Forever Knight [Harmione]

Chapter 10: Duality

Hermione glared through the grimy glass windows, trying to put a face to the phantasm that was Yasmin ibna Omar.  Her vampire eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness, seeing things more clearly in the dark than she ever did when she was alive.  It was difficult to see Yasmin, though.  The woman kept the shadows close.

No need to be shy, child, said the same silky mental voice.  I don’t bite.  Another chuckle rippled through Hermione’s mind.

Great, she thought.  A snarky vampire.  Just what I need.

So young but so serious!  I shudder to think about how stodgy you’ll be at two hundred… if you ever live that long.  But ah, Cicero did say you had a penchant for being… grim.

Hermione tensed, furious that this complete stranger could hear her thoughts.  Cicero, at least, had only done it for her benefit.  He never used his powers this casually.  Frowning, Hermione tried to convey as much mental disdain as she could manage. I just woke up from the dead a few days ago, so you’ll excuse me if I’m a tad out of humor.  You know what?  On second thought, I don’t have to give excuses.  You can just put up with my bad mood and screw yourself!

Yasmin grinned visibly.  Screwing myself has its merits, but I’d rather screw with somebody else, if you don’t mind. 

Hermione grit her teeth.  She was at the brink of walking out of the conversation and pretending Yasmin wasn’t outside when the Coven Master’s voice cut through her mind again.

Now, Hermione… must you resort to such childish behavior?  Cicero would be disappointed in you. After all, he was so confident that you would fit the profile of membership in the Coven.

As much as Hermione hated to admit it, she was terribly intrigued, and it wasn’t as if she doubted who this woman was.  Somehow, Hermione was certain that she was who she claimed to be.  Like how Cicero claimed he was Cicero and Janus claimed he was Janus.  Vampires did not make deceitful claims about their identities.  They might claim peace even if they meant to slaughter you, but they never lied about who they were.  Too vain.  Too histrionic and egocentric, what with the mists and sitting atop lampposts and such. 

Muttering angrily to herself, Hermione stepped out of the house and stood at the porch.  Yasmin had managed to make a mental connection, probably through the note, which had likely been spelled, but Hermione doubted if Yasmin could actually see her. 

Hermione crossed the porch and walked beyond the wards, presenting herself for Yasmin to see.

The Coven Master smiled, hopping off the top of the lamppost and landing daintily on the ground, like she was stepping off a curb. 

Up close, Hermione could make out the details of Yasmin’s exotic features.  Yasmin’s skin was a beautiful shade of bronze, lovely in the moonlight.  Hermione didn’t even know that was possible.  Vampires were supposed to be bloodless, yet this woman managed to maintain this beautiful brown sheen.

Yasmin’s face was svelte, with a nicely tipped chin and perfect cheekbones.  Her nose was regal and her purple eyes were large, and slanted.  Dark make-up lined her eyes and made her gaze more penetrating. Her long inky hair fell in straight, luscious strands to her waist and her figure was perfect.  It could’ve been the dress, but Hermione wagered that on anyone else, the outfit would look ridiculous, maybe even whorish.

The woman had on a long black leather coat that brushed at her ankles.  It was buttoned up at the midriff but cut in such a way that it opened upward at the chest and downward from navel to hem.  The velvet plum top she wore underneath the coat looked to be so tight that her breasts were in danger of popping out, and the black leather short pants she wore showed more thigh than was decent.  Those same, impossibly long legs were covered in small-mesh fishnets and knee high stiletto boots that really didn’t do much to “cover” anything.  And of course, a sexy vamp such as Yasmin had to have accessories.  The choker she wore looked like a studded dog collar, but Hermione had no doubt that the purple-diamonds on them were real.  A chain hung from the front of the choker like a pendulum, the frightening amethyst-encrusted pendant nestled happily atop the curve of her breasts.  And of all things, Yasmin had a whip.  Not a long, slithery one, but those short, riding crop types.