Things lie in wait in the darkness.
I've known this fact my whole life. I can hear the werewolves howling at a blood-soaked
moon in the park across town, and the scratch of a Warlock’s nails on the wall
of Red’s tavern. I hear these things because I’m one of the Daughters of the
Moon, a small group of female Witch Hunters with magical abilities passed down
through generations, whose sole purpose is to protect mankind from Warlocks and
Witches.
I take a sip of my
bloody Mary, savouring the spices dancing on my tongue.
"Another?"
A shadow covers my face as the russet haired bartender squares his muscular
shoulders expectantly, shielding my eyes from the glow of the industrial
pendant light hanging behind him.
"Not tonight Red,
I've got places to be." I grab my jacket from the back of the stool and
make my way toward the door, nodding my head in Red's direction as I go. I shoulder
the door open and the frigid air hits me, clearing my head from the chaos of
the bar.
I look up at a
moon glowing an unearthly shade of crimson in a sky of obsidian. The atmosphere
bubbles like a volcano ready to erupt at any moment; it’s the perfect night for
hunting.
I shrug into my
jacket and let the night take me, my ears keenly pricked to the whirr and hiss
of the city. I know he's around here somewhere, I heard him just moments
before, screeching those talons on the red brick.
I walk toward
where I heard the noise and pick up his syrupy scent in a second. My skin
prickles with anticipation, he wants me to find him.
My steps quicken
and I crouch low as the sickly-sweet smell of him coats the air. He's close,
I'll have that bastard soon.
Reaching my hand
around my back I grasp the hilt of my dagger, caressing my fingers along the
edge of my blade. I round the corner quickly and find him leaning against the
wall, his face half covered by a black velvet top hat. He absently picks his
fingers and I force my dagger against his throat.
Bloody cocky these
Warlocks are, they think they're invincible. I press harder on the edge of the
blade where it rests on his neck, willing the blood to the surface.
I can feel the
blood lust, my body humming with the promise of the kill. I begin sliding the
blade across his throat, edging closer to his jugular when he lifts his finger
and clicks his tongue.
"I wouldn't
do that if I were you." The corner of his mouth hitches into a smug smile.
"You would
say that wouldn't you, rodent?" My teeth bare on the last word and I push
my body closer to his, preventing any last hope of escape.
"I mean, if
you don't want to know anything about your sister, go ahead." My mouth becomes
dry and my insides feel like they’re being gripped in a vice. How could he know
anything about her?
"What do you
mean? My sister died years ago-" I stop myself from sounding too
desperate, I've known these beasts to say anything to spare their own lives.
But part of me needs to hear him say differently.
"Kill me, and
you'll never find out." His smile stretches into a full grin; he knows he
has me.
"How about
you fucking tell me before I slit your throat?" The anger fighting its way
to the surface, threatening to break free and splatter any promise of truth
onto the pavement.
His bony fingers
wriggle in front of my face and I fight the urge to angle my blade and cut each
one off of his outstretched hand. His silence feels like an eternity, then at
last he begins to speak. Only two words, but they are enough to shake me.
"She's
alive." His features relax into a cool calculating look, and for a moment I
think he looks different to the lizard-like Warlock I encountered moments
before. He looks almost human.
I drop my blade a
fraction of an inch and wait for him to elaborate. These fucking Warlocks are
all about dramatics.
"Speak to
Nysgar, she knows more." The sincerity disappearing as his cocky
expression resurfaces.
"Where can I
find her?" I level my stare to meet his green speckled eyes. No, I think. There's nothing human in
those soulless pits. He's a mixed blood monster.
I remember the
first time I found out about Warlocks; it was a scorching day in August, the
city air electrified with the promise of an oncoming storm. Cyra and I were
playing on the swings in the park, our mother’s honey blonde hair swept across
her face as she fretted that we were swinging too high. She was so focused on
us that she didn't see the man approach from behind her, not that you'd call
him a man exactly. His skin was tinged an unearthly shade of green and a large
scar stretched from the corner of his right eye down to his lip. He slipped my
mother an envelope which she shoved into her coat pocket, but not before I saw
the emerald seal that held it closed. As soon as the man was gone she hurried
over to us, ushering us away from the park.
I remember she
looked scared. Our mother, who feared nothing, was scared.
"Who was that
mama?" Cyra asked. Too young to understand that when someone's face looked
like their entire world had just cracked apart, you don't ask questions.
The Warlock’s honey
coated tone guides me back to the present.
“Go to the
Hollyhock Hotel, you’ll find Nysgar there.”
He snaps his
fingers, the air shimmers and he disappears right in front of me. I must have
loosened my grip on him because he’d never have been able to use a vanishing
spell with my blade at his throat. Normally, I’d be pissed that he escaped and
chase him to the ends of the earth to kill him. But not now, because one single
thought fills my head.
I need to get to
the Hollyhock Hotel.
***
Time hurls by when you’re racing
toward the person you love. It has only been 10 minutes but I’m already half
way there, dipping my motorbike in and out of traffic at breakneck speeds. For years,
I’d thought my sister dead, killed by the same people who murdered my mother. I
only had one clue, one thing that the murderers left behind, a letter with an
emerald seal. The past decade I’ve been searching the lore books, interrogating
Warlocks and all this time she could have been a mere 20 minutes away?
I pull up to the
hotel’s parking lot and gaze up at the building, the sandstone bricks crumbling
and falling apart, the once grand pillars that line the front of the hotel
dilapidated and decaying. This place could have been nice once, but it’s clear
that no-one’s cared for it in years.
I walk carefully
through the front doors, picking my feet around the rubble that blocks the
doorway. I couldn’t imagine anyone being here, but I call out just in case.
“Hello?” My voice
sounds louder than it is and it ricochets off the spiral staircase that
dominates the centre of the hotel. It looks even crappier inside, a chandelier
swings above the stair case, the light bulbs all blown from what I can see.
Luckily with my senses that won’t be a problem, I can see in the dark better
than the daylight.
“Aysel. I’ve been
wondering when you’d turn up,” a soft voice purrs from the top of the
staircase.
“Who’s there? Show
yourself!” I yell, grabbing another dagger from my boot and tucking it up my
sleeve.
“Oh, I think you
know who I am.”
My eyes shift as
she begins to descend the stairs; her silver hair catches the moonlight that
shines through the broken window.
“Nysgar.” I
breathe. I’d heard stories of her, the great Witch who murders for sport and
uses her victim’s body parts in the dark spells she creates.
“Correct. I must
admit, I expected more from you, being a Daughter of the Moon and all that… Or,
are you not as smart as mummy dearest?” A predatory spark flashes in her topaz eyes
and a lump forms in my throat.
My mother was an
incredibly skilled hunter; I remember reading about her exploits in one of the
lore books I’d found in the library at home. I, on the other hand, had only
just been going through my training when she died. The rest of my skills I’ve
picked up on the streets whilst interrogating Warlocks for information. But how
could she know my mother? Unless…
“Did you kill her?” To my annoyance, I stumble on the
last word.
She’s standing
just inches from me now. Shit. I forgot how fast Witches can move. I’m not on
the ball tonight, I’ve let myself be distracted by thoughts of Cyra and my
mother.
She leans forward
slowly and cups my cheek as if to kiss it, her lips brush my ear and whispers
so quietly I barely catch it.
“Yes.”
I wrench my dagger
free of its scabbard on my back and slash the air in front of me, but I’m too
late. The bitch is gone.
“Come out and fight
me!” I howl, my voice lupine with frustration.
“I knew that if I
told Morden to say your sister was still alive you’d come skipping into my
trap. You see, I’ve been hunting your kind down for the past decade and you’re
the last one left.”
Meaning I’m the
last one on earth that can kill her. The magic blood of the Daughters of the
Moon paired with my daggers are the only things in existence that has the power
to kill a Witch or Warlock. If I die, the world is defenceless against these
vile creatures, they’d be free to murder and plunder all they wish. I can’t let
that happen.
She’s nowhere to be
seen in the hallway, which means there’s only one place she can go. Without
thinking I hurl myself up the staircase, my feet taking several steps at a
time.
“You killed my
mother and my sister! I will kill you for this Witch!”
My heartbeat rings
out in my ears and I rush into one of the open rooms on the landing. Once
inside, I walk slowly through the room analysing every possible escape route. Once
I have her I can’t let her get away again. I’ve waited too long for this.
“You’re honestly telling
me that after all this time searching you’re going to hide away? Not the
terrifying Witch warrior I heard you to be it seems.”
Provoking her is a
dangerous move but I’ve got to try it, I’ve grown tired of waiting for my
revenge. I hear a hiss down the hall, her voice getting closer.
“Do you want to
hear about how they screamed? Oh, how they begged for their lives, it was music
to my ears!”
I drop into a
crouch and angle my dagger in front of me, poised to kill. She appears in the
doorway and the words she says next almost break me.
“I think I still
have a particularly lovely potion in the basement with some of their body parts
in, if you’d like to see what’s left of them?” Nysgar says, venom leaking from
every pore of her viridian skin.
I dive toward her
slashing and piercing the air with my dagger as I go. The blood pounds in my
ears and my only thought is that I must kill her. She snaps her fingers and my
dagger plunges into thin air and I growl with frustration.
I feel an icy cold
hand grasp my wrist, my dagger slips out of my hand and drops to the floor with
the shock of it. Nysgar lets out a low chuckle as she slings me across the
room, my body landing on the floor like a broken ragdoll.
“You’re going to
have to do much better than that, Darling.”
Before I can draw breath,
she’s hovering over me, her yellow eyes dancing at the blood gushing from my
leg.
“I’m going to
enjoy this very much,” she says, readying her iron claws to strike at my
jugular.
This is not the
way I’m going to die. There’s no way in hell I’ve come this far to not get
revenge for what this vile bitch did to my family. In that moment, I remember
the dagger I hid up my sleeve earlier. I shimmy it down into the palm of my
hand and with my last ounce of strength, I plunge the blade into Nysgar’s
throat.
Nysgar snatches
her hand away and starts clawing at the dagger lodged in her windpipe, her
screams guttural as she drowns in her own blood.
“I
told you I’d kill you for what you did,” I say, smiling as her body slumps to
the floor.
