The Lamia Hunt

Chapter One: The End

10:00 07/03/2015

This was not how she had imagined things to end.
She was dressed in a Praedatori uniform several sizes too big for her, and seated in a garden at the centre of Principia. Her hands clutched lazily at an umbrella, which did little to shield her from the ever-hardening drizzle. Her face was still, her bloodshot eyes staring down at the puddles on the stone beneath her feet.
From far away, she might have looked serene, but closer, it was easy to see that this was not the case. This, she knew, was because of the mark. In itself, the mark was meaningless, a painless discolouration on the she'd had since birth. However, there was something about it that seemed to drain the light from her features, and give her the appearance of constant sadness.
It was not a possibility, so far as the Praedatori were concerned, that her apparent lack of joy was actually due to genuine emotion.
She was a Lamia, after all.

Her eyes flicked around the garden in which she sat, not trying to take it in, but doing so all the same: vines crept up the lower sections of the walls, steering clear of the two neatly-outlined flowerbeds, each of which was empty, but for a single cherry tree.
From behind the bench where Lucy sat came the sound of running water, the faint trickle of a fountain that originated somewhere in the innards of the building, before gurgling out into an elevated pool. From there, it flowed downwards, around the sides of the garden in a slim stream rejoining just next to the flowerbeds. Across the stream was a short bridge, black and gleaming with moisture.

How long she had been sitting there, she didn't know. It could have been hours, or minutes, and either way, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, herself least of all. Now that Fidèle was dead, she didn't have to pretend that she did.
It was not actually the case that he had given her life meaning - far from it - but he had been a distraction from meaninglessness. Whether it was because of his aggressive assertion of her own importance, or merely because of his existence, Lucy couldn't tell. She suspected that it was likely to have been both.
But it didn't matter which it was, because he was dead. Hopefully, she would soon be in the same state.
Knowing the Praedatori, this was likely to be the case.

There was a knock on the door of the garden, and before Lucy could decide not to answer, a girl poked her head around it. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, but said nothing.
Lucy stood up, holding the umbrella above her head.
"Should I come in?"
The girl nodded.
"Please come inside, Miss Taite. Your interrogation begins immediately."
Lucy sighed, and began to make her way to the door. She'd almost forgotten about her last name, and being reminded of it brought with it no pleasant feelings.
"I'd prefer if you called me Lucy," she said, closing the umbrella and using it as a walking stick. "Or Lucille, even. I don't think you can really say you're talking to a Taite when you talk to me."
The girl, who was roughly a head shorter than Lucy, glared up at her.
"I couldn't agree more. But your attempts to establish a connection with me won't work, I promise you."
"What?"
"You know exactly what I mean, and don't pretend that you don't. You're powerless now, and we have every right to slay you. Don't ask questions if you want to stay alive."
Lucy grinned.
"But you see, I'm not alive, am I? I'm undead. The difference is catastrophically large."
The girl exhaled loudly, not looking at Lucy.
"Did you think I didn't know that? I know more than you do about Lamiae, Miss Taite, so don't try and one-up me."
"Keep thinking that," said Lucy, turning her head to the girl. "Anyway, you haven't told me your name."
"Praedatori hunter Claire Lu," she said, still not looking at her. "Now, please be quiet."
They had left the garden, and were now passing through a corridor walled with white plastic. Metal doors led off into different rooms, and other identical hallways.
Lucy smiled.
"Lovely atmosphere you've got going here."
"I said, be quiet," said the girl, without forcefulness, simply as if she thought Lucy needed to be reminded.
They came to a set of double doors, which opened as they approached to reveal the inside of a lift.
Lucy hesitated for a moment before entering, and Lu shoved her lightly in the back.
"The interrogation room is on a higher floor. I'd co-operate if I were you." She stepped into the lift, tapping a code in on a series of buttons on the elevator wall. "After all, your behaviour is the major factor that will decide whether the Praedatori agree to let you continue existing-"
"No shit, Sherlock."
The lift doors closed, and Lu turned around to face Lucy, frowning.
"I don't think I should have to repeat myself about this being a matter of life and death-"
"As I said before," said Lucy, leaning on a cool, metallic handrail, "I'm not actually alive, so-"
"Just please," said Lu, her voice finally snapping. "Please be quiet."
And Lucy would have been, were it not for the fact that, at that moment, the lift doors opened, and the two of them walked into an apartment-like room, furnished in white and dark orange, its design too strikingly modern to gain any sort of impact as they saw it.
"Nice," said Lucy, chucking her umbrella onto the carpet and making her way to a pale leather couch, on which she collapsed with a sigh.
Lu followed silently, and sat opposite her, kneeling next to a low plastic coffee table. On this, she placed a machine Lucy assumed was a recording device.
"Now," she said, "Tell me about Fidèle."
Lucy raised her eyebrows.
"Why?"
Lu grunted.
"It will be better for you if you-"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. But why do you want to know anything about him? He's dead, isn't he?" Lucy could feel her voice growing louder.
Lu nodded.
"He has been destroyed, that's true. But even so-"
"Even so, what? Do you need to catch his accomplices? I'm sorry to break it to you, but there aren't any. The only person you'd ever have had to worry about was Annabelle, and Lord knows you've already dealt with her."
Lu exhaled slightly, then, after a pause, spoke, her voice quiet, her brown eyes locked on Lucy's.
"I didn't expect a demon like you to take the name of a deity in vain. Answer the damn question."
"What question? You haven't actually asked me anything, just told me to do something. That's not the same."
"Fine." The girl sighed, blowing a strand of poorly bleached hair out of her face. "I'll start over. I am hunter Claire Lu, assigned presently to Tabulae, and I will be asking you a few questions-"
"Yes, but you haven't yet. This is what you seem to be having trouble with."
Lu didn't respond, and reached under the table, resurfacing with five files. Each had a photo paper-clipped to its front. She spread them over the table.
"You know who they are," she said.
Lucy nodded. She'd never seen them before, but they were unmistakeable, from Fidèle's descriptions. Three of the photos were of males, all relatively young hunters, the other two females, both with short, blonde hair and slim faces. Sisters. Lucy wondered at the practicality of putting siblings on a mission together. She had never had any, but she had heard that they often didn't get along well.
Lu cleared her throat.
"Well?" she said. "Tell me about them."
Lucy shrugged.
"If you insist."