[story] dead of night
author: akimoto taiki (shirokaras)
email: veldspar [at] hotmail.com
Celestin sighed as he leaned against the grimy brick wall, swearing under his breath at his luck. It was the seventh night he'd been staking out this warehouse on the docks, and still no luck. And to add insult to injury, someone upstairs had felt him pitiful enough to start crying, and he was getting seriously wet despite his greatcoat.
Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, Celestin glared at the towering double doors from the shadows, willing something to happen so he could either get out of the rain and do something, or just get out of the rain and go home. He'd already been wondering over the last two nights if he was wasting his time with this... commission, and the weather was not helping his convictions.
The source of the commission was already something that'd set a slow, throbbing headache in motion. He usually had nothing against young attractive women asking for helping tracking down loved ones, or asking for assistance with regards to possible infidelity from their spouses, or even passing him propositions from their employers for incriminating information about corporate rivals. This particular young lady, however, was a true piece of work.
She'd been well-dressed, yes, but one didn't usually wear strange thin golden chains with links in a maize motif with a formal business suit. She hadn't given him her name either, only her title, which was on its own more than a little peculiar. He'd never heard of the Conclave of Diviners, nor did her strange introduction regarding their mission of prediction and location of significant events that would affect the fate of the world help to allay any of his suspicions at her relative lack of sanity.
Still, he thought as he sighed again, the offer was intriguing, and he'd been getting rather tired of the run of the mill cases he'd been plagued with recently. As silly as it sounded, he was fascinated at her plea.
"Please, you're the only one who can help us. You must, or the world as we know it will be in dangerous peril."
He cringed a little as he remembered her words. Still, she'd seemed so earnest and sincere that he'd found it a little hard to refuse, even with the paltry remuneration that they'd offered in exchange for his services. Besides, she'd let slip knowledge of some of his more obscure investigations over the years that meant she, or whoever she represented, knew of him, and probably knew, or at least suspected, what he was.
In other words, I'm a sucker for beautiful women. he thought to himself sardonically as he continued to glower at the door. This wasn't the first time he'd been stupid enough to agree to silly requests like this, and he had the horrible feeling it wouldn't be the last. Still, the task was so vague it grated on his nerves. All she said was that the event would happen around the docks within the next fortnight, would portend an 'age of destruction and anarchy', and what he needed to do would be immediately apparent.
He cringed again as he sighed once more. He'd already wasted a week around the docks, and all that walking around the seedy side streets and trolling the various establishments for information was starting to drive him insane. While he'd dug up more information about his other projects, there was absolutely no information about what this lady had expected to happen. There'd been no strange ships, no cargo that seemed out of place, and no unconventional or outlandish people had come to town under any circumstances, suspicious or not. Nothing had happened, nothing seemed likely to, and contemplating another week of this pointless searching was enough to make him feel like tearing out his hair at the roots.
Still, a job was a job, and his conscience wouldn't let him just discard it. Nor, as he begrudgingly admitted to himself, his libido. Seeing that woman smile wouldn't be a bad thing.
That being said, skulking around in dark allies in the middle of the night in the pouring rain had never been high on his list of priorities, and being on a wild goose chase just made it feel worse. Running a hand through his rain soaked hair, he contemplated smoking a cigarette, but figured lighting it would be too painful in these conditions.
Hang on a tic...
He squinted a little out of habit, even though it did nothing to enhance his vision, which was already unnaturally good even in pitch blackness. There was a strange glow coming from behind the warehouse, one that had definitely not been there before, and was definitely not from any of the sodium streetlamps - those did not glow a strange, sickly shade of purple.
A sudden rush of exhilaration, and relief that maybe he might finally have something to do, ran through him as he shoved his hands into his pockets again and made his way slowly around the warehouse, watching the glow out of the corner of his eye as it grew in intensity. She hadn't been kidding when she said it would be apparent, had she? he thought to himself as he checked the small pistol in his pocket. The safety was off, and it was loaded and ready, as it always was. He wondered at how useful the gun would be though, if the source of the light wasn't just some strangely colored hand-lamp, but too much speculation never did help anyone, especially where circumstances like these were concerned. He just hoped he wouldn't have to fight. It was always troublesome, and he hated the physical activity.
His heart sank as he turned the corner and got a good look into the interior of the warehouse. Over a smashed crate burned an angry, purple light from which glowing tendrils had burst forth, lashing at the surroundings in a rather effective manner, given the damage he could survey. The light itself was strange, almost as if it were trying to coalesce into some form of pentagram.
Oh come on. I knew her stuff was going to be strange, but... not the occult again? And this doesn't look like the normal stuff I've come across either... Ah crap. That's a pentemychos... Don't tell me that it means something from down under's trying to make its way over here...
With an unnatural abruptness, the light snapped into well defined lines and flared upwards and downwards, forming strange glyphs that outlined a large portal.
Sighing, he pulled his pistol out of his pocket. The pentemychos had been a naturally occurring one, from what he could tell of its configuration, just like one he'd seen about a century back, but the symbols and markings for this one were far from similar. In fact, the glyphs looked vaguely Mesopotamian, instead of the more familiar ones which he'd come across, which most Satanists and occultists had adopted as part of their usual decorations, much to his amusement. I wonder if they realize that they're trying to summon a portal to Hell onto their bodies...
The unfamiliar symbols flared. Once, twice, then once more, and an unearthly shriek filled the air as howling winds erupted from the gateway.
Squinting a little and shielding his eyes partially, he took careful aim.
He knew as soon as a emaciated hand broke through the barrier that the gun was probably useless, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to try. Squeezing off a couple of shots into the rotting flesh of the chest and torso that followed did nothing but elicit a shriek of rage from the skull on top of it. A rather disgusting specimen of a skull, actually, given the strips of decomposing flesh that hung from it and swayed slightly in the winds.
WHO DARES? came a booming, otherwordly voice, emanating from the figure standing almost three meters tall in the middle of the floor. WHO DARES COME AT AH PUCH?
Ah. So that's what it is, Celestin sighed as he finished off the rounds in his revolver into the apparition's face, then slid it back into his pocket and stepped forward. Lord of the Underworld, also known as Yum Cimil. That means that woman was a descendent of the Mayan Diviners, and this is probably a harbinger of... an earthquake?... No, that's Cisin. War, then, or disease. She could've warned me at least... He's a big old bugger, he is...
"Over here," he called as he sauntered over. "That'd be me."
HOW DA...
"Yes, yes," he drawled lazily, deciding that now would be a good time for a smoke. The winds had receded, and the rain had let up a little. "Can we skip past the pleasantries and introductions? Why are you here?"
I AM SUMMONED. IT IS TIME.
He raised an eyebrow. "Time for? English lessons, maybe? I'm still trying to figure out how come you're speaking a modern language instead of Mayan."
NEED PROVIDES.
"Cryptic, aren't we?" Celestin finally gave up and chucked the damp matches, chewing lazily at the end of his cigarette. "What time is it? You still haven't told me."
THOU SHALT SEE.
He sighed. "I'm sure I will, but there's a slight problem." Unbuttoning his great coat and stretching a little to ensure he could move freely, he continued to walk toward the god. "I've been tasked to... take care of you, and I don't really like the idea of a god of death and destruction walking around the world anyway. Why don't you just go back to where you came from?"
IMPUDENT MORTAL. THOU SEEKETH TO ORDER ME TO RETURN?
"Pretty much. I always hated archaic English to begin with, and coming from the mouth of a Mayan death god, it makes even less sense."
He leaned to the side as a wave of force shot past him, smashing into crates behind him and splintering them into miniscule pieces.
"Not too friendly, are we?" he sighed, accelerating into a run.
THOU HAST NO HOPE AGAINST ME. THOU ART MORTAL. MY MERE TOUCH CONFERS DEATH.
There was a loud crunch as his fist connected with the skull. Amazingly, Ah Puch staggered backwards a step or two as Celestin landed lightly on his feet, dancing backwards to get out of range of its long arms.
"Ouch," he grinned as he waved his hand around.
THOU ART NOT MORTAL.
He shrugged as he ran towards the god again, dodging under the wildly swinging arms and wincing a little at the smell of rotting flesh. This is never gonna come off my coat... and it's one of my favourites too... As he jumped up again to throw a flurry of punches at the god's head and chest, his mind raced. This was at most going to distract him, but to actually defeat him would need more than just a physical beating. He wondered at his chances of killing a god of death, which seemed pretty unlikely just by the sound of it. The sad thing about it was that he had never been that interested in Mayan mythology, and aside from knowing that the god of death existed and had an eternal adversary, he never really bothered with the intricacies.
No point whining about things undone, or chances missed, I guess, he thought to himself as he pivoted in mid-air, avoiding yet another wild swing, and planting his heels squarely against the god's forehead. The resulting crunch felt satisfyingly effective, as did the sight of splintering bone and the accompanying roar of frustration. Still, I'm going to have to find some way to wing it if I'm going to have any chance of walking away from this one.
Ah Puch roared again, a cry of indescribable rage, and crossed its arms above its head as it reared upwards.
"Had enough already?" Celestin called out, shaking his right hand a little. His hands were both going numb from striking the god's head, which was ridiculously hard. His eyes widened as the god's arms began to glow, and once again, the tendrils of light began to form. "Crap."
He barely dodged the first one, and was hard pressed to get out of the way of the ones that followed, sprinting madly backwards to avoid getting his limbs lopped off, which would be rather inconvenient.
Ah Puch roared again, making his ears ring. This is getting tiresome, he thought. I'm not getting anywhere by pummeling him like this, and it looks like I might be in... ah crap. He hissed in pain as a tendril caught him by the ankle. Surprisingly, it did not burn, but getting swung around by the foot and smacked into a couple of pillars and piles of debris hurt enough.
He shook his head to clear it as he was elevated to a level where he could behold the cracked empty sockets of the god in far too much detail to be comfortable. Passing a hand over his face to wipe off the blood from a gash on his forehead, he felt the pain as his body began to knit itself together again.
THOU ART NOT MORTAL.
Celestin sighed as more tendrils whipped around and wrapped themselves around him in a cocoon. "I think that's rather apparent by now, don't you?"
WHY DOST THOU WANT TO HINDER ME? THOU HAST LIVED MUCH, AND THOU HAST SEEN MUCH OF THE CORRUPTION OF HUMANKIND.
"I rather like humankind, actually," he replied as he tested his bonds. Secure, and rather difficult to escape. Curses. "Naïve, stupid, sometimes malicious, but infinitely fascinating to observe."
IT HAS BEEN DECIDED. HUMANKIND IS TO BE REMOVED.
"Decided by whom, exactly? I didn't realize there was a council who had the influence or political power to vote to end humanity."
IT HAS BEEN DECIDED. HUMANITY WILL BE REMOVED.
Grinning, Celestin closed his eyes. "I wish I had your conviction, but I think she believes otherwise."
Ah Puch turned and beheld the light surrounding the strange lady who had employed Celestin. She was dressed in a simple flaxen robe, with an ornate mantle and strangely shaped headdress, and a strange golden light enveloped her as she chanted quietly under her breath. Celestin smiled as the god's attention was diverted, and exhaled.
Wailing, the god dispelled his weapons as Celestin turned to mist that slipped through the light, then reformed at his feet. I might not be able to kill him, but I might be able to hold him still for a while at least. Removing a glove, he winced as he grabbed hold of the god's leg, and exerted power. The feedback was familiar, but more than a little disgusting. With the god held frozen in place with the energy flux, he turned to watch as the light coalesced into two humanoid shapes.
The lady smiled an exhausted little smile as the gods stood. "Hunahph and Xbalanque, please help us."
The Hero twins? The ones who tricked the lords of the underworld? Celestin smiled. This woman has a sense of humour, at least.
Wailing, the death god struggled as the twin immortals strode towards it, grabbed an arm each, and keened a loud, piercing cry that shook the earth, and gave Celestin one of the worst headaches he ever remembered. His eyes screwed up tightly, he watched as light grew between them, then, like before, stretched into a huge portal which they promptly stepped through, dragging the god between them as Celestin quickly severed contact.
Then all was silent.
He turned to regard the lady quietly.
"I believe I owe you my gratitude, immortal," she spoke quietly.
"You owe me an explanation," Celestin snapped, his eyes glowing gold for a second before he got his sudden rage under reign. "You knew what I was, you should've told me what to expect."
She smiled and nodded. "The Conclave had decided that you were more than capable of handling any situation that arose."
"That's not even close to an apology, or an explanation."
"That is correct, daywalker."
Celestin sighed. "Get your facts straight, woman, you and your conclave both. I'm no vampire, no matter what my skills may be."
She arched an eyebrow in surprise.
"You have had your assistance, and I expect to be promptly paid. Triple the price that was agreed on, in view of the stupidity you just put me through." He stared at her hard and cold till she blanched and nodded. "And I expect that you will not bother me again. I have been alive for more millennia than your silly little conclave can hope to conceive, and if you wish to incur the wrath of the last remaining loup-garou, I wish you the best of luck."
With that, he turned, replacing his glove, and sauntered off into the morning light, craving mightily for a cigarette and some alcohol. It had been far too long a night.
the end
email: veldspar [at] hotmail.com
Celestin sighed as he leaned against the grimy brick wall, swearing under his breath at his luck. It was the seventh night he'd been staking out this warehouse on the docks, and still no luck. And to add insult to injury, someone upstairs had felt him pitiful enough to start crying, and he was getting seriously wet despite his greatcoat.
Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, Celestin glared at the towering double doors from the shadows, willing something to happen so he could either get out of the rain and do something, or just get out of the rain and go home. He'd already been wondering over the last two nights if he was wasting his time with this... commission, and the weather was not helping his convictions.
The source of the commission was already something that'd set a slow, throbbing headache in motion. He usually had nothing against young attractive women asking for helping tracking down loved ones, or asking for assistance with regards to possible infidelity from their spouses, or even passing him propositions from their employers for incriminating information about corporate rivals. This particular young lady, however, was a true piece of work.
She'd been well-dressed, yes, but one didn't usually wear strange thin golden chains with links in a maize motif with a formal business suit. She hadn't given him her name either, only her title, which was on its own more than a little peculiar. He'd never heard of the Conclave of Diviners, nor did her strange introduction regarding their mission of prediction and location of significant events that would affect the fate of the world help to allay any of his suspicions at her relative lack of sanity.
Still, he thought as he sighed again, the offer was intriguing, and he'd been getting rather tired of the run of the mill cases he'd been plagued with recently. As silly as it sounded, he was fascinated at her plea.
"Please, you're the only one who can help us. You must, or the world as we know it will be in dangerous peril."
He cringed a little as he remembered her words. Still, she'd seemed so earnest and sincere that he'd found it a little hard to refuse, even with the paltry remuneration that they'd offered in exchange for his services. Besides, she'd let slip knowledge of some of his more obscure investigations over the years that meant she, or whoever she represented, knew of him, and probably knew, or at least suspected, what he was.
In other words, I'm a sucker for beautiful women. he thought to himself sardonically as he continued to glower at the door. This wasn't the first time he'd been stupid enough to agree to silly requests like this, and he had the horrible feeling it wouldn't be the last. Still, the task was so vague it grated on his nerves. All she said was that the event would happen around the docks within the next fortnight, would portend an 'age of destruction and anarchy', and what he needed to do would be immediately apparent.
He cringed again as he sighed once more. He'd already wasted a week around the docks, and all that walking around the seedy side streets and trolling the various establishments for information was starting to drive him insane. While he'd dug up more information about his other projects, there was absolutely no information about what this lady had expected to happen. There'd been no strange ships, no cargo that seemed out of place, and no unconventional or outlandish people had come to town under any circumstances, suspicious or not. Nothing had happened, nothing seemed likely to, and contemplating another week of this pointless searching was enough to make him feel like tearing out his hair at the roots.
Still, a job was a job, and his conscience wouldn't let him just discard it. Nor, as he begrudgingly admitted to himself, his libido. Seeing that woman smile wouldn't be a bad thing.
That being said, skulking around in dark allies in the middle of the night in the pouring rain had never been high on his list of priorities, and being on a wild goose chase just made it feel worse. Running a hand through his rain soaked hair, he contemplated smoking a cigarette, but figured lighting it would be too painful in these conditions.
Hang on a tic...
He squinted a little out of habit, even though it did nothing to enhance his vision, which was already unnaturally good even in pitch blackness. There was a strange glow coming from behind the warehouse, one that had definitely not been there before, and was definitely not from any of the sodium streetlamps - those did not glow a strange, sickly shade of purple.
A sudden rush of exhilaration, and relief that maybe he might finally have something to do, ran through him as he shoved his hands into his pockets again and made his way slowly around the warehouse, watching the glow out of the corner of his eye as it grew in intensity. She hadn't been kidding when she said it would be apparent, had she? he thought to himself as he checked the small pistol in his pocket. The safety was off, and it was loaded and ready, as it always was. He wondered at how useful the gun would be though, if the source of the light wasn't just some strangely colored hand-lamp, but too much speculation never did help anyone, especially where circumstances like these were concerned. He just hoped he wouldn't have to fight. It was always troublesome, and he hated the physical activity.
His heart sank as he turned the corner and got a good look into the interior of the warehouse. Over a smashed crate burned an angry, purple light from which glowing tendrils had burst forth, lashing at the surroundings in a rather effective manner, given the damage he could survey. The light itself was strange, almost as if it were trying to coalesce into some form of pentagram.
Oh come on. I knew her stuff was going to be strange, but... not the occult again? And this doesn't look like the normal stuff I've come across either... Ah crap. That's a pentemychos... Don't tell me that it means something from down under's trying to make its way over here...
With an unnatural abruptness, the light snapped into well defined lines and flared upwards and downwards, forming strange glyphs that outlined a large portal.
Sighing, he pulled his pistol out of his pocket. The pentemychos had been a naturally occurring one, from what he could tell of its configuration, just like one he'd seen about a century back, but the symbols and markings for this one were far from similar. In fact, the glyphs looked vaguely Mesopotamian, instead of the more familiar ones which he'd come across, which most Satanists and occultists had adopted as part of their usual decorations, much to his amusement. I wonder if they realize that they're trying to summon a portal to Hell onto their bodies...
The unfamiliar symbols flared. Once, twice, then once more, and an unearthly shriek filled the air as howling winds erupted from the gateway.
Squinting a little and shielding his eyes partially, he took careful aim.
He knew as soon as a emaciated hand broke through the barrier that the gun was probably useless, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to try. Squeezing off a couple of shots into the rotting flesh of the chest and torso that followed did nothing but elicit a shriek of rage from the skull on top of it. A rather disgusting specimen of a skull, actually, given the strips of decomposing flesh that hung from it and swayed slightly in the winds.
WHO DARES? came a booming, otherwordly voice, emanating from the figure standing almost three meters tall in the middle of the floor. WHO DARES COME AT AH PUCH?
Ah. So that's what it is, Celestin sighed as he finished off the rounds in his revolver into the apparition's face, then slid it back into his pocket and stepped forward. Lord of the Underworld, also known as Yum Cimil. That means that woman was a descendent of the Mayan Diviners, and this is probably a harbinger of... an earthquake?... No, that's Cisin. War, then, or disease. She could've warned me at least... He's a big old bugger, he is...
"Over here," he called as he sauntered over. "That'd be me."
HOW DA...
"Yes, yes," he drawled lazily, deciding that now would be a good time for a smoke. The winds had receded, and the rain had let up a little. "Can we skip past the pleasantries and introductions? Why are you here?"
I AM SUMMONED. IT IS TIME.
He raised an eyebrow. "Time for? English lessons, maybe? I'm still trying to figure out how come you're speaking a modern language instead of Mayan."
NEED PROVIDES.
"Cryptic, aren't we?" Celestin finally gave up and chucked the damp matches, chewing lazily at the end of his cigarette. "What time is it? You still haven't told me."
THOU SHALT SEE.
He sighed. "I'm sure I will, but there's a slight problem." Unbuttoning his great coat and stretching a little to ensure he could move freely, he continued to walk toward the god. "I've been tasked to... take care of you, and I don't really like the idea of a god of death and destruction walking around the world anyway. Why don't you just go back to where you came from?"
IMPUDENT MORTAL. THOU SEEKETH TO ORDER ME TO RETURN?
"Pretty much. I always hated archaic English to begin with, and coming from the mouth of a Mayan death god, it makes even less sense."
He leaned to the side as a wave of force shot past him, smashing into crates behind him and splintering them into miniscule pieces.
"Not too friendly, are we?" he sighed, accelerating into a run.
THOU HAST NO HOPE AGAINST ME. THOU ART MORTAL. MY MERE TOUCH CONFERS DEATH.
There was a loud crunch as his fist connected with the skull. Amazingly, Ah Puch staggered backwards a step or two as Celestin landed lightly on his feet, dancing backwards to get out of range of its long arms.
"Ouch," he grinned as he waved his hand around.
THOU ART NOT MORTAL.
He shrugged as he ran towards the god again, dodging under the wildly swinging arms and wincing a little at the smell of rotting flesh. This is never gonna come off my coat... and it's one of my favourites too... As he jumped up again to throw a flurry of punches at the god's head and chest, his mind raced. This was at most going to distract him, but to actually defeat him would need more than just a physical beating. He wondered at his chances of killing a god of death, which seemed pretty unlikely just by the sound of it. The sad thing about it was that he had never been that interested in Mayan mythology, and aside from knowing that the god of death existed and had an eternal adversary, he never really bothered with the intricacies.
No point whining about things undone, or chances missed, I guess, he thought to himself as he pivoted in mid-air, avoiding yet another wild swing, and planting his heels squarely against the god's forehead. The resulting crunch felt satisfyingly effective, as did the sight of splintering bone and the accompanying roar of frustration. Still, I'm going to have to find some way to wing it if I'm going to have any chance of walking away from this one.
Ah Puch roared again, a cry of indescribable rage, and crossed its arms above its head as it reared upwards.
"Had enough already?" Celestin called out, shaking his right hand a little. His hands were both going numb from striking the god's head, which was ridiculously hard. His eyes widened as the god's arms began to glow, and once again, the tendrils of light began to form. "Crap."
He barely dodged the first one, and was hard pressed to get out of the way of the ones that followed, sprinting madly backwards to avoid getting his limbs lopped off, which would be rather inconvenient.
Ah Puch roared again, making his ears ring. This is getting tiresome, he thought. I'm not getting anywhere by pummeling him like this, and it looks like I might be in... ah crap. He hissed in pain as a tendril caught him by the ankle. Surprisingly, it did not burn, but getting swung around by the foot and smacked into a couple of pillars and piles of debris hurt enough.
He shook his head to clear it as he was elevated to a level where he could behold the cracked empty sockets of the god in far too much detail to be comfortable. Passing a hand over his face to wipe off the blood from a gash on his forehead, he felt the pain as his body began to knit itself together again.
THOU ART NOT MORTAL.
Celestin sighed as more tendrils whipped around and wrapped themselves around him in a cocoon. "I think that's rather apparent by now, don't you?"
WHY DOST THOU WANT TO HINDER ME? THOU HAST LIVED MUCH, AND THOU HAST SEEN MUCH OF THE CORRUPTION OF HUMANKIND.
"I rather like humankind, actually," he replied as he tested his bonds. Secure, and rather difficult to escape. Curses. "Naïve, stupid, sometimes malicious, but infinitely fascinating to observe."
IT HAS BEEN DECIDED. HUMANKIND IS TO BE REMOVED.
"Decided by whom, exactly? I didn't realize there was a council who had the influence or political power to vote to end humanity."
IT HAS BEEN DECIDED. HUMANITY WILL BE REMOVED.
Grinning, Celestin closed his eyes. "I wish I had your conviction, but I think she believes otherwise."
Ah Puch turned and beheld the light surrounding the strange lady who had employed Celestin. She was dressed in a simple flaxen robe, with an ornate mantle and strangely shaped headdress, and a strange golden light enveloped her as she chanted quietly under her breath. Celestin smiled as the god's attention was diverted, and exhaled.
Wailing, the god dispelled his weapons as Celestin turned to mist that slipped through the light, then reformed at his feet. I might not be able to kill him, but I might be able to hold him still for a while at least. Removing a glove, he winced as he grabbed hold of the god's leg, and exerted power. The feedback was familiar, but more than a little disgusting. With the god held frozen in place with the energy flux, he turned to watch as the light coalesced into two humanoid shapes.
The lady smiled an exhausted little smile as the gods stood. "Hunahph and Xbalanque, please help us."
The Hero twins? The ones who tricked the lords of the underworld? Celestin smiled. This woman has a sense of humour, at least.
Wailing, the death god struggled as the twin immortals strode towards it, grabbed an arm each, and keened a loud, piercing cry that shook the earth, and gave Celestin one of the worst headaches he ever remembered. His eyes screwed up tightly, he watched as light grew between them, then, like before, stretched into a huge portal which they promptly stepped through, dragging the god between them as Celestin quickly severed contact.
Then all was silent.
He turned to regard the lady quietly.
"I believe I owe you my gratitude, immortal," she spoke quietly.
"You owe me an explanation," Celestin snapped, his eyes glowing gold for a second before he got his sudden rage under reign. "You knew what I was, you should've told me what to expect."
She smiled and nodded. "The Conclave had decided that you were more than capable of handling any situation that arose."
"That's not even close to an apology, or an explanation."
"That is correct, daywalker."
Celestin sighed. "Get your facts straight, woman, you and your conclave both. I'm no vampire, no matter what my skills may be."
She arched an eyebrow in surprise.
"You have had your assistance, and I expect to be promptly paid. Triple the price that was agreed on, in view of the stupidity you just put me through." He stared at her hard and cold till she blanched and nodded. "And I expect that you will not bother me again. I have been alive for more millennia than your silly little conclave can hope to conceive, and if you wish to incur the wrath of the last remaining loup-garou, I wish you the best of luck."
With that, he turned, replacing his glove, and sauntered off into the morning light, craving mightily for a cigarette and some alcohol. It had been far too long a night.
the end