Jack’s boots thudded against the manor floor, scraping noises filling the hallways as she dragged the tip of a baseball bat along the wall. They were all muffled by the guitars and basses humming in her head, but even through her earphones the sound of Ice’s paws clunking against marble was a hard one to ignore, a constant peal that reverberated through her bones.
Turning around yet another corner, she spotted two guards standing on each side of a double door. Lowering the volume of her earphones and taking one of them off, she sauntered over to them.
“Salut!” she greeted, holding up her free hand and grinning under her mask, loving how it made her voice sound so deep and creepy. The two men didn’t seem all that happy to see her. The bigger one looked tense and had his hand at his belt, where Jack glimpsed a faint glint of metal, but the other one simply adjusted his earphones, both staring at her with stone cold faces.
“Relax, fellas.” The bat was thrown in the air and Jack delighted in their nervous expressions as it spun above her before she caught it, letting it come up to rest on her shoulder. “It’s me, Jack. Or am I really that easy to forget?” She held a hand to her heart, feigning sorrow.
“Take off the mask.”
Jack raised an eyebrow at the order, grip tightening around the metal handle. Sighing, she scratched a scar beneath the edge of her blue demon mask and then slipped it off just enough for the guards to see her eyes. “Happy now?” she asked, covering her face once more.
The smaller guard, who was really almost as big as the doors behind him, seemed pleased enough, but the trigger happy guy made a gesture to the bat.
“No weapons,” the tiniest but not-so-tiny guard clarified. Not for the first time that day, Jack wondered if the other one was mute, since this one seemed to be doing all the talking.
“Fine.” She threw it over to them, the smaller, darker skinned one catching it easily. “But you’re giving it back to me after this. I won it fair and square, you know.” A grin stretched across her features when she said that, not that the two men could see it. But she could see the guard’s gaze fixed on the name engraved on the handle and knew he’d understand; it wasn’t her name that was on it.
The dark skinned man gave his colleague a nod and both stepped aside. Ice, who’d taken the form of a 3ft tall jaguar and had been resting beside her while staring intently at the aluminum bat with its dark reflective eyes, got up and approached the doors with its master.
The not-so-tiny guard knocked on the door three times. “My Lord, a guest has arrived,” he announced in a booming voice, ignoring Jack’s snort at the “My Lord” bit. There was no answer, but there was a clicking sound and the double doors were swung open from the inside.
Not wasting any time, Jack took the invitation and stepped right into the dining room. The lights inside were brighter, the warm glow reflecting off of the solid gold that made up Ice’s sleek body, blinding anyone who gazed at it for too long. That was one of the perks of doing this particular job for the Golden Tones; an abundant amount of gold and other fancy metals to work with, and Ice seemed to love the stuff, though not as much as good old fashioned iron.
A dozen or more faces greeted her, some more familiar than others, but she recognized almost all of them. The one closest to her was old Dean White himself, the only one not seated and looking like he was about to throw up at any second now with how pale and frazzled he looked. He was also the only one not surprise to see her; every other guest was staring at her as if she were an assassin or death itself. The traditional demon mask she was wearing, with the white feathers covering her hair, probably didn’t help.
Everyone seemed so... jumpy, yes, that’s the word. How amusing. Maybe old White’s condition was infectious.
“Hi there, boss, sorry I’m late. I’m afraid I had to take care of some punk before I got here.” She took her right hand to her face as she said that, attempting to scratch the long scar on her chin that had been bothering her for quite a while. That’s when she noticed it, the blood clotting her fingers and palm.
“Merde...” she muttered, looking around for something to clean it with. She took the handkerchief the ever composed Charles offered her and gave it back stained red. Her hand was more or less clean; it hadn’t been her blood.
Of course she hadn’t killed the little punk; she didn’t make a habit of killing people, though there was no harm in letting other people think that she did. No, the guy had guts and she liked that. But she did remember punching his mouth, that was probably where all the blood had come from. Jack wondered how she hadn’t noticed something like that. After all, she had been invited to a fancy dinner. Wasn’t she supposed to look her best?
Ah, not! Like she’d ever dress up for anything. Plus, she couldn’t think of a better way to annoy the old, too proper for his own good, Dean White. Jack turned to her current boss, waiting for him to present her and to make it clear as whether she could take off the mask or not.
Turning around yet another corner, she spotted two guards standing on each side of a double door. Lowering the volume of her earphones and taking one of them off, she sauntered over to them.
“Salut!” she greeted, holding up her free hand and grinning under her mask, loving how it made her voice sound so deep and creepy. The two men didn’t seem all that happy to see her. The bigger one looked tense and had his hand at his belt, where Jack glimpsed a faint glint of metal, but the other one simply adjusted his earphones, both staring at her with stone cold faces.
“Relax, fellas.” The bat was thrown in the air and Jack delighted in their nervous expressions as it spun above her before she caught it, letting it come up to rest on her shoulder. “It’s me, Jack. Or am I really that easy to forget?” She held a hand to her heart, feigning sorrow.
“Take off the mask.”
Jack raised an eyebrow at the order, grip tightening around the metal handle. Sighing, she scratched a scar beneath the edge of her blue demon mask and then slipped it off just enough for the guards to see her eyes. “Happy now?” she asked, covering her face once more.
The smaller guard, who was really almost as big as the doors behind him, seemed pleased enough, but the trigger happy guy made a gesture to the bat.
“No weapons,” the tiniest but not-so-tiny guard clarified. Not for the first time that day, Jack wondered if the other one was mute, since this one seemed to be doing all the talking.
“Fine.” She threw it over to them, the smaller, darker skinned one catching it easily. “But you’re giving it back to me after this. I won it fair and square, you know.” A grin stretched across her features when she said that, not that the two men could see it. But she could see the guard’s gaze fixed on the name engraved on the handle and knew he’d understand; it wasn’t her name that was on it.
The dark skinned man gave his colleague a nod and both stepped aside. Ice, who’d taken the form of a 3ft tall jaguar and had been resting beside her while staring intently at the aluminum bat with its dark reflective eyes, got up and approached the doors with its master.
The not-so-tiny guard knocked on the door three times. “My Lord, a guest has arrived,” he announced in a booming voice, ignoring Jack’s snort at the “My Lord” bit. There was no answer, but there was a clicking sound and the double doors were swung open from the inside.
Not wasting any time, Jack took the invitation and stepped right into the dining room. The lights inside were brighter, the warm glow reflecting off of the solid gold that made up Ice’s sleek body, blinding anyone who gazed at it for too long. That was one of the perks of doing this particular job for the Golden Tones; an abundant amount of gold and other fancy metals to work with, and Ice seemed to love the stuff, though not as much as good old fashioned iron.
A dozen or more faces greeted her, some more familiar than others, but she recognized almost all of them. The one closest to her was old Dean White himself, the only one not seated and looking like he was about to throw up at any second now with how pale and frazzled he looked. He was also the only one not surprise to see her; every other guest was staring at her as if she were an assassin or death itself. The traditional demon mask she was wearing, with the white feathers covering her hair, probably didn’t help.
Everyone seemed so... jumpy, yes, that’s the word. How amusing. Maybe old White’s condition was infectious.
“Hi there, boss, sorry I’m late. I’m afraid I had to take care of some punk before I got here.” She took her right hand to her face as she said that, attempting to scratch the long scar on her chin that had been bothering her for quite a while. That’s when she noticed it, the blood clotting her fingers and palm.
“Merde...” she muttered, looking around for something to clean it with. She took the handkerchief the ever composed Charles offered her and gave it back stained red. Her hand was more or less clean; it hadn’t been her blood.
Of course she hadn’t killed the little punk; she didn’t make a habit of killing people, though there was no harm in letting other people think that she did. No, the guy had guts and she liked that. But she did remember punching his mouth, that was probably where all the blood had come from. Jack wondered how she hadn’t noticed something like that. After all, she had been invited to a fancy dinner. Wasn’t she supposed to look her best?
Ah, not! Like she’d ever dress up for anything. Plus, she couldn’t think of a better way to annoy the old, too proper for his own good, Dean White. Jack turned to her current boss, waiting for him to present her and to make it clear as whether she could take off the mask or not.