Chapter 22

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NOTE: The outfit shown on Angela (Kaya Scodelario), as well as her appearance in the photo, is her outfit for a portion of this chapter!

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"Are you insane?!" Iris screeched with disbelief, seeing Angela packing her bag with Liz sitting and smoking on the edge of his bed in their shared hotel.

"Look, if I go to Paris with the Countess and Will, I'll not only be protecting him," Angela explained rapidly, folding what looked to be a satin, sweetheart-neckline blue dress in her rather large suitcase, "but I have the chance to finally do her in once and for all!"

"You have a death wish, honey," Liz said, wagging his finger effeminately out at his living best friend. "You've lost your mind."

"Look who's talking," Angela said, trying not to sound rude to her ghostly friend. "You let the Countess kill you after saying things you know would have put you in that position in the first place."

"Angela," Liz replied, looking at his friend sadly, "I would have never found happiness again. I have Tristan now. Living in a world pretending to be okay without him was hell for me! Don't you see? Don't you see it would have also been a matter of time before she killed me anyhow?"

The afflicted brunette shook her head, turning her attention to Iris as she spoke.

"Look, she's the cat," the older woman explained, "you are the mouse. She'll swallow you whole!"

Just when Angela folded down the lid on her suitcase to zip it close and lock the fasteners, she felt Iris' hands go to her wrists, the identical temperatures of their skin barely fazing her to get her hold off the luggage—"Don't go."

"Who died and left you God?" the young afflicted woman asked haughtily.

"No one, but you clearly don't know what you're getting yourself into," the older woman answered. "I care about you too much to see you die and be dumped in the Seine."

Angela just looked down before sighing, taking in the secondhand smoke from Liz a few feet away: "I didn't know what I was getting myself into anyways taking a job here. What difference does it make? I'm in the alliance. Ramona is taking her sweet-ass time getting her revenge. Donovan betrayed us, and Liz..." The transvestite widened his Egyptian-styled eyes before Angela spoke again; "you're stuck here...and you, Iris, you don't seem fit for the job...but I am, and I will kill her."

Iris just shook her head with disbelief, but Angela pulled out something she had concealed in the garter of one of her stockings beneath her lacy white, knee-high dress—it was a Glock handgun, and Iris just stared down at it until a voice caught their attention.

"Hey! Give me that!"

Pamela had entered the room, snatching the handgun away from Angela and scowling at her, opening the magazine to check for ammunition.

"I f-found it."

"Bullshit," the police psychic snapped, her blue-gray eyes cold and heavy, "you stole it so you could kill Bloodsucker."

"Partially true," Angela muttered.

"Did you forget?" Pamela asked, tapping the butt of the gun gently against her bosom, "I'm killing John the next time I see him."

"Well, tonight I have my last dinner session with Mr. March before heading to Paris tomorrow," the brunette told her.

Iris cut in—"she's got a death wish. Can you please tell her it's not a good idea for her to go?"

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