Between Duncan and Lucy’s method of teleportation, Jonathan vastly preferred the witch doctor’s magic portals. Chills were still running down his spine as an odd sense of cold clung to him. He kept his hands in his pocket, although it did no good to warm them.
“Don’t worry, it’ll pass.” Lucy stood over the roof ledge as her coat billowed in the wind. “Dark magic doesn’t gel well with souls, but you’ll be fine.”
“Why’d you bring me to the London Bridge Tower?” Jonathan was still shivering, and the howling wind was not helping.
“I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally see us.”
“Who’s ‘he’?”
“Duncan.” Lucy sat on the ledge. “You know not how he is immortal, do you?”
“Lady, I just found out today that magic and vampires are real.” Jonathan shook his head. “I don’t even know how his magic works.”
“Might you have at least heard of the elixir of life then?”
“Yeah. Gives eternal life. Probably golden in colour. Exists only in fantasy books.”
Lucy chuckled. “The elixir of life can only be created by one who has a burning desire for life. It draws upon that conviction to give its user an additional lifeline. As of date, Duncan has created and consumed at least eight hundred pills.”
“That’s a bit much.”
“He has become addicted,” Lucy said simply. “About fifty years ago, Duncan was wronged and he developed a grudge against someone. A grudge so powerful, the elixir of life now draws upon that desire for revenge instead. It keeps Duncan alive for the sole purpose of nursing this hate. In simple terms, it has warped into a destructive form and torments him every moment.”
“I’m sorry, but it doesn’t sound like I can do anything about it.” Jonathan looked blankly at her. “I don’t know a thing about alchemy.”
“I do not require your alchemy knowledge. It is your aid I seek,” Lucy said. “Duncan cannot kill the subject of his hate himself, lest he breaks the bond with his elixir of life and it kills him as well. So it falls to me to get rid of this person, and I need help.”
“Why do you need my help? Aren’t you like… I don’t know, a super powerful vampire?”
“Vampires have their weaknesses.” Lucy gave him a wry smile. “Our target lives in a church, and my powers will be greatly diminished if I haven’t already disintegrated for even stepping a foot in there.”
“You barely know me,” Jonathan asked suspiciously. “How do you know I can be trusted?”
“I’m a good judge of character, as anyone who has lived for nine hundred years should be,” Lucy smirked. “Besides, you’re no ordinary immortal. Every form of immortality draws upon your natural immortal soul and transfers that immortality onto your physical body instead. As such, our souls have long expired and died off.”
Her irises glowed red again. “But not only do you retain yours, it seems to be made of some sort of ancient magic instead of the usual ether. Not once in all my life have I ever seen anything like that.”
She ran an icy cold finger along his cheek and licked her lips. “My, my… you truly are a curious one, are you not?” Lucy leaned in close, and Jonathan found his eyes strangely locked into hers.
He filled his mind with thoughts of her true age, fighting every desire to move closer to the overly flirtatious vampire. It seemed to work, but he knew it would only be a matter of time before his physical senses convinced him otherwise.
“If that’s all, I’ll take my leave.” Jonathan stood up abruptly. Lucy pulled back, and he could have sworn he saw a slight pout on her lips. She grabbed his hand again as he felt that horrible sensation again.
“Allow me.” She grinned maliciously, and Jonathan groaned. He had a feeling that this was some kind of payback.
The duo vanished into the shadows.
~ ~ ~
“Please, not my family. They don’t know anything,” a trembling voice whimpered.
Clara Harred strode across the dimly lit bedroom as her men parted ways before their mafia princess. She put a calloused palm on the side of the man’s face and narrowed her eyes.
“You’ve confused me with someone who gives a rat’s arse, Mr Porter.” She turned her head towards a woman and a young girl forced to their knees. “You gave Warner what he needed to destroy my family business. You gave the police what they needed to pin my father down. But all that, I can forgive. All I’m asking now is for you to reveal your fellow informant’s location to me. Is that too much to ask for?”
“I’m sworn to secrecy! I can’t! I’ll lose my life if I tell you—”
“You are already dead!” Clara snarled, and the man flinched in response to her sudden outburst. Her voice dropped menacingly. “But your family may yet live if you give me what I want.”
Porter breathed heavily. “Alright. Alright, alright, I’ll tell. He lives in the first alley of Whitacre Street, but I believe he is going to move in with Detective Anya Sechina soon. I don’t have her location at the moment, but—”
“Enough.” Clara rubbed her hardened palms obsessively. It was troublesome enough to track down the city’s most streetwise informant, and now he was going to live with a cop? She needed to regroup her scattered gang and consolidate her new empire while her spineless father rots in jail—
“Miss Harred, is my family safe now?” an annoying whine grated her ears. She gave a nod to her men and they raised their weapons. Gunshots rang out and two bodies hit the ground. There was a brief silence. And then footsteps rushed towards Clara, accompanied by an agonised cry. A cry of a man with nothing else to lose.
Fool.
Clara Harred raised her leg and pushed the charging informant back. Anger flashed in her eyes as her heels connected with the stumbling man again, in the middle of his chest. Blood splattered from his mouth as he began to wheeze from a punctured lung.
The woman crushed his windpipe with a single hand chop and swung her elbow at his jaw. A sickening crack was heard as Porter crashed onto the ground. He slumped against the wall, glaring at her with vile hate. His lips trembled, though his broken jaw no longer allowed him to form words. Anger bubbled within the mafia princess.
God, useless men like him disgusted her.
A shriek of frustration rang out as Clara struck the side of his head with an open palm. The lifeless man collapsed onto the ground, his cracked skull dented inwards while brain matter leaked out of his orifices. Clara remained motionless for a moment, feeling the horrified stares of her men on her back. She was not surprised at their reaction. Not many people knew about the existence of the Ottoman Slap, let alone seen someone employ the technique at full power.
The new mafia boss stood up wordlessly and sauntered out of the house. Her men scrambled to clean up the mess she had just created, but she turned back and snapped her fingers.
“Don’t.” Clara motioned for her gang to leave.
“Let London see for themselves the consequences of crossing me.”12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTpOqtCNKYz
