The Last Corvus (completed)

Ch. 13 Meg-Elaine

Chapter 13

Meg-Elaine

The pure joy I feel as the wind whips through my boy-short hair only lasts about half a second as I jump from the roof. Affecting the correct angle, I straighten my arms as I prepare for the fatal blow. My sword strikes true as I slice through the vampire's skull and thrust farther down, using gravity to my advantage. I can almost feel his heart rupture when pierced by the sword's tip. His death was instantaneous and I know he didn't feel any of it. Hopefully Shaun's was painless also. He crumples to the ground just as my feet touch the cobblestones.

Toby and Toree, understanding this as my signal, attack the unprepared and still slightly confused vampires. In one quick swing Toree decapitates the one nearest to her. Turning to her next opponent, she finds her already lying on the ground, one of Toby's daggers protruding from her chest. Looking up, I just catch Toby throw his remaining knife directly between his opponent's eyes.

They start to run after the last one when I motion for them to stop. We only have to wait a moment before the runner reaches the end of the alley and, not having seen Ryan hold out his blade at the level of his throat, uses his own forward momentum to  partially decapitate himself. Once he falls Ryan finishes the job before wiping his blade on the man's pants.

Seeing all threats disposed of, I whistle for the team to gather. "Okay guys, you know the drill," I pan my gaze at my teammates, all of whom are carelessly wiping their blades on their pants before sheathing them. "Make it quick. Someone's bound to notice the bodies if we take too long. Jules, Tore, check the vampires and their victim for any money or jewelry. Tobe, grab any of their shoes that will fit us and put them in my pack." It's not often that we do this but our soles are starting to wear out. "And last but not least, Ryan. I need..."

He interrupts, "I know. I know. You need me to help you load the bodies into the dumpster. We do the same thing after every kill; you'd think we'd get the idea." It's the same old argument again. If I let it continue it will eventually become the 'why do you get to be in charge' argument. He's never been able to stand the fact that the elders made me captain after the old captains (my oldest twin brothers) died. He still can't quite admit that, not to toot my own horn, I'm the best fighter and strategist. He won't admit it, even though he knows it's true.

We, once again, operate like a well-oiled machine and three minutes later we've finished putting (as quietly as possible) the bodies into the dumpster. The girls found more than we expected; forty dollars, two gold rings, three silver ones, and a small diamond pendant. Call us sentimental, but we leave them with their wedding rings.

This will be more than enough, once we pawn the jewelry, to eat well for the next three weeks. For some reason, my mind thinks back to six months ago. The culling then was dismal; we were stationed in a rather isolated city and toward the end we were eating out of dumpsters every other meal.

Once we leave our village at sixteen they cut off all financial support (except the few dollars they send with the new recruit for train fare to meet up with the team) and we have to fend for ourselves. At one point last year we were so desperate we almost had to get jobs. This would have been disastrous, considering the only thing we know how to do well enough to have some semblance of a vocation is killing people.

Ryan once suggested we become bodyguards, the idea of which I quickly nixed, not wanting to get caught up in possible drug or illegal trafficking schemes. But we've pulled through, almost starving prompted us to start pawning our victims' jewelry and valuables.

Dusting ourselves off, we head toward the street. Ryan, Toree, and Juliette turn left, having been pre-requested to get food stores while Toby and I try to pawn the jewelry.

I used to take Toree with me for some quality girl time... That quickly ended when I got sick of her wanting to keep the trinkets we were trying to sell. Turns out Toby was a better choice anyway; he's an expert bargainer, plus he's got this super cute smile that makes him look so sad and lonely that the shop owners often give us some extra money out of pity. Toree once tried that method but never got anything more than the number of a hot college guy, the paper on which it was written I promptly tore to shreds.

A block away from the team's quasi-official pawn shop I duck into an alley and make Toby hold my pack as I change my shirt into something not blood-spattered. Turns out shop owners don't like other people seeing one of their customers covered in blood. Who knew, right? Mind-blowing.

You'd think Toby would be kind of uncomfortable seeing his oldest sister in nothing from her waist up but her sports bra (in my line of work, a girl needs support). Not so, years of having to have all of us change in a single dumpster, and believe me, it's as bad as it sounds, we've practically had embarrassment beaten out of us.

Walking into the shop, I watch the owner's face as he notices us. As usual Jean Paul's face lights with recognition and he smiles. If he notices Toby's blood-smeared pants he handles it well and doesn't even flinch. He is one of the few civilians that know what we do. After we saved him from a vampire a few years ago he's been more than willing to give us a little extra cash (under the table, then again, so is most of his operation) when we come.

Usually, we don't repeat visiting any city more than once a year. But apparently even vampires like the twinkle of Paris lights, so we come here enough every year for us to build a standing with him.

We show him the goods and he smiles, gladly giving us fifty for the rings and a hundred for the necklace (apparently the diamond is real). We shake hands and Toby gives him his best sweet/sad smile, to which the poor pushover rewards him with a toffee. I shoot the man a pointed look and he smiles sheepishly, sneaking me enough for everyone to have some. I don't appreciate him giving him any sugar, he's already an insomniac and that doesn't help at all. Still, his look of rapture melts my heart just enough to not chastise him and possibly give him another when the others get theirs. What can I say, sometimes I'm a pushover for that smile too.

We happily wave goodbye and leave the store. One hundred and fifty dollars! Forget about three weeks; this is enough to feed us for the next two to three months!

Regrouping with the others, their arms laden with bags of nonperishable food, I distribute the candy (sneaky Jean Paul adding another for Toby just like I thought he might). Despite the sugar, the mood is still rather grave as we walk the blocks back to our current temporary residence, an old warehouse on the outskirts of the city.