Two birds, one stone.

Serge Carlock

Cold, cold usually meant that crime decreased, that the angry, the stupid and the criminal went to ground until warmer days brought them forth like the vermin they were. But in the city of San Francisco it never quite got cold enough for this hibernation process to take place, and in the Tenderloin, the vermin ran the store, in the Tenderloin...it was as if every day was the middle of the summer.

Serge for his part could care less about the criminal element, at least in his day to day operations, if they were not an enemy, or a tool to be used, they were an irrelevance, a nuisance at best, a cooling, rotting vessel at worst. The Brujah made his way through the heart of their realm tonight, patrolling, investigating, searching out those few stray members of the rabble which called this place home. He had a job to do after all, being the whip it was his job to see to the foot soldiers, his job to make sure they toed the line...and on the occasion raged all over it.

He was dressed for the role as well, dressed to mingle with his kind, combat boots, black cargo pants, that menacing and effective vest that the smart realized was armour and the rest simply thought of as a garish fashion statement. The heels of his boots crunched against the sidewalk, as he moved along, looking into alley's watching store fronts. On the prowl, in the city....one of the best ways to spend a night.

Serge Carlock

[Per+Alert]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 4, 5, 7) ( success x 1 )

Luce

Dex + Stealth

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 4, 5, 5) ( fail )

Luce

Appearance + Performance

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 10) ( fail ) Re-rolls: 1

Luce

He sees her almost immediately; dressed nothing like she was or will be for court, in her golden gown. Wearing, instead, worn old jeans, an oversized hoodie over a t-shirt and a leather blazer, big enough to hide everything feminine about her shape. Nevermind the easy way she seems to disappear into that attire, her hair pulled back, the hood forward to shadow her features.

Serge recognizes the Toreador - who is now sitting casually on the low block wall in front of a burned out tenement building and watching the front entrance of the strip club opposite with a certain sharp and level attention. He can read that, too, somehow in the way the shadows fall across her body, which seems boyish, alert, masculine from this distance.

But which does not fool him.

The strip club has no name. Just a neon woman slowly removing her clothes to announce its presence and purpose, and a bleary-eyed bouncer standing outside the door, counting cash and talking on a cell phone.

And someone else, in the shadows down the alley flanking the building. Serge notices that, too.

Serge Carlock

His efforts, his out and about attitude was paying off, just not in a manner that Serge could have ever imagined. Marie-Helene, or Luce as she was now known appeared before him in anything but her refined Toreador glory, gone was the finery of the rose, replaced with the common threads of the streets, it does not surprise the man however, Serge himself knew all about switching roles, and there were times when he donned a fine suit, just as Marie-Helene now donned clothing to hide what she was.

He took a moment then to analysis the situation, to take in his surroundings, and he notes the bouncer, the club, the tenement, and the unknown element that lurked down the alley..he takes it all in before moving forward, moving towards the woman who was trying to remain incognito...he would do his best to aid her with that.

When he approached he did so quickly, moving with a purpose, his jaw set and his eyes narrow. As he stepped up to her he looked down at her, standing before her like a man about to confront someone who was where they weren't supposed to be.

His tone however is quiet enough for those around them to not hear, to them it would seem he was the quiet type...the type that you feared when at long last he raised his voice.

"Marie-Helene...it has been quite a while." He says warmly enough...for him at least. "What brings you to a place such as this?"

Luce

"You've heard about the graffiti around town?"

There is a brief flicker of - alertness - that runs over her narrow frame like water. Something electric to it; that movement, that gesture. The way her shoulders curve forward and her boyish body bunches, readying itself for movement. Which would be: retreat. She does not fill the space as he does. No one looks at her, this whip-slender, hunger-haunted creature, and crosses the street to avoid her. Not even in this boyish guise.

It cannot last; not when the streetlights hit her familiar features as she glances up at him, but there's something strained about her features. A flicker beyond his muscled shoulder at the entrance. The bouncer and his cash, the figure in the shadows.

"Wanted to take a look myself. Then," a faint lift of her chin across the street. "I saw him. Disappeared down the alley. So I'm waiting to see if he comes back out, or keeps going the other way." A faint flush of her half-smile. " - before I get the hell out of dodge.

"He might've caught onto me, though. That bouncer keeps looking over here."

Serge Carlock

Serge briefly turns to gaze back at the club, the look on his face like he couldn't give a damn as to why the person before him was here, he just wanted her out. The truth of the matter was of course...something else entirely.

Serge swivelled his head back towards them and let his head tilt ever so slightly. "The man in the alley is still there...but that does not explain why you need to run away when all you wanted to do was examine some graffiti left upon these walls."

He examines Luce's face in that piercing, intent way that he always did, Serge was never one to be concerned if another thought he was staring to much. It was part of how he operated after all. "Are either of them a threat in some way?"

Luce

"Is he?" she returns, lifting her little chin in a sharp gesture as if she might somehow see through the blocky immediacy of Serge's large frame, past him across the dark street. It is quiet, here tonight. The distant wash of traffic, the hum of the neon sign overhead. "He has a pale aura. And when he crossed the street and walked past those cars," this she indicates with no more than a flicker of her pale blue eyes. "he cast no reflection.

"The bouncer knew him; they talked for a few minutes, but instead of going inside the club he headed down the alley. No reason for that man to be outside just now, either. It's not like the have a line out of the door."

Indeed, quite as she said the street was empty; deserted except for the four of them. Serge and Luce on the sidewalk, the man lurking in the alley, the bouncer in front of the bar.

Serge Carlock

"Indeed..." Serge said as he looked Luce over for a few moments, considering options, scenarios. "A pale aura, and no reflection...I assume this is an individual you do not recognize from any of the meetings, from anything revolving around our little group of upstanding citizens?" He inquires as he begins to turn around, scarred arms crossing his chest as he regarded the club.

"Perhaps we should investigate." He says plainly. "Unless you would prefer to continue with your previous plan of leaving the area of course."

Serge Carlock

[Manip+Subt]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 8, 9, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )

Luce

Per + Alertness

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )

Luce

Per + Alertness

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 5, 6, 6, 7) ( success x 1 )

Luce

"I'd prefer to go," she tells him, unabashedly. A little hook of her narrow shoulders beneath that oversized jacket and hoodie, the weight of which seems far too much for her slim frame. There's a supple twist of her mouth then, she's lifting her chin up and outward, pale eyes shining, lovely, in the distressed amber light of the streetlamps.

"I'm not precisely an asset in a fight, Serge. A bit conspicuous in a strip club, too." A neat little shrug. "I can only carry the teenaged boy disguise so far."

Then something stiffens in her face. She braces herself on the retaining wall, one hand back on the frame, the other sliding into the deep kangaroo pocket of the hooded sweatshirt.

She is breathing; she always does. Part of the mask they were. Part of the masquerade. Her voice, when she continues, is breathy but sharp, a careful sort of whisper.

"Someone's coming. Don't look back. Not the bouncer. The one from the alley."

--

Serge maintains the show; that he's trying to chase her off his property, or the sidewalk. That those slump-faced tenements matter. That this kid's presence is unwelcome; and soon enough he hears the sweep of someone else's feet across the street, the crunch of boots on gravel. The sharp inhale of someone taking a deep drag on a cigarette.

"This little shit bothering you, man?" The stranger says to Serge's back, apparently taken in by his display. " - because I can take him off your hands. Harvey thinks he's been casing our place out."

If Serge glances up, now, he'll see an ordinary looking man in ratty jeans and an old t-shirt, black, advertising some Daytona Beach, Florida bar. Half-gloves on his hand, those leather, a cigarette in his mouth. When the stranger says Harvey he gestures back across the street at the bouncer.

"I'd like to know who for. Two birds, one stone man."

Serge Carlock

LUCE
"Is he?" she returns, lifting her little chin in a sharp gesture as if she might somehow see through the blocky immediacy of Serge's large frame, past him across the dark street.† It is quiet, here tonight.† The distant wash of traffic, the hum of the neon sign overhead.† "He has a pale aura.† And when he crossed the street and walked past those cars," this she indicates with no more than a flicker of her pale blue eyes.† "he cast no reflection.†"The bouncer knew him; they talked for a few minutes, but instead of going inside the club he headed down the alley.† No reason for that man to be outside just now, either.† It's not like the have a line out of the door."†Indeed, quite as she said the street was empty; deserted except for the four of them.† Serge and Luce on the sidewalk, the man lurking in the alley, the bouncer in front of the bar.

SERGE CARLOCK
"Indeed..." Serge said as he looked Luce over for a few moments, considering options, scenarios. "A pale aura, and no reflection...I assume this is an individual you do not recognize from any of the meetings, from anything revolving around our little group of upstanding citizens?" He inquires as he begins to turn around, scarred arms crossing his chest as he regarded the club. "Perhaps we should investigate." He says plainly. "Unless you would prefer to continue with your previous plan of leaving the area of course."

SERGE CARLOCK
[Manip+Subt]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 8, 9, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )

LUCE
Per + Alertness
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 6, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )

LUCE
Per + Alertness
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 5, 6, 6, 7) ( success x 1 )

LUCE
"I'd prefer to go," she tells him, unabashedly.† A little hook of her narrow shoulders beneath that oversized jacket and hoodie, the weight of which seems far too much for her slim frame.† There's a supple twist of her mouth then, she's lifting her chin up and outward, pale eyes shining, lovely, in the distressed amber light of the streetlamps.†"I'm not precisely an asset in a fight, Serge.† A bit conspicuous in a strip club, too."† A neat little shrug.† "I can only carry the teenaged boy disguise so far."†Then something stiffens in her face.† She braces herself on the retaining wall, one hand back on the frame, the other sliding into the deep kangaroo pocket of the hooded sweatshirt.†She is breathing; she always does.† Part of the mask they were.† Part of the masquerade.† Her voice, when she continues, is breathy but sharp, a careful sort of whisper.†"Someone's coming.† Don't look back.† Not the bouncer.† The one from the alley."--†Serge maintains the show; that he's trying to chase her off his property, or the sidewalk.† That those slump-faced tenements matter.† That this kid's presence is unwelcome; and soon enough he hears the sweep of someone else's feet across the street, the crunch of boots on gravel.† The sharp inhale of someone taking a deep drag on a cigarette.†"This little shit bothering you, man?"† The stranger says to Serge's back, apparently taken in by his display.† " - because I can take him off your hands.† Harvey thinks he's been casing our place out."†If Serge glances up, now, he'll see an ordinary looking man in ratty jeans and an old t-shirt, black, advertising some Daytona Beach, Florida bar.† Half-gloves on his hand, those leather, a cigarette in his mouth.† When the stranger says Harvey he gestures back across the street at the bouncer.†"I'd like to know who for.† Two birds, one stone man."

Serge Carlock

Serge does indeed glance to the man, his head swivelling around slowly to take in the man that he certainly did not know, and that Luce did not recognize either, with the Towers assets and active members numbering in not but a dozen it was a very...very safe bet to say that this pale aura'ed individual was not with the Camarilla, and for a few moments Serge sized him up, watchful, like most street thugs would be...at least the ones worth their salt.

"That depends." He says smoothly. "I already got this punk where I want him....what makes you think hes here to anything else but squat on the wrong turf?" He asks grimly as he watches the man, taking in the signs, watching for the que's that this man...was not really a man.

He took a moment to note the shirt and raise a brow at it...but beyond that he waited.

Luce

"I got reasons." Thinly; mouth spreading in the narrow definition of a sneer that reveals a mouthful of broken, ugly teeth. Tobacco stained, the lot of him. He has a thin, pock-marked face and sharp gray-green eyes, sallow in the ugly light from the streetlamp overhead.

He turns his head aslant, arching his narrow shoulders with vertebrae-cracking force. "'N Harvey has others. Best you leave him to me - "

Throws the cigarette down so that it sparks and flares, then gutters on the sidewalk. " - and my fucking friends. You see what I'm saying?"

Behind Serge, Luce has her head down; so far down that her face is no more than a pool of shadow, her tall frame narrow, shoulders hunched forward, her breathing just audible, under the skin of the night sounds.

"See - " the man continues, flexing his hands in the half-gloves, working to look around Serge at the Toreador on the retaining wall. " - he ain't even bothering to deny it, neither."

Serge Carlock

"Really?" Serge says raising a brow as he looked the man in the eyes with curiosity and defiance. The man' cracks his neck in a show of aggression, an action that Serge for his part never understood, yes it loosened up the neck...but it also weakened it. However he doesn't comment on that, not at this moment, instead he turns himself bodily towards the man and asks.

"And just who are your friends?" He says, the words implying that he expects a response, like he had just had another threat step onto his turf, like this guy was just as much trouble as the one behind him...sure he was fighting a two sided war now...but that was fine by him.

Luce

"Seriously man?" The stranger's grinning now. This quick, cocksure grin, the sort that opens up his face. Transforms it from this grim and dour thing into a pastiche of sudden, manic sort of glee. The spark of that glee never entirely animates his eyes, but is otherwise written all over his face.

" - I mean, seriously? That's how you're going to play this. Fucking HARVEY is my friend. And look, I have one, two, three, four - " this, counting off on his blunt fingers, left index finger ticking off each of his right fingers as he opens the half fist in hand one finger at a time.

Across the street, the bouncer at the otherwise dead seeming strip club frowns, shading his eyes against the glare of the streetlights, frowning across the street at them.

"Five, wait, double that, ten fucking more itching to rearrange your ugly fucking face. Except I ain't got time for it. So let me introduce you to my business fucking associate," reaching down underneath the old t-shirt, into the waistband of those ratty jeans like some gangster from a movie, to pull out a Colt .45. "Mr. Colt."

And swings it in an arc toward Serge and Luce, as if he had not yet precisely picked out a favorite target.

"Now get the fuck out. Kid's mine. And I plan to take my motherfucking time with him."

Serge Carlock

The man pulls a gun....a colt .45, a decent weapon, reliable, deadly to be sure. The man played with it, toying it back and forth between one target and the next, either being very sure of what he was doing, or just to damn cocky to realize anything different. The man might have expected fear, a look of concern flashing across Serge's face as his own life was put into jeopardy. He is not rewarded with such however.

Instead Serge's gaze narrows a hair, the blue grey eyes taking on an aspect entirely different from the one he had just worn, perhaps it does not terrify the man with the colt, perhaps he found it amusing, entertaining. But then...he had never seen Serge at work before. Had not seen the innumerable battlefields the man had strode upon and returned from alive and whole...where hundreds, thousands of others had fallen and perished.

He cocked his head slightly to the side as he examines the weapon and then looked up at the man. "Amateur." He says, and as he flushes blood through his system his own weapon, a P99 is drawn from a well hidden seam in his vest and brought steadily to bare upon the man, the trigger pulled in the next instant.

[BP for Celerity get the drop]

[Dex+Firearm called shot head]

Dice: 7 d10 TN9 (2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 9) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

Serge Carlock

[Init +9]

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (6) ( success x 1 )

Luce

Mr. Jones +7

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (7) ( success x 1 )

Luce

Harvey +6

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (2) ( fail )

Luce

Luce +6

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (2) ( fail )

Serge Carlock

[Damage]

Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 5, 6, 6, 8, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 6 )

Luce

Soak!

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 7, 8) ( success x 1 )

Luce

Oh, forgot fortitude

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (4) ( fail )

Luce

Mr. Jones: Dex + Firearms; -2 wound penalties

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 7) ( fail )

Luce

Harvey: 1a) grabs shotgun; 1b) blam. Dif +2 for distance, -3 for split. 1c) starts running.

Dice: 3 d10 TN8 (2, 4, 8) ( success x 1 )

Luce

Damage: 8-2 for distance

Dice: 6 d10 TN8 (2, 2, 3, 6, 7, 7) ( fail )

Luce

Luce - soak!

Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (1, 3) ( botch x 1 )

Luce

(soaks cannot be botched!)

Luce

Luce: Dread Gaze on the fucker that shot her. -1 for wound penalties [Also: spending blood. 1 point to stamina, 1 point to celerity]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 5, 8, 10) ( success x 2 ) [WP]

Luce

It happens in a split second; first the sallow-face stranger pulls a Colt .45 out of the waistband of his sagging jeans and swings it from Serge to 'the kid' and back again, as if he had spent the last three weeks watching Quentin Tarantino movies to ready himself for just this moment. He's a skinny man, starkly white, those half-gloves dark on his rough hands, grinning wildly and fucking angry now. Then Serge draws his own weapon, faster, like some confrontation out of an old western it all comes down to - quick draw.

Behind Serge, Luce is jumping down from the retaining wall - there's no way to maintain the illusion that she is anything but female when her body is in motion, when her head comes up and she swings a stark white face around to stare wide-eyed at the weapons drawn with rapidity of a pair of striking snakes and the sallow man is mid-snear about " - a fucking chick" when the bullet from Serge's weapon hits him squarely in the face, punches through his right eye and out through the back of his head in a spray of brains and sharded bone.

Across the street, Harvey senses movement, grabs his shotgun and levels it at 'the kid' for a wild blast that still punches her in the shoulder, sends the Toreador spinning a staggered step backwards from the force of the blast with a sharp noise of swallowed air. She throws her head back enough that the hood falls away from her pale face and hisses furiously enough that it stops the man in his tracks mid-way across the deserted street.

Serge Carlock

Serge's shot had been true, the bullet punching through the man's brain case, sending vital bits here and there, sprayed in a gruesome arch across the sidewalk and the street itself. But as he expected, the man didn't fall, didn't die in that instant of violence. Because he was already dead...and even with a wide hole through ones brain, one could still live, still fight.

Serge didn't let up, he pulled the trigger twice more in rapid succession, fully intent on not giving this creature the chance to do any real damage.

1a. Shoot Mr. Colt 1b. Shoot Mr. Colt

[Dex+Firearm]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (6, 7, 8, 8, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 7 ) Re-rolls: 2

Serge Carlock

[Damage]

Dice: 11 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 7, 7, 8, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )

Serge Carlock

[Dex+Firearm]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 8, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 4 ) Re-rolls: 1

Serge Carlock

[Damage]

Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

Luce

Soak 1:

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 5, 7, 9) ( fail )

Luce

Harvey: soak!

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (6, 6, 7) ( success x 3 )

Serge Carlock

Damage again]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 7, 9, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )

Luce

Luce

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (7) ( success x 1 )

Luce

Harvey

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (2) ( fail )

Luce

Luce: extending dread gaze

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (6, 6, 7, 10) ( success x 4 )

Serge Carlock

Celerity 1 [Close the gap to harv]

Serge Carlock

[Celerity two! Disarm Harvey]

Dice: 6 d10 TN7 (1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5) ( botch x 1 )

Serge Carlock

[Damage]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 8, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

Serge Carlock

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (4) ( fail )

Luce

Luce: soak!

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (1, 8, 10) ( success x 1 )

Luce

Harv: run away! -6 dice

Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (4) ( fail )

Serge Carlock

[Dex+Brawl Knock out!]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 5, 8, 9) ( success x 1 )

Serge Carlock

[Damage +2 auto succ for potence]

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 5) ( fail )

Luce

Soak!

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (4, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )

Luce

Luce: extending Dread Gaze -2 dice for wound penalties

Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (5, 9, 10) ( success x 3 ) [WP]

Serge Carlock

The battle ended, quickly as they so often did. Mr. Colt, for all his brazen posturing, for all his power and his unliving form was unprepared for what Serge was capable, and willing to do. The first bullet did not finish the man, but the second snuffed out what was left of his soul, and the body fell to the ground, aging at a disturbing rate.

Harvey across the way faired little better, after having drawn the ire of Marie Helene with that first shot, she was quick to drain away his will, destroying what resistence he could offer swiftly and surely. Serge for his part attempted to speed things along, only to...in his haste, accidentally discharge his weapon into Luce...who thankfully, remained standing.

With Harvey now whimpering upon the ground, in a fetal position next to his weapon Serge came to stand over the man, watching him carefully before he looked over to the wounded Luce...he had escaped surprisingly unharmed.

"Are you alright?" He inquired, the saying more mechanical...then showing any distinct concern for the woman.

Luce

She seems to be in shock; arms crossed low over her torso; holes in the hooded sweatshirt she wears, hair loosened from its tight coil, perhaps by the force of the first shotgun blast or the ripping shock of pain from the second. There is little enough blood; their kind do not, as a rule, bleed. No hearts to pump the blood through the body, no arterial spray - but there are dark, faintly damp stains on the gray material at the shoulder, and gut, where the cotton fabric was pushed into the wounds by the bullets' trajectory.

In shock, and still - wide-eyed, fang-bearing, her eyes stained dark with the subsurface flare of the beast - feral and unbound.

"No." She is still breathing; regular as clockwork, though not each breath is sharper, shallow from the pain she struggles to swallow with each breath she takes. Shaking with the effort at repression; or perhaps the residual brush with death. "I need." Gritted teeth, fangs still stark, sharp against her lower lip. "To out of here." Eyes closed as she tries to pull the beast back in; to store it underneath her skin.

Serge Carlock

Serge watched her, watched as she barely managed to hold her beast in check, oh what things would happen if it broke loose, would either he or Harvey be safe? Serge could simply wonder at that as he stepped towards her. "Heal Marie Helene." He says, firmly, but quietly as he put his gun away, the safety clicking on as he picked up the shotgun and the colt.

"If you are this close....then we should get you out of here...if you are able to control yourself. I would say take some of what you will need from him." He said gesturing briefly to the man who lay upon the ground, immobile.

He was practical as always, Marie Helene would need to heal, and this man was an easy meal....if she could keep herself from draining him dry, from sating her beast.

Luce

She gives him a swinging glance, sharply upward, her features starkly lovely, in that oddly alien way. Defined more by the architectural sweep than by ordinary, human standards of beauty. This time, the overt signs of the beast - the fangs, the clawed fingers, the stark strange eyes - on display with the gift are withdrawn. She seems human; nearly human, except for the stark pallor of her features.

"He's foul." This, with a sudden, visceral disgust that distorts her fine little mouth with a sharp, evident loathing. "Il a pissé outre lui-même." Her chin rises, a clear, nearly imperious gesture toward the man collapsed on the street. Voice thin, taut with tension. "It's too public. No. I can handle myself." Mouth flattening, briefly narrow. Voice wrapping low. "I don't want to heal the bullets in unless I have to." Half turning so he can see her back. "Did they come out?"

Serge Carlock

Serge looked back, briefly taking in Harvey as Luce found him to be foul, to be the lowest of the low, and he shrugged. Some people could afford to be picky in that sense. He stepped towards her, wiping a bit of grey matter from his vest like it had been a simple stray hair, or a piece of dirt upon his form as he stepped up and took in her wounds.

"The bullet from my gun...which I apologize for. Has passed through cleanly." He said as he examined her back, looking for signs of any other exit wounds. "The pepper shot however...did not." He said as he let her turn back with a slight grimace forming upon his features.

"Come...I'll get you too my vehicle, where we can remove the shot, and I can then take you wherever it is you would prefer to go." He said cordially, inviting her to step away from this scene of blood and violence, it was always a shame when such stakeouts went horribly awry...but at least Serge had been there to help her with it.

And so...off into the night they walk, leaving poor, delerious Harvey to fend for himself, his nights to come filled with nightmares of the woman with the wicked eyes and handsome face, and of the scarred demon, who moved light lightening, and dealt death like the reaper.