Chapter Nine: Drakka

It’s after hours in my bar, and only a few of the shifters I keep around for protection in the late night remain. They are all minding their own business or drinking their drinks. The message came through a few hours before: “We have killed an Ancient vampire.”

The Flamingo is on his way. He should be here soon. I informed him of the payment that is waiting, so I don’t think it should take too much longer for him to get here. Those here already know that I have ordered the hit. They have all voiced their concerns and all, are now, abolished.

Che steps through the door, a smug grin on his face, coming directly to the bar. I’m excited. I want to know exactly what happened. We say nothing for a second. I pour him a drink. He takes a sip, removes a fedora – Mason’s fedora – and lets off a grunt of glee.

“The man was a chump!” His first words.

“What do you mean?” I cock a brow.

“When he saw the dagger, he became a lost puppy ready for a kicking.” I can’t help but feel excited by this.

“So, he’s really dead?”

“He is.” I gesture with a hand, rolling the index finger in the air for him to elaborate while I take a sip of my drink. The others who hear the exploits all come nearer, apart from one – one of my top spies: Stanley. He’s always been reserved, so I understand why he stays out in the back.

Che takes from his pockets a great sum of gold, dropping from his neck chains and from his fingers rings. “This is all stuff I found just lying around his house.” The spoils, obviously his. “So I feel I made off well. Especially with the talisman.”

I pull the small box from behind the bar and place it down. He opens it and inspects. He throws it on top the pile he made of his own loot and gold seized from Mason.

“So, what happened?” I ask.

“The second he saw the dagger, he was reduced to a whimpering baby.” Interesting. “It was then that I knew I had him in the palm of my hand. I’ve heard cautionary tales of the great Mason. The man who plays with his victims. So, I thought I’d do the same. I don’t know if it was just because he was in the vicinity of the dagger or not, but I had the time to shift into my flamingo. In this form, he tried to fight, thinking I was some kind of joke. I took from him an eye...”

“Where is it?” I interrupt.

“I left it in the coffin.” He quickly backtracks. I guess it makes sense that he would leave it there. There’s no need to have it out in the open. Che finishes his drink, asking for another but doesn’t touch it. “Without an eye, his depth perception was all messed up, right? He swung and missed and swung and missed. He couldn’t even catch a flamingo,” he teases the deceased.

It’s at that point that the door swings open wide. The first thing coming through it is a hand, holding an eye in the air. Che lets out a chicken’s ba-gock as he shifts into his flamingo form.

“Do you mean this eye?” The all too familiar voice speaks. In the other hand is the dagger. He slams it into the table, pulling his eyelids apart, shoving the eye back into its socket. At first, it’s lopsided and facing the wrong direction, until he wipes it beneath the lid. When he’s finished, it returns to that glowing red I’ve grown all too familiar with.

Che has reverted back to his human form. He says nothing. I can hear him trembling. Mason takes the dagger back up, walking toward us. The shifters that have gathered round are now making their move to be away from the three. Mason takes up the drink I poured for Che and sips it down in one gulp.

“Losing your head really makes you thirsty.” With the hand that held his eye a moment ago, he pulls on his hair, and his head pops off his shoulders. Che gets up, grabbing a few of the items he dropped on the table and starts to run. Mason lets him, turning only his head in the free, flicking the dagger over his shoulder. It pierces through the Flamingo’s back, and he drops to the ground.

Dead.

The hair from Mason’s head slowly seems to seep into his hand. Then the scalp, forehead, and then the rest of it before it reclaims its place on his shoulders.

“A trick I learned over the years,” is all he adds. One cold, dead hand wraps around my throat and pulls me over the bar.

“Now which one of you was the one that shared the information?” he asks. Stanley raises his hand.

“You see, Drakka, there was no chance of you succeeding. The tale of that blade was crafted a hundred years ago by me. You know, the one this young man claimed to have the powers to kill an Ancient?” The hand is squeezing my windpipe. Enough to slow circulation but also allow enough for me to stay conscious during this process.

“This young man is the true brain of your organization.” Mason taps him on the shoulder. “You are merely a puppet to a far greater power.” I gasp for air, my hands wrapped around Mason’s, trying to break free.

I feel myself slipping out of consciousness. For a split second, I black out, but when I awake I am hurtling through the air. I smash through a table.

“Can you kiss the ring?” Mason asks, “Of your new master…”

I don’t reply. I can’t. I try to speak, but nothing comes out. My throat is slashed. I’m struggling for air. I’m coughing and wheezing, which doesn’t help this situation.

“I guess not!” Mason’s final words. A flash of white follows…