Chapter 3 The temple of a goddess is always full of roses
Her voice was melodious and smooth, dripping into his ears like honey, but the look on his face told her that he believed every word she was saying. Without another word, the guy stepped aside and allowed her to pass. Izabella was still aware of the hate glances they were throwing her way but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to deal with some lowlife, biker vampires right now. They were irrelevant.
She walked over to the booth, slumping down into it like a ragdoll. Across from her, a small, thinly-built man was already seated there. The drink before him was half empty. All the foam from the beer had already disappeared. His hoodie covered his whole body like a blanket, it hung from his skeletal frame like bedlinen from a large tree. He pulled down the hoodie from his head, revealing his pale face and dark circles around his eyes. He looked even worse than usual but she was sure he already knew this.
“Seems like trouble follows you wherever you go,” the man grinned at her, with his yellow-stained teeth.
“Like you’re one to say anything,” she snorted, both making sure to talk as quietly as they could, because the audience was still there, trying to listen in.
The man raised his hand to the barkeep, pointing at his beer and then at Izabella, signaling for him to bring them two. The barkeep just nodded.
“So, what do you want?” the man hissed, lowering his head.
“My brother.”
“What about him?” the guy wondered. She couldn’t tell if he really was that stupid or he was just pretending.
“I want to know where he is,” she was still talking calmly. To an outside observer, it seemed like the two of them had gotten together to catch up and nothing more.
“Isn’t he home?” the guy shrugged his shoulders, trying to make a joke. She wasn’t
in the mood.
“Don’t play games with me, Emile!” she growled back at him so hard, that he pulled away a little.
“I’m not…” he whined.
“Do I need to remind you of the only reason why you’re still alive, while your entire pathetic clan was wiped away?”
She swallowed heavily after she spoke. It was difficult to sound threatening while having to whisper at the same time.
“No, no…” he shook his head.
His greasy hair shook, as well, as he did so and she could see little droplets of sweat forming on his forehead, even though it wasn’t hot at all.
“You know what happened,” she urged him, leaning forward.
Just as she was about to continue, they were interrupted by the barkeep, bringing them their beers. He set them on the table, then looked at Izabella. She knew exactly what he was going to say.
“You look a little young to be in here,” he frowned, inspecting Izabella with close scrutiny. “Can I see your ID?”
Izabella rolled her eyes. Of course she could show him her ID. He just wouldn’t get to
see the real one, the one she showed to official authorities. He’d get to see the fake one Brandon made for her, which stated she was twenty and born in New York City.
“Here you go,” she smiled, as she offered him her fake ID, batting her eyelashes extra sweetly at him.
The barkeep took it, inspected it for a very long time, then made the extra effort of trying to match her face to the face on the ID. Izabella wasn’t worried. Of course it was her. With slightly different hair and some makeup to make her look older but it was still her. No doubt about that.
“You look younger in person,” the barkeep gave it back, then tried a smile.
“What can I say?” she chirped, giving a dismissive half shrug. “Good genes.”
As soon as the barkeep disappeared, the smile on her face was gone. Her eyes stared down Emile, as her hand rested on her right pocket, feeling the hard outline of her pocket knife. She wasn’t worried about him. He was a yellow belly. He betrayed his own clan just to save his own ass. Izabella had no respect, nor fear, when it came to people like that. She knew what to expect of them and that was a basic human need for survival. Emile would squeal any time he was pressed hard enough. He’d do anything, if that meant his own skin would be saved. Not the best of human traits but it ensures survival.
It wasn’t him she was worried about. Those bikers were still looking their way, whispering occasionally to each other, never taking their eyes off of her. She didn’t even need to turn to them, to know that their gazes were burning an imprint into the back of her head. They might be trouble. She might have to get ready but not before she squeezed
Emile for every little ounce of info he had on Brandon’s disappearance. If anyone knew anything, it was him.
“I won’t repeat myself,” she told him. “Just tell me what you know and you’re free to
go.”
Emile moved to the side and she knew that he was eyeing the guys behind her. He then, looked at her again. There was fear in his eyes but it wasn’t because of her.
“I swear I don’t know anything,” Emile whimpered.
Without another word, Izabella leaned over to him, while underneath the table, invisible to the rest of those around them, her blade jumped at him and was pressing onto his thigh. She could almost feel his heartbeat there, hitting the steel blade rhythmically. One carefully inflicted slit and he’d bleed to death in minutes. They both knew it.
“Maybe it’s high time you joined the rest of your clan,” she whispered, “seeing as I have no use for you anymore…”
The cold steel was pressing against the thin fabric of his pants. She could feel him shuddering.
“No, wait, wait…” his voice was shaking, it was about to crack. “I heard that Dante was planning something big, like real big…”
“Dante?” she repeated the name she hadn’t heard in ages.
She’d never met Dante in person and neither had Brandon. The name was always
spoken with a hush among vampire slayers, as the name above all other vampire names. Dante rarely left his hideout and always sent others to do his dirty work for him, that way, he was always safe and, yet, his reign of evil was far reaching.
Izabella had always hoped to meet Dante one time, to see if all the rumors were true. Was he really that powerful? Was he really as old as they say? His name was enshrouded in mystery and awe, and she was eager to find out if it was all true or just hearsay.
“Yes…” Emile was quick to nod, “he um, wants to kill all the slayers, and I know Vasilisa and Rune are already dead.”
“What?”
Izabella bit her lip, in an effort not to shout at him. Vasilisa and Rune were a brother and sister vampire slayer duo from Russia. They were the most well known slayer duo in Europe. The four of them had crossed paths a few times already, always on the same side. Izabella liked them both. They shared the same core beliefs, because they belonged to the same world. It was always difficult to find such good people. The thought of the two of them dead made her sad, even sadder than she was before. If this was really true, then this thing was far bigger than she could have imagined.
“Yes, they’re dead,” Emile nodded again, his voice down to a whisper now, “I don’t know if Dante has Brandon or not but the plan is to kill you all.”
“How?” Izabella asked.
“I don’t know... Please, if he finds out, he’s gonna kill me…”
“If you don’t tell me right now, I’m gonna kill you. So, take your pick.”
“They say…” he turned around, to make sure no one was listening in, even though the bikers were still throwing occasional glances their way, “he found the prequel to Malleus Maleficarum.”
“Prequel?”
“Apparently, it has two parts and, combined together, they can create magic beyond anything we could have imagined.”
Now, it was all starting to make sense. She had never heard of this prequel, everyone always thought there was just one book, and that book alone was already powerful enough. Who knew what another book, combined with this one, could unleash upon them? And, where was the book then? Did Dante already get his hands on it? If Dante had the book, that meant that he was responsible for Brandon’s disappearance. He’d know what happened.
“How do I get to Dante?” she suddenly asked.
Emile looked at her, then burst out laughing so loudly, that everyone present glanced their way.
“Shut up!” she hissed at him, “and tell me.”
“You’re crazier than your brother! Seriously, if Dante got him, he’s as good as dead.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, you lowlife. Now, tell me.”