Eclipse

18.

Mission

"Ow! I'd thank you not to try and gouge my eyes out!" I snapped irritably as the Nephilim woman applied a fifth coat of mascara painstakingly slowly.

"Look straight, for God's sake!" she snapped, her rhinestone-decorated eyes twitching with the telltale signs of annoyance. "If you'd value your eyes, you'd be looking ahead, and not at me!"

"Oh, sure, the Nephilim believes in the almighty God all of a sudden," I mocked sardonically, and the Nephilim's jaw tightened noticeably, but I didn't risk pushing her peculiar steampunk buttons further.

I glared daggers at my reflection, hoping my face would start smouldering under my stare, but alas, no such luck. The makeup artist capped the stick of black death, moving on the some new, sticky red instrument of torture. Oh. Lipstick. I knew that.

I glanced down at the Nephilim's focused expression as she perfected to flaws of my face. "Could you at least give me a name?"

She briefly glanced up at me with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Vicky."

"Right. Vicky."

I sat in silence after that, watching my skin gain colour, watching my eyes become brighter. How many times would people make me change who I was?

"Jake!" Vicky finally hollered shrilly directly from her position beside my ear, making me flinch, as she stood up. "Shaw's ready!"

"No need to bloody shout," Moore mumbled from his seat—which, might I add, was directly behind me in the same room, and I watched his reaction from the mirror. I could tell that he was reminded of the circumstances that brought me here. "Get up, Shaw. Time to get changed." He tossed a bag onto the counter before leaving with Vicky, who gave me an almost mocking thumbs up. I rolled my eyes and changed into the clothes, which were a stark contrast to what Moore first saw me in. While the red dress was just an inch or so longer than the one Emory had bought, the stiletto boots ran up to my knees and the sleeves ended just above my wrist, covering far more skin. The scarlet fabric, on the other hand, stretched and clung to my skin and the neckline plunged almost uncomfortably low, but the wide black belt around my waist made me feel slightly less vulnerable.

Just as I slung bag over my shoulder in preparation to leave, a clank alerted me to something else inside. A knife. I stared dumbly at the cold silver metal in shock before leaving the room.

"A knife?" I asked Moore in confusion, who was waiting impatiently outside.

"In your boot," he replied, gesturing down at the boots. At my lack of response, he sighed and snatched the knife off of me, sliding it into an almost invisible compartment.

"I need a knife? In my boot?"

"Just in case something goes wrong. If everything screws up, we won't be there to help. You know, neutral ground."

"Right. Comforting. So... how exactly do I find Fallen's owner exactly?"

"Talk to the bouncer. He's expecting you and should let you in free, but you'll still need the brand, or the other guards will sniff you out. He'll tell you where the owner is."

"And who exactly is the owner?"

"Yuri Chernov. We haven't got much information on him, so you'll be going in blind when you get there, so be careful.

Moore hurried off, and I hastily followed him down to the front of the house, where a nondescript silver car was waiting. The sun had set below the horizon at least an hour ago, leaving the sky dark and speckled with stars.