The Deaths of Me (NEW ADULT REWORK)

2. Ivy's New Mission

Hurting people is my business.

--Sugar Ray Robinson

A cold drop of water hit Ivy's bright red hair with an audible plunk. Even a sound as small as that echoed ominously in the murky, sunless cave. Somewhere, above the caverns Ivy stood in, Atlanta rush hour traffic crept, inch by agonizing inch. Ivy's black steel-toed boots thundered as she made her way to the Council.

Her knees did not shake. Her lip did not quiver. And of course, her heart did not beat. Vampires couldn't show signs of nervousness, and so Ivy was stoic as she approached the stone steps. Even though her mouth was dry, and her mind whirred like a slot machine, she'd agreed to play nice.

Ivy dared a quick look at the ceiling; all she could see was hanging stalagmites and shadows. It was disgusting that Underdwellers, like herself, had to meet secretly underground. They were forced to retreat into the hollowed-out underbelly of the city in order to avoid the humans when they wanted to gather in bulk.

What real threat did humans pose to most Underdwellers, anyway? Only Ivy's carefully practiced patience kept her from slaughtering at least one pimply pre-teen a day. Humans, for the most part, were pathetic and—ironically enough—beneath her. They walked around in the sun, ignorant to what lay in wait in the darkness, just below their feet.

Snapping herself out of her daily dose of mental loathing, Ivy reached the cave's opening. The room beyond the dank hallway she'd been walking down suddenly swelled out into a grand cavern. Candles hid in the natural nooks and crannies of the old walls, lending a leering glow to an otherwise gloomy domain. Ivy would have shuddered if she could have done so without being noticed.

Although the chamber stood at least twenty feet high, her boots failed to make any sound when she approached the lone, occupied bench in the room. Behind it were rows and rows of benches, made for rare occasions when a plethora of Underdwellers had something urgent to discuss. Ivy stopped walking and stared down at her feet. Then she stomped. No sound at all.

Ivy hated enchanted rooms.

She looked back up and paced forward. She ignored the eerie stillness of the chamber, but she nearly hissed as she came upon the dozens of wooden crosses making up the perimeter of the panel. The simple symbols made her veins constrict and her mouth dry out.

Ivy turned her contemptuous gaze instead to the Council of the Covenant. She took her time and stared each member down. These were the people who had demanded her presence. They didn't seem to care that she'd been vacationing in Prague, and had dropped everything to be at their beck and call. In fact, the Council looked remarkably annoyed and anxious already.

At the far left, there was the robust and friendly Pompeii Leodus, the most well-known diplomat from the largest pack of werewolves in recorded history. It was said that he'd led the dogs into the new age by discovering a way to outsmart the moon. But then, Ivy thought smugly, when were the lycanthropes ever prone to honesty?

The man was not hairy, and from what Ivy could tell he didn't stink like many of the dogs tended to, but it made him no better than the rest of the lycans. Treaty or no treaty. His bright eyes were set square in the middle of his face, too close together for Ivy's liking. She certainly didn't trust his slicked-back raven colored hair.

On the far right, sat Queen Cayleigh, a fairy if Ivy had ever seen one. Around her pointed face, her hair was an auburn mess, intertwined with branches that seemed to grow directly from her scalp. Ivy did not bow to her.

Although the queen and her subjects were now protected under the Treaty of Nature and Dark, Ivy would never forget the Queen had been the last leader to sign her people into alliance with the rest of the Underdwelling. She'd rather the fairies go extinct than let someone else tell her what to do. Some matriarch.