Running With Devils

Twenty-Three

I couldn't blame my crew. It was my decisions that led us here. I had chosen to cut my own heart from my chest. It was my decision to let them go off and do those tasks on their own.

Why did I have to be so fucking stupid? I had been so careless and brazen with my strategy not realizing the fragility of the scales.

I had been too optimistic— starry-eyed as my father had liked to call it.

And it was coming back to haunt me ten fold.

The only way out was through. I would get the kid to talk.

So I went to my closet. My fingers grazed thoughtfully over each hanger holding all the options I could choose from ranging from three piece suits to more casual sport coats. I left the alternative fashion to Levi.

I stuck with the classics.

I had to make a good impression after all. I would be meeting a very important guest. I had to ensure that I put my best foot forward no matter if the bastard had his dirty mortal hands all over our witch.

I began my ritual.

Starting with the slacks, I worked the belt through the loop holes and buckled it with precision.

Focus. I had to focus. Stay centered. The mortal had nothing on me. He was an insect to be squashed beneath my dress shoes.

Next, my shirt. I made light work of the buttons as a primed musician would make light work of their finger positions on their instrument, tucking the edges crisply beneath the waistline of the slacks.

This was my time to consider all of the possibilities.

I trusted Levi and his research, but I wasn't entirely sure that this was the right move.

Assuming this boy wouldn't spill his secrets, who would care if his body was discovered down stream? The witch wouldn't be able to do a single thing. I was sure she'd hate me, but what did that matter?

I had found that I quite enjoyed the utter loathing she held for me. It's when she tried to get beneath my skin that I found my discomfort.

I scolded myself for letting my thoughts even wander in her vicinity. It was not the time to be daydreaming.

I shrugged on my suit jacket and stepped in front of the mirror. I pulled on the lapels of the jacket, ensuring my appearance was sharper than I felt. I carefully brought my hands to my raven hair, slicking it back.

Even with my armor on, I felt unstable. My hands had the slightest of tremors. My mouth was dry. My knees could not be trusted to carry me.

I forced myself to straighten, convincing myself that this was just another day in the Chain District and I was back to my usual routine.

Only I wasn't.

As I left my room, down the hall there was the witch about to enter hers. She froze in her doorway for a moment, but she couldn't even bring herself to look at me.

I said nothing. She would be able to tell that everything I wore was a false image of myself. She had seen me vulnerable. More than once. And it made me furious at myself that I continued to let her see that.

My teeth were grinding hard against each other as I fixed my concentration on the rage. It was time to put away prince charming and slip into something a bit more my speed.

I began to move again, my steps more assured as I strode down the hallway to enter the pitch black interrogation room. I shut the door quietly behind me.