The Underground

Chapter 8.1: Atrocious Lies

Vivian sat quietly in the driver's seat of her comforting old car, fingers tapping on the wheel in rapid succession. She looked out the window at the house perched across the street, the shallow structure seeming to loom over the surrounding area despite its puny size. The yard and small garden were pristine, as everything Melanie owned was prone to being.

But then, Vivian wasn't pristine. So maybe that wasn't true.

She leaned back into the seat and drilled a hole in the roof of her car with her eyes alone. The stains offered no guidance.

On the one hand, she could just leave. Go to Dominic's or Brienne's, investigate a few scary relics, maybe uncover a terrorist plot.

On the other hand, a man just presumably died in front of her, a woman was brutalized and left in her home, Brienne lost a fucking eye, she almost got killed by a pigeon lady, and Melanie knew why. Or at least who. Melanie knew.

On the third hypothetical hand, she could really leave. Leave the city, leave these people, and get the hell out of dodge. Being homeless in some other city seemed a tempting offer. Maybe she'd be a waitress.

She got out of the car, keys jingling in her pocket with each step and reminding her of her other options. She stuck a hand in her pocket to silence them.

The walk across the small stones that dotted the path to the house seemed too short. It didn't give her enough time to think. Her arms and legs moved of their own accord, taking her inside.

As always, the house was clean. The small red rug on the floor seemed freshly vacuumed. The smell of lemon and lavender assaulted her nose – too strong as if it were trying to cover something else up.

Melanie sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee pressed in between slender, wrinkled hands. Her pointed nails tapped the ceramic.

"I thought you weren't coming back," Melanie commented her tone a clear indication she had known Vivian would come back. Her cropped gray hair framed her face and hid her eyes, but from the way her head was lowered, Vivian doubted she was bothering her with a glance at all.

"And I thought I could trust you. Guess we're both full of surprises," Vivian answered stiffly, refraining from curling her lip into a sneer. Melanie granted her an annoyed look.

"Why are you here, Vivian?" she asked, moving her hands from the mug in front of her. Vivian approached with slow, methodical steps.

"Bri and I met quite the gentleman today. Cool dude, really, missing a tongue and a few other pieces – and screamed at us to stop looking," Vivian answered casually, leaning over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and into Melanie's face. "Who is sending these messages? Why do they care that we have the grail?"

Melanie looked up at the younger woman through ragged hair. Pin-straight strands of gray covered parts of her face and eyes. She seemed uncharacteristically disheveled. Her appearance garnered no sympathy from Vivian.

"The Blackwood grail is a well-hidden secret with dangerous implications – there could be any number of people that don't want the truth of supernaturals exposed. Such is our job," Melanie said, eyes maintaining unblinking contact. The lie fell so easily from her lips.

"No," Vivian seethed feverishly, her voice cracking. Her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were drained of color. "Stop fucking lying."

She took sudden steps back from Melanie, staring at her with eyes brimming with accusations. "Who wants the grail? Why do you want it? Who is telling us to stop?"