The car drove along the rough-and-tough street. Inside, Rowan and Manar
were intently planning, while two guards in the front-one
driving-simply did their job.
“Guards have been posted in little groups around this area,” reported the head bodyguard.
“Nice to know, but how did you pull that one off?”
“Hawk, Siren and I have agreed our arrangements.”
Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Two
days ago you had been showing off and disgracing each other. What made
the change?”
“Time heals all wounds.”
Miss Kirilian looked outside the window. “Is one of the groups in that bar?”
“Yes,” Manar answered.
“Driver, stop.” The driver stopped the
car. “Guard it,” ordered Rowan. She and Manar got out.
“The Brendant area. A lovely place.”
“For outlaws,” finished her companion, speaking with a little more opinion than usual.
This place was certainly not a place where you would
want to be alone, but as with all places of inhabitants, there were a
daring few who remained solitary. The people remained tense and few
ventured too far from the sides of this street. The gangs were ready to
strike. No one of class was often seen here, so the sight of Rowan
caused quite a stir. Children, covered in the same rags and make-up as
the adult Dark Citizens, stood up in vain hope of getting money. About
four dressed as identically as the others came towards Rowan and stood
in lines around her in an orderly fashion.
“Are all my guards looking like this?” quietly asked the one being protected.
“We can’t afford to raise too much suspicion, Mistress.”
The group moved professionally forward. They walked
through the wide open doors of the bar, bordered on the sides by those
who were desperate, bored or ignorant. Going down the stairs, Rowan
grabbed one of her guards. The group gradually halted.
“Spy on the gang over there,” Rowan
ordered, quietly yet severely. The guard scampered off and infiltrated
along the bar. The group resumed their journey.
The bar was relatively crowded, but the atmosphere
was still as tense, pointless and desperate as that outside. The guard
sent off leaned near a gang sitting round a big table, each gang member
wore some kind of red shirt with a knife printed on the back. In a
corner of the bar, someone wearing a big jacket opened it up to woman,
showing the array of jewellery inside. Rowan and Manar sat on one,
small table. The other three guards stood spaciously around it.
A tattooed man wearing navy and a pouch came over to
them. “So what will it be?” He obviously had no care
whether this customer was rich.
Neither of them turned to look at him. “Light scotch,” ordered Rowan.
“Ice-cold water.” He looked at Manar
intently before walking off. “Keep your guard up Rowan,”
Manar ordered as she unbuckled one of her belt-pouches.
As her bodyguard took out some Coppers and a Silver,
Rowan looked around, keeping her guard up, yet preparing for boredom.
At one table on the side of the bar, sat two women, one man. The woman
in the middle had long, silver hair, not unlike a wolf, with sharp,
green eyes. The other woman was blonde, the hairstyle similar to her
companion, with dark blue eyes. The man had short, oak brown hair with
golden eyes. They all appeared to be 30, but emanated the presence of
being older. Rowan locked eyes with them. They remained, steadily
looking at each other.
After some time, the three gracefully stood up and
stately walked to Rowan. They grew closer and the sitting pair were
somehow curious about them. The three guards had also turned round out
of suspicion, drawing closer to the table. The three stood at the other
end of the table from the young women.
The man spoke. “May we sit down?”
The two stared up in awe. “Vampires,” breathed Rowan. The pair immediately bowed their heads.
The Vampires drew up chairs. “We thank you for
your respect,” the silver-haired one said. The three sat down.
“But please, we do not want to cause a scene.” The pair
slowly raised their heads.
The guards quickly retreated to their previous
positions. The silver-haired Vampire, who appeared to be their leader,
continued talking. “We only come here to offer help.” She
spoke with controlled kindness.
“With what?” Rowan asked suspiciously. The waiter came along, putting the drinks on the table.
“It is unfortunate to hear of your plight,” stated the man solemnly.
“You must not deny yourself,” advised the leader.
“Of what?” Rowan had retained her composure but her voice revealed worry.
“What are you doing here?” the
silver-haired one asked. The waiter picked up the money and walked off.
“I’m…trying to find out why
I’m the target,” Miss Kirilian answered uncertainly.
“No, what is it you are doing in the Dark Kingdom?” the man patiently asked.
Rowan was confused by this. “I’m the
heir to my mother’s fortune.” She sipped her drink.
The leader smiled slightly. “When you realise
the answer to that question, you will find the answer that you
seek.” She laid her hand on top of Rowan’s. “Remember
that it is you in control, young Rowan, no one else.”
The three stood up once more and gracefully walked
away, save for the blonde. She turned to the sitting pair and spoke
directly.
“I wouldn’t stay here if I were you, the
exiles are coming.” She returned to her companions.
Manar picked up her glass of water and drank, remaining so even when the spying guard returned to report.
“My Lady, they merely talk about their plans
for each night, nothing of crime or possible associates. Every one who
offers to hire them have been turned down.”
“Thank you.” Rowan watched him quickly jog away. Manar finally stopped drinking.
“Shall we leave my Mistress?” wondered the head bodyguard.
“Yes.” Rowan stood up. Once again, the
lines formed around her. The group moved to the stairs, which ascended
to the exit.