Chapter Six: The Library.
1350 Words
The scent of coffee and burnt toast clung to the apartment like a memory. It was nearly noon, but time didn’t seem to matter in the quiet hum of Sunday. Rochelle Arden sat at the small kitchen table, legs tucked under her in faded yoga pants, watching the steam curl from her mug. Across from her, Lila Quinn scraped eggs onto a plate, her messy bun askew, a determined light behind eyes that hadn’t quite stopped glistening since Friday.
“Eat, babes,” Lila said, tossing a napkin toward her. “You’re still looking haunted. Is Tolland Inc. that soul-crushing, or is it just Damien’s jawline messing with your critical thinking?”
Rochelle laughed, but it came out brittle. “Bit of both.”
She speared a piece of egg, pretending it didn’t feel like sawdust on her tongue. Damien’s green eyes were still there behind her eyelids—sharp, calculating, hungry. That rune-covered painting. The 1813 vision. The blood. It all came up vivid in her mind.
And Lila’s text: “Tolland Inc. is dirty. Watch your back.” also came to mind.
“You serious about that text?” Rochelle asked, watching Lila over the rim of her mug. “Because, honestly, ever since that job started, it’s felt like I stepped into another world.”
Lila hesitated, her fork pausing mid-air. “It was just protective instinct. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
“But you did,” Rochelle said gently.
“Good,” Lila replied, pushing her plate aside. “Because something’s off. That place? Damien? It’s more than shady. It’s like… controlled danger.” gesticulating while speaking, “Like they’re hiding something ancient under all that corporate gloss.”
Rochelle arched an eyebrow. “You make it sound like a supernatural hedge fund.”
Lila didn’t laugh. “Would it be so crazy?”
Silence fell for a beat.
“Okay, what?” Rochelle asked. “You’ve been digging, haven’t you?”
“I mean… I was going to the library today anyway, for my urban econ paper,” Lila said, clearly dodging. “But yes. I might’ve opened a few tabs. Something about the Tolland family piqued my interest. There are references going back centuries. Some weird black-and-white scans from an old journal mentioning a ‘Draven.’ Ring any bells?”
Rochelle froze.
Lila didn’t notice. “They were listed as ‘business rivals’ back in the early 1800s, but not in any normal way. The notes talk about bloodlines, rituals, and some kind of council of… I don’t know, not CEOs.”
Rochelle leaned forward, voice low. “One of Damien’s associates slipped up. Mentioned a name—Cassian Draven.”
Lila’s head snapped up. “That’s him. I found it in an old auction record. ‘Cassian Draven,’ connected to rare artifacts. Stuff with runes. Same style as the canvas from that gala, right?”
Rochelle nodded slowly, a shiver running up her spine.
“And there’s this theory someone posted on a forum, deep conspiracy stuff; but it mentioned a Chosen One. Like, someone who bridges the human and supernatural world. Something about a hybrid. Could be myth, but…”
“Why does that sound familiar?” Rochelle murmured.
“Because you’re smack in the middle of it,” Lila said, voice tight. “They’re watching you, Ro. You’re not just an assistant to Damien Tolland. You're something else to them. A piece on their board.”
Rochelle looked down at her plate, the food forgotten. “I don’t know what I am.”
Lila reached across the table, her hand warm. “We’ll figure it out. But be careful. Promise?”
“I promise,” Rochelle whispered.
---
The gym later that afternoon was a sanctuary of motion: thudding music, clanging weights, and bodies chasing release. Rochelle ran until her lungs burned and her brain shut off. But even as she stretched and showered, the name Draven echoed like a warning bell. She had overheard Olivia’s cold demeanour haunted her: She knows too much.
She left the gym for drink at a quiet bar on 9th, she found herself nursing a gin and tonic, watching condensation slip down the glass. She opened her text thread with Lila
Rochelle: *Hey babes. Still buried in books?*
No reply.
“Strange.”
---
Lila hunched over a library table, her laptop humming quietly, the overhead lights too sterile to offer comfort. The urban economics tab sat open for show, but her real focus lay buried in browser windows: encrypted forums, dark web threads, leaked memos.
And there it was.
A redacted email chain from 2019, connecting Tolland Inc. to a shell company. No contact information. No executives. Just financial transfers to obscure locations and customs forms for shipments labeled “ceremonial artifacts” and “blood filtration components.”
Then: a photo. A crate, marked with sigils she’d seen in Rochelle’s sketches.
Lila swallowed hard. This wasn’t just about power. It was about blood.
Another document mentioned the Council of Thirty, and a prophecy involving a hybrid the Chosen One born of human lineage, tied by blood to both factions. A peacemaker. Or a weapon.
“Rochelle,” she whispered, fear blooming in her chest.
Her phone buzzed with Rochelle’s text. She ignored it. Copied the files to a USB. She had to get home. Rochelle had to see this.
---
The apartment was dim by the time Lila returned. The coffee smell had faded into something metallic, something stale. She dropped her bag by the door, kicking off her boots, and turned on a lamp. The USB was heavy in her coat pocket. Every step she took felt like stepping deeper into a maze. Something felt wrong.
She headed to the bathroom to wash up, ran a bath, scrubbed the library dust off her. When she stepped into the hallway, toweling off her hands, something shifted, the feeling hung in the air like the blade of a guillotine.
A creak. Sharp. Deliberate.
“Rochelle?” she called.
Silence.
Her heart thumped.
The lamp flickered, and something moved—fast. A blur in the dark.
Then, cold breath against her neck. She turned, and her scream caught in her throat.
A figure loomed tall, cloaked in shadows, eyes like ice, mouth curled in a snarl that revealed fangs.
“You dig too deep,” it hissed, before baring its fangs into her shoulder.
Pain exploded in her shoulder as claws sank in, her blood spilling hot and fast. She stumbled back, hand reaching for the USB even as her legs gave out. The vampire disappeared as quickly as it came, shadows swallowing it.
Lila collapsed, gasping, blood soaking the floor.
---
The door opened minutes later.
Rochelle stepped in, the bar’s quiet still humming in her ears, but then it stopped.
“Lila?” she called.
No answer.
Then; the copper scent she remembered from Damien’s office hung in the air.
She ran toward the hallway. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Lila!”
Lila lay crumpled, pale and still, blood spreading beneath her.
Rochelle dropped beside her, hands shaking. “Oh my god! No, no, no. Stay with me. Please—”
Lila’s eyelids fluttered.
“ngh… h-hurts but I’d be fine… The flash drive…”
“Shh, shh… You’re fine. I’m here, I’ve got you.”
Rochelle grabbed her phone, tears streaking her cheeks. She dialed Damien.
He picked up instantly. “Rochelle?”
“Lila… she’s hurt… she’s bleeding out,” Rochelle sobbed. “She’s dying! Damien, help- Please—”
“Where are you?” His voice was sharp now. All velvet gone.
She gave the address.
“I’m coming. Do not move her.”
The line went dead.
Rochelle cradled Lila’s body, pressing her hands to the wound. The room felt darker. Watching. Waiting.
“Stay with me…”, Rochelle tearfully said.
The USB lay nearby, glinting in the low light.
Whatever Lila found, whatever door she opened, it wasn’t just research anymore.
They were at war.
And it had already begun.
---
- Writer
