Cold Feet

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We pull up on the side of the road and I look over at the building. The Pale Rose. The black marble walls surround the grounds and the mansion like a scaly tail guarding a mound of gold. A garden more beautiful then the monarch of England's front yard greets visitors with its beauty, hiding the thorns with a rose. The bleach white mansion looks deceptively small, compared to the mass amount of rooms it has, and, they're large rooms. The gate is tall, spearheads tipping each bar, the metal covered in thorns. 

It doesn't look like anyone is home. Must be a trick. A ploy to give wannabe thieves a shot of confidence. 

There had to be another way. Maybe a Russian satellite launch? Was NASA hiring? What am I saying? NASA has been publicly disbanded since they saw and ignored the Celestial Knights when they were orbiting the moon twenty years ago. Even went so far as to say it was a hoax, right up until they landed and began excavating under Trump Tower. Though to be honest, it wasn't much of a loss. New York had an architectural beauty about it. A lot of people don't miss it. 

The Knights would be a good place to start, except for one, little problem. 

They don't like me either. 

I turn in my seat to look at 'Nightingale', who had stopped shaking when I'd returned to the car, soaked in blood, face as red as my mask. She'd seen the white fury in my eyes. she sat up, staring at me blankly, as if sensing I was on edge. 

"You know who lives here?" I ask, voice as cold as stone. She nods. "You know of his... passion for blood?" Another nod. 

I glance at Violet, jerking my chin to the chains on the girl's wrists, her ankles. "You behave, and you don't need to even see these again," I say, gesturing to the chains. A slow nod. "You do as I say, and you can leave when I have what I need." 

"What is it that you need?" 

"First, I need you to go talk to someone."

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