Kite
I'd claimed four Hunters' lives. But there was one whose blood I craved more than anyone else's. I hunted Abraham down by scent, battling my way through the street, moving like the wind. He was somewhere in the Parision casino and Mercy was with him. The second she'd seen the battle raging in the streets outside the Tropsophere, she'd run off. What a surprise. Not.
I sped through the casino door, finding the place quiet apart from the odd worker taking shelter beneath the poker tables. Red carpet adorned the floor, chandeliers sparkled above me.
I weaved through the tables, hunting Abraham. I would have his head. I'd get my revenge for what he'd done to me.
“Abraham!” I shouted, pausing in the centre of the room, gazing up at the glistening glass balconies above. “Come out and fight, you coward!”
He appeared atop one of the balconies with Mercy at his side. “Kite- go!” Mercy shouted.
“Listen to my daughter, girl,” Abraham growled. “Or I'll spill your guts.” He aimed a crossbow down at me, loosing an arrow. I darted aside and it embedded itself in a poker table behind me.
I laughed, raising my arms. “You'll have to do better than that.”
“You are no more than a speck on my radar. Send a more worthy opponent if you wish to challenge me.”
“Why don't you come outside and face us yourselves!” I screamed as he loosed another arrow. I ducked and it slammed into the carpet.
“Let's go,” Mercy urged her father, my heightened senses picking up her quiet voice. “Mother's bringing the helicopter.”
“The one which just crashed into the lake?” I taunted. I'd seen the thing explode in the sky above the strip. If Katherine Helsing was on it, then she was hopefully sinking into her watery grave as we spoke.
“Liar,” Abraham snarled, spitting venom.
I grinned, leaning casually back on one of the tables. “I saw it myself.”
“Kite?” Mercy's voice was laced with pain. “Is that true?”
I nodded; I had zero pity for the loss of her mother.
Abraham roared his fury, throwing himself off the balcony and landing with an earth-quaking boom on the ground below.
I smiled, straightening up. “That's more like it.”
He charged forward, shooting another arrow. I darted aside, laughing my joy as it zoomed overhead.
I ran to meet Abraham, a silver blade in his hand. He jabbed it toward my chest and I side-stepped, trying to trip him. He was too fast, swinging around and slashing out again, spittle flying from his mouth.
“My wife is not dead!” he bellowed, striking at me again. The blade slit across my arm as I failed to move in time. I gasped, dropping low and throwing my weight into him. My heels tore through the carpet as the full force of him collided with me.
I gritted my teeth, slashing his stomach with my nails. He jammed his elbow into my shoulder and I fell to one knee. Before he could finish the job, I rolled backwards and his blade slammed into the carpet. He yanked it free, stalking toward me, his shirt torn and bloodied where I'd left my mark. Not nearly deep enough though.
“You disgusting V, run back and fetch your friends. If they want me dead, tell them to fight me themselves!” He licked the blood from his blade and I watched in disgust as the wounds on his abs healed over.
“Kite – stop!” Mercy begged, her voice closer now, though I didn't turn to look.
“I'll bring your head to Selena Grey myself!” I leapt at Abraham, flying through the air and gripping his head as I tried to bring him to his knees. His blade tore across my back, making me fight harder against the scorching pain.
I buried my fingers in his eyes, digging deeper and deeper until he roared, throwing me from him. The room spun as I flew through the air, smashing into a poker table and cleaving it in two. I sprang to my feet, finding him drinking my blood again, his mouth wet with it as he smiled. His reddened eyes gleamed as they healed.
My weakness is his strength.
I ripped a wooden leg from the table, snapping it in two before throwing them like javelins in his direction. Abraham dodged the first but the second lodged in his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. I dove forward to finish the kill, but before I could get close, someone collided with me. Mercy knocked me off balance, screaming desperately for me to stop.
I grabbed a fistful of her hair, spying Abraham rising to his feet in the corner of my eye. In a flash of decision, I dragged her against me, locking my hand around her throat.
“Surrender or I'll snap her neck,” I snarled.
“Daddy!” Mercy screamed, writhing in my arms.
“Shut up!” he roared, glaring at her. “You brought this on yourself.” He pointed the bloody blade at her, his eyes shifting to me. “Go ahead, kill the wretch who would defy her family.”
I stilled, unsure if he was bluffing.
“You don't mean it!” Mercy cried, going rigid in my arms.
“You bring shame on our name, daughter,” he snarled. “You think I don't know it was you who released those Vampires? You think I don't know what you did?!”
His booming voice echoed around the casino and the chandeliers tinkled above us.
Mercy gasped, pressing back into my arms like she was seeking protection from me. “I-I-”
“Go ahead, deny it,” I growled in her ear. “Be the coward I know you are.”
“I did it,” Mercy breathed.
Abraham looked ill, like he hadn't been sure at all of his accusation.
She barreled on, “But I never wanted you and Mum to get hurt. I made a deal with them-”
“HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN ON THEIR SIDE?” he roared, his face turning purple as he raised his crossbow, level with her heart.
She trembled in my arms and I almost let her go.
Get a grip, Kite.
I thought of Poppy. Of the little sister I'd tried to protect my whole life. No one had ever protected Mercy.
“A while,” Mercy admitted. “I can't be a part of this...”
Abraham's face paled. His eyes grew distant as he lifted the crossbow. “Then you're no longer my daughter.” He pulled the trigger.
As if in slow motion I saw the arrow whistling toward us. Her.
I twisted one-eighty on my heel. The pierce of the arrow was agony, slicing through my spine, breaking every bone and muscle along the way.
A breath rolled into my lungs, sweeter than anything I'd ever tasted. It tasted of peace.
I dropped to my knees, releasing Mercy. She fell forward, turning back to me, her eyes wide.
She reached for my cheek and suddenly she wasn't the golden-haired Helsing girl. She was Poppy, lying in my arms on a windswept road, the rain blowing around us.
She was awake, bright-eyed and smiling up at me like she'd just risen from a deep sleep.
“You saved me,” she whispered and I grinned, taking her hand.
“That's what sisters do,” I murmured, the pain ebbing away and peace taking its place. “Love you, Poppy.” My eyes fluttered closed as I left this bitter, blood-filled world behind me.
I was the girl who died twice. And wherever I was going, I knew I'd find Poppy there waiting for me.
Two Years Ago
A policeman locked cuffs around my wrists. I'd been on the run ever since I'd broken free from the asylum. I'd killed three people in my escape. The drooling patient, a nurse and Mrs Lewis. My face had been all over the newspapers. I was 'dangerous and unstable'. And yet I felt more sane than I had in years. I laid low, cut my hair, made friends with the sort of people who belonged on Crimewatch.
I'd do whatever it took to survive. Mugging became a way of life. Something had happened to me in that godforsaken place. I'd lost a vital piece of myself. Killing didn't bother me. In fact, sometimes it made me feel better. When I killed, I thought of Cade, of his friend in the woods, of the man who'd shot my father. I pictured driving my switch-blade into them again and again. Sometimes I went too far.
Today had been one of those days. I'd followed a man from a cash-point. Nice suit, nice shoes, nice life. I knew he had money. I never aimed to kill. Usually I didn't have to. Just pointed a blade at them until they gave me what I wanted. They assumed I was some wasted druggy out looking to buy my next hit. But I'd never touch the stuff, not after spending three years forced out of my own mind by drugs. No, I was buying myself a future. Saving every penny I could, planning for the day I could afford a lawyer or a detective who could dig into my past, clear my name. It was the stuff of movies. Stupid, really. But all I had to hold on to.
So when I'd followed that guy into the park, I'd been thinking of freedom, not of what could happen if I got caught. I never got caught. I was fast, clever. I covered my face, my hands. Just didn't realise I'd been out-moved this time. It was a set-up. Worst of all, it hadn't been for me. It had been for some other mugger in the area. I never struck the same place twice. I'd been caught by someone else's idiocy.
When they brought me to the station, I gave the only thing I still had of my past. My name.
“Kite Hargreaves.”
They knew that name. They'd been searching for me for a long time.
“Shit boss-” The policeman who'd arrested me called in a whole unit to process me. Took most of the night. I sat in a cell, numb, wondering if this might work out for the best anyway. Maybe they'd look into my past now. Maybe all I'd needed was to get caught.
◐ ☼ ◐
My lawyer got me a better deal than I could've hoped for. My story about my family's death didn't fly. No matter how far my lawyer dug into it, he couldn't find a scrap of evidence. They'd been buried in the graveyard near my home. Car crash. Simple as that. He said I must have had a minor breakdown when it happened. That's why I'd ended up in the asylum.
The sad part was, I'd had to accept that as the truth. For the sake of getting a decent deal in court. I'd murdered more people than I remembered. Maimed plenty of others. Stolen thousands of pounds in jewellery, watches, gadgets.
So the only thing I could ask for was that I wasn't shipped off to another asylum. I wanted the opposite of what every other criminal in history wanted. To go to prison. Because at least there I'd keep my mind. At least I wouldn't be written off as insane. And that was all I could pray for now.
Lucky for me, new assessments for mental illness had been introduced to criminal trials during my time on the run. So despite the fact I had a 'history of mental illness' I was allowed to be re-tested. Passing the sanity test with flying colours. It was kind of reassuring even to me to know I'd been right all along. That some screwed up, underground society had buried my family's deaths. And they'd tried to bury me too. It wasn't exactly a win. But it was something.
◐ ☼ ◐
Prison was easier than I'd expected. Turned out, having little emotion made me strong. A girl named Rita called herself Top Bitch, naming every one of her subordinates her 'mutts'. I had to get used to the dog terms fast, and with Poppy's nickname always sparking fury in me, I decided to desensitise myself to it. Started calling everyone Puppy until it no longer meant anything to me. I worked my way up under Rita until I was her right-hand woman. We had a thing for a while, then she was transferred to another prison up North and I took her place.
What wasn't easy, was the lack of purpose. The future I'd held onto for so many years, working toward exoneration. And the ever-nagging question of who was it that had buried my family? Who had my father worked for and pissed off?
I never really made peace with that.
Life's a bitch, I guess. And then you die.