Pray for Us

By Molly O’Dowd

“The world is nothing but fire, and I am burning for it.”

In a world where everyone has an ability, Helia Keres has a curse.
As the leading assassin of Callantesha, Helia thinks she has her life pretty planned out. That is, until an investigation into Kingsland goes awry. Suddenly she is forced to bend to the will of a regent she loathes, duty-bound to hunt and eliminate the Violet Cloaks- an ancient rebel group notoriously power hungry, posing a threat to the city’s very existence.

As friendships are formed and love interests bloom, Helia’s ability to keep her curse a secret becomes strained, torn between her instinct to hide and the overwhelming emotions that come with first love- and first heartbreak.
When her friends she has sworn to protect are put further into harms way, will her efforts be enough to save the city from ruin? Even the friends she thought she knew begin to breed fresh doubt.

When loyalties are divided and emotions wracked with complications, Helia must search within herself to save her kingdom from the Violet Revolt.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781728375915

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© 2022 Molly O’Dowd. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  11/09/2022

ISBN: 978-1-7283-7590-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-7589-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-7591-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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To those who search for a home within the pages of books,

I hope you can find a place for yourselves here; I know I did.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1     The End

Chapter 2     An-other day

Chapter 3     Friends on the Other Side

Chapter 4     Under the shadows

Chapter 5     Destructive Tendencies

Chapter 6     Ruby Red

Chapter 7     The Blue Moon

Chapter 8     The Birdcage

Chapter 9     Court Jester

Chapter 10   Paradise in Prison

Chapter 11   Hang Fire

Chapter 12   Mirror Image

Chapter 13   A Word of Advice

Chapter 14   A Life for a Life

Chapter 15   Crystal Unclear

Chapter 16   Hometown Rodeo

Chapter 17   It’s About the Journey

Chapter 18   Message Received

Chapter 19   Black and Blue

Chapter 20   A Taste of Freedom

Chapter 21   Two Penguins and a Cat

Chapter 22   A Violet Crime

Chapter 23   Rose Tinted

Chapter 24   The Other Side

Chapter 25   The Cut that Always Bleeds.

Chapter 26   In the Stars

Chapter 27   The Day Before

Chapter 28   Dancing Queen

Chapter 29   These Violet Delights

Chapter 30   Mana oh Mana

Chapter 31   Consequences

Chapter 32   Hellfire

Chapter 33   Unadulterated Faith

Chapter 34   Grabbing the Rose Thorns

Chapter 35   Hidden Agenda

Chapter 36   Queens Gambit

Chapter 37   Fictus Faciem

Chapter 38   Conduit

Chapter 39   The Unveiling

Chapter 40   Falling Like the Stars

Chapter 41   Grow as we Go

Chapter 42   A Butterfly’s Wing

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER 1

THE END

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H e was going to kill me.

Wind whips me sideways with the force of a thousand men, slamming my body back to earth, wings burnt and crumpled beneath me. Debris flies past my body, slicing into my shoulder and it takes everything in me to swallow the anguished cry that burns in my throat.

Blue and purple glowing beings of every shape and size scream around me, cutting into guards like hands through water. Their bodies folding to the ground like puppets from strings, only to be taken up by new hands.

From the top of the Watchtower, I grip the tiled edges, my knuckles white as I watch the chaos ensue around and below me; searching for my friends amid the bloodshed.

Everything I had done to protect them, everything I had sacrificed to get to this point was for nothing. And all because I had let him in. Trusted him. The watchtower trembles under added weight, and I turn my head slowly.

He stands tall, his face distorted by smoke and ashes as he stalks towards me, a hunter finally catching up with his prey.

I make to leap off, but his boot cracks down on the bone of my wing, and I can’t stop the scream that pours from my lips, the pain jarring through my shoulder. He twists his ankle, the pain searing to an unbearable crescendo, and I am helpless to stop him. His smile, the one I used to know so well, is now twisted grotesquely as he rejoices in my agony.

I shift over, my wing be damned, as I claw at his leg, raking my nails through skin, blood sticky beneath my fingers. He yells as his sword comes spiking through the air, spearing through the material of my sleeve and glueing me to the roof. Keeping his foot planted into my wing, he leans down, sending another dagger through my trouser leg.

I kick out, knocking him sideways in the jaw. He careens close to the edge, catching himself at the last moment and spitting blood onto the chaos below. No border this time, all hope of order was lost.

His eyes lock with mine, no remnant of the person I cared for stares back at me, his gaze cold and calculated as he drives the third dagger directly through my Achilles heel and into the roof.

I fight to remain conscious through the stars that appear in my vision, the pain unbearable.

Please! I scream at him, Why? Why are you doing this? I beg, all pride gone, all façades dropped. I am scared, irrefutable terrified as he covers my body flush with his.

Blood from his mouth splashes onto my face and merges with my own, his teeth bared and bloody. He holds my only free arm in a vice-like grip to my side, the other hand pressing a dagger to my throat.

History is told by the victors, guess my version of the truth will die with me.

What did I do to you? I plead, even as the blade nicks at my throat, I’m bleeding from so many places now I can’t pinpoint one point on my body that isn’t soaked in it.

This was never supposed to be about you, He grinds out through gritted teeth, spittle flying through the air, It still isn’t, but you never did know when to leave well enough alone!

He smiles, and I cast my mind back, trying to work out how I missed this. How I didn’t see this creature before me for what he was. Bearing his teeth, he launches forwards, ripping into my collarbone with his canines and I scream. I was so done with screaming, but my body was in more control than I was, and I couldn’t help but loose the pain somehow, howling into the wind, tendrils of blue smoke slithering through my vision, even as it blurs.

He retracts his teeth, pressing his mouth to my ear.

I was never who you thought I was. He murmurs, and pulls away, his eyes glistening differently in the blue light.

Glowing in a way that I knew by heart, the smoke seeming to part as I finally see it.

CHAPTER 2

AN-OTHER DAY

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T here’s nothing worse than an abundance of free time, with nothing to do with it- especially for an assassin.

I dangle my legs from my attic-room apartment window, my ankles bouncing off the side of the house with little taps. The city bustles beneath me in a cacophony of rows and general busy-bodies of every creed and creation.

Callantesha never felt smaller than on a Monday morning.

Not that it was small in reality, our city spanning the centre of the island, expanding slowly in every direction. The mountains of Kantara in the north, the sea bordering all sides and the forests beyond Kingsland off to the south, we are a dense population.

I stretch my shoulders behind me, allowing my wings to spread out from my back before descending into the flurry of people. I land in a crouch and quickly dart into the stream. I hate crowds, but flying all the time kind of ruined the novelty of it, and it’s not like I was going far.

Back home I could soar for days, over oceans and fields and never get bored. Back home I was a scandalous princess with morals that went against the very foundations of Callantesha. There are many Lords and Ladys all over the Kingdom, protecting different regions under the ultimate reign of the King, It is only Sarriayah, the island off the coast of Callantesha, that is owned by a different regent. Hence, I now live in the city itself away from home, somewhere where no one knew me or my background, a place where I could choose to be whoever I wanted, whichever day suited me.

As it turns out, the assassin life suits me fairly well.

The right people knew the wrong people, and consequently got in contact with me. I earn enough to live at least, which is more than could be said for the majority of the city.

I pass by the countless market stalls and upper-class businessmen, spotting Ana outside of her shop. I pull my wings back into my back until they fold into my skin, the feathers disintegrating and reemerging as ink on my shoulder blades and down my back.

I wave to Ana, the head of the Inscribers, who winks and takes a drag from her pipe. I dread to think what was in it today. Inscribers are somewhat few and hard to come by, but Ana’s was my poison of choice.

Every being in creation has some sort of ability or power. From low standing telekinesis for home chores, to invisibility and shapeshifting. Those with the highest standing abilities are members of the King’s guard, or executed for rebelling. There isn’t a great deal of tolerance, at least not in my lifetime. Everyone was powerful from the day they are born, gifted with a power beyond understanding or prediction.

Unless you’re me.

I don’t possess any ability like the rest, mine being more of a curse. So instead I procure small gifts and tricks from Inscribers. They sew magic into your veins in the shape of things or abilities, in my case I have my wings, designed in the likeness of a magpie’s, and my needle-point dagger, Lanza, lining my left forearm.

Ana was not a kind seamstress. With the hundreds of Inscriptions and piercings adorning her own body, she wasn’t what one could call light-handed. Even her eyes are Inscribed, black covering the entirety of her eyeballs, spare a white dot for her iris; enabling a degree of hyper-sight. For a tiny nymph-type, she stabbed like a motherfucker.

Weird to think she’s a mother, though I guess if you’re over 132, some maternal instincts may rise out of the abyss at some point, lucky for her- her genetics maintained her youthful looks.

Her tiny red head darts back inside the building and I turn sharply to see what’s spooked her.

King’s guard’s heavy-booted stomps sound down the lane, and I turn to look up to where her store sign reads ‘Ana’s Inscribers’ in huge letters. The king doesn’t exactly adore the idea of people becoming more powerful without documentation, it made it very hard to control everyone and their lives if people were suddenly gaining newfound abilities and materialising weapons without his knowledge.

As I watch, the words swirl and shift, the sign itself having been Inscribed onto the wood. The words ripple as if made of water before settling again, the sign now reading ‘Plants and Pipes’.

I smile despite the nearing guards. Trust Ana to take a stand even when hiding. Not that the king cared much about the indulgences of his citizens, the city barely knew the king was alive, let alone his prerogative on casual drug use. I hate Royals just as much as Ana, if not more-so.

I dart to the side, out of the flow of people just outside Ana’s as the guards make to move past it. Within the throng of silver armour and shortly cropped hair, I spot him.

Haidar! I yell, waving hysterically over the heads of the soldiers. Haidar shifts uncomfortably, looking briefly over at me, his dark eyes narrowing and the beginnings of a scowl appearing, before turning away.

Now that just wouldn’t do.

HAIDAR! I practically scream, uncaring of the heads that whip in my direction. Ana sticks her head briefly from the store, her eyebrows quivering in despair.

"Are you not embarrassed, hun?" She says, before squeaking and slamming the door back into place.

I turn my face back to the crowd just as Haidar’s face comes within inches of mine, a menacing frown furrowing his brow.

Fucking- what? He says in a growl, his fists curled by his sides.

Haidar was one of the higher-ranking officials in the king’s guard, and the only exception to my general hatred towards the crown and his subservients. He stands barely a foot taller than me, but what he didn’t have in height, he more than made up in muscle. He was like a human tank, and anyone else in my position would be pissing themselves by now.

Not me.

I smile wide at him and put my hands behind my back, aiming for naïve ignorance.

How ya doin, boy? I ask, in the most chipper voice I can muster.

"None of your fuckin business." He says, baring his teeth at me.

I only smile wider.

Chatting with you is always the highlight of my day.

You are the bane of my existence, He says in a monotone voice, I don’t know why I even bother. Why do I put up with you? He asks rhetorically.

Anyone else listening would think I was about to get locked-up for real, but I could see the slight crinkle of his eyes.

You love me really, and I just got you out of a march around the city. I say, leaning towards him, But you can thank me later.

He shoves me in the side and grumbles something about being a pain in his ass as he scans the crowd for his troop, but they’re long gone.

Are you happy now? He says, throwing his arms up theatrically and heading towards an alleyway. Now I get to cut out half the route and get paid exactly the same as the whole squad but with a decent excuse for skipping parole! He says, shouting the last bit louder and directly at me, and I can see his frown breaking into a goofy grin of sorts, as he saunters away.

You’re welcome! I yell after him.

Suck your mum! He yells back, and many heads swivel towards him, too late he realises his volume and quickly ducks into the alleyway.

Always a pleasure. I mutter, as Ana pokes her head out again, her pipe quickly following as she takes a nervous drag.

I wouldn’t live your life for all the gold in the 6 kingdoms, She says, offering me the pipe, And that’s wealthy as diddley-heck. I put a hand on the pipe, slowly lowering it to decline the offer.

It’s not so bad. I say, surveying the variety of colours and creatures that pass us. She shakes her head, her red locks flicking around her owl-rimmed glasses.

"And I for sure would never live it sober." She takes another longer drag from her pipe for emphasis, and I see her shoulders visibly loosen.

The idea of casual drug-use had occurred to me, but in my line of work there’s a certain degree of sobriety needed at barely a moments’ notice. You couldn’t exactly will the effects away just because someone sent you on a killing spree.

How’s your kid then? She the pot-head child you always wanted? I poke, flicking the pipe so her mouth misses as she goes for another toke. She grimaces at me, swatting my hand away.

For your information, my ‘hobbies’ cease their occurrence the moment Erika’s father drops her at the door.

All aspects of Ana’s life were elusive, Erika and her father being no exception. I’d never even seen her child. Ana may be my oldest friend in the city, but that didn’t mean I got to know the ins and outs of her personal life. Probably for the best, 132 years of life was a heck of a catch up to do, sober or not.

I shrug, not pressing the matter. She wasn’t one to talk of family, and I wasn’t one to push. At least not with her.

You heard from Lola much? I ask, absentmindedly kicking at the cobblestones with my toes.

Her ears turn as vibrant as her hair as she shuffles awkwardly, still not prepared to leave the sanctuary of her shop.

Made a trip there the other night, She says, playing with some of the beads in her hair, She seemed, preoccupied?

I scoff, shaking my head. Lola was the head of the most notorious whorehouse in the whole of Callantesha, of course she was preoccupied. What great salesman doesn’t test their products before sales?

I grimace at my own analogy.

Doesn’t hurt you babe, don’t need to judge. She says, poking me with a bedazzled finger.

Her whole demeanour was just extra. From head to toe she was an assortment of silver and jewels, no finger unburdened, no piece of skin unmarked. Her body itself was worth more than most of the homes on the east side.

She hasn’t been responding to the Thren, I say grouchily, "They don’t exactly like those streets."

My allies consist of 50 local lower-assassin trainee’s, called the Thren. Courtesy of Haidar himself, not that he was aware of this. Haidar runs a training dojo called the Gwyn, the place you went when you wanted to get strong, or had nothing else to live for- or both. He trained them every spare minute he wasn’t at his post as Royal Guard. Ergo, the Gwyn was where I went to pick up new assassins-to-be, before they were indoctrinated into the royal guard- I gave them an alternative option. Work for me, keep their freedom, beat up bad guys- or not-so-bad guys. for the right price of course.

But even those from the Thren weren’t keen on Lola’s area, and for good reason. Around Santadae lived and thrived those who didn’t care for the regime or running of the city. If the king had any thoughts on the goings on of the main city, I’d love to pick his brains about Santadae.

Unfortunately, I can’t afford to leave Lola alone this time. She was holding something for me that was of somewhat pressing urgency. If I didn’t get back to it, who knows what trouble it would cause. Not for me per say, but I couldn’t let it get loose in Lola’s part of town.

Too much for your highness to get off her pretty ass and go there herself, is it? She asks, giggling as she puts her pipe between her teeth. I playfully swat her over the head.

"Excuse me for trying to give my lot a better day-trip than Santedae." I jest, scanning the surroundings in case one of the outer-city folk was lurking.

The city was home to the most diverse population in the known realms. From Draegonian to faerie and every creed and ethnic background, at least those deemed unthreatening by his ‘Royal Majesty’. Most of the 6 kingdoms have a general race or gene-pool to specific-district layout, but not us. A pair of Reptillian’s slink through the crowd, their lithe bodies allowing them to skim through the packs without much trouble, their green and amber scales glinting in the mid-morning sun. A faun runs through on shaky legs, her hooves clip-clopping and arms clinging to her bag with a vice-like grip. For good reason too, as I spot a pixie-type crouched in the centre, her spindle-like fingers extended for pick-pocketing.

I have to mentally stop myself from branding her a typical pixie, but I wouldn’t be wrong. They put those talons to good use, and their innocent ever-youthful faces meant the naïve shopper would bypass them as the culprit without a second glance. Or at least, they would’ve done before they gave themselves a reputation.

Typical Pixie. Ana mutters to herself, and not for the first time I fear she may have mind-reading abilities.

Not that I would ever try to find out, I would never use my curse that way, not after what happened before…

Ana gives me a sideways glance, and I’m now 90% sure that it’s her ability. Not that it would help me by knowing, like trying to not think of a pink elephant- doesn’t work.

Her toothy smirk makes me shiver.

You’re pretty evil for a nymph, you know that? I say.

She shrugs, batting away my glare.

Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies, She says, eyeing me up and down before taking another drag and blowing it out as she says, But you’d be correct in your assumptions.

You sneaky bitch! I whisper-shout at her, and she grins wickedly.

I can only do it if you’re like, a metre away. Helps with understanding customers at least. She says.

I look at the space between us before not-so-subtly shuffling further away.

Oh, give me a break! I don’t care what you think, it’s just background noise to me. She says, wrapping her knee length striped drug-rug further around her tiny body.

Truthfully, I don’t really care what Ana sees in my head, if she heard what I was thinking when I got my wings and Lanza done then she knew more than enough. The fact that she was still willing to stand in such close proximity to me was enough to tell me she could be trusted.

So Lola’s at La Casa, then? I say, kicking off the wall I’m leaning on and pulling my cloak over my head.

Ana nods sluggishly, a weird appearance for a nymph. Nymph’s were classically spritely, almost pixie-like in appearance- slender bodies and elegant faces. I’d have guessed her family didn’t much approve of her complete disregard for traditional nymph-aesthetics, probably why she took up shop in the opposite part of town.

You’d think with the knowledge of what I can do, you’d refrain from judgement a little better? She says, squinting menacingly at me.

I shy further away apologetically, hands raised above my head.

You said background noise! I say, turning back to her with a sheepish smile, No judgement, not really… I’ll see you around.

You best not come in for anything any time soon, judgement or not- I’m grumpy. She hisses, but I can tell she means it nicer than her face might suggest.

I wave her off, waiting for her to go inside before dipping into the throng.

CHAPTER 3

FRIENDS ON THE OTHER SIDE

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S ideways looks are cast my way as I make my way down Santedae. This was the part of town that had me wearing my hood low and my cloak against my body. The men crawling from the Final Stop, the lower-ends bar, give me the twice-over; eyes scanning me in ways that would usually end with their blood on my clothes. But I have to visit Lola’s, and she isn’t the best with blood.

The stench of vomit is near enough tangible as I hastily pass the Final Stop. One of its regulars snorts aggressively up through his nose, proceeding to deposit it onto the pavement at my feet. I pause, turning slightly to look him over. His gut protrudes through the many layers of patchwork cloth that passed as clothing, his hair greying and thinning. The man’s face was a result of copious drinking, his rotund face an amalgamation of red and yellow, puss oozing from various spots on his face. His nose resembled that of a pig’s, and two massive hog’s canines protrude from his bottom lip from an underbite he’d clearly decided to get Inscribed.

Pri’y gal on the wrong sid’a town, eh? He drunkenly muses, hands on his hips, Dun’t seem smar’, does ih?

I summon Lanza on my arm without his notice, the cool metal of her blade sleek against my skin.

Trust me when I say this old fart, jog on. I warn him.

He guffaws, spittle running from his gaping mouth.

Seems’me you’d be lookin’ for trouble da’n ere, He says, moving towards me and placing a massive three-fingered hand on my shoulder, Allow me to ‘elp yus’out.

His face hits the pavement before he finishes his sentence, the hilt of Lanza having paralyzed him with one sharp jab to the side of his head.

I don’t even bother finishing the job, too many people, so little time.

I slap the sign that swings above Lola’s parlour, its rusty red engravings marking the entrance to La Casa de la Noche.

The pungent smell of incense wafts over me as I step inside, the grand doors seemingly out of place in the slums of the city, their ornate design and brass knockers in the shape of a lady’s breasts, a clear indication of what lies inside.

On first inspection you’d assume it was some sort of hostel, the reception area with the silver bell, numerous keys hanging on the back wall. This place definitely wasn’t for sleeping, though you wouldn’t know it- Lola having had the decency to soundproof all walls in the building with enchantments, courtesy of Portia. I bypass the bell and turn down the hall, walls lined with paintings depicting various naked bodies conjoined in sexual positions of ranging levels of intimacy. The red wallpaper peeling at the top edges appears blurred through the haze of incense fumes and cigarette smoke, and I hold my cloak over my mouth to stave off the smell- I can’t stand cigarettes.

Down the winding halls I follow the trail of tobacco until I reach a dead-end, the door ahead covered in designs of animated sexual figures, painted on in ink. Their faces and bodies morph into one another in a seemingly drug-induced blur, elongated arms and zoomed in eyes, one eye protruding from the door as a handle.

I twist it and it gives without hesitation, and for effect I kick it the last of the way, stepping brazenly into the smokey room.

Lola lies sprawled amongst several bodies ranging wildly in race and colour, she is no more than a mass of limbs and faces, much like her door-art. Her short straight hair sticks up in tufts, and I beg she saves me the details of what I’ve intruded on.

What kind of time do you call this? She groans, moving to sit up with very little grace in order to glare at me from the bed, "Can’t you see I’m busy?"

Lola had spent her years training to be an assassin much like myself, along the way however, she got somewhat… side-tracked. Her friends at the time introducing her to bar-work, and later she branched off into her preferred profession, as the head of the city’s most popular Whorehouse. Lola had very little time spare for other engagements- or so she liked to tell people.

Are they clients? I ask, ignoring her question, trying and failing to keep the disdain from my voice- I am my mother’s daughter after all.

She glares at me, her diamond shaped eyes glittering amber as she flashes me a scowl.

"They are what you could call mine." She says grumpily.

I think you’ll find the Kingdom rather frowns upon the owning of another person or people. I say, shooting warning looks at her guests, who avoid my eyes and instead turn to the instruction of Lola.

Some people like to be owned, you know, She muses, tucking a manicured finger under the chin of a blue Siren-type who seems to salivate under her touch, To be told who’s in charge, leave behind their need for control and just- she leans into his face then, Be a good boy. The Siren shivers and she smirks, scraping her finger off his chin and looking at me.

I try not to show how she’s ruffled my feathers. She did this most times I came over, and I liked to think it was her way of trying to make me more comfortable around the idea of sex. To her credit, it didn’t make me nervous like it used to, I just had no active interest in anyone, and I certainly wasn’t about to pay for the services of her employees. I fold my arms, kicking the door wider and flicking my head back to gesture for her guests to leave.

Lola sighs, pouting at her ‘friends’ before touching them each individually as a sign to leave, We’ll resume at the usual time my darlings, just gotta help out an old friend.

They scamper off the bed, clutching blankets and sheets to their chests as they hurry past me. I count six in total, including a Draegonian lady who stands a good foot and a half taller than me, with long dark hair and sharp features. Her dark scales glitter in the light that streams through the curtains, baring no shame as she saunters after the others naked, huffing smoke from her nostrils as she passes me.

I glance back at Lola who only shrugs.

Others prefer a more dominant role, it varies.

I shove the door shut with my heel, moving to the window to glance out, scanning the streets in case I’d been followed.

Lola stands, flipping herself upright and over to her closet. She stands a tall 5"10, her stance one of someone who knows she’s worth every penny, all curves and shapely figure. Lola is originally from the south, close to the ports. She’s inherited a third breast from a parent, but I’d never felt confident enough to ask which one, her father having abandoned them after her first five years.

Shimmying into a round-the-neck slip-on dress that looked more like liquid than material, she ushers me over to the furthest door in the room, a gold key already pressed into the lock.

How are you, my dear? I ask, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and squeezing lightly as she leans back against me.

Oh, you know, same old. She says tiredly, Clients a plenty, free time not-so plentiful. You know how it is. I nod, rubbing her shoulders consolingly.

Lola worked harder than others gave her credit for. Whilst she did have the occasional indulgences of her own, mainly her favourite clients and the nearest brothel, she was never not in a work-mindset. She had been since she came to the city and I doubt she would ever stop. Unless she settled down, but Gods knows when that would be.

He’s been awfully quiet today, She muses, twisting the key as I release her shoulders, Whatever you did last time must have really left an ‘impression’. She eyes me up and down.

I throw her a look that says she does not want to know. I wasn’t scared of Lola per say, she didn’t have any abilities that would cause me serious harm, a bit of mild telekinesis that could barely lift a vase, and assist in her various recreational activities.

I was more just…wary.

Her word was like law and her beliefs concrete, so going into any kind of verbal altercation with her was a big no-no. Other than that, she was still one of my favourite people in the city, even if I didn’t get to see her as much as I would like. She was easy to talk to, and very sure of herself. It was only in public spaces like coffee shops or pubs in the other end of town that she seemed to show an ounce of social anxiety. But in La Casa – she shone.

Giving the door a quick shove, we both cram into the dusty back room, slamming the door behind us. I halt her before locking it, placing my hand over hers.

Whatever I did last week, it’s likely going to get worse this time. I murmur in her ear, You won’t want to see this.

She looks me in the eyes and glances over her shoulder at him, bristling slightly before taking her hand off the lock.

I’ll stay whilst you’re talking. She says, folding her arms and leaning against the door stubbornly.

I choose not to remind her how often these things lead to things other than talking. And I don’t mean her area of expertise. I am an assassin, my line of work was rarely accustomed to pretty people and lavish rooms, unless I was tasked with executing an official.

I turn my back on Lola and stride over to my captive, who dangles by his wrists from chains that attach to the ceiling. The tips of his scaly toes scrape the floor just enough so that if he regained strength, he could take some pressure off of his wrists.

He clearly hasn’t been feeling strong in a while.

Dried blood cakes his wrists, lining down his arms up to his shoulders. His bald head lolls onto his chest, motionless apart from the steady rise and fall of his breathing. I’d caught him a couple weeks back, the tip off having come from members of the Thren who had heard whispers of Witch whereabouts. Sightings, flashes of purple light and the like. I still had to chase these rumours up with Portia, but that would come after I got information from this poor unfortunate soul.

I’d found the reptilian squadron, also known as the Bandlakes, in and around this part of town, skulking near the entrance to the sewer lines. Their leader Karser, who currently hangs unconscious before me, was the unlucky bastard who didn’t manage to evade capture. I’d had him stored here for a week now, in which time he had given away nothing, other than his freedom and most recently- his tail.

I take the manky flesh from the small portable freezer in the corner, the thing weighing about as much as my leg- and Fae legs aren’t exactly light. Coming to stand in front of him, I use the severed limb to slap him across the face, swinging it through the air and making a satisfying slap as it makes contact.

Karser roars, rearing forwards so his teeth are inches from my face and I can smell remnants of fish-guts on his breath. His yellow eyes glow fiercely as he snaps at me, uselessly now that I’d removed half his tongue. Only half though, I still needed him to talk.

Good morning, gorgeous! I smile mockingly at him, dumping his lost limb on the floor at my feet where it rolls limply in Lola’s direction. She squeals, kicking at it with her foot and scrambling to the opposite end of the door.

His mouth stretches from ear to ear in a shower of terrifying needle-point teeth, barely concealed by green and blue scaled lips that pull up in an aggressive snarl. I don’t blame him, I could be a bit of a bitch.

You ready for today then? I ask, patting his cheeks twice quickly before he can snap my hand off, maintaining eye-contact and twisting my hands behind my back.

Things could go a lot easier if you’d just let me know what you heard, and how you heard it. I say.

I knew things wouldn’t go smoothly from the start. Reptilian folk are few and hard to come by, always moving in groups and could be considered unfriendly at the best of times. Couple that with a narcissistic personality disorder and inflamed ego from being anointed head of the Bandlakes, and you got Karser.

Do. Your. Worst. He hisses, the deformed remains of his tongue making his usual elegant speech slurred and borderline unintelligible. Lucky for him, I was used to the sound.

I sigh, moving over to the far wall and pulling on the chain that removes the red curtain that hides my toys. The wall is not unlike those in the rooms Lola possessed. It hangs on chains, is lined with red and purple velvet and is kept hidden behind curtains to conceal various play-things.

But Lola’s toys are generally less…lethal?

Mine is covered floor to ceiling in various torture devices. From saws to clamps to daggers. A couple syringes of Portia’s creations, several whips of pure titanium, and two long swords make up most of the wall. Specialist toys dotted in and amongst them, but we weren’t quite there yet, had to ease him into things again.

Lola? I query, just as I hear the door open and close behind her.

I smirk, taking up one of the daggers, my little green-hilt one being my favourite, and turn back to Karser.

He snarls, bucking and straining against the chains. His toxic masculinity meant that he likely believed if he was loose that he would be able to kill me and leave without a second thought. Little did he know that I knew every weak point, every calculated move that it would take to have him on the floor writhing in pain and quickly incapacitated before he’d even lifted a talon. Not to mention I’d have him dead in an instant if I believed for a second that my life was at risk.

This could all go away if you’d just tell me what I need to know, baby. I say cajolingly, examining the tiny dagger in the light. It was slightly curved, the perfect weapon for slicing open tough reptilian flesh.

I already told you, He spits, writhing away from me and pointing his toes in order to gain a bit of height over me, We don’t know anything!

Aww shnucombs, I say sweetly, pressing the dagger lightly to the side of his gut, "That’s just too bad, how are we ever going to make me feel better when I don’t have the information I want? I say rhetorically, tapping my chin with my other finger and looking around. Ah! I know!" I say, slicing a line straight across his torso from one side to the other, hard enough that I can see the lines of flesh feathering out and blue blood seeping from the wound, quickly turning red.

Karser screeches momentarily before my arm whips up under his chin, shoving it upwards so his mouth is clamped shut and the back of his head collides with the backboard. He twists his head left and right, but I have the strength and the pressure point that he can’t get around, especially in the condition he is now in. Muffled cries escape from between his clashed teeth and spittle flecks at the corners of his mouth.

When at last he stops making noise I release my grip, gaining enough distance that he can’t snap me.

See? I say, I feel a little better now.

He rolls the remnants of his severed tongue between some of his teeth, the sound he makes bordering on a growl. I pout.

But I want you to feel better as well! I say, throwing my hands up in childish exasperation.

I must admit, when it comes to torture, I like to become a bit of a character. When they are large men, acting like a child was my preferred stance. Then there was emotionless ambivalence, angry vengeance seeker, not to mention just the bored caretaker. I was an eccentric with very few fully-engaging hobbies.

Well, just so you know, I say, placing my dagger at the base of his hip bone, I fully intend on letting you go after this. I drag the dagger down a little, not hard enough to leave a mark, but just enough to make him aware of the direction it’s headed.

I was thinking to myself, as I do, about what would leave the most permanent- psychological – and physical mark on someone as powerful and revered as yourself? I say, pointing the dagger at its final destination, an evil smile playing on my lips.

I think I came up with the perfect idea, and was hoping to get your take on it? I say, before digging the dagger in a little to the only somewhat soft flesh on his muscular body, his eyes widening in fear at last, Or rather, your take- before I take it?

He tries to draw away from me but he can’t. With nowhere to turn, he can’t risk moving more than a millimetre in any direction, without enduring a rather unfortunate miss-slip.

Enough! He yells through gritted teeth.

What? Yes precisely, I thought it was enough as well, mind- I wasn’t actually looking for your opinion on the matt-

I’ll talk! He yells louder, and I smile, inching the dagger back a little, enough that he can take a breath and not impale himself. Figures this is what it takes to break a man- his ‘manhood’.

Continue. I say, placing the dagger back on the wall and picking up a long-sword, before leaning against the far door.

He grimaces, looking down as if consulting his member before he speaks.

We were hired by the Royal Guard. He says, and my hand that had been previously twirling the sword stills, curiosity officially caught. The king so very rarely sought out the help of civilians, let alone rival gangs such as the Bandlakes.

We’d been asked to do a couple jobs here and there. The King isn’t fond of our kind, so doing what he needs done is our way of staying on his good side. He pauses, and I begin twisting the sword again so he knows not to stop.

They mentioned something about cloaks, that cloaked figures had been seen skulking around that part of town. I have no idea what you were on about Witches for, and I have no idea about the business you have in the sewers. But if I were you, I’d be more worried about the woods, the King seemed adamant we stay away from there for a while. He says vehemently, looking through the dim light at me, That’s all I know.

I look him over once, and for about the billionth time in my line of work I wish I was a truth-teller, someone who could tell immediately when someone was lying. I stick the sword in the ground to lift myself up from the door and stride the small distance over to him.

That information was worth a week of my time, your torture and your life? I ask and his eye widen as I lift my sword, Dumb lizard. Swinging the sword round, I slice his head from his neck in one motion. It falls heavily to the ground, blood seeping from the corpse’s neck and pooling around the severed head.

I am an assassin, I am not paid to tell the truth.

I turn to leave the room, but something gives me pause. I turn back and slice off his most prized possession, just for good measure. Let him enter hell without the thing he was willing to give up everything for.

Oh, Lola!’ I yell endearingly in a sing-song voice as I shut and bolt the door behind me, Good and bad news. Good news, you won’t need to deal with the unwanted guest anymore. Bad news, you will have to hire a very discreet clean-up team."

"You mean you will!" I hear her yell from the bathroom, and I roll my eyes. Getting rid of high-end corpses was always such a hassle.

Eek! I hear her exclaim from the doorway and a moist towel suddenly appears hovering in front of my face.

Blood on your cheek! She squeals, reminding me of the sensitivity she has to the sight of blood. It really was curious as to how we had ever become friends considering my line of work and her phobia.

Such a drama Queen. I grumble, scrubbing my cheeks.

Lucky for her, I never bothered with makeup nowadays, save a bit for my pitiful eyebrows and the occasional eyeshadow if I could be bothered. This wasn’t because I didn’t need it, far from it, but with the amount I have to wash and scrub every day it meant it had become too much of an extra concern.

It’s perfectly normal to not like it I’ll have you know, I’m not a vampire, and blood play is just a step too far. She whines.

Wow, never thought I’d hear those words from you. I smirk, and she raises her eyebrows, jutting a hip out, which makes all three tits bounce.

I’ll have you know, I have many a boundary thank you very much. She says, placing a hand on her hip, "I’m just not such a prude that I don’t explore at all, unlike some of us in this room."

The tips of my ears turn red and I pull my hair forward to cover my embarrassment, but they still poke out far above my curls.

I could if I wanted to. I grumble, folding my arms over my chest.

I never said you couldn’t, She says, walking over to grab her bag-belt, a deep red satchel that slings around her waist to hold all her essentials, I’m just saying you, of all people, shouldn’t be judging.

I roll my eyes, adjusting my top in mild discomfort, but realistically Lola could poke at me in whatever way she pleased to be honest, it never bothered me. Opening up about anything really never seemed to bother me, if I had it my way all information would be publicly available. But some people like their secrets, and that meant there would always be a place in this world for assassins like myself.

Oh dear. Lola says, her face draining of colour.

I follow her gaze and slap a hand to my forehead in annoyance.

Blood pools from beneath the door concealing Karsers corpse, swirling between the floorboards and staining them a fresh crimson.

I will get you the best cleaners in all of Callantesha, I swear- I say, turning back to Lola, but she’s already fled out the door, presumably to avoid feinting.

Tea-room, pet! She yells from the corridor.

I swish through the door, enjoying the feeling of the air through my cloak. It was a small luxury of wearing one, but you always felt on the brink of a villain arc when you took a sharp turn or descended a particular set of stairs with the feeling of it billowing behind you.

Back in the corridor, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have a psychedelic trip in this place. Not just