by J. E.
She could only follow him into the night as he began to lead her across the yard to the gate. His scent came to her, musky, masculine, but hinted with strange spices that made her think of the desert.
“What are your plans?” he asked, his voice strangely accented as he quietly manipulated the gate open then closed.
“I thought you were supposed to inform me of my plans,” Anjasa shrugged. “Take care of his problem. Perfectly, it was suggested.” She felt uneasy, and there was so much she wanted to ask the man, but she didn’t dare. Not yet.
He led her on down the street, turning into one alley, then another. The strange man had no fear of the lower class district’s dark ways. “You are going to convince him you have found the location of the will,” he said in that same almost melodic accent, his voice deep and dark. “Beneath Zarach’s family crypt. You will lead him there. And I will take care of him.” He glanced back at her for a moment, the tall killer—for she sensed it off him without needing further evidence—moved with such a liquid grace. “Unless you have a better idea.”
Her heart pounded with each step, and for a brief moment, she wondered if she could do even that. Condemn a man who had done her no wrong, simply for being lazy. Simply for being a noble, she corrected herself.
She didn’t have many options, that much was true. At least in regards to saving Loren. Unless she could slip them both away into safety, they’d both end up dead. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. Even if she didn’t comply, Loren would die, with or without her help. The man couldn’t even be bothered to fight for his inheritance, let alone take it back. He was useless. He was no threat.
He’d let her go in there without warning as to the true nature of his relative, though, and shouldn’t he have at least warned her of that? Of what might happen—to both of them—if she were caught?
“I can’t think of anything else, but then, I haven’t much sleep,” she gave him a calm smile as she didn’t stray from his side.
He said no more then, the long silence dragging on until she realized she was back in front of Loren’s place. The nameless killer turned his gaze upon her at the end of the dark alley. “You will go in alone, but I will always be near.” His eyes, dark but holding some strange ethereal aspect, turned towards the building. “Go, before he drinks himself into an unusable state.” He added, somehow knowing, “The door is unlocked.”
“Thanks,” she murmured as she walked across the street.
She took a breath as she put her hand to the door, letting herself in, silently. She had to find some way, somehow to warn Loren, but what options did she have? She thought back to their night together, and it hadn’t been bad. A somewhat standard tryst, but he had made her happy, if only for a while. That had to be worth something.
She’d killed before. She’d been cruel and heartless, and she knew that at some point she would pay for her sins. But that wasn’t who she wanted to be, and as she walked through his home, she dreaded what Zarach had awakened in her. She’d wanted it. She wanted him, what he’d offered her.
That terrified her. Was she so easily controlled?
She knew the answer, just as quick as she’d had the thought. Yes. Powerful men; they could take her and bend her to their will with just their commanding presence. She headed towards Loren’s bedroom.
She heard him before she saw him, his voice carrying out of the open room where she’d slept with him the previous night. He was singing. Morosely.
Pushing the door open she saw him sat there, near the open balcony door. He was reclined in his chair, his fine jacket and shirt undone, leaving his chest exposed as a bottle dangled from his one hand. That brown hair of his was an appealing mess, but he hadn’t noticed her.
She moved into the room quietly, observing him with such sorrow in her eyes. She didn’t care about the trinkets and baubles that Zarach had bought her. She would always have stuff, be able to get more when she cared to. What she wanted was something deeper, and far more dangerous.
As the self—pitying young man lifted his bottle to his lips he turned his head towards it and caught sight of her. “Fuck!” he exclaimed and jumped in his seat, dropping the wine with a loud clatter, the contents spilling out onto the floor. “You fuckin’ snuck right up on me!”
She smiled, trying to hide the melancholy that lingered there. “I was enjoying your song.” Anjasa bent down, picking up the bottle of wine. “How much have you drank today?”
He tugged his jacket down and ran a hand over his hair, trying to regain some measure of composure as he looked around, then up and over her. “I thought somethin’ had happened,” he murmured. “You... sided with him or somethin’,” he said. With a rub of his eyes he said, “Not that much drink,” and she knew that couldn’t be true.
“You didn’t give me much warning about what type of man he was. It took me longer than I anticipated to find the will.” She forced her fingers not to twitch as she handed him the bottle back. “You aren’t looking well.”
Loren took the bottle back in hand and pushed himself up. To his credit he didn’t wobble , or perhaps he simply wasn’t as drunk as she first thought. “I told you I don’t know much about him, really,” he said, lifting the bottle and taking a drink before offering it to her. A slight smile crept onto his lips. “I shouldn’t have doubted you though... you just...” he actually blushed a little, “you seemed too good to be true.”
She swore her heart broke a little and she forced a smile to her lips. She wanted to be his saviour. That was the person she wanted to be, someone who helped people.
That wasn’t the person she was.
“Look, go wash your face with cold water. Wake yourself up. I’ll go make you some coffee and we’ll head out together, okay?”
He began following her instructions right away, even as he questioned, “Where are we going?” He went to the washroom and splashed some water from the basin there into his face. “You seriously found it?” and his excitement was rising. It was slow to take off, probably a result of his long, depression driven drinking.
“Do you know anything about his family crypts, Loren?” She was hopeful that even he could help her save him, but in the state he was, she could have easily taken him out on her own if she cared to. She didn’t have any doubt that the fearsome man across the street would have no trouble with it, even as she did her best to try to make him alert.
Loren ran his wet fingers through his hair, slicking it back before he toweled off his face. “No. Why would I?” he said with some confusion. “Two different branches of the family,” he explained, though a small smile crept onto his face. “Damn I missed you,” he said, tossing the towel away and then stepping towards her to take hold of her hand. “I’m going to make you such a lucky girl once I have my inheritance,” and his face lit up with his cresting joy.
Damn it, damn it, damn it. She smiled, but her stomach lurched. Why had she spent the day with him? She’d been hoping to spend the night, to be able to look around while Zarach slept, but he was far too smart for that. She knew that now. He was a bright man, cunning, capable. He got what he wanted, and right now he wanted her to suffer, and Loren to die.
She wasn’t enthused for either of those things, right now. She also knew, though, that seeing Zarach again would weaken any of her resolve and she’d beg, like the trained slut she was. “Well, we need to act fast, before he realises we’re onto him.”
Loren nodded, squeezed her hand and then began to do up his shirt and jacket once more. “You’re right. There’s no time to waste.” He was grinning as he tugged her hand towards the door, “Come on. You’ve done so well, but there’s just a bit more to distance to close!”
“Yep,” Anjasa sighed. Just a little bit more before all Zarach’s loose ends were tied up. She glanced around outside Loren’s house, looking for the man she knew she wouldn’t see.
Chapter 6
There was no sign of the mysterious stranger all the way to the graveyard. The streets were only light
ly populated so late at night, and the graveyard itself was devoid of all life.
To his credit Loren had enough forethought to bring equipment, including a lantern he used to guide them, checking the noble family crypts in search of the one they were after. “It should be around here, I’d imagine,” he murmured in the dark of the night.
How was she going to get him out of this? She was already wrenched with guilt and fear. There were two choices, and both demanded perfection. Either she disappeared the both of them, running away with nothing to their name and an utter reliance on her to earn their way.
Or she’d have to get him killed.
Either way she’d end up selling herself, she mused with some annoyance. Why did Loren have to be so useless in the first place? She deflected the blame onto him and even though it felt good for a time, it soon passed and left her with nothing but despair.
Loren paused before one crypt. “Here!” he hissed into the silence of the graveyard. The lantern’s light revealed the family crest, and when the young noble reached for the barred gate over the crypt’s entrance it swung open. “It’s unlocked...” he said breathlessly.
“Lucky for us,” she mused, and her hand found his forearm, holding herself to him. “I’ve never been in a crypt before,” she admitted honestly. She knew what would happen to her. The moment she saw violence, the minute she saw that hired thug take Loren’s life, she’d be putty once more, lost in a haze of lust, and she hated herself already. “Be careful.”
Loren’s doubts and suspicions seemed to fade, and he took her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly as he smiled to her. “Don’t worry. It seems the place has been in use with the lock open and all, but that makes sense if he’s hidden the will in there. He just got careless. I’ll protect you if we’re caught in the act anyhow,” he said, leaning over and giving her lips an angled kiss, his eyes glittering in the lantern light.
He pressed his body into the crypt’s stone door, sliding it aside with a few heavy grunts.
She had to do something. She wanted to scream at him to run, but she knew that they were being watched. She had no way to warn him without risking her own life. She had to trust that he’d be able to escape, and her with him, without being caught by that... man. She hesitated to even call him that, for he didn’t seem like a mere human.
“Loren,” she said breathlessly, but there was nothing more to say. Not then. She was trapped.
“It’s okay,” he murmured back to her, leading the way as he pushed into the darkness.
The light of the lantern didn’t travel far, but she could see the outlines of the stone tombs. The rows of shelves that held each protected dead relative. “Do you know where in here?” he asked quietly, as if afraid to break the silence. “I’d rather not start popping open tombs and rooting through corpses, Anj,” the familiar name rolling off his tongue so easily.
Her fingers clutched into him, trying to give him a sign. A warning. “I don’t know, Loren. I just know it’s somewhere in here. We’ll just have to be alert.” She tried to emphasize the words in the most subtle way possible, but she knew that it was far more likely that Zarach’s hired hand would figure it out before Loren.
Loren inspected the rows. As he trailed down he noticed something, rather uncannily. “Hey... you see this, Anj?” he asked, and as he indicated to the floor she could make it out: markings upon the stone that indicated something had been dragged out repeatedly. “Here,” he said, handing her the lantern as he went to take hold of the intricate stone carved statue there, trying to push it out of the way.
She took the lantern and held it near him as she took the chance to glance around the rest of the room. Her heart thudded hard, and she was afraid Loren could hear it but he was too distracted. “Hurry,” she whispered.
It’s okay,” he assured her before putting extra effort into pushing that statue aside. He groaned with the effort, but finally it slowly began to move. It made no noise, the stone smooth where it had been moved repeatedly. Tension held the air for she knew that dark killer couldn’t be far off. Why hadn’t he struck yet? He’d said he’d be following. There was no way she could’ve lost him on the trip there.
Her thoughts were stolen from her as Loren gasped and she looked, seeing a stairway that descended down beneath the crypt. “It’s... it’s a hidden entrance to... something,” he remarked with confusion.
Was he waiting down there? She gripped the lantern harder. “That’s probably where it is.” Her voice felt so choked off. She glanced around the room again, looking for a potential weapon.
All she could see of potential use was a bottle of wine someone had left as an offering to one of the deceased, and she plucked it up before following Loren down into the dark.
The stairs went down at least a story into the ground before it leveled off and they entered into a wider area. Though before she saw anything she smelled something off. “What is that?” asked the young noble, and the metallic tang in the air was so oddly familiar. It came to Anjasa from her memory quickly: blood.
Already she felt her knees weaken in fear, and she knew this was the place. Her steps slowed, and she begged her hand not to tremble. How many people had Zarach killed down here?
It filled her nostrils, and her stomach felt queasy. “Blood,” she whispered, and it was so quiet she wasn’t even sure Loren could hear it.
Continuing undaunted, Loren probed further into the stone catacomb. It was big, so big that neither of them could tell at all how much further it extended. Though still holding the lamp in one hand, when she heard a soft groan to one side she turned the lamp in that direction she saw something more alarming than she’d anticipated: a lone woman, in the tattered remains of a dancer’s outfit lay on the other side of a barred cage, blood pouring down from her head or neck across her torso.
She was still alive, but so deathly pale and weak it was hard for Anjasa to say if she’d have a chance at surviving if she was freed then and there.
Anger rose in her but she forced her scream to die in her chest. Her breath came harder and she looked around, panic making her more alert. She would not die down here. She would not let Loren die down here. There was a way out of this, she simply didn’t know it yet. She refused to look at the dancer again, but her heart ached.
“Loren,” she said again. “I don’t like this.”
Her heart stilled. There was no response.
No sound permeated the catacomb. Even the sickly dancer, on death’s doorstep, neither moved nor groaned further.
As her panic began to rise she finally heard something, the sound of scuffing upon the floor. It too went quiet immediately after, though it came from deeper ahead, out of the range of her lantern.
She instinctively didn’t believe it could be the killer. He’d never be so careless as to make a sound like that. Her lantern lifted as she took a step forward. She could feel the prickly heat grow under her jacket, and her hair began to stick to her forehead.
Following after the sound all she caught was a glimpse of a booted foot seemingly kicking out in her direction that vanished ahead. She followed it, though just as she nearly gave up in futility she found it: Loren’s body. Still and upon its back.
Before she could see his face, she felt something. A hand landed upon her shoulder, obviously strong as it pulled her about to stare at the visage of the dark, stony killer, towering over her, still and quiet.
Her shoulders slumped. She had nothing to say, and even her thoughts seemed to have gone quiet. All there was was a sense of failure, of once more leading someone she liked to their doom. It was a feeling that never grew easier to cope with.
In the dark of that catacomb he stared down at her in her misery a while. He observed her wallowing, and it was some time before he said, “You did well in luring him here.” The statement simple and direct, uttered in that strangely foreign manner, so deep and dark.
“Would you classify it as perfect?” she asked, trying to hold back her bitterness, her an
gry rebellion. It was too late.
It had no observable effect upon him either way. He held her shoulder in the same precise grip, still watched her with his deathly gaze. “You wished that man to live, did you not?” he asked in his exotic way. “Yet you led him here all the same. Why is that?”
“I wish for me to live more,” she admitted. That was what it boiled down to. She wasn’t willing to try to lead Loren away if it meant that her life was going to be put at risk.
Was there shame in that?
Certainly the dark killer before her understood that sort of reasoning, though he showed no sign of it. “You think sacrificing him will help secure your life with Zarach?” he asked in his sinister voice, his hand still holding her in place as he studied her with unblinking eyes. “By now you’ve been able to discern he is a fickle, cruel man.”
She laughed and gave a slight nod. “Well. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.” Her eyes rose to him, narrowed in her curiosity before she glanced away and lowered the lantern. “It seems good enough for you.”
The silence hung between them in that dark space. He was slow getting to his words. “You would do this thing for a slight hope of securing your own life. What would you do for something real?” he asked, and she felt she could see it there: some faint flicker of change in his cold eyes. She had something he wanted.
Anjasa was a survivor. If ever there was a word to describe her, that was it. She’d been through the pits of hell. She’d fucked and pleased men, demons, and worse things still. She’d dared people to take her life and still she clung to it, after so many years. After so many close calls, tempting death like was something she craved.
Yet still she survived and persevered.
“What it takes,” she answered honestly. She wasn’t above putting other people’s lives beneath her own, and sometimes that even gave her a sadistic thrill. She’d felt something for Loren, however fleeting, but it was mostly pity. It wasn’t an emotion she had much time for, and already she was finding her mourning period had begun to pass.
