Looking Glass: an Anthology (bi-weekly updates)

Phoenix Rising: Chapter 1

Chapter Title: Dove

"On god Seph, if you carry on this way, the next body to appear in a dump will be yours."

In her heated fluster, Meda's voice had risen a few notches. She could feel the glowers on her back, though a few folks to her left looked a touch curious. Seph's shoulders shook from attempting to contain her laughter, while Asa glanced at Meda in chastisement. There was no mistaking the humoured quirk of her lips, however. Meda released a slow, frustrated breath, kneading her forehead with her thumb and pointer finger.

In another time and place, Meda's outburst would have been unremarkable. In a library, even a whisper travelled a mile. She could chalk it up a true crime obsession she supposed. If needed that is. Her audience had returned to their reading as quickly as they'd been turned away from it.

The library itself was beautiful. Once the opulent residence of an old-age business tycoon, the estate was the picture of sophisticated luxury. The Great Hall – at one time host to balls as exclusive as they were extravagant – now housed hundreds of mahogany shelves arranged in neat aisles, judiciously filled with books of every variety. Above, a skylight cast down warm afternoon sunlight, bathing the hall in shades of orange and pink.

"Seph, I don't find this funny. I don't know about you, but I'm not willing to go on the run." Meda's face fell, her lips twisting. "Not again."

"Then we won't," Seph said dismissively, "Like I said before, I've scouted the perfect location to dump a body. Bodies even."

"Seph!"

"Okay, I'm sorry! That was the last of it!"

Seph tried her best to smother a grin, choking on what sounded suspiciously like more laughter at Meda's expense. Asa fought a smile too, though she faired better, as usual. Meda had reached the end of her rope.

"They're going to come for us Seph, and maybe once they kill us, you'll finally take me seriously!", she said with a dark look.

Seph sobered quickly. The air around them became suddenly warmer. Too warm. A man a table over hooked a finger into his collar, pulling it away from his skin with a puzzled expression. A bead of sweat trickled from his temple. Asa's gaze flicked to Meda then Seph, before she closed her eyes. A moment later, a gentle breeze brushed over their skin. There were no open windows nearby. The breeze drifted lazily outward, enveloping surrounding tables. The man began to slowly release his collar. Meda followed Asa's lead, having grounded herself the moment Seph's anger had flared. She laid her hand over Seph's, looking into her eyes meaningfully. The last of the heat fettered out, as though smothered.

A long silence, heavy with contemplation, ensued.

"Control," Asa drawled in her distinct husky voice, "is not an option where we are concerned. It is an obligation."

Seph didn't respond. Her gaze remained riveted on the wood grain before her, her brows slanted low over her eyes, and her mouth a pressed line. But she had heard.

Seph had always been the 'passionate' one of the trio. Aggressive. Impulsive. Volatile. Flaming red hair to boot. She was a 'swing first, ask questions later' type of woman. All in all, a force to be reckoned with.

This was not to say that Asa or Meda should be discounted.

One could safely say that Meda exercised more caution in a day then Seph likely had in a lifetime. She always chose her words carefully and strategized to the point of pain. But therein lay her strength. For the only thing more frightening than a woman with a bottomless quiver of arrows and a score to settle, is a woman who requires no more than one arrow from said quiver. A woman who thinks a thousand thoughts in the time it takes a bird to flutter its wings before dispatching her arrow, guaranteeing a shot straight through the bullseye.