The Lamia Hunt

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Familiar Faces

11:51 10/03/2015

Lucy froze. She didn't know if she could trust this Lamia. Without a doubt, he'd been the one who'd been keeping the bookstore quiet. What was he trying to achieve? Would it be wise to go any closer?
At least they were in a shop; that made it safer. He was unlikely to attack her if there were humans around, especially if he was trying to sell things to them.
So maybe it would be safe.
She stepped out of the protection of the bookshelves, and moved until she was in front of his desk.
The Lamia behind it smiled at her, a genuine, friendly smile.
"Sorry," he said, "Were you looking for anything in particular?"
Lucy raised her eyebrows. Was he trying to be funny? If he knew that she was a Lamia, why wasn't he saying anything? Or maybe – no, he had to know; it was blindingly obvious that he was a Lamia, so why wasn't he sensing her?
"Excuse me," the Lamia continued, "Are you alright, Miss?"
Lucy nodded. Best play it safe.
"No, I'm fine."
The Lamia glanced at her, and then quietly said,
"So, what is it that the Praedatori want with me?"
Lucy's eyes widened, and she sighed. She really had to change her clothes at some point. It was impressive, though, that they could recognise a Praedatori uniform as mangled as hers was. Guess it showed how scared of the Praedatori people here were.
She shook her head.
"Not sure about that," she said. "I'm not with them."
The Lamia raised his eyebrows.
"If you're going to say that whilst wearing a Praedatori uniform, I'm really going to have trouble believing you."
"So, should I change clothes, or..."
He sighed.
"Look, if you want to slay me, just do it. But if you're trying to find the other two's locations, it's not going to work."
Lucy rolled her eyes.
"First off, I'm not with the Praedatori."
"Stop lying about that-"
"And second, do you see any weapons on me?"
He looked her up and down, and shrugged.
"No, but those, uh..." He paused, indicating the stitches covering her arms. "They're against regulation."
"As I told you, I'm not with the Praedatori."
He sighed, looking down at an open book on his desk.
"Well, anyway, if you're not-"
"So you're acknowledging that now?"
He shook his head.
"I'm just asking. If you're not, then why are you here?"
Lucy shrugged. Why was she here? Even if she told him why she'd left the hideout, that wasn't going to explain why she was here. Why she'd come here.
And, in fact, it seemed a good time to leave, before she got into another situation she'd regret.
Saying nothing, she turned away from the desk, beginning to walk away.
The Lamia stood up, and called out,
"Excuse me, Miss, but you've forgotten something."
Lucy turned around. He was standing behind the desk, glaring at her.
"Please, Miss, come to the back of the shop; I might have it in stock after all."
Lucy raised an eyebrow. What was he playing at?
"Please, Miss," said the Lamia. "Please come and check."
There was something in his gaze that made her feel that it would be unwise to say no.

#

"Right," said the Lamia, as Lucy followed him through a door into what looked like living quarters behind the shop. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to stay here."
"What?"
He sighed.
"Look, it's not ideal, but I don't think it'd be wise for me to let you go-"
"If this is about me being in the Praedatori, I can assure you that I'm not."
He rolled his eyes, sitting at a wooden table and indicating the chair opposite him.
"Fine," he said. "Why don't you take a seat, and explain to me what's going on."
Lucy paused, glancing around the room. It was small, stuffed with too much furniture, all of which was slightly battered and in need of some fixing. Behind the Lamia was a dirty kitchen unit, covered with things you wouldn't usually find in a kitchen. Probably no humans living here. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing.
Out of a window above the sink, she could catch a glimpse of an overgrown garden, around which a few figures were moving. Were they Lamiae, too?
In the corner stood a flight of stairs, most likely leading to another room, as well as a door leading outside. Daylight streamed in through the window, but she saw that the Lamia was seated so that it didn't touch him.
"Well," he said, shrugging at her. "Are you going to explain yourself? Or-"
He was cut short by the door to the garden opening, and the figures from outside entering, bickering loudly:
"Well, I hope you know that you're talking complete bull-"
The other figure, a blonde-haired woman dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, nudged her companion in the abdomen, and he froze at the sight of Lucy.
She glanced at them. Now that they were closer, it was obvious that they were Lamiae. Nescii, probably.
"Who's this?" asked the woman, her voice tense and quiet.
The red-headed Lamia shrugged.
"She won't tell me. Says she's not Praedatori."
"And good thing, too, because those... uh... tats? They're really not regulation-"
Lucy rolled her eyes, folding her arms.
"I know. Your friend said so. And they're not tattoos."
"And you're not Praedatori?" It was the other Lamia who'd just entered - the one who'd spoken first - a wiry black-haired man in his mid-twenties who said that, expressionlessly, as if he didn't believe it but didn't care to argue about it.
Lucy nodded.
"That's right. Now-"
"So why the uniform?"
Lucy narrowed her eyes.
"I was getting there. And honestly," she continued, glancing between the three of them, "I think I need an explanation, too. Who're you?"
"You first," said the redhead. "You're in our territory, after all."
"Your territory?"
They nodded.
"But that's not the point. Now, who are you, and why are you here?"
Lucy shrugged.
"I don't know. It's a long story."
"We've got time;" said the black-haired Lamia, leaning against the wall, "we can hear it."
"Fine;" said Lucy, taking the seat that she'd been offered at the table, "it was an accident. I landed in this town – uh – what's its name?"
"That doesn't matter. Hurry up."
"Well, after I landed here-"
"Wait, landed?"
"Yeah. Anyway, I – I could sense that there were Lamiae here, so I followed my senses."
The blonde-haired Lamia raised her eyebrows.
"That doesn't seem like a long story. Seems pretty short, actually."
"I cut out some stuff." Lucy paused. "Now, can you tell me what you're doing here? If you're all English, then what're you doing here?"
The three of them shrugged, not in unison.
"Where else were we supposed to go?" said the redhead, looking down at his hands on the table. "It's not like we'd be taken back."
"Taken back?" Were they Praedatori? That'd certainly explain it. But then why stay here? The Praedatori were known for taking in informants, and these three didn't look too untrustworthy. For Praedatori, that is. And that wasn't exactly the best measure of reliability, but it was all Lucy had for the moment.
But moreover, why would they be here? It was pretty rare for Praedatori to head onto the continent, unless... No... Into Lucy's mind flashed the memories of grainy photos on the tops of files. Hoping that they wouldn't notice, she glanced at the face of each individual. Now that she knew what she was looking for, it was all too obvious. She'd seen those three before, and she'd been told that they were dead.
And that meant that there was something very wrong.
There was only one way to test it.
"Hey," Lucy said, quietly, "Have any of you heard of... Fidèle?"
They glanced between themselves, shaking their heads slowly. Thank God; they weren't who she'd thought they were.
But Lucy's relief was short-lived. Of course! If they'd died before, they wouldn't have known his name. She'd have to work it in another way. Should she be obvious? Tell them that she knew? Or should she just hint at the fact that she knew?
Or should she keep it a secret?
None of her options seemed particularly attractive.
But then, she'd grown used to the ugly side of life.
"Sorry," she said. "Should have phrased that differently. You're ex-Praedatori, right?"
The redhead nodded.
"But you still haven't said what you are. You don't seem particularly trustworthy."
That's because I'm not. She didn't say that, but she wanted to. She doubted that it was a good idea.
Even so, she was going to have to take a plunge at some point.
"No, I haven't. Name's Taite." There was an intake of breath from the other three. They recognised the name. She paused, and continued, pointing at the redhead "And you're Harold Summers."
He raised his eyebrows, and stood up, his hands on the table.
"How did you know that?"
She shrugged, looking away from him.
"You know, the Praedatori think you're dead."
"So you are one of them!"
"I never said that." She smiled, and glanced at the other two. "And you... You're George? And Houston?"
"Jordan," said the blonde, stonily. "And he's Hudson."
"Close enough. Anyway, don't worry. I won't report you to the Praedatori; they'd kill me before I got the chance. All I ask is that-"
"Wait," said the woman, Jordan, shakily. "Do you – do you know what happened to Poppy?"
"Poppy?" The name was familiar, but she couldn't place it.
She nodded.
"She's my little sister. When we – when we woke up after... She wasn't there. Is she okay? Have you seen her?" Ah. There it was; the little sister. The one Fidèle hadn't killed. She could place the name now.
"I heard she survived."
Jordan's face brightened, and a smile pricked at the corners of her mouth.
"Really?"
Lucy nodded.
"But in case you were wondering, she's dead."
Upon review, Lucy realised that she probably shouldn't have said that.