Page 2 of The House of Whispers

Thirteen? Very impressive.

The woman rose, wiping her gloves across her leather pants. She glanced around her, checking her surroundings. Satisfied with her work, she began to retreat down the alley. I stood, watching as she walked further away, dissolving like a ghost in the dark night.

Who are you?

Such curiosity filled my veins. I couldn’t just let her leave. I needed to know more. I cautiously tailed her like a shadow. I feltdrawnto her. Something about this woman reeled me in. She was a murderous little ghost…and I desperately needed to know more.

The mysterious woman remained concealed amongst the shadows as she made her way through the maze of the alleys, eventually approaching the back door of a brothel. This wasn’t any typical brothel—this was The House of Whispers.

The House of Whispers wasn’t located far from the woman’s crime scene. My crime scenes.

It seems we share hunting grounds, little ghost.

The back door of the infamous brothel flung open, sending a burst of warm light into the cold, foggy night. The young fairfolk from before leaped from within the brothel, her wings fluttering as she quickly yanked the woman inside.

“Did anyone see you?” The fairy shot her head out of the doorway and into the night, nervously glancing to either side of the alley.

“No, Min,” the woman rolled her eyes, removing her blood-soaked gloves, “I know what I’m doing.”

I stood at the steps of the door staring up at the two women, listening, as the fairy swung the door shut, locking it behind them. Her voice was muffled as she spoke.

“One can never be too careful, Casper.”

Ah, Casper. What a fitting name.

I stepped back, examining the structure of the vintage brothel house.Now, Imustknow more about you, dear Casper.

I quickly sprinted to the side of the brothel, examining the vintage building. My eyes spied numerous misplaced bricks that trailed up the wall from the street to the top of the building. Without a second thought, I took my chance, carefully scaling the wall of the brothel. As I climbed higher, I peeked into every window, my hungry anticipation growing as I searched until I found her. She was in a corner room on the highest floor of the building. Casper stood inside a small washroom and had begun drawing herself a bath that steamed up the single glass window. Perching outside the window, I leered closer, enticed as she removed her blood-soaked clothing and lowered herself into an old copper tub. She was beautiful…alluring, like a deadly flower drawing in her prey before consuming it entirely. She wasmine.

The old clock tower chimed in the distance, alerting me to the hour. I turned to spy the faint growing glow of sunrise.

How disappointing.Our time together had been cut short.

My gaze returned to Casper, watching as she splashed her face with the hot water, washing the blood from her skin. The dirty streams dripped down her pale skin, running along her bare breasts. An old circular brand, smaller than the size of my palm, lay burned across her heart. As the dead man’s blood ran along her skin, mixing into the water of the tub, she breathed hard, inhaling the thick metallic air around her.

You like the smell of it, don’t you?

The clock tower chimed again, causing me to groan in frustration.

Time to leave.I turned, glancing once more upon death’s beautiful face.

The game has just begun, little ghost.

A sudden creak in the floor alerted me as I shot up in my bed, a knife firmly gripped in my palm. My heart raced as my eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness of the room. I sat, half risen, naked beneath the scratchy sheets—listening. The room was pitch black minus faint beams of moonlight peaking through the small window that peered into the alley below.

Another soft creak.

I snapped the fingers of my left hand, and a flicker of amethyst magik escaped my fingertips, igniting the candles positioned throughout the room. Sitting in the old chair at the head of my bed was a man. He was dressed in a long black tailcoat, his rusty, floral-patterned vest stained in splattered blood. Fresh blood. I could smell the metallic tang in the air. He bore an eerie fox mask, small droplets of old blood cast across the muzzle. A large black top hat rested above his henna-colored hair. His presence startled me, but I remained calm as a wave of mixed emotions flooded my veins.

“What do you want, Jakkal?”

He tilted his head, staring at me, his eyes completely concealed beneath the mask.

For months, I’d felt an eerie presence grow, shadowing me in the night. Until a few weeks ago, I had no idea of his existence—until that one fateful night.

I had been walking back to the House of Whispers, my home, when a trio of men ambushed me. They appeared out of nowhere, knocking me into an alley wall and laughing as they drank from dark glass bottles. I tried to escape, fleeing for a moment, but they chased after me, pulling me back into the alley. Two of the men stretched my arms against the wall as the third chugged the remnants in the dark glass bottle. He slurred his perverse threats as I spat in his face. I closed my eyes, preparing myself for what was coming, when suddenly the man went silent. As I opened my eyes, Jakkal appeared. He slaughtered the men without sound or hesitation. I remained frozen, too startled to move as I watched him carve their bodies, continuing the carnage after their souls had faded from their lips. He seemed to enjoy the overkill. A weird sensation overcame me as I continued to watch him. He was no stranger to death.

After he finished, he rose, sliding his knife beneath his vest as he inched closer. He only stared at me, stopping close enough that I could smell the blood on him.

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