Countdown
Samantha’s constant appetite for blood was never easy to accommodate, especially when her prey decided it was easier to turn themselves into a walking human torch than fall victim to her.
The stench of scorched flesh still hung clear in the cold December morning, its burning aroma causing Sam to pinch her nose. Various headstones encircled her spot among the cemetery, and she was thankful that visiting hours for the cities dearly departed didn’t pick up until later in the day.
Taking the point of her boot she prodded at a charred corpse, earning her an ashy glob of fat on the black leather. She let out a curse, quickly cleaning it off in a patch of nearby grass, graciously untouched by the small inferno that was supposed to be her assigned bounty.
Sam wasn’t sure what she hated most about the job. The fact that these missions almost always ended up as a headache, or that this loathsome career was her only means of survival. Unlike most women her age who spent their years nose deep in textbooks, or married off with children, Sam spent much of her time stalking the city streets for supernatural troublemakers.
Far too often than she would care to admit, Sam found herself mingling with the more unusual crowd that resided in shadows amongst their mortal counterparts. A dangerous, unpredictable class that sat like oil on water above the everyday people. She herself was once blissfully unaware of that magical world that walked beside them. A life that seemed so fleeting.
That painful hunger once again burned at the back of her throat, the charmed garnet sitting on her neck twinkling brightly as the magic it harbored kept her blood lust at bay. Truly, it was the only thing that kept Sam from devouring every single human within a five-mile radius.
Sam’s hazel eyes drifted back to the scorched patch of graveyard, the mans’ corpse already drifting into ash on the breeze. She felt like punching something. Her meal ticket, and actual meal of the day was gone. A charred rib bone was poking out from the heap of ash. Kneeling, she plucked it from the ground, careful to avoid any other nasty bits the human left behind.
What a pathetic prize. Sam thought to herself, a headache already forming at the base of her skull. Sighing, she turned on her heels and made her way back towards the cemetery’s gated entrance where a 1999 challenger sat. Sam threw her bone inside the passenger seat and sped off.
Before she forgot, Sam pulled out a cellphone. Thumb quickly dialing the three-digit number by heart. An automated voice answered pleasantly, listing off what buttons to press and their respective services. She pressed three, careening through crowded streets. That was the only number she ever really used, now that she thought of it.
“Name, location, and id please.” A male voice asked lamely.
Judging by the sharp exhale of breath that followed his request, Sam concluded that he would rather being doing something else. “Samantha Kurt. 948 West Broad Street. Badge ID:13666.” As she listened to the sound of keys being typed, Sam’s eyes began to wander.
It was surprising to see so many people in the morning hours, it was only seven, and the streets were full to the brim. The weather was gloomy at best, sheets of gray blanketing the tops of skyscrapers from view. A dull voice drawled through her phone’s speaker, tugging her focus back.
“Alright miss…” Sam could tell he was struggling halfheartedly to remember her name. “Kurt, a cleanup crew is dispatched and on their way. Thank you and have a good new year.”
She didn’t bother with a goodbye, the dial tone going dead before she fully processed his robotic farewell. Right, New Years. Of course, everyone was out and about, celebrating from morning till midnight. In her futile chase across the city Sam had forgotten all about it. Normally, she took the day off, keenly aware of her own annual countdown. Her recent work had indeed kept her occupied. Sam turned left, away from the maze of traffic towards an unused strip of road.
Winding down narrow asphalt, with battered structures looming on either side of her, Sam led her metal steed towards the end of the street. A familiar brick monster sat boldly amongst the surrounding rubble, its dilapidated appearance failing to take away from the intimidating stature. It seemed old and forgotten, evident from the broken windows and abandoned construction materials scattered about as the city must have at one point scrapped it for a loss. It’s twins on either side caved to the test of time, their concrete skeletons bare to winters unforgiving weather.
Sam’s engine stuttered to a stop, breaking the cold silence that seemed to hover over this neglected part of town. Tarps flapped in the breeze, held to the ground only by the rotten heaps of plywood, her golden locks doing the same as she emerged from the warm confines of her vehicle. When Sam’s hand came to rest against the metal handle a small shock coursed through her. She could taste the glamor at work, it’s magic sickly sweet on her tongue as it slithered over exposed skin. It didn’t matter how many times it happened; Sam would never get used the intrusive feeling of magic. She never understood how, but the glamor that coated her place of employment doubled as an alarm system. Repelling those who did not belong. Satisfied with its findings, the unearthly sensation pulled back, front door now swinging open of its own accord. A silent acceptance.
When the cement door clicked closed behind her a wall of warmth came crashing down, chasing away the ice on her cheeks. Voices echoed in the open precinct, men and women milling about with excited haste. Leather furnishings were placed tastefully along sage green walls, their earthly tones complimenting the modest decor. Grey sunlight peaked through unbroken windows.
It was all a stark contrast to the obscene visage outside.
Plush rugs absorbed every footfall as Sam made her way down the center aisle. A young man scurried past her; files stacked so far past his glasses he almost sidelined her.
“Excuse me!” He practically screeched, eyes bulging as the paper wobbled dangerously in his grip.
Not sparing a glance at Sam, the young man continued with haste once his precious cargo was safe.
She eyed a pair of men leaning onto a desk, shoulders touching as they both unabashedly peered over a woman’s shoulder. She was tinkering with a robust box of fireworks, all three of them eyeing their hoard with bright appreciation.
Just like Sam, four letters were stamped onto their black leather jackets. Supernatural Order and Protection Agency, or sopa, for short. Rows of desks lined either side of the elongated rug, creating a faux runway towards a large office door. Clouded panes of glass hid any prying eyes from the sergeant’s room, sitting on each side of the door.
Sam glanced at the golden name embedded in the center, Sergeant Vivian Royce, racking her knuckles over the wood.
“Come in.” Sam silently cursed her luck, feeling a heavy weight on her chest as she opened the door.
As Sam had suspected a sour look marred Vivian’s usually pleasant features. Her grey brows were furrowed in deep concentration, reading over a stack of papers while others lay haphazardly across her desk. A familiar odor of cigarettes hung low in the air, sunlight slicing through small clouds of smoke hovering between them.
Vivian didn’t bother to look up at Sam’s arrival, mumbling through a cigarette for her to take a seat. Sam quirked an eyebrow, not exactly sure where her boss thought she could sit since all the available spots were currently occupied by stacks of manila folders. She found a new home for some of them, gently laying a handful of folders by an open filing cabinet and settled down into the stiff armchair.
Vivian’s office was downright barren in comparison to their bullpen. The only sign of any personal touches was the fern sitting to Vivian’s right, which could honestly benefit from a little watering. Other than that, the entire room was littered with filing cabinets and bookshelves, filled with case files or other important documents.
“Where are your processing papers?” Vivian asked, non-too kindly. Having worked for the woman for the past six years, Sam would find it difficult to describe the seasoned veteran as anything close to an overly warm individual.
However, she was keen enough to know when her boss was upset.
Vivian’s eyes flashed to her, expectant.
“Well?” Sam bit her tongue, wishing she could crawl under a rock. She fished the bone from her jacket and tossed it onto the desk, a soft thud resonating at impact.
Sam wondered if it looked as pathetic as it felt. If it were possible Vivian’s frown deepened so far that Sam was afraid it might just fall off her chin. “What’s this?” As if she didn’t already know the answer. Sam thought.
“Bastard lit himself on fire. I couldn’t cuff him before he worked his spell.” The cuff links in question, inscribed with runes meant to diffuse any magic, felt as if they were burning a hole in her jeans pocket.
The disapproval on Vivian’s face made Sam shift in her seat. Gargoyles had more mercy in their gnarled, fanged faces than the woman sitting across from her. Sam would know, she’d dealt with plenty of them before. Sam glanced out the window to her left, jacket shifting noisily in the silence as she crossed her arms. “It was the only thing left.” Vivian exhaled a plume of smoke from her nose.
A bull ready to strike. “Those kill people, you know. I think it’s something close to half a million a year.”
If Sam was a betting woman, the anger brewing inside Vivian’s cerulean eyes suggested that Sam would be the one joining that statistic. Cigarettes or no. “You had one job,” Her gruff voice was not amused. “Cuff’em, book’em and send their sorry asses back to Hel. What part of that, exactly, sounds difficult to you.?”
Well, when she put it so cut and dry of course it sounded simple. What she failed to tack in the fine print was all the hazards that came with such a job; broken body parts, cold meals, zero recognition aside from a measly paycheck and the bonus that some of her criminals can throw a curve ball of summoning fire.
“Listen, he turned into a human torch of his own accord, he still went back. Just didn’t need me to do it.” Vivian, as always, did not appreciate the excuses.
She doubted the old bat ever laughed. “You’re on restrictive leave for two weeks. Give me your badge and cuffs.” Sam blinked. A moment passing in silence as she digested the words.
“You’re suspending me for this?” She asked incredulously. Sam flew a hand behind her, gesturing towards the closed door.
“Denise let a full-fledged succubus gallivant across Navy Peer. Don’t get me started on the Chimera that Harvey let slip, it took him five days to get it under control, and that was with my help clearing out the staff’s memories. Yet I’m assigned an overconfident pyromancer and I’m the one getting put on the burner?” Sam didn’t bother reeling in her anger, meeting Vivian’s stare with a steely one of her own.
“No.” Vivian bit out, eyes peering at Sam over half moon glasses as she picked up a rather hefty folder that sat to her right. The only one that appeared to belong amongst the mess of paper. She held the folder up for Sam to see. A large, bold red symbol was stamped across the front. A tribal snake looping into a circle to eat its own tail. Right below the ouroboros, in bold black letters was Sam’s full name. “The investigation on the McCormick case came back. The board has deemed it appropriate to put you on leave, for a time.” Sam’s anger instantly vanished. A new feeling pooled into her stomach, creeping into her bones and causing her mouth to turn dry.
She steadied herself, making a mental effort to keep her breathing even. “What happened to Darren?” She tried and failed to keep the desperate curiosity from her voice. “He’s exactly where he needs to be.” Her chest deflated. “What about his wife, the kids?” Vivian let the folder fall with a thud. “None of your business. The case is closed, and you are no longer with access to their files.”
She raised a brow at Sam, “Badge and cuffs, officer.” Sam hesitated a moment before asking, “Will I still have a job to come back to or is this your way of letting me go before my own soul is claimed.” Sam didn’t bother to hide her glare, her own ire rising at the injustness of it all.
So, what was wrong with Sam trying to save a human from being dragged into the underworld? Contract or no, any person with a soul would have tried to do the same. Maybe that was the problem, for Sam didn’t have a soul herself, not really.
Vivian crushed the bud of her cigarette in the ash tray, leaning back in her chair as she did so. “While laying you off would be a massive relief from paperwork, no. You’re not fired. Your presence here may be more of a headache than a blessing at times,” she went on, hands now intertwined in her lap. “But you’re a damn good hunter. If you had more time, I would have even given you a recommendation for my position.”
Sam was rather taken aback by that. Vivian rarely handed out compliments, more likely to chew your head off than pat you on the back with a job well done. Let alone an open declaration of possible promotion. “Yet, you still insist on sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. I remember that fire, that unrelenting need to wipe out the wrong.” Vivian shook her head gazing out the window.
Morning light pooled onto Vivian’s aging face, the roughness it usually held seeming to soften as a memory clouded her vision. For a moment, Sam could see that young huntress from years long past.
Her silver hair, once as black as night, pulled up into a ponytail atop her head. The sharpness in her gaze never lost its potency. Sam knew without a doubt in her mind, that Vivian could make demons quake in fear.
Those eyes, a killer’s eyes, turned to stare at her. “I like you, Samantha. So it is with genuine warning that I say this: Stop digging into things you cannot change. I will not speak on your behalf to the board again.” Her last words sent shivers down Sam’s spine. “If you do not heed my advice, counting the remaining days of your own soul bargain will be the least of your worries.”
