Six

1 Creatures of the NightThe woman lit a cigarette and stood with her weight slightly against a brick wall, calmly watching the individuals walking this way and that. A couple shuffled past her, giggly and jovial as though they were children, with the woman's hair slightly disheveled. The observing woman shook her head in disgust as she brought the recently lit Marlboro to her lips, pulled heavily, and let the smoke escape her mouth and nostrils. These night lifers had no class. No sense of self at all. She had been waiting here no less than forty-five minutes, and she'd seen a great many people during that time, dressed like the characters they would play that night. There was a man with a silk shirt and leather pants, who clearly aimed to make himself out to be more man than he truly was. There was another man who she had seen take a receipt from a nearby A.T.M., and then “accidentally” drop it when he neared a group of women in line at the club. Predictably, one of them snatched it, read the bank balance on it, and then approached the man with a sly smile that matched his own when he saw her. The smoking lady took another draw from the Marlboro and shook her head. She wondered when the lady would be more disappointed; later tonight, or early tomorrow morning. Clearing her nostrils of the cigarette smoke, she wondered if the person she'd been ordered to find would even show up tonight. She focused her intent and took a rather meditative sniff of the air. If some bystander happened across her at that moment, they'd likely be puzzled, wondering if she could decipher one scent from another. But such concerns were challenges for Ungifted trash, and she certainly wasn't one of them. She was Charlotte Daynard. She was a Deadfallen disciple. She was as superior to these meat-hunters as a spider was to a housefly. She also had the gift of not only deciphering odors through her olfactory senses, but also people's essences. Once she caught that “scent,” she'd fixate on the one she waited for. And there it was. She opened her eyes, and her ethereality sense hadn't betrayed her. There was the woman she'd hoped to find. She looked right at home as the centerpiece of some gaggle of female flesh-flaunters. She was perhaps the most convincing character of them all; her costume consisted of a red halter top, a black and extremely short miniskirt, and French-tipped nails. Charlotte watched her as she laughingly conversed with her counterparts. She played her part well; there was no point in disputing that. But if her little buddies knew of her true allegiance and capabilities, maybe they wouldn't be so keen to be around her. Charlotte's eyes narrowed. There was an addition to her quarry's evening costume. It was a strategically placed choker at her throat. Hmm… “Well, hello there,” said a falsely low voice. With a frown, Charlotte turned. Mere feet away from her stood a member of this crackpot nightlife. He was a bane to her eyes and nose. He wore an ill-fitting muscle shirt, which was oxymoronic, and, judging by his smell, seemed to have baptized himself in cheap cologne and aftershave. “What's a fine—well, you don't look all that young, but nobody's perfect…why are you out here and not in there?” He nodded in the direction of the club. “Since I am on official business, you get one chance,” murmured Claudette. “Go on in there, find some way to boost your clearly low self-esteem, and leave me be.” The i***t man tilted his head with a smirk. “Spunky,” he commented. “Maybe what you lack in youth, you make up for in personality.” Charlotte glanced at the club entrance. The woman and her clique were about to be let in… She took a step forward, but the wannabe Casanova grabbed her arm. “Now, don't be that way—” Charlotte whipped around and clamped his chest with her other hand. He gasped in shock, and then immediately cried out. Charlotte focused her ethereality into her fingers and watched as her fingertips turned black. When that occurred, the bones in the man's chest where she touched him cracked, his eyes rolled up into his head, and he collapsed on the ground. “I did warn you,” Charlotte muttered as the man's body fell. When she looked at the door once more, she saw the lady had gone into the club. Charlotte swore in frustration, kicked the corpse across the face for delaying her, and hurried across the street to the back of the club. When she was assured of her privacy, she stuck out the index and middle fingers of her right hand, tapped her throat, uttered, “Per Mortem, Vitam,” and then lit another cigarette while she waited. Exactly eight minutes later, a click of heels told her that her quarry hurried her way. The woman rounded the corner, wide-eyed and furious. “What the hell are you doing here, Charlotte?” the other woman demanded. Charlotte grinned. “And a mighty fine evening to you, too, Jessica,” she said in a sweet voice. Jessica Hale had little patience with the pleasantries. “I asked you a question,” she snapped. Charlotte took a pull off her new cigarette, then extended it to Jessica. “You're too aggravated,” she observed. “Here. It'll calm you down.” Jessica's gaze remained wintry, but she took the cigarette, puffed it twice, and handed it back. Charlotte smiled. “Isn't that better?” she asked. “Hopefully, you didn't get ashes on that outfit of yours. I've always wondered how you seamlessly bounced between wearing this mask and your true self. It's commendable. The outfit alone is most—” “Why are you here, Charlotte?” asked Jessica once more. “I won't ask again.” “It's been ten months, Jess,” said Charlotte, who filled her voice with false hurt. “Almost a year. You don't call, you don't write—how am I supposed to feel?” “The Transcendent mandated I detach myself,” snarled Jessica. “You heard what he said, because you were standing there when he said it. He desired that I reintegrate—” “Because he didn't want to look at you,” drawled Charlotte. “You failed him, Sweetpea.” “I followed the Transcendent's instructions to the letter,” said Jessica angrily. “And yet, Jonah Rowe didn't abandon his conscience and turn to the dark side,” said Charlotte. “I was not in control of how he succumbed to his impulses!” “Controlling men is something you brag about, Jessica,” said Charlotte. “Or, at least, it was ten months ago.” “At least I didn't flee the scene,” spat Jessica. “You hitched a ride with the Transcendent only because he showed you mercy,” dismissed Charlotte. “What's the deal, Charlotte?” Suddenly, Jessica's lips curled into a cold smile. “The Transcendent didn't make you his right hand in my absence? It's not my fault your abilities are pennies to my own—” Charlotte invaded Jessica's personal space, so their faces were only inches apart. “Now you look here, missy,” she growled. “You may think you're the most wonderful thing since pecan pie, but I recall a time when you were a broken, confused girl the Transcendent pulled from the gutter. And, just so we're clear, were it not for your little pretty-talking ability, you'd still be in said gutter.” Jessica hadn't flinched. Charlotte's eyes lowered to the choker. Without an invitation, she hooked it with one of her fingers and lifted it which revealed an asymmetrical, two-inch scar at the base of her neck. A smile lit her own face. “He didn't heal it,” she breathed. “Rowe marred your perfect image, and the Transcendent didn't heal it. He left you with your very own mark of Cain.” Jessica had remained stationary through all of this. When she finally spoke, it was soft and deliberate. “Charlotte, if you don't take your hands off me and back off, I will drop you where you stand.” Charlotte looked at Jessica for a few moments, then released Jessica and distanced herself from her. “I am willing to play ball because the Transcendent has commanded it, and thus, it is law,” she said. “He told me to find you and tell you you're wanted back into the fold.” Jessica's hard look morphed to curiosity. “What is going on?” “The Curaie and all the nonbelievers have been led to believe the ten months which have passed means they have braved the worst,” said Charlotte. “They are in a false sense of security. That fool Jonathan has been desperately trying to convince them otherwise, but they still don't want to take him seriously, even with their decision to respect him and those idiots at the estate. And all the while, the Transcendent has been making moves in the background that no one can see.” “False sense of security?” said Jessica. “The Curaie is buying that? Since Jonathan has gotten off the Curaie's s**t list, there has been a laundry list of deaths, so-called 'accidents', and disappearances.” Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “You've been out of the loop,” she said. “You've spent almost a year keeping up with the Ungifteds. Case in point—” she pointed at the nightclub. Jessica leered at her. “You continue to sell me short, Charlotte. Dace Cross' car going into the ravine back in back in July? The b***h wasn't fond of Tenth Percenters and hated their traveling even more. She didn't even own a car. I'm guessing Kendrick rendered her heart useless then put her in the driver's seat. And the multi-car pile-up on Highway 220? It had Kevin Tooles written all over it. And, oh yeah—the girl who took over the Curaie's Gate Linkage after the Ocean waif resigned? Phoebe Linkletter, or whatever? That was you, wasn't it?” Charlotte shrugged. “If she had linked up a Gate to the weapons Spectral Law confiscated from our brothers and sisters they arrested, I would have let her live, at the very least.” “No, you wouldn't have,” said Jessica. Charlotte grinned. “Okay, fine. No, I wouldn't have.” Jessica made a face. “I know the work of our brothers and sisters when I see it,” she said. “And…I miss it. I miss the killing, the torture. I suppose some gratitude is in order because you told me I'm back in.” “Don't thank me.” Charlotte shrugged again. “It was the Transcendent's call.” “When am I to be summoned?” asked Jessica. “Not so fast,” said Charlotte. “I want to know two things. First, how did Rowe break your C.P.V.?” Jessica blinked, and then her expression hardened. “Apparently, the rage he felt over losing his boss brought about an eventuality I hadn't foreseen,” she muttered. “It was a one-time thing, and it will never happen again.” “Good to know,” said Charlotte, who sounded matter-of-fact. “Because if you can't do your little fancy-schmancy power-talking, you're not much good to the cause, you know.” Jessica tightened her knuckles until they cracked. “Any other stupid questions?” “You were supposed to be out of the loop,” Charlotte's voice was slow, “but you've obviously been paying attention. That said, how much do you already know about the Transcendent's plan?” Jessica's eyes narrowed. “Where are you going with this, Charlotte?” she demanded. “We answer only to the Transcendent. He wants me back in, and his word is law. Why, then, do I have to bother with your third degree?” Charlotte took a calm draw from her cigarette. “Too timid to share? Just say so!” Jessica cast a murderous glare on her. “I know enough to know when the Cut comes, it will be what signals Omega, and it will be a glorious time for us all.” Charlotte nodded. “Damn right, it will.” “Is the Transcendent getting one created right now?” questioned Jessica. “In prep for when it happens?” “Yes,” said Charlotte. “Just one, though. Too many would raise red flags.” Jessica nodded. Charlotte regarded her with a neutral expression. “We don't have to be friends,” she said, “but we will always be Deadfallen. Always among the Transcendent's chosen. Per Mortem, Vitam.” She extended her hand. Jessica shook her hand once and withdrew. “Per Mortem, Vitam,” she said. If Charlotte was offended by the terseness of Jessica's handshake, she didn't show it. “You'll have to give your little girlfriends the slip,” she told her. “Now that you have been informed, the Transcendent is expecting your presence.” She tossed Jessica a twig to use for a portal, which Jessica caught reflexively. “I'll see you there,” said Charlotte as she began to back away. “What will you be doing?” asked Jessica. “I've got to clean up a mess,” Charlotte replied. “Mess?” “An Ungifted playboy was interested in more than conversation,” Charlotte explained. “We had a disagreement. I lived. Now, go. You know the Transcendent doesn't like to wait.”