The late-morning air was crisp with the faintest hints of a stiff breeze tugging the trees. The slim, fair form ghosted through the trees, hungrily gleaning what he could from the wind about his little friendsâ whereabouts. Heâd picked three of the little humans, a boy and two girls. Perfectly susceptible. And they had no idea. Delicious. Heâd discovered the boy first. The little blond creature lived alone in a husk of a house that didnât belong to him. He was nondescript. Cuspin could feel the hate burbling just below the boyâs flesh. Resentment. And he had no family, which was perfect. Familiar ties made things a bit more difficult with cases such as his. The second heâd found was a gorgeously mutilated little girl, scarring on one side of her face hidden by a delicate little bandage. Dark sludge fermented within her bones, fueling a soft, burning anger. The third girl burned bright with an almost tangible desire. She loathed her situation. She wanted something more.
Three little darling that he could melt in his palms. Oh yes, it would be the most perfect plan. The feline eyes flashed with delight. They were coming. They would arrive soon. Heâd need to be ready for them. The tiny magiks heâd used to guide them would bring the three together and right into his hand. What a coincidence! Cuspin hummed to himself as he swept back into the embrace of the front stoop, then into the guts of the house itself. He left a trail of flickering lights behind him that danced in oneâs peripherals but disappeared the moment one looked directly at them. The room heâd decided to use, a small parlour, was exceedingly cozy, with just enough space for his guests, a majestic china cabinet in one corner, a low table, and a window that always greeted the morning sun even though that side of the building faced north.
On the table was a decanter shining with red liquid next to a wine glass. His meager breakfast. His stores of food were getting low, and he was forced to survive mainly off his reserves from earlier days spent blood farming. He couldnât do such things now; it was too much of a hassle, especially when the human justice system poked its nose in to sniff out the missing individuals. He would put an end to both his boredom and his lack of proper food soon enough though. Heâd find people to collect food for him. Easy enough. And such fun. And if they got caught, nothing would be connected to him. The human authorities would think the humans mad if they tried to tell anyone about him. Perfect.
Cuspin poured himself a liberal amount of the rich substance and sipped leisurely from the glass. All there was left to do was wait. He fished around in his pocket for his clock, and flicked the lid open, watching the ornamental hands slowly march onwards, moments and seconds and minutes nearer to the most delicious game he had in store for his new little friends.
Varrick, Harmony, and Aubree. The unwitting players of his newest delight. They wouldnât have a clue why theyâd ended up here, not the faintest idea of what was in store for them. Cuspin mused briefly about what they might taste like, but he quickly reprimanded himself for such thoughts. He shouldnât eat his guests. Not these guests. Not this early, at least. Even though earlier heâd tried to convince himself that he could do just as well with two and consume the third, he wasnât able to choose which one would taste the best. They were all so decadently unique in scent and flavor. Heâd shadowed the three of them enough to know their faces, their scents, and their mannerisms. And they hadnât a clue. It was perfect.
Cuspinâs mouth curled into a wolfish, straight-toothed grin, taking another sip and leaning back in his armchair. Ah, what was that? Footsteps in the grass? The creak of the stair? Perhaps the murmur of voices? He waited like a predator, eyes fixed on the slightly ajar door, waiting for the first fragile face to appear and set off his game.
Oh this was all so exciting, wasnât it! He hadnât had this much anticipation in a few decades. And the game was so promising, he certainly wouldnât be let down by this chain of events. And if he was, well, a good meal or two could fix most anything.