[Talpa]

The way he paced while reciting such “rules”—like he was some sort of preternatural office drone—forced a smile from her. And a genuine smile at that, not an expression meant to mask fear or make her appear bolder than she felt. It was funny, really, hearing a demon rattle off points of protocol.

She stiffened a little, though, at the mention of “Master.” It’s not like she’d had a proper one, anyway…and after a particularly…harsh…decade that’d pushed her to the breaking point, she’d not had one at all.

Watching the way he moved, she paused. Why did she feel both disarmed and alarmed? She wasn’t afraid…she was almost never afraid. She’d gone through too much, faced the certainty of death too many times (and had technically died, to be fair), had suffered for too long to be afraid of anything, really. But as his voice wound its way through her ears and around her brain like so much silky smoke, she knew that this—he—might be something worth feeling fear for.

Raking a hand through her hair and chewing momentarily on her bottom lip (with such unconscious ferocity she’d probably need another pair of rings), she furrowed her brow and drew a deep breath.

“That ‘plump bag of blood and flesh’ has a name. Not yours to speak. You forget about him, now. Him and everyone else in this neighborhood. You’ve got a city to hunt. These people are mine.”

She was angry, suddenly. Not amused. No one spoke about Alan in such inconsequential terms. When he drew close, though, her breath hitched in her throat. His eyes were blazing and…Jesus, she wanted to slap herself…she found herself unable to look away.

“No soul to trade?” She hissed, resisting the urge to grab his arm, “what’s a soul worth, anyway? Billions of people on this planet do things terrible enough to prove they’ve no soul to begin with. Maybe you need to adopt another currency, Mister…?”

[Talpa]

She was still standing in front of Alan when the thing began to circle—a move that forced her to circle, too. Seeking to protect her friend, she matched the demon’s movements (and by now, she was certain…this was no fellow vampire. This was no corrupted fae. It was something wholly worse). As if taking part in some perverse version of a dance, or a courtship ritual, she mirrored his pacing. The thing’s voice was silky, almost distressingly so, and she found it hard to concentrate when it spoke. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she scowled.

“Look, I don’t believe in God, let alone the fucking devil. Those are dusty mortal constructs. And I don’t know from what pit (she spat the word bitterly) you ascended, but you’re on the wrong block, now. This city is teeming with people desperate to make a deal. He—“ She jerked her thumb towards Alan, “—is mine. Not yours.”

Watching the way the shadows writhed and coiled around him, she suppressed a shudder. But she held steady. Her upper lip curled as he (and she was sure, now, that “it” was a “he”) continued the unbidden soliloquy. She’d begun to gently push Alan back, towards the safety of a building and the light it afforded, when the stranger suddenly materialized in front of them.

She gave her human charge a pointed look and wordlessly gave direction (“goddammit, Alan. Go! I’ll be fine”). Pulling tight her worn leather jacket and planting her feet, she looked straight into the twin flames that served as the demon’s eyes.

“Skip the steps? Utterly improper. What is it that you want? And don’t you dare say him…” she motioned with her head to the now-distant figure of Alan.

[Talpa]

The last watery remnants of a late October sun bled slowly from the sky, giving way to the only type of night she preferred: dark, so very dark—and quiet. Very, very quiet. There was something about autumn storms, she noticed, that seemed to force people to shelter much more quickly (and much more forcefully) than the playful rains of spring and summer. It was as if they were girding themselves against the inevitable onslaught of something colder, something dreariest, something more dangerous than just a mere downpour. She couldn’t say she blamed them, really…it was on evenings like this (born of storms like this) that creatures like *her* emerged.

Taking her time, savoring the smell of old, wet blacktop and old, wet leaves, she moved slowly beneath the streetlights. If anyone took notice, it didn’t register; she was in no danger, after all. There were few things left on earth more dangerous than she. On several occasions—in this very neighborhood—she’d proven that fact. On several more occasions, in places scattered throughout the city’s fringes, she’d hammered the point home. …No, she wasn’t worried. Not for herself, at least. Tonight she had several pressings things to attend to, and the first was Alan.

She was certain that, to outsiders, her care and concern for an all but nameless bum was strange. But people—humans—like Alan were HER people. At least they had been, centuries before. Now, they weren’t so much her “people” as they were her secret charges, souls to whom her heart was drawn and her power protected. The damaged, the down-and-out, the ones the world had cast away…those were the mortals to which she was drawn. And Alan had, without hesitation (or fear for his own well-being), protected her some ten years before in a moment that had since cemented their friendship.

Rounding the corner, her nostalgia-born smile died. Suddenly. Instead replaced with a snarl of rage that erupted from her chest, she stopped mid-step.

“You don’t have to fuck with me…” Alan’s voice faltered.

He sounded almost apologetic — and scared. The stranger in front of him, the one whose eerie stillness and shadow-cloaked face, forced another, louder, more savage growl from her. There was a power to the creature, palpable and alarming; it forced her to suddenly move before she realized it. Closing the distance between them suddenly, grey eyes flashing dangerously, she made to step between them. To shield Alan as he had shielded her, long ago.

Holding one arm out protectively to keep Alan back, she raked the fingers of the other through her short mess of black hair (now rain-matted) and stared fiercely at the thing threatening her friend.

“I think it would be best if you stepped off…”

[Author]

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