ONE
Warehouse B was on fire and Phoenyx was the one who’d struck the match. The acrid smell of smoke stung her nostrils as she leapt effortlessly onto a nearby shipping container to assess the damage she’d done. Flames licked the walls like wild tongues, and the floor hissed and crackled beneath her. She could see the heat rising in waves, even before she spotted him through them. His image was distorted like a funhouse mirror, but unmistakable for what it was.
The vampire snarled viciously, closing the distance between them quickly. She stood above him, a terrifying, fantastic vision of wild, strawberry blonde hair and raging green eyes against a backdrop of fire. Blood oozed from a gash in her right shoulder and soot marred the flawless hue of her skin.
With one hand clutching her crossbow, knuckles white, she raised the other arm into the air until it made a ninety-degree angle with her body. The vampire's eyes followed it slowly, from shoulder to fist. In her fist was a grenade.
"Any last words?" She asked, almost sweetly.
"Phoenyx," the vampire hissed.
There weren’t any second chances for the undead in situations like these, at least not by her standards. Especially not after having the audacity to try and take her out. That was the biggest no-no of all. When that happened, you paid with your life––or un-life, so to speak. Silently, she pulled the pin and launched the grenade at his feet. It exploded on impact, sending the living corpse in every direction but South.
Phoenyx smiled coldly. "I love it when they say my name."
Crouching beneath the curtain of flames and ash as it rained down upon her. Phoenyx’s feet found the gritty floor. As she jumped off the shipping container, the heels of her boots connected with the concrete in a solid thud, the impact sending little shockwaves up her calves. Distant, roaring screams of agony permeated her brain, remnants of the nest she came to destroy rather eloquently. Gritting her teeth against the heat that lapped hungrily at every inch of exposed flesh, beads of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades and breasts. The vampires hadn’t stood a chance.
At some point during the fight, her mind went to her informant, a two-hundred-year-old, Argentinian Sand Demon named Cortez. He had tipped her off to the nest. It had been a trap, and she meant to have words with him about it. Phoenyx wasn’t sure what Cortez’s angle had been, but she was sure as hell going to find out––no matter what it took.
Those seedy vamps had it in their cold, lifeless heads to take up shop in her hometown of Crystal Haven, and their leader, who's parts she would later have to scrub diligently out of her brand new black tank top, had been ballsy––she’d give him that, but he took stupid to a whole other level.
Leader. Phoenyx nearly scoffed as she looked around like a hawk to be sure she’d gotten them all. Their leader had been brand spanking new to the vampire business, barely two-years-old in fact, and he’d actually lunged for her. Even a fledgling would know they wouldn’t have stood a chance against her. He knew who he’d been dealing with. There wasn’t a Supernatural around that didn’t know who she was, or what she was capable of. This town belonged to her, and no one fucked with what was hers. No one. Not if they wanted to see another day anyway.
This group, however, could make a toddler look like a brain surgeon. Regardless of what their intentions had been, Phoenyx used it as an excuse to blow shit up and push another vampire past the veil that separated the human world from what lay beyond. Phoenyx was no stranger to that world. It had haunted her all her life.
Just then, a spark stung her collarbone, reminding her of the necklace she had lost during the fight. It was the only link she had to her life before now. Her human life as it was.
Now, Phoenyx was ruled by what went bump in the night. She protected and served against the monsters under the bed. The time before now was gone, but that necklace always served to remind her of where she’d come from, who she had been. She would have to search for it when the flames died down.
Unexpectedly, a shadow to her left made her instantly aware that the job she had set out to do was incomplete.
The building was in ruins. Flames licked the ceiling seductively, and the floor was covered in vampire body parts, quickly dissolving into blackening ash.
Phoenyx closed her eyes, cocked her head, and…listened. There it is again!
A slow rustle of movement was coming from somewhere nearby, behind a myriad of crushed furniture, which was slowly igniting. If it was a vampire, and Phoenyx was pretty sure it was, he'd have to come out sooner rather than later. He’d either die by her hand or from the fire, and neither of those things looked promising for him.
Phoenyx edged closer to the sound, her crossbow at eye level as she approached, silent as a panther. When she was within five feet, she stopped, and bellowed over the sound of the roaring flames. “Don't move an inch or I'll skewer you faster than you can say Sunday Barbeque.”
“P-please, d-d-don't kill me,” he stuttered, making himself known. He came out with his hands tucked in close to his chest, like a mouse caught with the cheese, and cowered beneath her savage stare.
“Vampire?” Phoenyx inquired delicately.
Terrified, he had the decency to hesitate before he answered. “Y-yes.”
“In that case, if you haven't ever gotten down on your knees and prayed before,” Phoenyx said, fitting the crossbow more securely into the crook of her bloody arm. “I suggest you start praying now.”
“No, wait!” The vampire called out; hands held up before him, as though they alone could stop her crossbow from its sure aim. He closed his eyes before proceeding quickly. “I can tell you who he was.”
Phoenyx tipped her chin at him, her eyes cool, emerald stones. “Who?”
“The Big Boss,” The vamp whispered, as though his former associates might be able to hear him still.
Laughing, the sound as delicate as bells, Phoenyx bit her lip and smiled. “You mean, the now dismembered remains of the guy who thought he was King Shit?”
The vampire nodded his head in quick, jerky movements. He knew he was going to die––again, and there would be no stopping her from doing him in. Still, she could tell he couldn't help himself from hoping that maybe, just maybe, she might take pity on him if he gave up all the information he had.
He was going to be wrong.
“Not interested,” Phoenyx spat. “He thought he could take me down. You all did, and I don't take kindly to that.”
“We were sent here!” He screamed, dropping to his knees. Red tears streamed freely from the corners of his eyes.
“Well,” Phoenyx breathed, eyes narrowing. Lowering her crossbow, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a cigarette, which she pressed between her full lips before lighting it with what looked like a miniature flamethrower. She exhaled. “Now that’s interesting. Sent here by whom?”
The simpering tears came more freely now, and he sniffled. “I don't know.”
Dropping her cigarette, Phoenyx steadied the crossbow once more and took aim. “Very well, say your prayers or chant––whatever you're into is cool with me."
“No!” He cried. “No, I mean, he didn't…he didn't give us a name.”
“Go on.” She urged.
The vampire stood, shoulders slumped in defeat and made his way to a half-broken chair in a safer spot in the room. He sat, hunched over, before looking up at her with weary eyes. “Got another smoke?”
Phoenyx reached into her back pocket and threw the pack at him.
The vampire lit one up, closing his eyes in pleasure. He motioned to her with the cigarette, a small smirk on his face, making him appear almost human.
“You know, before I became the vicious monster you see before you,” his sarcasm wasn’t lost on her. “I used to smoke a pack a day. There was nothing I loved more than a cigarette with my coffee every goddamn morning,” He took another long drag. “You should quit. These things'll kill ya.”
“You were saying…” Phoenyx pressed impatiently, arching a brow.
The vampire leaned back in the chair. “The guy that sent us––he was just awesome. Two thousand years old, at least. He told Curt, the vampire you're wearing; he told Curt that we could live well in Crystal Haven. Of course, to do that, we would have to bring him The Phoenyx.”
“A Hit?” Phoenyx murmured appreciatively. “Impressive. Stupid, but impressive––and oddly flattering.”
She beckoned with her free hand. “Continue.”
The vampire flicked the drained cigarette-butt away from his body and reached for a new one. “He said we could live like kings as long as you were out of the picture. Told us there'd be a lot of money in it for us too.”
Phoenyx watched the vampire laugh to himself as he lit, yet another cigarette. She studied him for a moment. Defeat spread across his face as he hunched over, elbows on his knees. Pink streaks stained his cheeks through the dirt and cinders, leaving little trails down his chin. He was a minion, that much was obvious, but he was spilling everything he knew.
She sighed and crouched on her haunches. “This head honcho didn't give you a name then?”
The vampire shook his head, dragging long on his smoke. He watched Phoenyx as she ran her hands through her hair and sighed.
“What did he look like…um?” She gestured at him helplessly, unsure of what to call him.
He glanced up slowly. “My name is Bob.”
Phoenyx had to suppress the laugh that tried to choke its way up to her lips. The supernatural world is clearly going to shit. Curt? Bob? This had to be a joke. There used to be a time when you’d run into a vamp and they’d have the weight of the world on their shoulders. Experienced, sophisticated, probably with a foreign accent too––they’d have a name like Maximillian or Renaud. Old school romance novel names with mysterious, brooding intensity to spare. She snorted. Bob, indeed.
“Bob,” she said, starting to think that maybe mousy old Bob was just trying to stall the inevitable. “Did you get a good look at him––this awesome, ancient vampire?”
Bob shook his head. “He wore a mask, but he was dressed to the nines, real savvy looking. Tall. British, I think.”
That's more like it, Phoenyx thought.
“Now, Bob, if he was all that and a bottle of whiskey, why not just show his face? Let you and yours know who they were dealing with?” She asked practically.
Bob shrugged. “That's what Curt said. The guy just laughed at him. A real, full-bellied laugh. Said we'd all find out in due time. It was very cryptic.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Yeah,” Bob said around a mouthful of smoke. “He said something about The Order of the Flame…whatever the hell that is.”
Her back bristled and she paled at the mention of The Order. Shit just got unbelievably real. Suddenly Phoenyx found herself feeling what she could only closely compare to panic. It wasn’t just about her anymore.
“What exactly did he say?” Phoenyx demanded, letting go of the breath that had caught in her throat.
“What is it?” Bob asked, his interest suddenly piqued.
“Nevermind what it is,” Phoenyx snapped. “What. Did. He. Say.”
Standing, Bob wiped at his obviously drained face with the heels of his palms. “He said they'd pay for everything they'd done to him, and that with The Phoenyx gone, he would squash them until there was nothing left of them but the memory of a stain beneath his obscenely expensive Armani shoe. That’s verbatim, of course.”
“Of course,” she mumbled, her mind racing. Her eyes pierced his. “Were there others with him?”
“Oh yes, Phoenyx,” Bob murmured, his eyes taking on a strange distant look before quickly snapping back to reality. “Look, are you going to kill me, or not?”
She was peeved that Bob wasn’t going to offer any more information on the subject, but what exactly had she expected? This guy had never been meant for the undead life, that much was clear. He looked better suited to accounting or branch manager at a bank, and he could have very well been either in his human life. But he wasn’t human anymore.
Bob looked at her pointedly, expecting an answer to his question?
Never breaking eye contact, Phoenyx responded, “Are you so eager to die?”
“If you don't do it, he will.” Bob hissed. “He got into our heads that night. He knew all our names, memories; pre-vamp and post. All those years as a vampire brings immeasurable power, Assassin. Truthfully, if he wanted you gone, he wouldn't have hired a bunch of half-assed, vampire low-lives like us to take you down.”
There was a ring of truth to his words. Something told her that Bob had never been one to mince words in his human life either. Phoenyx wondered briefly if he’d had a family before now, and if they missed him terribly. She scowled at the softness of the thought.
As if he could tell her mind was wandering off task, Bob shuffled forward, braver than before. “Come to think of it,” Bob said with a smirk, inching closer. “I'm pretty sure he sent us to give you a message.”
Phoenyx’s skin pricked as he began to close the distance between them. She carefully realigned her crossbow, finger jerked at the trigger, ready to fire. “And what message would that be?”
Bob looked almost sad, only a few feet away now. “You're as good as dead, Phoenyx…and I'm as good as done. Do it. Finish me.”
There was a nagging hum in her ears as the flames blazed around them, closing them off to the rest of the world. Cat and mouse, assassin and vampire––their only commonality being the darkness of night. Somewhere inside, she felt almost guilty. Almost. He was asking to die, probably unlike the first time, when he’d been turned. The least she could do was oblige him.
Feelings of sympathy and sadness began to overcome her, and she had to fight to put that side of her, her mother’s side, to rest. She’d been put on this Earth for one purpose and one purpose alone; to take out the bad guys. That’s why she was born. Knowing now that her employers, The Order of the Flame, were at risk; well, that just opened a whole other bag of nasty.
Secret Organization, my ass, she thought bitterly.
It wasn’t the time or place for her emotions to get the better of her. There was so much more at stake now than ever before, and she couldn’t let a vampire as insignificant as Bob get in the way. It was cruel and cold, but she had been taught no other way. He was a monster now, just like he said, and monsters didn’t get to live.
“Bob?” She whispered, straightening her shoulders and pressing her finger firmly to the trigger mechanism.
“Yeah?”
“It's been swell.” Phoenyx exhaled sharply and pressed down hard.
The arrow flew true and straight, and within seconds it pierced Bob's cold, dead heart. He smiled and mouthed the word, ‘Anytime,’ before being consumed by a swirling vortex of darkness that first expanded, and then shrank to nothing more than speck of dust. Just like that. Snuffled out for all of eternity, by her hand.
Phoenyx inhaled sharply, having been holding her breath. Blinking back unexpected tears, she silently chastised herself, “Shut it down. Shut. It. Down."
Something glinted within the ashes that had once been Bob, catching the light of the flames. Phoenyx stumbled forward, as curious as a crow being enticed by something shiny from above. As she approached, she could see it was a gold wedding band. She turned it over between her fingertips, inspecting it carefully before finding an inscription on the inside. It read: Mr. & Mrs. Delmar––July 9th, 2005. Above her, a beam split and landed in flames beside her, forcing her to drop down to one knee. The intensity coming from its red embers licked at her thigh like a thirsty dog. If she didn't get out of there soon, she was toast––literally.
Looking for a quick exit, she lifted her hand to wipe the sweat from her collarbone and stiffened, suddenly remembering her necklace was gone. Her eyes darted around wildly. A faint tinge of grief tickled her heart, forcing her to stay and search.
"Where the hell did you go, damn it?" she snarled, crawling on her hands and knees in the filth and sweltering heat.
Phoenyx looked up upon hearing the support beams creak and groan. The building was about to collapse, and she'd already overstayed her welcome. She'd have to come back the next morning to search for her necklace, amongst the rubble. Besides, she had to get downtown as quickly as possible. She and Cortez needed to have a little chat.
The Order wouldn't be happy to know that their top-secret organization wasn't much of a secret anymore, and whoever this Armani-wearing, masked, ancient vampire was, someone had to put him out of commission, as of yesterday.
The thought of a blind threat hiding in the shadows, a threat that seemed to know too much about things he shouldn’t, was enough to leave Phoenyx’s blood cold. It was going to be a very long night, and she needed to find Cortez before she hit up The Order. That way, she could get the skinny on the extra-curricular activities of the Supernaturals in town.
Somebody knew something, and Cortez was going to spill all the beans, whether he liked it or not.