E.V.I.E.: 13 Slayers, 13 Missions

by Lexi C. Foss

  “And when I’m called away suddenly?” Solange asked, looking down at the dog.

  “Something will come up,” Gillian said. “Now, how about you have a seat and tell me what happened in Italy. You didn’t come rushing in telling me you got him, nor did you call me from Italy asking for clean up, so, I’m clueless.”

  “I was close, so close, Gillian. I mean, seconds away from ending him. I had him believing he’d overpowered me. All that remained was to gut him and remove his heart…”

  “What stopped you?!” Gillian asked, on the edge of her seat on finding out how close Solange was to killing Alastair.

  “I was interrupted by someone thinking they were saving me, and he got away.”

  “Oh, my gosh! Did they get a good look at you? Can they identify you? If you feel compromised, we can run interference if necessary,” Gillian offered.

  Solange thought about Crispin. She recalled every nuance of his face, his scent, the feel of him near her — she could even feel his lips on hers. She decided in that moment to take every precaution to be sure that E.V.I.E. would never learn of him.

  “Solange?” Gillian said.

  Solange looked up suddenly, meeting Gillian’s gaze. “Did they see you? Do you feel compromised? Can they identify you?”

  “No,” Solange answered, shaking her head, a false smile in place as she lied her ass off to her best friend and boss. “No, they can’t. I didn’t even stay after that. I took the girl to safety. Later I went back to look for the dog that I knew belonged to the family Alastair had killed. I didn’t want him to starve or get lost in the woods or something, and I was afraid he might have been lying somewhere injured. But there was no one there when I found him, so I just took him and left.”

  “Excellent. Now, back up and tell me the whole story.”

  “I will, but have you heard about the girl I left at the convent? I gave them your contact information for expenses. Is she going to be okay?”

  “We don’t know, Solange. We had her transferred to another facility better equipped to care for her. She’s not functioning at all. Just lies in bed and stares at the walls all day. She doesn’t eat, they have her on intravenous feedings. She doesn’t respond to any type of stimulus at all. We aren’t sure if she was bitten or if she was injured in the attack. Normally, we’d just keep an eye on her until we knew for sure, but with this girl, she can’t be released in her condition anyway.”

  “I’m so sorry for her. I wish I could have been a little sooner, maybe I could have stopped…”

  “Don’t do that. Just don’t. No one knows what could and couldn’t be different if just the smallest thing had changed. You saved her. And if we can get her to respond, and we’re sure she hasn’t been turned, she still has a chance at life if she can get over the trauma. It’s so much more than she’d have if you hadn’t gotten there when you did,” Gillian said.

  “You’re right,” Solange answered softly.

  Mr. Scruffikins jumped up in her lap, giving her kisses until she smiled again.

  Gillian grinned watching the dog soothe his new mommy. “So, tell me what happened, and start at the beginning so I can log it all in our records. She pressed record on her cell phone and sat back waiting for Solange to begin her story.

  An hour later, having filled in all the holes and details — almost — Solange stood to go. “Are you sure you don’t want to adopt Mr. Scruffikins? I mean, I’m practically begging here,” Solange said, smiling hopefully.

  “No, but I’ll make a deal with you. You keep him. He’s yours, and when you’re called away, even if it’s 2:00 A.M., you bring him to me and I’ll take care of him until you get back.”

  “Really?” Solange asked, perking up.

  “Really.”

  “Excellent!” Solange said, rushing back to Gillian to hug her. “Thank you, Gillian.”

  “You’re welcome,” Gillian answered, hugging Solange tightly.

  Solange pulled back and did a happy dance. “I’m so happy!”

  “I know,” Gillian said. “You'd have cried if I said I would take your dog.”

  “Probably, but I wouldn’t have told you,” Solange admitted.

  “See you later?” Solange asked, backing toward the door.

  “Yes. And I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything on your next mission.”

  “Great. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

  “Oh, and Solange?” Gillian called when Solange was almost to the front door.

  “Yes?” Solange called, looking over her shoulder as she stood in the open doorway of the New Orleans offices of E.V.I.E.

  “When you're ready to let me know all the parts you left out, give me a call, huh?” Gillian said, smiling at Solange before winking at her and closing her office door.

  Solange didn’t give any indication that she knew what Gillian was inferring. She looked at Marilee, who looked back at her curiously. “Wonder what that was about?” Solange said. Then she looked down at Mr. Scruffikins. “Oh, well. How about a trip to the French Market? Let’s go see what we can find. Pick up some seafood, and maybe get you a new toy,” she said to the dog as they walked out of the office and headed down the sidewalk.

  Solange took a deep breath, not looking back or at any of the cameras she knew were tucked away into almost every angle surrounding E.V.I.E.’s offices. She didn’t want to give away that she was unnerved by the fact that Gillian knew she’d withheld information. She just couldn’t make herself give Crispin away. She couldn’t have Crispin. Her life — who she was and what she did, didn’t allow for him. But, she could allow herself to have those few stolen moments in the church in Italy. They were precious to her, and not only did she not want to share them with anyone, she didn’t want E.V.I.E. to be aware that Crispin existed, if they weren’t already.

  Solange let herself into her penthouse apartment, disarmed the alarm and looked around. Nothing looked to be disturbed and her alarm system was still engaged. Her eyes traveled over the white furniture with the shiny, black ebony framework, white carpeting, the black and white coffee and end tables, the white walls, filled with black and white photos with sleek black frames. Yep, nothing disturbed. She walked over to the full wall of floor-to-ceiling sliding windows and looked out over her swimming pool. The surface of her private outdoor terrace was just as pristine white as the inside of her condo. She had white pool chairs set about for lounging in the sun, and had decorated the space with potted plants of all types and sizes. To the left of the pool was a ‘cabana’ which, housed towels, extra pool floats and chairs, and her workout equipment. She had mats for practicing her martial arts, and several exercise machines. After a quick walk through the condo to be sure it was not compromised, she finally put Mr. Scruffikins down so he could run and play. She took his new toys and his new bed out of her shopping bags and placed them on the floor, where he could find them easily, then walked through her apartment methodically undressing and leaving a trail of clothing behind herself on the way to the master bath. Once there, she changed into her swimsuit and made her way back into the living area of the condo.

  Solange unlocked the sliding window wall panels and pressed the button for them to open. She went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of sweet tea while the wall of windows opened to give her open access to her pool and outside terrace. She smiled as she walked over to it and saw Mr. Scruffikins sitting at the threshold waiting for permission to go outside. “Go on, it’s okay,” she told him.

  Mr. Scruffikins yipped at her and wagging his tail behind him shot out onto the white surfaced terrace, sniffing and snuffling at each bit of greenery he discovered in her lush potted plants. Solange set her glass down on one of the side tables and walked over to the pool to dip a toe in to test the temperature. Smiling at finding the temperature warm, she raised her hands over her head and dove in.

  She surfaced laughing, trying not to choke when Mr. Scruffikins jumped in with her and happily dog paddled his way around barking at the
floats bobbing about in the pool. As Mr. Scruffikins found the stairs and got out of the pool, shaking his coat free of the pool water, Solange floated onto her back, and smiled squintingly up at the sun. There was a reason she’d chosen this condo. It was all windows, all exposed to the sun, and high enough up no one could be watching her without her knowledge. Of course she had heavy drapes for if she ever wanted to use them, but she had yet to even bother with them.

  She loved her space. It was hers — simple, clean, uncomplicated. No one but her here and no one to answer to but herself. She turned over and started swimming for the other end of the pool. “I’ll race you, Mr. Scruffikins!” she shouted as the scruffy little dog ran along the side of the pool yipping at her joyously.

  13

  Crispin walked the uneven, broken pavement of the busiest, dirtiest street he’d ever walked. Wearing a pair of sunglasses despite the fact that it was nighttime, he easily blended in with the throngs of tourists that wandered Bourbon Street. During the day the locals filled it. Some were working in shops and bars, others were peddling their wares or performing in the streets, but at night, most of the locals — save the bar workers — headed home, turning it over to the tourists that continuously poured into New Orleans day in and day out, regardless of the season.

  He winced as he passed a particularly loud barroom, the music blasting out into the street. He’d been concentrating on listening for anything that seemed out of place, and the loud music seemed even louder because of it. He’d tracked Alastair, the pull of the creator to the turned giving him a trail, albeit weak trail, to follow. And it had brought him here. He had no doubt Alastair was in this city. But this city was immense, so, he walked the streets, hoping to find a glimpse of him, or pick up on the feeling that he was near. He was not discouraged, he knew sooner or later, he’d find him.

  A woman with long brown hair walked out of a bar a block ahead of him and his eyes zeroed in on her. She laughed, throwing her arms around the man she was with and Crispin snarled. He hurried his steps until he was almost on them. Then the woman turned in his direction, smiling and pointing to a sign that advertised the bar she wanted to go to next. His heart rate slowed to normal, his adrenalin dropped, and he chastised himself for being a fool. She wasn’t Solange. Just had hair similar to Solange, and was about the same height. Even if it was her, he had no right to become enraged if she chose to spend time with another male.

  “Get ahold of yourself, man!” he whispered, taking a deep breath and shaking his head to clear it. ‘You’d have felt her if it was her,’ he thought to himself. He huffed out a breath and started on his way again — his senses open, searching, his eyes sharp, looking for any trace of Alastair. Who was he kidding? He was also looking for any trace of Solange. He needed to see Solange, like he needed his next breath. Besides, he reasoned, if he found one of them, he’d likely find the other nearby. Tiring of walking the French Quarter, he directed his steps toward the old French Market. Perhaps one or the other of them had been there, and he could pick up a sense of them.

  It was two in the morning when Solange was awakened by a soft growl. She didn’t open her eyes, instead she pretended she was still sleeping, and listened to Mr. Scruffikins who was curled up beside her head, sharing her pillow as he growled at something he was not very happy with. Solange sent out her energies, ‘feeling’ around her room for any type of presence. There was none. Slowly, she opened her eyes and sure she was alone, silently slid from her bed and stood there totally nude, pressed against her bedroom wall in the darkness. She watched Mr. Scruffikins for any sign he was still on alert. He lifted his lip and snarled while his eyes were pinned on the hallway.

  Then she heard it. ‘Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.’

  Solange reached for the over-sized teeshirt she’d tossed to the foot of her bed when she finally got in bed for the night, and slipped it over her head. Quietly she made her way from her bedroom toward her living room where she’d heard the tapping noise coming from. Mr. Scruffikins fell into step behind her. “Stay here,” she whispered to him, flashing her palm at him to signify he needed to stay.

  When she reached the end of the hallway, she closed her eyes and sent out her energies again, feeling for any presence at all, inside or outside of her condo. And she felt him. He was here.

  ‘Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.’ That sound again, like metal tapping glass. She took a deep breath, surrounded herself with protections, then stepped into the living room. The sight that greeted her made her heart race. There he stood, leaning against her windows, his forehead pressed against the glass as he rhythmically tapped his sharp nails against the double-reinforced pane. She stared at him, and he stared right back at her. Their eyes locked on one another, each waiting to see what move the other would make.

  Solange shook her head at her own decision as she stalked toward the control panel, deactivated the alarm, threw the manual lock on the sliding glass windows, and pushed the button to open them. She watched as the windows slowly slid into place, every other one behind the one next to it, leaving wide spaces open between them. The heavy, humid night air came in, mixing with the cool air of her air-conditioned condo, and with it, stepped Crispin. His attention focused completely on her.

  Crispin walked toward her, unafraid, unhesitant, his need to see her, to feel her, overriding any sense of self-preservation he should have felt due to her profession.

  She still stood beside the controls for her windows, watching him approach. She should have been afraid as well. He was after all, a vampire. And vampirism is what she’d dedicated her life to eradicating. She took a deep breath and let it out shakily when she realized she did feel a sliver of fear, but it wasn’t fear of Crispin, it was fear of what Crispin made her feel.

  “How did you find me?” she asked.

  “Hunting. Like you do. Walked through the market tonight, it was empty, the stalls locked up tight. But I found something anyway.”

  “And what was that?” Solange asked, acutely aware that he stood so close she could feel his breath.

  “Your scent weaving in and out of some of the stalls. Yours and the dog’s. Followed them to this area, and then, to this building. Found your terrace. Once I knew for sure I’d found you, I just couldn’t make myself leave.”

  “So you tapped on my window until I came to let you in.”

  “Something like that. I hoped you’d let me in,” he said, grinning sinfully.

  “What do you want, Crispy?” she asked, as he stood close to her, his body heat as intense as his stare.

  “You. I needed to see you, to speak with you. Just to be near you,” he confided, giving up any pretense of misleading her.

  Solange regarded him for a moment, then let her eyes travel outside to her pool. “How did you really track me?” she asked before looking back at him. She was on edge now. The idea that he had tracked her simply by scent was unheard of, but it was entirely possible he had developed talents that they’d not yet been aware of in a vampire. And if he had, two things needed to happen — she needed to tell Gillian about the possibility that both she and the rest of the slayers could be tracked through scent, and she’d need to move, to a more secretive space, and start wearing perfume to disguise her scent.

  “I told you, scent,” he lied.

  She called his bluff. “If you want to end this conversation here and now, go ahead and keep lying to me as you leave my home.”

  Crispin didn’t respond at first, then he nodded. “I didn’t want you to be angry.”

  “Go on,” she said, a smirk on her pretty face, as she stood seemingly relaxed with her arms loosely crossed over her ribs.

  “When we kissed, back in the church?” he said, prompting her to remember.

  “Yes,” she answered, her eyebrows raised, waiting for the rest.

  “Alastair had hit you… there was a little blood,” he raised his hand to point to the corner of her mouth, “just there.”

  Her eyes rounded and her lips set firm.


  “I couldn’t help it. I kissed you, I tasted it, I took it in. It wasn’t enough to bind us, but it’s enough that if I’m in the vicinity you are, I can get an idea of the direction you’re in. That’s how I found you,” Crispin explained.

  “How’d you know I’d been to the market?” she asked.

  “Shopping bag on the coffee table in the living room says French Market, and I was on my way there when I felt you in this building. That you’d taken the dog with you was simply an educated guess. You’d asked me about the dog back in Italy, and there are dog toys and a dog bed out by the pool.”

  Solange stood there, trying to make sense of what he’d said. Trying to determine if she had to kill him now that he had a tie to her, a loose one, but still a tie.

  Crispin could tell it unnerved her. “It’s not that bad, Solange. I’m not evil and insane, needing extermination to protect the human race from my rampages.”

  At the sound of her name she returned her focus to him.

  “That’s your name isn’t it? You shared it with me before you disappeared. And things are not as bad as you think.”

  “Of course they are!” she hissed. “I’m a slayer! I can’t be tracked, I can’t be identified. And now you have a link to me and have tracked me to my home! You’re a vampire, Crispin. You’ve compromised everything about me!”

  Once she became upset, Mr. Scruffikins charged into the living room, all twelve pounds of him, snarling and bristling as he went straight for Crispin’s leg. He latched onto Crispin’s jeans and shook for all he was worth.

  Crispin looked down at the little furred hellion and chuckled. “What is this?” he asked, lifting the snarling fur ball from the ground after making him let go of his jeans.