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Pushing open the door with her back, the tall German edge her way into the apartment again, this time, a long violin case in her grasp, the other tucking the pistol back into her bag that hung neatly from the dip of her right shoulder. Quietly, she whistled to herself as she stepped around the fresh corpse at the dining room table, a tiny, fresh hole minted behind the left ear of the brunette’s head, her face pressed into the book in front of her, blood pooling across the table to drip against the linoleum floor in a steady spatter.

The destroyed brain tried to get her to flee, fingers twitching loosely at her side, curling and uncurling without much more success than that. One blue eye twitched, eyelid sliding open and shut slowly. She remained in her seat, dinner largely untouched, the big, heavy textbook soaked through, now, as Winter laid her case across the top of the little chaise that rested against the back wall of the apartment, just beneath a broad window that looked across the lawn of the complex, the street, and into the window of the apartment she had managed to pinpoint several blocks down at the end of the street. The woman at the table had been collateral damage; a necessary end to an unexpected variable.

Without another thought to the dead woman, she turned her attention to the case. Slender digits flipped the locks open with a single flick, delicate hands lifting the worn leather to reveal its contents to their owner.

There was no violin inside; instead several components to a fully stripped rifle that the assassin set about assembling, out of sight of the window as she sat, still whistling that tune that had dug itself into her brain and simply wouldn’t leave. Each component of the weapon settled into the next with a little click that gave her a sense of smug satisfaction at the quality and care that she had given the weapon. She set the assembled rifle against the wall, the butt of the weapon rested against the scarlet red stiletto she wore as she lifted both hands to collect her strawberry blonde curls into a tight bun, and tying it neatly at the back of her skull, keeping the errant strands away from her face.

Carefully, she pulled her weapon from the wall, settling the rifle’s stock against her shoulder and lowering her face to the weapon, her cheek resting against the frame as she used her good eye to take inventory of her shot. The flag that flew over the door of the apartment told her the direction of the wind, and the number of intersections gave her an indication of the exact distance from her to her targets, both of whom were spotted in relatively quick succession through the window she had selected. Pleased with herself, she finally let her painted lips curl into a smirk. She saw a flash of blonde, a moment before the blinds to the window snapped shut, leaving the front of the apartment dark.

The smirk evaporated, replaced with a frown as she lifted her face from the cheek rest to look over the facade of the dwelling. That was new. Unexpected. These things were dangerous in her business. More dangerous, though, were her contractors for this job.

Someone was unhappy with NADUMA, apparently, or was simply unhappy that they had American cooperation. Perhaps they were daughters of someone wealthy or powerful, or someone that owed someone else too much. The why of it made little difference to her. The fact of the matter was, these girls were on someone’s list, and so, they were on hers.

With a frustrated growl, she took down her rifle, breaking it down and gingerly placing the pieces back into the violin case. She was going to have to improvise. She took her disguised weapon and turned to where the corpse lay slumped across the table. She pursed her lips, feeling like she should say something. Instead, she let her good eye sweep away from the lifeless face and exited the apartment, closing the door behind her for someone else to find the woman whenever someone missed her.

The plan had been to take out her targets from a distance, to take them down, and enter the home to finish them off, and to collect the proof her contractor needed. Instead, she was going to have to enter a live situation, something she hadn’t done in some time; and as such, she prepared herself as she walked, stretching out her muscles as she moved, rolling her shoulder and keeping her bag neatly tucked against her side. Finally, she ascended the steps to the porch of the apartment, before ringing the bell, taking a step back from the porchlight, allowing herself the benefit of some of the evening darkness to shroud her ghoulish appearance. She set her lips in a tiny, coy smile as she gave herself the appearance of nervousness as she waited for one of them to answer the door, glancing over her shoulder toward the street, before looking back to the door again.

Patience.

It had been the constant dripping from the faucet that distracted Fayre. There were papers scattered across the desk, her signature chicken scratch legible only to those closest to her heart as she wrote frequently in a hurry, keeping to shorthand on some occasions. She almost regretted taking the assignment, the documented cases of vampirism had been groundbreaking. She had looked forward to the possibility of her name in lights, but as she let out an annoyed groan, the elder sister set her face against the cool wood and purposely banged her forehead, once, twice and then silence.

The daughter of a scientist, she had always taken after her mother. She always sought the truth, to further her own findings before anyone else could. It wasn’t easy for her to hit a stone wall, even if she ran full force but when she did, Dr. Amber Fayre Logan hit it hard. If only she still her files from Longslade… “Damn it.” Her palm slammed down against the wooden surface. She didn’t know how long she had been sitting in silence, but the sudden noise from her own voice had her reaching the gun that her sister had insisted in her most recent fit of paranoia taped under the surface. “She’s beginning to rub off on you with her concerns.” Fayre knew that Brielle’s instincts weren’t something to mock. Her younger sister had gone through hell on the battlefields and she wasn’t entirely all there. If Brielle said they were in danger, Fayre was going to listen to her through hell and high water.

Her hand ran through her dirty blonde hair, the strands catching on a singular diamond ring that she wore to remind her that sacrifices were necessary. It was as her arm radiated pain that she knew that not all of her reminders were electronic or materialistic. Muttering about her intelligence, she shrugged out of her hooded sweatshirt to check the gauze wrapped around her bicep. Her first encounter with a vampire had been unpleasant, but beneficial to her studies. It had given her the ability to research their saliva, to study it. At the same time, something had gone wrong and the smell of decay had begun to follow her around as the tissue died despite the antibiotics. The pain hardly bothered her, any more. She tended to her wound, cauterizing the bad and scraping off the dead, smelly tissue as needed. The flesh beneath it was still healthy, but she couldn’t get it to grow.

“Burning flesh or decay, which will it be.”

She thought sardonically, abandoning her hooded sweatshirt as she climbed to her feet. “Where did you put my med bag?” The question was directed to her sister, loud enough for her to hear as she left her room. Minimalistic, obsessively cleaned, their apartment wasn’t a home to Fayre. Home was her parent’s house, her old bedroom in sunny North Carolina where Dr. Rebecca Logan and SMA. Grant Logan had retired. It had been where she’d studied tirelessly for her MCAT, failed it the first time and cried her eyes out for hours, only to pass the second time with flying colors. Home was the sound of the way her sister used to laugh, carefree before they had gone down the path into the military to appease their father, and laid out on the beaches of Myrtle Beach on vacation.

Fayre hadn’t been home for a long time.

Her barefoot connected with the bag she had been asking for, just as she reached for the SCCY CPX-2 that sat on top of her dresser. She tucked it into the waistband of her jeans, hardly going unarmed for her sister’s sanity after the Longslade incident. The waistband of her shirt was rolled lower over her hips, covering the handle of the firearm as knelt down to collect the first aid kit that had been stashed behind it. It wasn’t her usual go bag, but it worked for what she needed it to do. With her first aid kit in hand, she ignored the way the gauze rubbed against the tee shirt she wore, she ignored the sting that danced down through the nerve in her arm. As she padded into the room where she found Brielle, Fayre asked, “Anything yet?” moments before the doorbell rang.

She wasn’t expecting any visitors and moved her hand to the firearm at her waistband, looking to Brielle to see if she had, instead.

There was a time when the blonde smiled. She would laugh, she would feel. Those days were long gone, a distant memory, but she knew that her sister clung to them. It was in everything Fayre did. The way she smiled, the way she would talk about home, as if the memory would be enough to break through the darkness that clung to her. She didn’t understand, and she knew that she never would. Of course, it didn’t help that she never spoke of it. She told no one of her time enlisted, of the nightmares that plagued her every night. With a quiet sigh, she brushed the back of her hand across her brow as she stared down at the gun in front of her, fingers brushing across the cold metal as she finished piecing it back together. One by one, the pieces clicked together, the weight familiar and comforting in her small, yet strong, hands. She knew another conversation was just around the corner, and so she had locked herself in her room, claiming the need to go over reports, but there was no paperwork. There hardly ever was.

While her sister took after their mother, from the sharp, intelligent glint their eyes to the way they laughed, she resembled their father. Cold, calculating, and strong. ‘You’re battleborn,’ her father would tell her, his calloused fingers brushing across her golden hair. As she grew older, the caress would stop, but the words never would. She didn’t resent her sister for her softness, for the light she could still see in the world, but there were times that she wished she’d had a different fate. If she had the chance to -- no. Pushing from the chair, she pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind and holstered her weapon, her eyes narrowing as she gazed about her room. There wasn’t a single thing out of place and it lacked personal flare. She hadn’t intended to stay as long as they had, but the further they fell into the abyss, so to speak, the more trouble they found. From vampires, to zombies, to humans with super-strength…

Harper Rock was a breeding ground for the unnatural, for the dangerous and deadly, and it was her job to keep it contained while her sister lost herself within the research.

As Fayre’s voice broke the silence, she used a booted foot to kick open her bedroom door, and stepped into the hall. “Where it always is,” she said, leaning against the frame as her gaze swept through the small apartment. As helpful as her answer was, her expression remained passive and closed off, until she caught sight of the window. Her jaw tightened, and in a few fluid steps, she was pulling the blinds close, her fingers gripping the material in a closed fist. “Don’t leave the window open,” she sighed, her eyes closing for a moment as she took a deep breath. Something nagged at the back of her mind, but she shook it off and turned to focus on her sister as she came into view.

The chime of the bell had her gaze snapping to the door, her hand dropping to rest against her gun. Shaking her head at her sister’s question, she watched as she moved for the door. Every instinct was telling her to send her sister to her room, but that wasn’t how they worked. The closer Fayre got to the door, the more she tensed, until she felt it. A dark chill settled into her, a repulsion so strong, that she could taste it on her tongue, choking her. She knew that feeling. “Fayre.” Her name left her in a hiss, the warning clear. She watched as her sister paused a step from the door, and then Brielle was moving. Sliding a small piece of wood out of the way, she revealed the keypad beneath, and started arming the traps. Bending down, she grabbed the tripwire and pulled it across the threshold, another put in place two inches behind it. Somewhere above her, she heard the click as the shotgun armed itself, and then the soft whir as the poison trap her sister had put together days before settled into place.

Without another word, she gave a nod of her head and stepped around the corner, her back to the wall and gun in hand, listening as the door opened.

Standing patiently, the tall Bavarian woman lifted a hand to pluck at the neckline of her dress, tugging at both ends of the plunging red fabric in a display of nervous energy as the door opened. A closed, coy smile graced her blood red lips as her good eye swept over one of the two faces she expected to see. She had to work to keep her fingers still, to keep her hand from dropping into her bag and pulling her pistol on the woman right there.

Patience.

She repeated the mantra in her head, and offered a little dip of her head in a physical greeting. “Guten Abend! I ah…” she let her hand slide from her chest, releasing her dress to point down the road with a little twitch of her lips. Her voice sounded rough, like steel on gravel, her accent thickly laced through the gritty sound as she furrowed her brows. “My car,” she emphasized, as if the word had given her trouble, before turning back to the woman in the door. Her dead eye looked right through the woman, without seeing her, the deep, angry scar on her face glistening in the light of the house. “It has ah… it died, ja? And my phone is broken. I was just wondering if I could come in, to make a call? I do not feel like waiting in the street for a tow truck is safe, this late.”

She offered the woman on the other side of the doorway, the most innocent, pleading look she could muster. She was entirely unsure that it would have the desired effect, but, at this point, it was all that was left to her, if she was going to complete the contract by the deadline. She was on a tight schedule and a tighter leash. She shifted her weight to one tall, red heel and lifted her empty hand to push her fingers through the tightly bound strands of her lightly gingered hair.

“I hate to intrude, but the payphone at your corner there is broken.” She tipped her head to the clearly damaged payphone and lifted a slender shoulder. She stood tall, and let her head lift, as if she were regaining an air of confidence after debasing herself asking for a favor. She was, after all, a respected architect and socialite, proud of her position in her field. She placed a sort of stoic expression on her face as she awaited the woman’s answer, her hand sliding to rest across the top of her bag that grazed against her hip.

She did little to nothing to hide her nature, acting as if the interaction were as natural as two average people exchanging words. She was entirely too obvious in many more ways than one, she had learned relatively quickly after her turning, and had found that with the common knowledge of the existence of vampires, not hiding what she was would always come out less suspicious than trying to cover up her true nature. Instead, she stood in plain sight of the light that washed over her pale features, the brightness giving a blue gaunt to her cheeks and a lifeless look to her flesh. If asked, she was honest, and it made coaxing an invitation from strangers in these sorts of instances easier, when she was honest about herself in the beginning.

The door clicked open just enough to reveal the older sister, Fayre frowning at the story given. Brielle had said someone would have a containment plan, some sort of backup once Longslade had fallen. In some ways, she wondered what their parents would have thought about the trouble that they’d gotten themselves into. In other ways, she was glad they would have nothing to do with it. They were good at their jobs, and for it, they were often looked at differently.

There was a steady throb again in her arm as she looked at the ghostly eye.

That scar sent a chill down her spine.

Fayre kept a cool expression as she said, “Unfortunately, there’s something going on with the phone systems here.” She made a show of shaking her head, sighing as if she were troubled by it. “We’ve been having more complaints in the area about gangsters...”

A sorcerer and a paladin.

A healer and a fighter.

She felt the charge in her body, the draw of power as she prepared herself. Brielle’s hiss of her name had signalized the finality of her alertness. “Please,” She said, stepping backwards to pull the door open and reveal more of their little home to the woman, “Come in, the city isn’t safe for at night, no matter what you’re doing. My cellphone is in my office.”

It wasn’t a lie, Fayre reminded herself. She did keep it in there because the only people aside from her sister that had it were her parents. Brielle had always given her trouble about it, telling her to keep it on her person at all times. If they survived this - no, you’ll survive this, you always survive things when you’re together - she’d point this out to her younger sister. “Although, I suppose you’re more fitting to defend yourself than I am.” She smiled as if the woman’s species didn’t bother her.

“I do hope that doesn't come across as rude.”

Fayre waited until the woman was inside and the door was shut before she looked outside, as if concerned for something else. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to give you a lift once you’ve called back to the car.” After a few moments, she pulled her hair behind her head in a low ponytail, wincing with her effort and headed towards the middle of the room. “It’ll be just this way.” As they discussed, Fayre motioned towards the office, “It’s just in there,” She frowned, apologetically, “Once you’re done, give me a shout. I need to finish up changing my bandage.” Her gesture shifted to where the smell of decay filtered out.

There was a tinge of red beginning to filter through.

Her hand went to cover it as if she were embarrassed and she gave an apologetic smile before calling out to her sister, “Hey, Brielle, there’s a woman here. She needs to make a call.” To the woman, “She’s just inside. Should be able to show you where the phone is.”

There was no wavering in her grasp, even as the vampire drew closer, bringing with it the feeling of death. It swirled around her, pounded within her chest until the toxic taste of rot coated her tongue. There was a time when that bothered her, when she would have to turn her head away and cough. That time was long gone, erased by the multitude of battles she had found herself amid. Listening to the soft-spoken words of her sister, she allowed herself a moment to roll her eyes. Fayre was always one for the theatrics, and though she wanted to comment about how thick she was laying it on, she remained quiet.

Even her breath became trapped within her lungs.

It wouldn’t take long. In two steps, the vampire would come across the first wire. In another, the shotgun would trigger. It would be easy enough, then, if she kept hidden. However, her sister seemed to go off script within seconds, leaving her to carefully place her weapon against the small of her back. One then did she allow that breath she’d been holding to release and stepped around the corner, mere centimeters from triggering the first trap. “You know I don’t like strangers,” she remarked, her tone clipped and as emotionless as her gaze as she focused on the vampire. “Since you’re already here. It’s this way,” she stated, taking a step back with a quick wave her hand to entice her forward.

Just two steps.

The Bavarian woman offered Fayre a smile of thanks, the tiniest twinge of guilt tapping at the back of her mind at what it was she was about to do. Sometimes, she would get that sort of feeling, like she almost had a conscience. Then, just like all of those other times, she coldly snuffed it out and put herself to the task as the woman’s sister, Brielle she had called her, gave her a much less enthusiastic greeting. That made things a little simpler for her. She flashed the woman a smile as well and stepped inside to allow them to close the door behind her. No sense in giving the entire street a show.

With a tightened clutch on her bag, she let her gaze turn down the hall, to where the woman had mentioned that the phone would be. It would be a good place to start. Interior. Equidistant from front and back exits. More walls to stop stray rounds, and to muffle what sound her sidearm would make. “Danke, ladies. You are too kind. I promise to be out of your way in just a moment.” She gestured down the hall, as if to ask this way? as Brielle explained, before she turned to make her way toward the end of the hall.

She hadn’t thought that they would know she was coming. The client had said that they wouldn’t know. She figured out for herself quite quickly that they were terribly aware. She felt the wire against her leg an instant too late to pull back, trying as she could to move away from the dart that caught her in the leg. Instantly, she felt the poison enter her blood, her vision swimming as a nauseous feeling roiled her stomach and caused her to stumble into the second wire. This one, she didn’t so much as manage to notice before the shotgun blasted her high in the chest, tearing away fabric and flesh and throwing her to the floor like a rag doll.

Stunned for a moment, the gave a low groan of pain before she rolled herself to her side and snatched at the expended dart, crushing it in her hand as she tossed it away from her with a hiss. When she looked up, she saw her blood splashed down the entire length of the hall, a crimson smear all down the wall to where the sisters stood, watching as she fought the urge to vomit into the floor. She clenched her fist tightly, focusing on the pain her razor sharp talons caused as they bit into her palm, rather than the raging inferno of agony that the shotgun blast had left behind.

A dangerous snarl left her, the sound urging a curl of smoke from between clenched teeth, rising into the air as her gaze swept over the two. Her eyes were swallowed by her pupils, large black orbs ringed with the smallest sliver of gold as they watched her prey and offered them a cruel, wicked smile. A smile of nightmares. A cruel sneer of razor sharp fangs that she snapped at the two as she worked her injured jaw. “I was going to be quick. I was going to make this painless.” Smoke trailed thinly from her lips, a low breath rolled ash upon the air, drifting between them as she felt her anger stoking a fire inside of her that threatened to burn them all alive.

She dug her talons into the wall and lifted herself up, pulling on the fabric that still covered her and tying it off in a show of retaining her dignity, and rolled her bared shoulder, blood dripping angrily from the wound left behind. She was certain that it was going to leave a scar of some magnitude. That earned a scowl before she turned back to the two. “Instead, I think I’m going to have some fun.”