Twisting on the heel of my boots, the rubber soles squeak against the floor as I make my way to the counter. I don’t have long. The scent of the Orc I had stolen this cloak from will be fading soon.
It’s reckless of me to turn back. Even more reckless of me to slam my fist against the bar top, gaining the attention of the man, the bartender, and a couple of Dwarfs milling around nearby.
“You owe Mr. Genovese money?” I rasp under my breath, searching the Elf for some sort of aliment or handicap.
The man who should be dead but is still very much alive gives me a tilted smile. His skin is dark and tanned, making his startling silver eyes stand out over his sharp cheekbones. Curly brown hair messily hangs down over his forehead but remains short at the sides, making the points of his ears even more apparent.
An Elf. A damn ruthless, barbarous, pirating Elf. I can’t believe my eyes. I resist the urge to pull my knives out now in front of so many people.
“I wouldn’t say I owe him money. More like we are exchanging favors.” He smooths his hands over the small metal buttons on his long leather shirt. Two brown belts are clasped over his waist, holding up a long sword and what looks like an old revolver. A pirate all right. I know no one else who collects Human things like the pillaging pirates that like to trade on the shores of The Bend.
“Mr. Genovese doesn’t deal in favors.” I tilt my chin, revealing the tangles of my long blonde hair and the scar that runs diagonally over the right side of my full lips.
“Did he do that to you, love?” The Elf leans closer, mocking concern etched in his eyes. “If you can take me to him, I’d gladly share a word or two on your behalf.”
“You think I need a pirate to represent me? You’re less trustworthy than the criminals that call this place home.” Anger warms my cheeks. Oh, how I want to right my mistake. But killing him now with all these witnesses would only be signing my own death certificate. “What sort of favor did Mr. Genovese do for you? I must know. Did he pay for this pretty little outfit of yours? Help you redecorate your ship? Hmm?”
With a snort the Elf leans away. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Clearly I do, because I ask—”
Before the comment could leave my lips, a bloodcurdling scream cuts through the wild bar scene. Bodies freeze, turning to follow the noise as a Vampire stumbles away from the bathroom, horror etching her features. Now she knows, they all know, exactly who is in their midst tonight.
My lips twitch upward. That’s my cue.
I would see the Elf again. I would right my mistake, but that would have to wait. This is no longer the time or the place to end his life. Roughly, I tug my hood lower over my face and calmly walk out of the bar. Frantic footfalls and loud gasps become muffled as I close the door behind me.
Cold evening air burns against my cheeks. Clouds of my hot breath rise in front of me as I laugh out loud. Every kill is a thrill and getting away with the murder is always my favorite part. Gravel crunches under my boots as I start forward into the night.
A few other businesses on the street have minimal lights glowing inside. Signs stating their closure hang crooked in the dirt streaked windows. A tall metal pole, an old street sign, bends at a sharp right angle under a flickering street lamp. Genovese paid good money for a street lamp outside his bar.
The swinging of the door and the two thudding boots cut my victory laugh short. With a whirl I turn to face the creature who has followed me out. Rocks scatter away from my boots with the movement.
“You were supposed to kill me, weren’t you?” The Elf says, sliding his hands casually into his pockets. “You are who they call ‘The Ghost’.”
I have heard the name before. A silly nickname for the person behind the killings in The Bend that never gets caught. I hate it because I hate everything that the Orcs, Elves, or Vampires create. However I also love it, because the name strikes fear into these creatures who value their lives above those of the Purists.
My fingers itch to gather my daggers and run him through right here. Still, the doorway to the bar is just too open for killing. Self-control and Patience will be the Saints that get me through this night.
“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” I school my features into confusion.
The Elf leans closer, his nostrils visibly flaring as he sniffs the air. Realization dawns on his face first, then a smug smirk twists his lips. “The scent on that cloak you stole is fading, Human. You are pure.”
Fear rallies in the pit of my stomach, making my legs tingle with numbness. I am usually more careful about leaving before the scent that masks my dreadfully Human aroma wears off. But tonight, I had made a mistake. No, not one mistake but two. I killed the wrong man, then I had stopped to make conversation with the Elf that should be dead.
“Shouldn’t you be trading your stolen goods, or sailing off to Saints know where?” I try, lifting my chin and squaring my shoulders. I will not be ashamed of what I am. Fear is a choice, and I will choose not to succumb to it.
“It’s rude of you to assume I’m a pirate,” the Elf says again, his steps smooth as he begins circling me. “You know not all Elves are pirates.”
“But all pirates are Elves, so the odds aren’t in your favor.”
