Évrard D'Aboville has been the lethal left hand of King Sabien Arceneaux for centuries. Using his deadly skills, he's indiscriminately killed and maimed at his master's behest. He had never once been disobedient. That is until he was asked to kill a...
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Évrard D'Aboville-The Creature
I drove my car at a dangerous speed. Dangerous for a mortal, I suppose. I easily swerve in and out of traffic. My heightened senses responding faster than even the car was able to keep up with. I pull to a screeching halt in front of the witch's apartment building.
Her red Toyota Camry was still in its assigned spot. Perhaps, she didn't listen to me. Perhaps, she decided to stay. I expected by now she'd be halfway to Timbuktu. I left the car running in front of the building and ran up the stairs to her apartment. At standard human speed of course or just slightly faster.
For once, I wished I was the sneaker and sweats type. I could move much freer than in my suit and dress shoes. I knock on her apartment door. Well, I pounded on it, the matter was of some urgency. When I heard no one approach I took the liberty of loosening the door handle.
One quick turn and the handle crumbled in the palm of my hand. I hear panicked muddled thoughts. I take hurried steps toward the steady stream of distressed thinking. I barrel into an unsightly bedroom. A petite Asian woman rushed to the back of a walk-in closet, squatting behind the clothing, clutching a knife.
Amélie. I smile to myself. The terror on her face is as satisfying as the first thrust into a wet pussy during eager sex.
"Who-who are you? Just take what you want and get out." She stammered.
How I relished these moments but there was no time. Amélie is next on my list. Ronnie just happened to pick the wrong day to fuck with me.
"I'm not here to rob you, Amélie. I'm looking for Izmir." I scan the room. Everything of hers was gone. Her bohemian-beatnik clothing, the trousseau full of costume jewelry, her handmade hair butter, and even the wall painting she liked so much, all gone. But what did I expect? I told her to run.
"Izmir?" She asked. Her face changed. The fear disappeared and was replaced with naked antipathy. "You're too late if you're looking for her. She took all her shit and left this afternoon." Confusion twisted her youthful features. "Wait how do you know who I am? Who the fuck are you?" Feeling emboldened she stands and takes a few steps out of the closet.
