Chapter Two: Dinner Guests

The phone rang as if saying her thoughts were incorrect. She picked it up and looked at the caller ID. Scott O’Riley was calling. Pushing the talk button she answered it with a simple, “Hello?”

“Hey Haven!” responded Scott, his voice light and pleasant, as always, strange for a forensic specialist. You would think someone working with gruesome and grisly deaths shouldn’t be morbid, but not he. Scott was always cheerful and happy, even elbow deep in rotting human flesh. Sometimes it seemed creepy to her, other times it helped her through the daily grind. “Hello, Haven are you there?” Scott said clearly confused by the long pause.

“Sorry,” she mumbled quickly, “zoned out a little there. Hey Scott what’s up?” She rubbed her temple with the back of her hand and stared at her left foot which needed a fresh coat of red nail polish.

“Nothing really, I just haven’t seen you for a couple days since you’ve been hunting rather than investigating.” He laughed whole heartedly. Haven couldn’t help but smile.

“You miss me?” she said sarcasm thick in her voice.

“Yes.” He said simply, honestly. That was the other thing she liked about Scott, he was straight forward. Always telling you what he needed to say, whole heartedly honest as well. Probably a side effect of his profession. There is no way to beat around the bush whilst trying to explain how the chemicals in the tub turned the body into soup.

“Oh.” She said looking to the side. “Well I’m sorry.” She mumbled.

“It’s fine, you can make it up to me by coming to dinner with me tonight.” She could almost hear the smile on the other end of the line.

“I don’t really go out to eat,” a smirk playing at the edges of her lips.

“Well then we can eat in at your place, how nice of you to invite me over and cook for me.” He said with the same whole hearted laugh.

“I didn’t,” a frown creasing her forehead, her brows pulling together, “but I guess that’s fine.” She looked at the clock on the nightstand. “When do you plan on getting here?” she asked him after clearing her throat.

“Is seven fine?” he asked trying to hide his excitement, but failing miserably.

“That sounds perfect.” It really was perfect. It gave her just enough time to shower, get dressed and some food ready. “See you then I guess,” hesitation in her voice.

“You betcha’.” He said, the line going dead. She looked at the phone curiously before replacing it in its holder. She stood up and walked back into her bathroom to shower. Stripping her clothes hastily she turned the water on high and climbed inside. Her soap smelled of apricots and her shampoo like peaches. Once she was squeaky clean and had smooth, shaved legs she turned the water off, and got out of the shower. Pouring cold gel into her hand she sighed. It helped her hair curl neater, look less wild, more styled or synthetic. To apply, she simply ran her sticky fingers through the curls until they felt clean.

She pulled the blow dryer off of its hook on the wall and started drying her hair. Haven never sang while she showered though sometimes she would hum, now was one of those rare instances. Once her hair was decently dry, she stalked around to her closet and pulled a black silk shirt off a hanger as well as a pair of dark wash jeans out of the drawer. Finally she grabbed a pair of black lace underwear and a matching bra. After putting her clothes on, she ran a hand through her hair while looking in the full length mirror. Once she felt she could pass as pretty she escaped to her kitchen.

With fifteen minutes left, Haven grabbed a deep pot filled it with water and set it on the stove to boil with salt and olive oil. She grabbed two boxes of fettuccini and once the water was boiling she added that to the pot as well. Out of the fridge, a wedge of cheese, some butter, milk and cream were placed on the counter. She pulled her grater out of one of the cabinets. As she grated the cheese her doorbell rang.

Putting the cheese down and she looked up to see Scott standing there waving at her from behind the glass window pane set in her door. One corner of her mouth raised in a smile as she walked around the counter to open the door for him. She unlocked it and he stepped inside, stealing a soft kiss on the cheek. They were about the same size, he had maybe an inch or two on her, but he was definitely short for a grown man. They were the same age, twenty-four, a neat tidbit she had learned two weeks ago while they were drinking coffee on the steps of the court house.

His eyes sparkled with excitement as he noticed the cheese on the counter. “You’re making alfredo sauce?” he asked looking at her. “That’s my favorite pasta sauce.”

“No kidding? Huh, never would have guessed. Would you mind grating the rest of the cheese while I prepare the rest of the ingredients?” She smiled and walked over to the bowl on the counter to take out a clove of garlic. She smashed it on the table, peeled it, and started dicing. Scott watched her as he grated the cheese with bright eyes and a soft smile.

Haven looked up at him then furrowed her brow. “What?” she asked softly.

“Oh nothing, just watching you chop the garlic. You seem lost in it.” He laughed softly. “I heard you found the little vamp who had killed those people today.” He smiled at her.

She nodded slowly, “I did. Put the cheese into this pan for me please.” She smiled back at him as she handed the sauce pan over. He was handsome enough. His hair was thick and black as night it was long enough that she could tell it was wavy, not curly like hers, but it definitely wasn’t pin straight. His nose was pointier than hers and a little wider. His lips seemed too thin for his face though, maybe it was just because they were always pulled thin over his toothy grin. He was almost as pale as she was; they both seemed to glow in the dimming light.

Finally he caught her eye and she stared into the crystal blue abyss that hid behind the thick frames perched on the bridge of his nose. She felt her cheeks flush. “Should I put this on the burner and start melting it?” he asked softly.

“Um, no I have to add the milk and cream and garlic and pepper first.” She added the ingredients then motioned for him to put it on the stove to heat up and melt. Using a fork she drew a piece of pasta into her mouth checking to see if it was ready. It was. She turned the heat off and pulled a colander out from under the sink. As she emptied the pasta into it, draining the water, she felt his hands gently touch her shoulders.

“Why do you do that?” he asked her, his breath warm against her nape. “Every time I catch you looking at me, you get all business like, stressed out, and focus on something else.” His hands started massaging her shoulders gently, but she could feel the fair amount of strength he possessed in the tone muscles he sported.

“I don’t stare at you.” She said a little breathless. He was working hours of stress out of her shoulders, her arms and neck went limp. As her chin touched her chest she sighed softly. He got closer wrapping his arms around her waist.

“You do stare at me Haven. I’ve seen it. Don’t be embarrassed.”

“It’s not that I’m embarrassed … it’s that … it’s rude.” Scott turned her around in his arms and looked into her eyes.

“It isn’t rude when you’re staring at me because you like me; it’s rude if you stare at me because I’m freaky.” His eyes sparkled slightly in the light as she leaned forward and kissed him softly. His eyes closed, his lips were half parted, now with a touch of her lipstick on them, when she drew back. His breath came out in a shuddering sigh.

“I think I should be mixing the sauce.” She squeaked against his lips. His arms fell away so that Haven could slink miserably toward the stove.

“Will I be kicked out after dinner?” he asked softly looking down. He had loved Haven ever since he first laid eyes on her; she walked around the crime scene without squeamishness or fear. The problem was, he was afraid to move too fast. She was shy, disliked being close to people and hated telling them about her life. Like any good cop.

Haven looked up at the clock from the stove. “There’s supposed to be a storm, you should probably stay the night.” She answered without looking at him, the blush creeping back up her neck. Haven hadn’t been with anyone in two years. Scott had somehow weaseled his way into her home. She wasn’t sure if it was the loneliness, or just Scott’s warm presence, either way she wanted to end up in someone else’s arms tonight.

Scott took two plates down from the cabinet and put some of the pasta into it then brought them to her so she could pour the sauce over them. He placed them on the table and sat down in the seat next to hers. Haven looked up at him, down at the food, finally deciding to sit as well. She took a bite. It wasn’t bad. They didn’t say anything and the silence was so complete that Haven jumped as the door opened wide and Nelli strode in.

Nelli looked over at Scott then at Haven with one eyebrow raised. “I could smell the food from next door.” She said with a slight smile. “I figured you wouldn’t want to eat it alone, but I can see you already have company, so I will just take mine to go.” She walked over to the counter with her bowl already in her hands.

Nelli was one of the four assassins that lived on the block. Though usually they all worked solo, they had all worked together at one point or another. Sometimes you just need backup. Usually that was only on high profile cases with a monster that was really good. Of course, when the government calls in the wrong type of assassin, out of ignorance of what creature they were dealing with, they needed to call in a second that was more suited to the job.

Nelli for instance specialized in fire and explosives. You would be hard pressed to find her without a phosphorous grenade or flame thrower within arms reach. Her area seemed impractical to Haven, seeing as fire won’t destroy just the monster but probably everything else in a fair radius, but Nelli was the best and never caused too much damage.

Haven and Nelli had bonded while working together on a case where a whole pack of lycanthropes had gone rogue. In fact it was Nelli who had encouraged Haven to buy this house in the first place and move out of her tiny apartment.

It wasn’t surprising to Haven that Nelli came by for some dinner; the two ate together almost every night. Sometimes they even had breakfast together and would go for a jog afterwards. It’s nice to have a friend who understands what you do everyday and the effects it can have on your psyche.

As Nelli was leaving with a plate heaped high with pasta she called over her shoulder to Haven, “I saw Bly yesterday; he said you aren’t answering his phone calls.” She paused leaning against the door frame looking inquisitively at Haven. Haven nodded and shrugged. “Well, seeing as you are avoiding him, I’m not surprised that he’s standing on your back porch.”

With that her friend was gone and Haven let out an exasperated sigh. Why was the second oldest vampire in the city calling her? That’s not how informants were supposed to behave. She stood up with her plate and went over to the sink to wash it out.

“Scott,” she said calmly, “I’ll be right back if you want to head into the sitting room, there is a TV in there and some of my favorite movies. If you want to pick one feel free to do so. I have no idea what he wants or how long this will take. I’m sorry about all the interruptions.” She patted him gently on the shoulder and started out the door.

Sure enough, there sat Bly Purcell. He was well over a thousand years old and would have been a formidable Greek soldier had he not been enslaved by the natives in England, the classic Greek face with the almost symmetrical features that every Greek artist had tried to replicate but could hardly do justice to, the lean, hard, strong muscles that you could see rippling under tight clothing. He had a British accent, not unexpected because he had stayed there for the majority of his existence, but strange since most vampires liked to acclimate and lose accents.

He was a very soft spoken vampire. Extremely wise, and extremely powerful but Haven had found that he liked to downplay his power and his presence. Making himself as amicable and trustworthy as possible seemed to pride him, though his clothes and hair were extremely eccentric. Bly’s hair was the deepest shade of whine red. It did not look like a color that came naturally, but she wasn’t sure if he dyed it or it merely turned that dark due to not seeing the sun for so long. The Greek’s weren’t often red headed were they?

Today he wore a suit, not usual, she expected a baggy fit pair of cargo jeans and a t-shirt. You probably wouldn’t even say that a suit was eccentric, but the fact that the suit was lilac with pink paisley designs made it rather odd. It was totally unique and Haven was ever impressed with his gumption to wear things like that, out in public, without having to defend his sexuality. Even with the bright clothes and strange hair he oozed masculinity.

It wasn’t until Haven stepped down from the step, onto the wood of the porch, that he looked up from the ground. His forest green eyes were wide with panic. Haven was shocked by the unusual amount of emotion in them.

While her eyes were glued to his, trying to figure out what was upsetting him so badly that he didn’t shield from her, she tripped on a chair leg and fell into his lap face first. Her breath catching, she scrambled to get up, but her wrist gave out and down she tumbled again.

The first time she fell Bly wasn’t expecting it, but the second time he picked her up and set her straight, watching as she pulled her shirt down and blushed a deep crimson. His fangs sharpened and elongated involuntarily. He cleared his throat but stayed seated and lowered his head so that hopefully she wouldn’t notice. There was no way he would lose the ground he had gained with her.

He had spent years trying to get her to trust him enough to tell him where she lived and to feel that she could come to him for help with any problem. His problem was, she had been living in this house for almost a month and she had not told him about the move. Why wouldn’t she tell him that? He could think of no logical reasoning.

It wasn’t a case of hurt feelings, not really. It was this house specifically. He had been here, many times in his short time in America. This used to be the home of a psychopathic man who delighted in torturing vampires. He somehow lured every vampire in the city to his home. The ones he deemed sane could stay among the populous, those who didn’t pass his test were locked away for his twisted games later.

Bly didn’t have a problem with it, seeing as the vampires that crazy-pants locked away were dangerous to humans. Last year there was a rumor going around the city that crazy-pants had died and when he didn’t get his annual letter for sanity review from the man he had assumed this was the truth.

In reality, one of the vampires he had stowed away had gotten a hold of him and he himself had turned into a vampire. The man was obviously deranged to begin with, to put so many vampires behind bars, so when the change hit him, he was in denial.

Bly had heard this new rumor and that the man fought his new hunger and lost, slaughtering the servants he still had within his home. Bly himself had called in the onslaught after going to see how the man had faired. Haven had been the assassin on duty that day. She had put crazy-pants out of his misery two blocks away in the park where he had turned on the children playing. No doubt he had begged for the true and final death.

“I didn’t know that you had moved.” He said calmly still looking at her feet. She frowned slightly then nodded. He perceived the movement only by the perfume that bombarded his nose. Her sweet curls fanned it toward him mercilessly. He wiped his mouth and chewed the tip of his thumb before swiveling his eyes to stare at the stairs to the yard.

“Yeah I just moved in a few weeks ago, but I bought it a few months ago. I had to fix it up and do some reconstruction and renovation.” She frowned at his averted gaze. Bly had always looked her in the eye, that myth about vampires being able to entrance you, not true, at least not that she had found. She valued his valor.

“Cricket, did you know that there are possibly fifty vampires trapped in cells somewhere either on or beneath your property?” Bly said, and he reached out for Haven as her face turned paler than usual. She collapsed, the floor spinning up to meet her as darkness enveloped her.

Chapter One: Murderer

Running water. All she could hear was the running water to her left. She felt the water droplets collect on her cheek until their weight became too great and gravity slowly pulled them down in a cool line to land on her hand. The light mist felt good. Her skin felt far too hot, pumped full of adrenaline. Her hair was soaked probably from the same mist that was causing the condensation on her skin.

How did she end up lying on the ground? Oh yeah, rammed by her latest target. Definitely not up to par today. It was mandatory for all assassins to be trained in hand to hand combat as well as all cops. Being both a cop and an assassin for the government’s department on supernatural creatures, Haven was not quite sure why she was doing so poorly today. Though, her targets never got this close to her. Her weapon of choice was an L96A1; shooting from miles away on top of a building so that they would never see it coming.

A shot from that far away, the speed of the bullet as it entered their skull would cause such a drastic change in pressure that the entire skull would explode. Seeing as her victims could probably function just fine with a bullet hole but would not get very far without their heads, this seemed the most efficient way to get the job done. Wouldn’t want to simply aggravate the creature and have it go on a rampage killing more people. Unfortunately when killing vampires, you have to burn the body and it’s hard to set a body on fire from such a distance.

Most people are aware that the creatures are alive. They are no longer the things of movies and ghost stories; now your doctor could turn into a tiger every full moon, your neighbors could be ghosts, and as far as you know your coworkers are vampires. The integration of supernatural beings was a gradual one. One by one the monsters came forward and exposed themselves. After the hysteria passed, and the world-wide mass murders of many innocent creatures, people realized that they had lived in peace for years as it was, so there wasn’t really anything to be afraid of.

Well that is not entirely true. There is some threat, if there wasn’t Haven wouldn’t have a job. She would simply be a detective investigating average homicides, not those linked with supernatural creatures. The government wouldn’t send her out to, for lack of a better word, dispose of those who do go homicidal.

Now was not the time to be reminiscing about how she ended up lying on the smooth marble of the fountains edge. Now she had to fight for her life. She looked up squinting through the mist. The small shadowy figure was sitting on the opposite edge watching her. She didn’t move but watched as the shape of a little girl slowly stood and walked around the fountain as if it were a tight rope, as little girls may do.

Narrowing her eyes, she held her breath. She went to the quiet abyss inside of herself; that place specifically for the kill shot. Her gun went off within her hands though she neither heard the shot nor saw the flash. Her eyes were only for the small creature. She watched as her small head whip back with the force and her body soon followed being thrown into the air. Watched it fall hitting the pavement with such force that the body actually bounced then skidded, leaving a thick smear of black blood along the fountain.

Haven stood slowly; as her senses slowly came back to her the people in the plaza seemed to speed up. The sound of the fountain came back in a roar but she didn’t even blink. The body lay there unmoving, but Haven knew better. She shouted to the people who had started creeping out from under the tables they had used as refuge when the fight had started.

“Stay back! Don’t come out yet!” she yelled to the people desperately trying to let them know that there was no way that one shot killed this small demon. She kept her gun pointed steadily at the child lying on the ground and slowly, step by step, walked around the fountain. The shot had landed between the eyes, but vampires heal quickly. The vampire that had the bright idea of turning a child should lose an appendage.

Children vampires are the worst. They don’t know how to control themselves and end up killing massive amounts of people, not because they are evil, but because they never learned the skills necessary for restraint. It was horrible to have to kill children. She hated killing them though she killed them more often than their adult counterparts.

As she stood above the child with her gun pointed down the eyelids fluttered and her gun went of a second time this time, straight through the neck. This shot was meant to sever the spinal chord. The eyelids stopped fluttering. Haven slowly drew the large blade from its sheath at her back, grabbed a handful of golden curls and beheaded the girl with one swift move.

The only true way to know that a vampire is dead, permanently dead, is to burn the body. The only problem is you have to burn the head separately. Sometimes they can rejuvenate themselves if you don’t, usually only the really old ones, but there’s no such thing as too careful. Beheading someone isn’t an easy task. It took Haven years to perfect this ghastly art. When she first started she had to whack at the neck at least four times to cut all the way through, a neck being thicker than most people think.

Now it takes no more than that one fateful swing, with a freshly sharpened blade and all the strength she has built up over the years. Everyday Haven spends about three hours in the gym, not to mention the various martial arts classes she takes, the hours logged in the range practicing her marksmanship. Her entire life revolves around being the best at what she does.

Haven stepped away from the body and threw the head. It rolled a little way then stopped. The angelic face of child sleeping stared up at her as she dropped the lit match. Vampires burn. They don’t burn the way humans do. A comparable example would be lighting a piece of beach grass that has been left out in the sun for two weeks on fire. They go up and burn to ash within seconds. Once the head was nothing but dust she walked back over to the body and did the same.

A hand touched her arm and she turned quickly to find a woman staring up at her with shock written all over her face. “How could you?” the woman asked shock and disgust dripping from each word. “It was only a child. She didn’t do anything to you. You just looked at her and pointed your gun. She went crazy, throwing tables and screaming, but only after she saw the gun.”

How do you explain that the child she saw had killed thirteen innocent people? How do you tell someone that the innocent little girl whose blood was still wet on the marble, whose dust was slowly disappearing into the ground like it had never been there, whose body would be gone without a single trace by morning had been a ruthless, vicious murderer? You’re blunt.

“She didn’t do anything to me personally; aside from bruise me up a little. Which is not very much compared to what she could do, but she killed thirteen people. Thirteen people with families, with jobs, with lives. They didn’t deserve to die. She did. The monster that killed her deserves to die as well. I didn’t kill her. I know what you’re going to say. I didn’t kill her. She was a vampire. A rogue vampire at that; she was already dead.”

The woman’s hand fell from Haven’s sleeve and she backed away slowly. Haven knew that the woman could not see the child as a murderer. She also knew that the woman thought Haven was. The dozens of people in the plaza probably did too. What could she do about it? They had witnessed her “kill” a child. She didn’t have the time to get it through their heads that by disposing of this child she had done her civic duty.

Haven always viewed it in a way so that she was sparing it from an eternity of pain, an eternity of killing people without the ability to control itself, an eternity stuck in a tiny body without the chance to grow up. It was the ethical thing to do. If only the people staring at her could see it that way. They would probably have nightmares about her. The monsters didn’t call her Deadly Wit for nothing.

Just like people tell their children to behave or monsters will get them, the monsters tell the new members of their various societies to behave or The Deadly Wit will come for them. The latter is truer than the former. She would get them, she always got her man. Always.

Rolling her eyes she wiped her blade on the edge of the fountain and walked out of the plaza with the rest of the people at her heals. They didn’t want to stay there any more than she did. She sighed and pulled her hair out of the tight bun she kept it in while on the job and got into her hearse.

Yeah, she drove a hearse, ironic isn’t it? It wasn’t an actively used a hearse, but the extra space in the back allowed her to store many a weapon inconspicuously while still managing to be smaller than a van or a truck. Being a petite woman she felt the need to be in smaller vehicles. Wouldn’t want to look too out of place?

She started the engine and pushed the button for the radio to come on. Her radio was always set to the national news. She knew that news was only sensationalized crap that grossly overstated minor events and undercut many of the far more interesting stories. She also liked to listen in, just in case someone started talking about her. A national monster assassin and world renowned detective, why wouldn’t she be in the news?

Haven knew the streets of Washington D.C. like the back of her hand by now. She drove mindlessly. She didn’t really see where she was going yet she stopped for every pedestrian, stop light or sign and turned all of the right corners. She didn’t really hear the news yet she knew they spoke for ten minutes about a ten year old girl who graduated from college with a PHD in medical studies, specializing in Lycanthropy.

When she turned into her driveway her mind came back to her and she looked up at the huge mansion she had recently bought. It wasn’t really a mansion, a three story colonial in historic D.C. is hardly anything compared to the 90210 of Beverly Hills, but for a single woman without a boyfriend it seemed like a palace.

She got out of the car leaving the door open and the car running and opened the two doors to the garage. Walking back to the car, she barely lifted her feet listening to the scuff noises her shoes made on the asphalt. Closed the door to her car with a thud and parked it safely within the garage. She walked around it to close the doors and sighed softly as she locked it. We wouldn’t want a car full of highly dangerous weapons being stolen.

She followed the walkway through the overgrown garden the last owner of the house had left. She had no time to garden and no hubby to do it for her. She sighed thinking that she would have to do something about it to keep up appearances with the neighbors.

She unlocked the back door and walked into her kitchen. She dropped her car key into the basket on the table next to the door, pulled her coat off and placed it on the hook, then took it back off the hook as she noticed it was a little blood spattered. Blood spattered? Vampire blood disappears like the rest of them once they were dead. There shouldn’t have been blood spatter.

Haven looked down slowly and saw the small gashes in her arm. She didn’t even remember getting hurt that bad. She must have cut her arm up on the rough side of the marble within the fountain. She sighed and tossed the coat on to the table.

She opened the door in the kitchen that most people thought led to either a butler’s pantry or a closet but actually was a set of stair leading to the third floor. Servant’s stairs originally, now it just happened to be the easiest way to the master suite.

Haven had remolded the third floor into a huge master suite, just the way she liked it. She climbed the stairs into the small sitting room and flipped the switch to light the fireplace. She walked past the fireplace and across her bedroom floor to the huge master bathroom. She didn’t bother to turn on the light but walked straight to the sink to wash out her arm.

She turned the switch on the two lights next to the mirror and looked at herself as she washed the cuts with soap and water. The first thing anybody ever noticed was that her eyes were moss green. Most green eyes are closer to hazel, or even an emerald green. Her eyes seemed ethereal, to even her. She sighed and counted the twenty three freckles that dotted from one cheek to the other over her nose.

She yelped slightly as she added the soap to her wounds. She had forgotten what her hands were doing. Counting freckles will do that to a person. She scrubbed and winced as she went back to examining her face. Her nose was perfect, short and round, not pointy no bumps, not too fat nor to skinny. She smiled softly, her delicate lips lifting at the corners.

For a ruthless killer she was very cute. She had to pull the mirror forward to open the medicine cabinet and reach the bandages. First she smeared the wound with some antiseptic gunk that smelled of chemicals, and then she wrapped her arm tight. As she closed the mirror she finally ran a hand through her hair in a futile attempt to tame the mess of orange curls that were flying about her head. She hated her hair because it was unmanageable, but every man she had ever dated said it was beautiful.

That was probably the reason she had grown it out as long as she had. She turned to see that it reached her waist. If she took into account the fact that it was curly, huge thick natural curls that looked artificial, it had to be at least down to her butt. She stripped slowly peeling off each piece of clothing and carried them with her back through the rooms and down the stairs. She took her clothes and her jacket to the door that led to the basement, dressed in nothing but her bra and underwear. She opened the door carefully and made her way to the wash.

Starting her clothes on a cold wash so as not to set in the bloodstains she walked back upstairs. She looked down noticing that she was scantily clad and walked back to her room to throw on a pair of shorts and a tank top. Once she was more comfortable she jumped onto her bed. A king sized beauty covered in a green comforter with an ivy design. The green matched her eyes. She took one of the pillows from behind her and hugged it to herself as she turned the television on in front of her. Being four in the afternoon it was too early for dinner or bed, but she was too tired to get anything else accomplished. She set the television to the cooking channel then went into the bathroom to retrieve her weapons, cell phone, and pager then stalked back to her bed.

She used her foot to slide the boxes out from under her bed. One box held the spaces for the equipment she used solely when working as well as extra ammo and was locked with a fingerprint analyzer, the other simply held the tools to clean and sharpen her weapons. She took the cloth and chemicals out first so that she could make her weapons shiny and new. She cleaned them silently watching the chef make some fancy Italian dish. Then she took her whetstone out and careful sharpened the blade again. She placed her M1911 into its holster on the headboard but opened the box to put everything else away. Two Colt .45s, four extra boxes of ammo and the knife fit within the box perfectly. She slid them back under the bed.

Unless you knew Haven’s occupation, you would think she was just another girl. Girly bed, girly cream colored wallpaper with faint ivy designs, girly dresser, girly closet, girly pillows, everything around her screamed petite, pathetic damsel who couldn’t save herself if she tried. She laughed softly at the irony within her own taste. Then sighed at the fact that if she did need saving, there would be no one there to come and save her, no one to miss her.