For the Hopeless

Chapter 5: The Crimson Fang

Hayden let her barely burning cigarette slip to the ground at her feet, where she crushed it with the sole of a black, two-inch platform. In retrospect, a pair of sneakers would have been better for this particular "mission," but the heels had looked so much better with her outfit. Not just anything could match a black, ruffled skirt and white halter, after all. Besides, she'd teleported close enough to the club to keep from hurting her feet too badly.

"The Crimson Fang," she mumbled to herself, glancing at the glowing sign peeking around the edge of the alley's entrance. "What a cliché." Of course, the club she frequented, and the reason she'd dressed in her clubbing clothes, was just down the street, and its name wasn't much better: Silver. Not cliché, but still not all that creative. And nothing inside the place was silver, so it didn't even make sense. The owner's favorite color, maybe? Who knew.

At the soft sounds of a purring Corvette, the girl started toward the end of the alley, where she could see a thick blanket of snow still falling. The alleyway itself was narrow, the roofs of the buildings to either side nearly meeting in the middle; thus, only a thin strip of snow was able to slip through at the middle, leaving the rest of the grimy black asphalt bare. She quickly reached the alley's entrance, peeking cautiously around the corner to make sure her hearing had been correct.

Bailey's shiny Corvette was parked haphazardly in a snow pile beside the curb. A plow had recently come through, but it had done little to help. Already, there was an inch-thick, tightly packed layer of snow covering the road, and the plow probably wouldn't waste its time in this decrepit part of town again.

"You're not good at this, are you?" Aven's voice came from behind the pile of snow, then on top of it. Hayden could see her after a few seconds, staggering down the jagged, icy side facing the sidewalk. She was still wearing the T-shirt-and-jeans combo she'd borrowed from Bailey, now with her own pair of snow boots and...

Is that my coat? Hayden felt her jaw drop a little, ire clouding her gaze for a moment. That was one of her favorite winter coats, sleek and black, belted and falling to flutter about her knees. On Aven, the coat hit just above her knees, throwing off the entire look Hayden had so carefully aimed for when wearing the coat herself. That almost annoyed her more than the fact that Bailey had so readily given up her clothing without even bothering to ask.

"Not in the snow, no," came Bailey's cool response, jerking Hayden from her thoughts. She found her fingers tightly gripping the corner of the alley, the brick's sharp edge gouging her flesh. When she forced herself to release the corner, Bailey's eyes darted her way. Or, at least, it looked as if her eyes had darted her way. Through the snow, it was hard to tell. Hayden stepped back into the shadows of the alley, just in case. Bailey made her way around the car and over the heap of snow, her back soon to the alley in which Hayden had concealed herself.

"How are we doing this?" Aven asked so softly, so nervously, that Hayden was barely able to catch her words through the softly falling snow. "Do we just go in? Or...or do we need some sort of plan?"

Bailey shrugged, glancing toward the club's entrance. Only then did Hayden realize that Bailey was wearing a coat, one that looked wrong on her. It was leather, even baggier than her normal clothes tended to be, so it couldn't have been hers. But it was familiar...

Dameon gave her his favorite jacket? Once again, anger was darkening the edges of the girl's vision. She loved that jacket, always asked Dameon to let her borrow it, but he'd never done much more than laugh at her request. But he'd lent it to Bailey, the crazy bitch who tended to lose her mind and damage things. Lots of things. Why did she get to wear that jacket?

She forced her jealousy aside, growling softly to herself as she continued to listen in on their conversation. She needed to know whether they had a plan or not if she was going to show them up...or, at the very least, back them up.