The Lamia Hunt

Chapter Two: A Tragedy in the Château

06:00 23/09/1990

"Hey," said Hudson, nudging the elder of the Jordan sisters in the back, "Don't you two go fucking things up for us."
"Shut up," she replied, in a voice that tried its best to sound tough, but came off as nothing more than pouty. "You don't want to distract us; we could get ambushed."
"That's unlikely," said Summers, who hadn't been listening but didn't let this stop him from giving his input, pushing his glasses up his nose with a languid flourish as he did. "You're overestimating him, you know."
"And in addition to that," said Phillips, who was sure to join in any conversation Summers did within a minute, "He's used to dealing with children. A group of trained professionals - and adults besides - should be able to take him down easily."
"Or, like Rose said, this could be a trap," said the younger of the Jordans, quietly enough that only she should have been able to hear it. Unlike her comrades, she was not one to join a conversation she hadn't originally been part of, and on the rare occasion she did, she was often wanting in their convictions surrounding the matter.
"Yes," said Phillips, moving even closer to the door of the château, which he tapped on with his weapon (a walking stick of leaded silver, still stained with blood from its latest kill), as if asking for permission to enter.  Phillips was tall, with refined, almost noble features, and dark hair that he tied in a short tail behind his head. He himself seemed to look almost like a cartoon Lamia, a caricature of a monster, but the younger Jordan wasn't sure whether she was really allowed to think that.
As Phillips pushed it with his staff, the door began to open, falling inwards with a low creak.
The inner hall of the building was dark, coated in layers of dust.
"Oh," Summers remarked, "Creepy."
The five of them stood in silence for a moment, half expecting something to rush and attack them. Nothing did.
Hudson pushed to the front.
"Come on," he said, sounding a little like a bored toddler. "Going to wait until sunset, are you?"
Hudson was roughly the same age as the Jordans, but had been raised by Lamiae after his biological family died. It was agreed, among the five of them at least, that he was probably a pre-transformation Nescius, although they weren't sure what his power was. Swearing, probably.
Physically, he didn't cut as impressive a figure as Phillips or Summers, but he didn't look like someone you'd want to pick a fight with; though he was short, he was far from weak, an impression that not unaided by the dual machetes he kept at his sides and drew occasionally for the sole purpose of intimidation.
The younger Jordan was more than a little wary of him, but he was right. They had to go in, and they had to do it now, as early as possible.

The door of the château slammed shut behind them, and Phillips turned to face his companions.
"Now," he said, "We're all going to stick together to find him. No matter what, we don't want to be caught alone. The main danger in this situation is that we don't have any information on this Lamia, and therefore don't know what he's trying to achieve-"
"How do we know he's trying to achieve anything? Since when did Lamiae actually have to have an objective?"
Phillips coughed.
"As I was saying, we'll all be moving together, as it's safer. We'll be staying on the ground floor, and if that's clear, we'll be moving upwards. Now, we're going to assume that there are other Lamiae here, so we should be prepared for anything-"
"Please!" exclaimed Hudson. "They're children, for fuck's sakes. It's not as if they're going to be all that dangerous."
"That's debatable," said the elder Jordan, twisting her hands behind her back, staring at the floor. "I think that children are-"
"Yeah, yeah, Jordan," replied Hudson, loudly. "We all know that children are the Antichrist, according to you, but you seem to be missing one thing."
She turned to face him, raised her eyebrows, and elbowed his abdomen. He laughed, and grabbed her arm, twisting it over her shoulder.
Phillips sighed, and turned to Summers, whispering something in his ear. Summers nodded.
"I'm not sure which one's more so," he said.
Summers was only a little shorter than Phillips, and his hair was cut in a style vaguely similar to his. The younger Jordan wasn't sure whether it was an accident or not. A pair of thick, plastic glasses made his eyes unnaturally large, and his rosy cheeks were lightly dotted with freckles.
In terms of weapons, Summers' was dangerous to use; silver stakes, although effective, had the major downfall of being extremely short, and therefore useless at long distance. However, Summers had had practice. He was one of the few hunters who had been born into the Praedatori, although it was unwise to mention this in his presence.
Phillips coughed. Hudson and the elder Joran stood back up, she flicking a strand of faint blonde hair out of her face.
"Alright," said Phillips. "To the left, or to the right?"
The others remained silent, either torn between the prospects or unwilling to answer.
"Alright," he said. "Why not left?"
He began to walk in that direction, brushing one of his hands along the wall.
"What's he doing?" whispered the younger Jordan, half under her breath.
"He's OCD, that's all," said Hudson, grunting as the elder Jordan hit him once more.
"Don't listen to him, Poppy," she said. "It's to look for hidden passages. Phillips does it every time he enters somewhere new."
"Oh."
"Yup," said Hudson. "And do you want to know-"
"Shut it," hissed the elder Jordan. She turned to her sister. "We'll tell you about it later, okay?"
The younger Jordan nodded, and they stopped walking. They had reached a door, which Phillips pushed open with one hand.
"Now," he said, "We'll need someone with a light in there. You'd do well to get your weapons out."
Summers pulled a torch out of his belt, holding his stake in the other hand.
"Should I go first?"
Phillips nodded.
Summers entered the room, moving the torch's beam over beige walls stained with age, pieces of furniture draped in white fabric, and boxes scattered over the floor. There was no sign of movement.
Phillips leant into the darkness, inhaling deeply, and turned to Summers.
"Can you smell that?"
"Smell what?"
He sighed, and grabbed the torch, moving further into the room, the others following him. He moved behind an armchair, and turned back to them.
"Come here."
They did this, and the younger Jordan caught sight of a sleeping child, leant against the back of the chair. She began to move towards it.
"Stop," said Phillips. "For all you know, it's a trap."
"It doesn't smell as if there's a Lamia here-"
"That's true. But the dust is acting as a mask. We can't know for sure."
"But-" The younger Jordan stopped, and shook her head. There was no way that she could protest, but there was something detestable in Phillips's analysis of the situation. Consciously, she knew that he was right, but that didn't mean that she agreed with the decision.
"Come on," said her sister, grabbing her hand. "There's no point in staying here."
She nodded, following.