The Wicked Witch with Versace Wisdom

Chapter 5

I was not a connoisseur when it came to physical torture. It was messy and more often than not useless. The last remaining biker, who had been strung up by his wrists with chains, was nothing more than hired muscle. Brawn over brain and no beauty in sight. Carving him up like a pumpkin would lead us nowhere. Not that my ex-lover and current work associate cared about that as she drove a knife into his shoulder. I took a bite of my baguette.

"Who sent you?" Dragana asked in a low voice. By this time, the polished exterior had cracked and given everyone a glimpse of the true predator hiding underneath. Her blonde hair was down and splattered with blood. Her skin was flushed. Dragana Jovanovic liked the control that came with bureaucracy and regulations but make no mistake. She revelled in violence. If this was standard interrogation protocol, as she would claim once the bloodlust faded, the questions would be more effective before tongues were ripped out. I grimaced as a foul smell permeated the air.

"And there goes my appetite." I didn't necessarily blame the guy for defecating on himself. Being tortured sucked, speaking from someone who spent five weeks at a wicca retreat in Poland, but after the impromptu blood spell I needed my energy, and he didn't help. "Are you done soon, Jovanovic? There is a rerun of the Bachelorette. If Steven doesn't go home in this episode, I will curse someone. Nobody with self-respect can date a man that owns tie dye shirts. She should end up with Patrick. He knows how to moisturise, and their last date went well except for the part with the goat. Does this place have cable?" I looked around the renovated warehouse. The place in question belonged to the Cuyahoga council and was furnished with bookshelves and chests in light oak. When it came to torture chamber décor, modern vampires apparently had a thing for the Scandinavian minimalistic style.

"This is not a frat house."Dragana picked up a long metal rod. I tried to hide my sardonic laughter behind a cough, but it seemed to be ineffective.

"You can't be serious."

"You are free to go whenever you want, Amanda Grace. You are not the one in chains", My ex-lover muttered. The words for now were never said but heavily implied and I did not care for it. I took a final bite of my food before setting it aside on a grey sofa. It was like standing in the bougier version of an Ikea showroom.  

"I don't agree with the man's recent choices, including those armless sleeves, but that's no excuse for lowering yourself to cliches. Be more creative and leave the impaling in the 15th century." I carefully stepped over a puddle of something on the floor while shaking my head in disappointment. "What is next? Are you going to run around the town square with his penis on a stick while hollering nonsense? I'm going home now. You can pick me up at the Trattoria tomorrow at lunchtime. Bring your wallet."

"Fine, then maybe we can have a real conversation about certain unfinished things", Dragana said. I would rather impale myself on a cactus. 

" We will talk about the Dupont case and nothing else. End of discussion." I glared at the soon to be dead biker. After all, none of this would be a problem if he had been more prolific in his endeavour to end my life. "I hope you spend these last moments to reflect on your work ethics, mister. "

I got back to my office in the early morning to find Theo snoring at his desk. His face was scrunched up against the wooden surface and his long legs was tucked underneath him on the chair. My young assistant was not technically a rogue. The office of humanity did not shun their members in that way. However, I would argue that the difference was a matter of semantics. Theodore Lucas Abrahamowski was born into a deeply religious family that, as a cherry on top of the bigoted ice cream sundae, also was a part of a human superiority group. The HAS principles were simple. There is one true God, humans are shaped in his image and everything remotely different is the work of evil. This was unfortunate for Theo, since the boy happened to be gayer than a rainbow-coloured dildo in July. I leaned over the desk and lightly tapped him on the head.

"You are going to get turkey neck like that." Theo shot up like his ugly pants were on fire and looked around frantically. As previously mentioned, I did not hire this boy for his fashion sense, but I certainly paid him enough to wear something better than brown khakis. "Are you on drugs by any chance, Theo?" I asked.

"Eh...no?" he stammered with a slight southern drawl.

"Well, that's a shame." Narcotics would explain his lack of priorities when it came to clothes. I rubbed my temples. "I'm pretty sure the room I gave you came with a bed. So why are you sleeping out here? Are you bored of having a functioning spinal column?" Theo shook his pretty head very hard. It reminded me of a baby owl having a seizure.

"No, Miss Blyth. I was waiting for someone and...they seem to have forgotten the time. It's alright." His so-called boyfriend must have flaked again. There was nothing quite like the feeling of being young and in love for the first time. Even if that love was directed at a closeted dickhead. Theo gave me a small smile. "Can I give you something? You look..."

"I'm fine." Except for the fact that I probably smelled like dogs, smoke, and biker-guts. "I'm going to take a shower. Go back to bed and get some proper sleep."

"Alright. Thank you, miss Blyth. I hope you have a nice...morning", he said politely. It was a far cry from our first meeting when he broke an expensive Vacheron Constantine watch and almost shot me in the face.