Page 11 of Malcolm

Eliza wrapped her arms around herself. “I know.”

“And I want something, this—werewolf has it. Get it, and we can be free.”

Eliza bit her bottom lip and gave a short nod. “I will do it. Promise.”

“My child, it is not a promise but a command.”

The shiver abated, and she swallowed. The world wasn’t a kind place. Everything in it came with a price tag, and Eliza had made a deal with the higher being as she hung on the edge of death. She had been so angry and hurt that if the devil had held out a gun to her, she would have sold her soul for it. Instead, she’d gotten an ancient goddess who wanted to kill those who’d captured her as much as she did.

Death wasn’t scary, but the fact that those who’d done this to her were still living was; her rage couldn’t cool. She felt guilty for using Malcolm for her own agenda, but she’d finished playing the damsel when she’d watched the life drain from Ashe’s eyes.

She closed her eyes and felt the familiar sensation of vertigo. When she reopened them, she was standing atop the building, watching the traffic as it sped by. This place held rotting corpses under its streets, and one of them wore golden robes. She would get the goddess what she needed and then use her newfound powers to tear those people apart.

She sat on the railing and let her legs swing back and forth. In the morning, she’d try to convince Malcolm to let her stop by her old apartment; there were a few things she needed to get before they left.

She relaxed to the song of the city below and the rushing traffic. The bite of cool air made her smile.

Here’s to being a damsel with a secret. She slipped down off the railing and out of sight.

Death and Dolls

Jamison

Jamison sat in the back of the large truck as he read through the case file he’d been handed after they’d finished packing the last unanimated bodies onto the transport truck. He clicked his teeth as he flipped the pictures of the bodies that had been found piled near an incinerator in the basement of the now condemned building.

The light of his phone flashed where it sat in the seat beside him. Picking it up, he looked at the message from his wife andsighed. He wasn’t likely going to be able to get home before midnight, so he sent the body across from him an annoyed look.

It was his luck to be on duty when this doll house was discovered. It was clear someone was running a huge operation here. The equipment that had been found was costly, and some of the items had even been donated to a hospital in the local area after having been cleaned and searched for clues.

“What were you made for?” he asked aloud as he looked at the bodies. Some part of him had felt weary the minute he discovered the line of oversized vials.

He shook his head, but there wasn’t any point in thinking too hard about it. Returning his eyes to his phone, he started to think about what he’d write to his wife when the truck gave a violent lurch. His phone slipped from his hands, hitting the floor. On reflex, he grabbed the empty seat beside him.

“Jeff,” he yelled, jerking his eyes to the front of the truck, but before he could get a clear view of what was happening, the entire truck swerved abruptly to the right, and he felt his world tilt on its axis.

The sound of metal tearing apart filled the air. He coughed as he frantically searched for the buckle that held him in place. “J-Jeff,” he shouted once more. His only answer was a masculine scream followed by rapid gunfire.

Finding the buckle, he pulled himself from the seat and hissed at the painful sensation coming from his right leg. Looking down, he could finally feel the burning pain of the hand’s width glass that stuck out of his leg. Cursing, he looked towards the front, only to see a shadow standing before one of the large Vials.

Their entire visage was in shadow, but the long scythe in their right hand and head in the other told him they weren’t friends.

“Who are you,” he demanded, his eyes searching frantically for his phone.

The stranger didn’t respond; they quietly walked forward, letting the head fall from their fingers.

His eyes widened, and he tried to maneuver but knew there wasn’t anywhere he could escape. The sound of guns going off told him the two jeeps that had been following behind the transport truck were under attack. “Stop, do you know what you’re doing?” he demanded. “This is a violation of the Human-Being Treaty.”

The flickering lights overhead brought their visage into view as the person drew closer. He flinched at the terrible crisscrossing of marks on the person's face; all on the right side, it looked like someone had hacked at their face.

“You humans love your rules,” the person said, stopping far away. A blue smoke rose from their feet, filling the space. The truck's walls vibrated, and the vials shook. “But your rules are only enforced by the powerful.” One by one, the Vials shattered. “I don’t follow them because I am powerful.” He grinned just as each vial exploded open and the sound of unanimated bodies moved, climbing from their vials; some hopped down. The scythe in his hand changed and morphed into a long sword, and before Jamison could release a scream, a line appeared between his lips. The upper half of his face slid right before it plopped to the ground, followed by his body.

The smoke evaporated, and the back of the truck was ripped open.

“Did you find her, Lugh?” a tight British voice asked from the opening. Eyes behind square-rimmed glasses narrowed on the bodies that all stood in a semblance of order. “Tsk, no, you haven’t.”

Lugh nodded, walking out of the back onto the street lit by the jeeps' fires. “It would seem she wasn’t in this batch of stock. Phen.”

“Well, shit,” a disappointed voice came from a red-headed male who was dragging a human soldier in black camo behind him. “I kept this one alive for nothing then,” he ignored his struggles, lifted him before him, and rammed his clawed hand into the man’s chest. Tearing his heart out, he let the soldier's body drop. He twisted the heart this way, and that was before giving it a sniff, and then he grimaced. “Ah shit, he was a smoker.” He tossed the heart aside. “What a waste of good meat.”

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