started up again, the dancers returned to the floor, and the Silt Bellows began to breathe once more. The gorgeous woman started to sing again, the gold glittered freckles dancing when warm light hit them at certain angles.

It wasn't the same party. The initial, boisterous celebration was gone, replaced by a different kind of energy. A more focused, more intense atmosphere. The lights seemed to dim, the shadows in the corners of the room deepening. The music took on a different rhythm with a hypnotic beat. The laughter became softer, more intimate. The movements of the dancers became slower, more fluid, their bodies brushing against each other with a new, charged awareness. Groans and pleasured sighs start flowing throughout the air, settling into everyone’s bones.

Sky leaned in close to Sevika, her lips brushing against her ear. "She was an amusing distraction," she whispered, her voice a silken caress. "But she's right about one thing. The sun will be up soon. I don’t think we should waste the darkness."

Sevika's eyes squinted in the low light, ancient hunger drowning any other thoughts out of her. She finished her drink in a single, smooth motion, the glass landing back on the bar with a soft, final click. She looked out over the room, at her people, her family, her children of the night.

"No," she said, her voice a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards. "We shouldn't."

She gestured to the old man at the piano, a subtle, commanding movement. The lively ragtime tune faded, replaced by something slower, more haunting. A melody that spoke of ancient things, heavy low eternal notes, of the sweet, fleeting beauty of life. The room grew quieter, the conversations dying down, the dancers ceasing their movements, their heads turning towards her. Everyone in the room were now starving.

"The real party," Sevika said, a barely-there lisp leaving her lips as points of her teeth stretched as she grinned. "is just getting started."

Heres some fanart I made of Cowboy Vamp Sevika 💛❤️ each chapter will have a fanart pic of them that I make!! Stay tuned!

Chapter two (will update with link when it's done)

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