The Chronicles of Phoenix Bloodheart I: Turning Red

Chapter XIII: The sinking night

As she takes the first step up the ladder, she looks back at the group. Django makes eye contact and flicks his old coin her way. She catches it easily, smiling, and turns it over in her hand. It looks very old and she cannot make out what the spirals mean on one side, or the bird on the other. But glancing at the strange winged creature makes her think of the way Django moves, like a swift and agile hawk. She slides the coin into her pocket.

"Oh," Django says, taking out his pocket watch and throwing it her way too, under arm. His aim is off this time and Phoenix notices his eyes are bloodshot; he's probably been taking his drugs again, she thinks.

Phoenix leans and just manages to catch the watch. She checks it and places it in her pocket. It's 6pm.

She purses her lips and removes her blue boots, letting them fall to the floor. As she tilts her head to look up the ladder, for half a second she notices Trixie's face looking towards her from the table, surprised.

'Fate might look after me,' Phoenix thinks to herself. 'But my actions alone will get me to my destination, and the night is just beginning.'

Phoenix places the coin in her pocket and continues to climb the ladder, her tight-laden feet gripping silently onto each rung.

As she reaches the top of the ladder, she notices Emile asleep in his usual spot, guarding the hidden button. She switches it, closing the ladder's opening.

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Below, after hearing the grate shut, Trixie sighs wearily and looks across the table to Django.

"Do you think she's ready, blue?" she asks.

"Somewhat. Competent? Not yet. Safe?" Django shakes his head. "But she needs to do it, Trix. She be silent and nimble without boots, too."

Trixie nods reluctantly.

"She seems too confident," the goblin adds. "Maybe it's a mask. Without weapons she'll be in danger. But ya right, she needs this if she's to be independent. Aren't ya going a bit overboard with this superstition stuff, by the way?"

Django scrunches his face up. "Do not insult de loa or my ways, Trix," he says. "There is no overboard with any of it. It just is. She is interested in luck, in charms. If it helps give her confidence, what is de problem?" he adds, looking at Trixie's eye patch.

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Phoenix steps out into the night, with only her thoughts for company. The moon is high in the night sky; the last sight of the sun sneaks over the horizon as the waves crash gently onto the shore. There is life and vigour in the air tonight, a cold steel blanketing across the village, the choppy waters a far cry from the usual calm of the shore. Phoenix pulls her dark blue hood over her face and strides covertly towards the village, her feet barely making a sound on the sand.

Phoenix does as she's instructed, believing fate has given her this task just as much as Trixie has. Phoenix does have a fear of being alone, of being caught. She wants to be able to run any errands with confidence, calmness and success. As she walks through the village, she tries to embed these qualities into her being, strutting casually, without consequence. Like a normal passing stranger, a nobody. There are some townsfolk around, finishing work or the last of the day's trades, heading home for dinner. None so much as glance at Phoenix, and if they did, she wouldn't care.

A false confidence looms over her, papering over the cracks of her blackouts, propped up by the backing of Trixie and the gang, as well as her initial training. Before Phoenix reaches the entrance to the alley, she passes the tavern she was so very nearly captured within. She glances towards the inn beneath her hood, while walking without hesitation. The door is open; the voices and lights from inside spill out onto the darker village road, but the fence beside protects the alley's thick shadows. The dark unknown invites Phoenix into its heart, dangerously plucking at her curiosity, like a harpist using daggers to make the strings screech and snap.