The Unholy Ones

7:: FELIX MORALES

Looking down at his watch, Felix sighs. Naturally he had gotten to dinner early; it's not as though he has many other places to go at this hour.

    The man that had talked to Felix at the police precinct, Damian Salazar, had stressed the need for help in stopping this witch. If it were true, Felix would be all but dying to help, but these claims are quite serious, and sound absolutely fake.

    Yet here Felix sits, at the restaurant the black card had stated. He sits at table seven, just as the card indicated. The meeting would commence at ten, a late hour that would ensure pitch darkness outside. Why that was needed, Felix could only guess.

    Pursing his lips, Felix gazes around the room, noting how populated it was. Expensive silver clinks against elegant china dishes, all vaulting up into a beautiful dome ceiling, which is decorated with elaborate gold paintings. Warm lighting dimly illuminates the space, casting harsh shadows across everyone's faces. A fully stocked bar sits in an adjacent room, men sitting upright at its table: too prim and righteous to get properly drunk. Felix snorts to himself then glances at his watch once more, watching the hands get closer and closer to ten. Bored, he leans back into his chair, the white leather squealing beneath him.

    There had been two other people in that precinct with him: the psychotic laughing man, and the dangerous looking girl. Of course, they had both run out of the place together, holding hands as they went off to do whatever nefarious things they pleased. Felix had sat peacefully in his cell, and nodded a polite thank you to the guard that eventually came and let him out.

    He barely remembers walking out of that place. Damian came into his room and sat down, immediately telling Felix that he's going to die if the witch isn't caught and killed.

    "We're all going to die, Felix," Damian had said, inducing a terrible chill down Felix's spine. No one wants to die, no, that's an impossible thought to consider. Some will fight to keep living even if their life is a terrible mess. And that's precisely why Felix agreed to this deal.

    Even though his life's continuing to fall to pieces, he wants to keep living.

    Felix's existential crisis breaks as his attention is drawn to the front door, as a tall man walks in and, throwing his leather jacket over one shoulder, leans onto the hostess' table and strikes up a conversation. The hostess laughs loudly-- too loud, really-- but points the man in the direction of Felix, who sighs heavily and crosses his arms. The man tosses a grin at the girl, who swoons heavily, then turns and begins to walk over to the table. Felix just looks up at him as he comes to a stop next to a chair.

    "Are you part of the end of the world club?" the man asks with a blindingly white smile. Felix rolls his eyes.

    "Sure. Welcome to the club," he says sarcastically. "Have a seat."

    Tossing his jacket over the back of the seat, the man sits down, movements smooth and lithe. With a light sigh, he leans back and crosses his arms, biceps pushing against his tight black tee. Lifting his chin, he places his piercingly pale gaze on Felix, who just looks up at him boredly.

    "Where's the entertainment?" the man begins, drumming his fingers on his arms. Felix doesn't say anything, but leans back and peers around the man's shoulder.

    "I think part of it just walked in," he mutters. The man turns around, and an enormous smile peels across his face.

    In walks the girl from the interrogations. Her pale, silvery hair bounces as she walks, balancing easily in sky-high heels that travel up to her thighs. A thick fur coat hangs off of her shoulders, swaying with her walk. Felix just stares, entranced by her emanating authority and seductive gaze. She slows, nearing the table, stopping next to the man.

    "Nice to see you again, James," she says, voice like silk. Felix blinks twice. Is this really the same girl that sat, detained, in an interrogation cell but a few days ago?

    "Did you miss me?" The man- James- retorts, flashing yet another grin. She blinks slowly as she sits down, never taking her eyes off of him.

    "Maybe I did," she drawls, pulling her arms out of the big coat. She's almost spilling out of her tight minidress, which plunges so low Felix doesn't need to imagine much. James takes advantage of this, and whistles.

    "Oh, please," Felix interjects. The two look at him, as if seeing him for the first time.

    "I'm sorry?" the girl asks incredulously. Felix just raises his eyebrows. What do they want him to say?

    "Nevermind," Felix mumbles, diverting his gaze to a couple across the room that are sharing a cheesecake. "Carry on."

    "Au contraire, Mr. Broody- Man," she says, tilting her head. Felix turns and looks at her, locking eyes. He notes the nearly red-black color of her eyes, then begins to analyze the slash that goes through her eyebrow, directly above the perfect eyeliner and thick lashes. Quickly, he draws himself back to her words, still staring into her piercing eyes as she queries, "What's the matter?"

    Felix feels a hot rush flood his head, asking him to answer the question. The heat travels down through his neck, and he gets the impression that he should tell her everything: that he thinks James is insane, and that she's beautiful and probably just as crazy as her counterpart. But the urge is faint, fleeting as he blinks and looks at her once more.

    Confusion flits across her face: the quick squint of the eyes, the purse of her thick red lips. Then realization dawns on her, and her eyes turn to slits.

    "Angel," she hisses. Blindingly quick, she grabs the butter knife off of the table and stabs it into Felix's hand. He grunts, throwing his other hand onto the protruding handle as he glares at the girl, who doesn't look away from him as she pulls another blade out of her boot. Felix pales at seeing the blade; black and smooth as glass, the Shadow-blade is one forged in Hell, capable of killing any otherworldly being.

    "Give me one reason why I shouldn't gut you right now and take your wings as a prize," she growls, eyes almost glowing a crimson red now. Felix's jaw clenches and he pulls the butter knife out of his hand.

    "We came here to work together, didn't we?" He says, voice low. "If we came to kill each other I can assure you, it would have been done a long time ago."

    "Oh, please," she shoots back, not moving. "You're not even that strong. I bet James could take you down in a heartbeat."

    "I can confirm," James pitches in from across the table. Felix looks at him incredulously, shaking his hand out painfully. He can feel the tendons stitching themselves back together, and flexes his fingers gingerly. Shaking his head, he turns back to the girl.

    "I don't care who would win in a fist fight," he begins slowly, ignoring how she tightens her grip on the Shadow-blade. "Right now, I think we need to worry about staying alive in the first place."

    "Oh, so you believed the crazy loon?" James says, raising his eyebrows. He points a finger at Felix. "You believe his apocalyptic speech?"

    "It seemed... reasonable," Felix says slowly, sparing a cursory glance at James. "It's not realistic, but I guess it could be possible."

    "Sure, there's this witch that's going to kill an entire species, that's so real. I can almost feel it in my hands, the realness is so--"

    "Shut up, James," the girl says, leaning back and sliding the knife back into her boot. "Don't be a hypocrite."

    "Hypocrite-- that's a three syllable word for someone that doesn't know what a lunatic is."

    "James--"

    "He has a point," Felix says with a shrug. "It really is insane."

    "If that's really what you think," says a new voice, "then you all are certainly going to die."

Word Count: 1371

I've got money on these three killing each other... xoxo, sk