“Um...”
“It’s 9:54pm. Everyone else is asleep.”
“Oh...” Lilith felt heat rise to her cheeks. She looked down at the floor, her hair shifting to frame her in a curtain of blond. It did a decent job of masking the redness in her cheeks. “I was just hoping, you know, that I could get a head start on learning to control my powers.”
“Lilith. Go to bed. Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we will begin your training, not tonight.”
“...Yes ma’am,” Lilith said in a quiet tone before she shuffled outside.
CHAPTER 5
Having rescued Tristin, Samantha and the other two members of the Executioners, Leon and Sif, escaped from the prison that had been holding the ex-intelligence operative and made their way into the nearest city. It might not have been the best option, being so close to the place that they had just managed to break into and out of, but the next closest city was several hours away, and it was already late.
Cedar City was a tiny, quaint little town in Utah. Built along the I-15, Veteran’s Memorial Highway, the city was one of those stopping points where people usually stayed to rest before traveling through it on the way to their true destination. It was more or less a tourism gateway to attractions such as Bryce Canyon National Park, Zion National Park, and Dixie National Forest.
The place they had chosen to stay in was a cheap little motel called Supercedes Motel. Like a good deal of motels of its kind, Supercedes was a tiny one-story building. Its red bricks looked a little dull, worn down and baked from being in the sun for so long without refurbishing, and the brown roof was more than just a little rickety. The building was shaped to look like a U, with the parking lot located in the center. It was the kind of place truckers and other people who just wanted a really cheap place to stay the night got a room in before moving on.
Samantha looked out the window of the small room she and Sif were sharing. Their room was basic, bare bones even. It had two twin-sized beds with a nightstand in between them, and a small, beaten up dresser. Near the front, next the entrance, was a door that led to a basic shower/tub bathroom combination with a toilet and a tiny sink. Even her previous office had more decoration than this.
As she stared at the cars passing by, their lights the only way she could see in the darkness, the young woman tucked a strand of her long hair behind her left ear, wondering where Christian was and if he was safe.
She then thought about the succubus he was with and scowled.
It was dark outside. Night had long since fallen, and the stars had come out. The moon, shaped in a crescent, was casting its pale glow upon the earth. From where she was standing, Samantha could easily spot the mass twinkling of celestial bodies in the velvet-colored sky.
Samantha used to love the night. Back when she was a kid living in a small town just off the border of San Diego, she would always go out at night, lay on top of her mother’s trailer, and stargaze. She’d been a fan of the time when the sky was dark, and the moon was out. She used to love it when millions of stars twinkled with an incredible luster, as if God had taken a paintbrush and given the world a masterpiece the likes of which no one would ever be able to replicate.
That was before she had learned about the horrors this world had to offer, before her mother was killed by a vampire, her blood drained and her body turned into a withered husk, a ghoul, a soulless shadow of her former self. After that, Samantha had no longer enjoyed nighttime. How could she? Ever since that moment, whenever the world descended into darkness, all Samantha could think about was how this was the time when mothers, brothers, sisters, fathers—when family members were stolen away by the insatiable hunger of monsters that most humans could never contend with.
Pressing a hand against the glass, her fingers splayed, Samantha stared at her reflection in the mirror. Long raven hair. Blue eyes. Her face was a little long, her chin a little pointed. She had pale skin and dark lips.
She’d never considered herself particularly attractive, though some of the people she corresponded with outside of the Executioners seemed to think otherwise―she’d even caught some people within the Executioners staring at her as she walked by. But to Samantha, when she looked at herself in the mirror, all she saw was a woman with, maybe, slightly above average looks and an athletic build.
Was that why Christian had never taken notice of her? Other than the obvious “Executioners aren’t allowed to fall in love” law, of course.
She sighed. The law about Executioners not being allowed to fall in love was an old law dating back to the middle ages. It had never been changed or removed, but very few members followed the law anymore, which had become obsolete. Christian was the only person she knew aside from one or two others who followed it.
“Commander, I’m done with the shower.”
The voice of Sif intruded upon her thoughts. Samantha turned, taking in the much shorter woman as she walked in. She was wearing nothing more than a simple towel wrapped around her short body, showing so much leg Samantha was sure that if the fabric were any shorter it would reveal much, much more than just her tanned thighs. Another towel was being used to dry her hair. She didn’t appear too concerned about being covered in nothing but a towel in Samantha’s presence.
Modesty was not something most people in the Executioners had, at least when dealing with the same sex. Much like Sif, Samantha had once lived in the barracks where all female Executioners lived. When you don’t have your own facilities and are forced to share a shower with a bunch of other women, things like modesty get shoved down the garbage disposal and then ground into a fine paste.
Objectively speaking, Samantha thought Sif was much more attractive than she was. The younger woman was short, to be sure, but her features were a lot more feminine than her own, soft, gentle, and not nearly as sharp. Except for her eyes. Those two orbs were so sharp they could probably slice through Orichalcum with ease.
“I’m not your commander anymore, Sif,” Samantha said, shaking her head to get rid of her errant thoughts. Maybe it was due to Christian suddenly running off with a woman, but Samantha had found herself checking out other females more and more, wondering what it was that he saw in Lilith that she didn’t have.
She wanted to blame it on the girl being a succubus but found that she really couldn’t. She didn’t know why.
“You will always be my commander, regardless of whether we are still with the Executioners or not,” the other woman replied. Sif set the towel she’d been rubbing her hair dry with on the table, then unwrapped the one around her torso, revealing her full glory to Samantha. When she’d set that on the table as well, she began getting dressed.
Unlike her normal clothing, Sif had chosen to wear basic blue jeans that road a tad low on her hips and a white shirt that stretched across her surprisingly large chest. She was still wearing her duster since it looked at least halfway normal. There was also the fact that the woman couldn’t bear to part with it (“It’s a symbol of everything I’ve been through up to this point,” had been her excuse). On her feet were her normal black boots with a slight elevation. Sif looked down at herself after she finished, clicking her tongue a bit as she pulled at her shirt.
“Still uncomfortable without breast bindings?” asked Samantha.
“I just don’t see why I can’t wear them,” she muttered, huffing a bit as she moved to sit down on her bed. The small bed was the definition of quintessential cheap motel beds. Stiff mattress. White comforter. A basic red quilted blanket folded up and laying at the foot of the bed. Exactly four white, stiff, and uncomfortable pillows. Samantha and Sif had only slept in those for a day―the day before they had gone to rescue Tristin, and they already didn’t like them.
Even Executioners lived in more comfort than this.
“You’ll have to get used to it,” Samantha informed her, moving away from the window and sitting on the chair next to a small table. “Because you’ve always worn those bindings, no one realizes how big your, well, how large your chest is
. That means when they come searching for you, they’ll be looking for someone who has a small, almost nonexistent chest. So long as they don’t give you a closer inspection, they won’t even notice it’s you.”
“That’s true, I guess.”
The sense of sight was an unusual thing. Most people never really noticed the smaller details. If someone were to look at a person’s face, they would only be able to pick out the most obvious details: the color of their eyes, the shape of their nose and face, and whether or not they had any identifying marks. Smaller details tended to get lost during observation.
While certain supernatural races saw the world differently (vampires saw the world in shades of heat, for example), every race still saw people by their physical traits. If the demons were looking for “a short woman with a small chest,” they would completely dismiss “a short woman with a large chest who just happened to have a similar face.”
Sif accepted this, though she still didn’t appear too happy by the prospect of not having her breast bindings. Samantha knew what the problem was. The short woman had always felt uncomfortable with her bust size due to her small stature. She was absolutely tiny, the same size as most middle school girls, but her breasts were huge, bigger even than Samantha’s. When combined with her diminutive stature, her chest stood out, and not in a good way.
Those two things on her chest received more attention than anything else.
“Having these large... things on my chest makes it hard for me to fight. They’re always getting in the way, bouncing around and causing me nothing but trouble. I don’t know why so many women want them. They’re such an inconvenience.”
Of course, she made up the excuse that having them made it harder to fight, which they did, but Samantha knew the real problem.
“I know, but there isn’t much we can do.” Samantha tilted her head just a bit, thinking. “If you really want to, you can still wear the bindings. That will make it easier for them to recognize you, but we might still be able to avoid detection if we’re careful.”
Sif paused before saying anything, her face scrunching just slightly. She appeared to be in deep thought.
“No,” she decided at last, sighing. “Your choice was the correct one. Very few people will recognize me like this. Only those who shared a barracks with me know about my chest, and they’re all dead. We’ll be safer if I just tough it out.” Even though she apparently agreed with Samantha’s decision, she still looked at her chest like it was something disgusting.
A knock at the door sounded out. Samantha and Sif both looked over at the door, then at each other.
“It’s probably the boys,” Sif said, referring to Leon and Tristin. They had their own room, which was across the hall and two doors down.
Sif stood to her feet and walked to the door. Opening it, she looked at the two figures standing outside. From her place near the table, Samantha could see that one of them was massive, easily overshadowing Sif and casting her in slight darkness as the light from the hallway was blocked out by the person’s bulky frame. It was likely Leon. There was no one else she knew who was that large. Her thoughts were confirmed when Sif moved out of the way, opening the door wider, allowing Leon and Tristin to enter.
The two swept into the room, Tristin flouncing onto Samantha’s bed, bouncing several times, a grin like that of a child’s plastered on his face. Leon, on the other hand, walked into the room and took to leaning against the wall near the door, his arms crossed and an uncomfortable look on his face.
“Get off my bed, Tristin! You’re soiling it!”
“Aw! Come on, boss lady!” Tristin modulated his voice into a pitched whine, his blue eyes growing large. “There’s no other place for me to sit. Let me enjoy the lovely strawberry scent of your hair―I mean, your pillows.”
“Tristin,” Samantha hissed in a low, poisonous voice, her eyes narrowed into twin daggers. “You will get off that bed right now or so help me God, I will shove Zaphkiel down your throat!”
Maybe it was the threat of impalement through the mouth, or maybe it was her glare, but Tristin jumped off the bed with a girlish squeak. “Eek! I-I mean, hahaha, yo-you drive a hard bargain, boss lad―I mean Samantha. I’ll just, eh, um, sit over here on the floor. Eh, eh hehe.”
Despite Tristin getting off her bed and sitting on the floor, Samantha continued to glare at the blond-haired pretty boy, prompting him to gulp. She kept this up, watching him squirm underneath her fierce stare, until she was sure he was properly cowed. And then, once she was positive he wouldn’t do or say something stupid, she turned to look at the other male in the group.
“Problem, Leon?” asked Samantha.
“Nah, it’s just...” The large, muscular man paused, then shrugged his shoulders, his face looking put out. “I just feel a bit naked without my hammer, ya know? This is the first time Sandalphon and I have been apart since I became a member of the XIII.”
Samantha nodded, absently rubbing a hand down the long, black case sitting on her table. “I understand how you feel.”
And she did. For members of the XIII like herself, Leon, Sif, and Christian, the bond between wielder and weapon was indispensable. The weapons they possessed were more than just mere weapons. They were an extension of the self, as much a part of them as an arm or leg. To be away from your weapon was similar to having a piece of your body cut off. It was a truly discomfiting feeling.
“But you know we had to leave it in the van. That thing is far too large and conspicuous to be carrying around in public. And it’s too heavy to place in a case.”
“I know, I know.” Leon sighed, scratching at his head. “Doesn’t make me feel any better about it.”
Samantha stared between Sif and Leon before shaking her head. “You two really are birds of a feather, you know that? Sif was saying something very similar just a little while ago.” It might have been about something completely different, but the semblance between their words paralleled each other too much to simply ignore.
It was almost amusing, watching the way Sif and Leon looked over at each other, turned red, and then looked away. Samantha almost snorted. The Executioners really were an inept group when it came to matters of the heart. Not that she could say she was any better.
Coughing into her hand, Samantha decided that it was time she started explaining everything. “Tristin, I know you don’t know about anything what’s happened recently, so before I get into what our next course of action is, I figured I’d tell you what’s been going on while you were imprisoned.”
“That would be nice,” Tristin admitted, shrugging his shoulders, his smile shining and bright. “I feel like I missed out on a lot of stuff. The guards weren’t very talkative, so I never heard any news from the outside.”
“I thought low-level demons like those marionettes couldn’t talk?” Leon said, frowning.
“They can’t.” Sif snorted, crossing her arms under her chest. “Tristin was just being sarcastic.”
“Ah.”
“I figured you would appreciate that,” Samantha started again before anyone could interrupt her. “You should―are you listening to me?”
“Hm?” Tristin didn’t respond when Samantha asked her question.
Narrowing her eyes, the young woman looked over to see what Tristin was staring at. Less than a second later, she was trying to burn a hole through the obnoxious man’s head.
“Tristin, if you don’t stop staring at Sif’s chest right now, I am going to let you experience what it feels like to have three feet of steel shoved through your hindquarters.”
The threatening proclamation prompted a response from everyone in the room. Sif moved her hands to cover her chest and tossed Tristin a ferocious glare. Leon growled, sounding like an angry lion whose pack was just threatened. He, too, gave the most perverse member of their group a stare that contained enough vitriol to fill a pool. On the other hand, Tristin squeaked like a scared mouse, then began searching the room wildly, as if he were looking for a place
to hide or trying to judge the distance between him and the nearest exit. When he realized that he was in the center of the room, surrounded, his frantic eyes turned toward his former boss.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He apologized, clapping his hands over his head and holding them up in a prayer sign. “I couldn’t help it. This is the first time I’ve gone so long without sex, and it’s really getting to me.”
It was most unorthodox, how the rules regarding romance within the Executioners worked. Relationships were forbidden. The act of falling in love was seen as a sign that your loyalties were being split and you were no longer capable of bearing the burden of protecting humanity. At the same time, sex was not forbidden, and there were a number of Executioners, both male and female, who took advantage of this loophole to partake in the act.
Samantha knew the reason for the loophole. Very few Executioners had been religious. Only about ten percent of them had actually been Catholic. The rest were mercenaries hired off the streets. Forcing such harsh restrictions on people like that was akin to lighting a stick of dynamite and then tossing it into a box full of TNT. The Catholic Church had therefore decided to be lenient. The laws that had been established for over one-thousand years, when the Executioners had only numbered in the thousands, were changed as more and more members were needed to help fight off the growing number of supernatural creatures.
She knew this, and she knew that Tristin was one of those people who abused that law every chance he got.
That didn’t mean she had to like it.
“Why would a lack of sex―” Samantha started, but quickly shook her head. “You know what, I don’t want to know. I really don’t. And I don’t care what your problem is either. Stop ogling Sif and start focusing.”
“Right. Got it. No more ogling Sif. Just let me write this down in my notepad.”
Samantha rolled her eyes, aware that the young man was trying to play off his anxiety and fear of the two former XIII members. Idiot. “Now that Tristin’s moment of stupid has passed, I should start by telling you that it’s been exactly three weeks and one day since your incarceration.”
Enclave Page 9
