𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐒
❝ They're the French Kissers,
that's what they do.
They will lure you in
and then they'll kill you
with a kiss. ❞
━ in which the leader of the french kissers
...
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London always slept with one eye open, but Piccadilly Circus was wide awake that night. Jazz tunes dripped from open windows and fluttering curtains, an endless flow of bodies spilling from the sidewalks onto the road as bright lights nailed their shadows to the walls.
"They can't be far away," Rose said over the music and the chirpy laughter. Behind her eyelids, the red neon signs kept changing to the bloodied stain her sister had left in the river. "
Thomas gripped the wheel tighter, the Bentley leaving a trail of smoke and gravel behind as they wended their way through the streets. "We will. Left or right?"
He nodded to the crossing in front of them. Rose brought her fingers to her temples. She kept seeing Audrey fall into the water, kept reaching for her and kept losing her. She wanted to fall down to her knees and shout until her voice broke; shout at the people around her, blissfully oblivious to her suffering; shout at time, who never stopped, not even for grief; shout at all those she had lost for leaving her behind with nothing but open wounds and a useless heart.
Suddenly, she glimpsed the fountain on the middle of the square. Perched on the stone like a bird about to fly, Anteros rose above the hustle, bow pointed to the left.
"Left."
Thomas turned the wheel around, and as they drove down Shaftesbury Avenue, Anteros kept pointing the bow at them.
***
Turns out Anteros was right; when the Bentley turned the corner to Gordon Street, Rose spotted the lion tattoo near the hospital, and opened the door even before the car stopped.
"Check if there are any bombs around here." She shouted, keeping her eyes on that lion. Sometimes, when it grew restless, the hunter came to the prey instead of waiting.
Rushed footsteps echoed behind her on the cobblestones. She sped up, following Callan, struggling not to lose sight of him in the crowded streets.
She took her gun out, arm protesting against the weight. She didn't trust herself to aim and not hit someone else. Police officers had been well paid; there were none in sight.
Her ankles snapped as she raced after Callan. She couldn't let him get to his car. More footsteps now, heavier, louder. Soon enough more Saurets crowded in on her from darkened alleys; soon enough more Kissers spread around her, protecting her from all sides.
