Page 4 of The Arbiter

Cedric is one of the most attractive African American Striges I’ve ever met. His long dreadlocks are dyed a crimson that matches his eye color perfectly, and he’s a full head taller than me too. Wearing the standard work attire of black jeans and club shirt, I take a second to admire the lettering across the tee. ‘The Apothecary’ logo is written with violet letters in a simple faded font, almost like you’d see on a worn away headstone on a grave, and I know the back line by heart. It’s not the most original of catchphrases, but it pegs our clientele perfectly.

‘Where the good are bad, and the bad are worse.’

Felix is a bit over six feet with hazel eyes, cinnamon-colored skin, and curly dark-brown hair that settles just above his ears. He’s also wearing his jeans and club shirt, but he makes his shirt stretch in ways that do naughty things to the mind.Did I forget to mention the eye candy perks of working with the Damned?

They weren’t cursed for their life of sin for nothing. Damnation forbids humans from ever seeing their other forms, though. They’d die of fright. Lupin are not beautiful larger versions of wolves like Hollywood portrays. Think massive canines the size of a bear, with mange-covered jackets of fur. Adding to the creep factor, they hardly ever walk on four legs and have a double row of teeth sharpened to razor-sharp points. Believe it or not, they aren’t the scariest looking ones either. Striges, for example, have red veins that appear around their eyes, while their iris turns pitch black, and with elongating fingernails and jaws that can unhinge like snakes if they pleased. And contrary to popular belief, the sun does not hurt them.

All of the Damned’s second forms are monstrous, deadly, and hardly ever beautiful, except maybe to others in their own race. It’s quite obvious that I’m not all that bothered by them, not in that way anyway. In my opinion, all the Creator’s creatures are beautiful in their own way. Well…most. Definitely not all. The Striges’ second form still doesn’t make even them the most horrifying of the Damned; I honestly feel that title belongs to Cain. His second form has only been depicted in paintings since only those who take a permanent vacation in Damnation can really attest to it. But just the paintings themselves are horrifying enough to earn him the top spot in my book. He’s always shown as a mangled beast the size of this building surrounded in carnage and fire, and it’s said that if those in Damnation actually lay eyes on him, their souls will go mad. I don’t put much stock into those myths though. Is it really possible for a soul to go mad?

Cedric and Felix both stop short when they get close enough to get a good look at me, their jaws dropping in shock at the state I’m in.

Cedric’s eyes go dark as night as he growls, “What the Damnation happened to you?”

“Relax,” I scold, “I’m fine. It’s healed, so it’s all old blood. I’ll tell you about it later, but right now, I just want to shower before the show starts.” Friday nights are my favorite. They’re burlesque night, which means I have roughly an hour or so before I take the stage with the other dancers.

Felix folds his arms against his chest. “As long as you’re OK, but next time one of us goes with you. No questions. I’ll be undamned before anyone hurts you, Mistress,” he practically purrs.

I snort at his use of the word ‘mistress’ and how dirty it sounds coming from his mouth. All of my employees are respectful and professional, and they call me a range of things from mistress, miss, or empress. The few that I’ve gotten semi-close to have a tendency to call me queen b. I hardly hear my name anymore, and honestly, I’m okay with that.

“You’ve got to quit saying it like that, Felix. I’ve got like twenty-five years on you, easy,” I laugh.

Cedric, whose anger dissipated while watching our interaction, elbows Felix, his companion giving him a low growl and flashing his glowing, amber eyes in warning. It really isn’t my fault that most of the staff want me to be more than their boss. Too bad I don’t mix business with pleasure. That’s the real reason for pushing him away; age isn’t an issue considering we all age differently.

Lupin have the fastest aging process, and it’s about ten human years to one Lupin year. The Strige halt almost completely, and the other Damned all age variably. I’m honestly not sure how Rites age. I’ve never been curious enough to ask any of them. Nor have I known any long enough to hazard a guess. Finally, you have me, the half-breed. I don’t know the aging scale for me, but with my Succubi mother, I’ve aged only a little slower than the Lupin.“Enough of the chit chat. Get to work, assholes. Time is money,” I say flipping them off over my shoulder as I turn.

I hear laughter behind me, and their banter while unloading follows me all the way back to the fire escape. Getting to the top of the stairs and unlocking my door, I realize I’m going to need coffee to get through tonight. Yes, we eat. Need food to live, just not as much as humans. Caffeine, alcohol, and drugs still all affect us, but it takes much larger quantities. That’s why my coffee is actually a regular coffee cup with nothing but espresso.

Walking in, I sigh. My loft is my haven, with its gray wooden floors, blood-red walls, and high ceilings that hold up two antique black chandeliers. The only other source of light in the room comes from the circular, stained-glass window that takes up almost the entire side of one wall. When the sun shows through just right, the colors that reflect all around the room are striking. That’s my favorite part of the day.

I walk straight to the kitchen on the right and toss my shirt into the trash can below the sink. My hands rest on the gray and black marble countertops as I stare at the black cabinets. The frosted glass reflects all of the stainless-steel appliances back to me. I sigh again, my shoulders loosening.Damn, it’s good to be home.

I make my way into the living room where there’s nothing other than two black leather couches, a glass coffee table with wrought iron legs, and a fifty-inch flat screen. TV is definitely one of my favorite inventions of this era. Don’t get me wrong, I love all the old-fashioned things from my earlier years like typewriters and record players, but TV has to be the best. Curled up on the couch with the lights dimmed and the latest slasher in all of it’s HD glory, I can’t name one horror movie that I haven’t seen. You know, because my life isn’t scary enough on its own.

Wandering into the bathroom, I look at myself in the mirror over the sink. My appearance is horrendous, and I suddenly feel embarrassed that Larkan had seen me like this. The long tresses of my hair are knotted in places from the fight, and my eyeliner is smeared, giving me this weird emo look I don’t appreciate. Not to mention, all the blood. My black lace bra is soaked through and does nothing to hide my nipples beneath.Great.That’s probably why that Rite was looking me up and down so thoroughly. I was giving him a peep show.

Wow!I think. Now I’m truly proud of the guys downstairs for not making a big deal out of it. They’re normally pervs and wouldn’t miss the chance. I guess they really were worried.

My bathroom is only big enough for a small sink, a toilet, a two-person, glass shower in the right corner, and a black claw-foot tub in the left corner. There’s a shelf behind the tub built into the wall, holding an array of bath oils, shampoos, and candles. The floor is a dark gray marble tile with black glittering streaks running through. While the bathroom is beautifully done, I must say that the walls are my favorite. I picked out the unique metallic color calledTin Manthat’s basically a shimmering silver. It really sets apart the small area.

Gazing longingly at the tub, I turn to start the shower, wishing I could have a nice soak before the show. Alas, there’s very little time to fix the mess that I’ve become. I quickly strip off the rest of my clothes and put my hair up into a messy bun to keep it from getting wet. The steaming water slides down my body,eliciting a groan from me and releasing all the tension that I’ve been hanging on to.

My thoughts wander to the questions from before about those men’s knowledge of what can hurt us, andjust thinking of the Rites not getting to the bottom of it fills me with trepidation. That info falling into humans’ hands could turn the tides and spark the tension that still lingers between the Rites and the Damned. It’s not just us fighting anymore. If you add the humans and their weapons of mass destruction into the mix, we would be looking at a shit show that I amnotready to deal with.

Why the fuck would they want me alive, though?

Each answer that my brain comes up with is more terrifying than the last. The worst of which is a vision of me being strapped to a table in some kind of laboratory surrounded by men in white coats. They slowly cut open my torso and begin pulling out my organs, showing them to me like a prize they’ve won. I shiver. Hopefully, the Rites will get to the bottom of it. If not, only time will tell. I just hope that I won’t be the one to figure that shit out the hard way.

After finishing my shower, I pick out my outfit for tonight. Everything I wear while dancing has to have mobility yet still fit the sexy horror theme we have going on here. When my girls and I dance, we always use our second forms. The humans believe it’s all tricks and costumes, so we aren’t necessarily breaking any rules by showing ourselves off.

Clothes are my favorite thing to collect, and my poor closet is practically bursting from my weirdly obsessive hoarding. I own dresses from more eras than I can count. Some of them are ones I’ve worn during the specific era that they were the height of fashion, and the others are random purchases from people that wore them themselves during the era. All my regular, everyday clothes are stuffed into drawers, leaving the closet just for my dresses and dancing costumes.

I settle on one dress I bought only a few weeks ago. It’s completely made of black lace in a floral pattern, with a straight neckline. Sitting off my shoulders, it has tight sleeves that end right past my wrists. The bust ends at my waistline, and from there the lace goes into a long train that drags a few feet behind me. With the front in a V shape, there is no material in front of my legs, only off to the sides. It might as well be categorized as a corset with a train.

After having worn them for over a hundred years, I’m a pro with corsets, so it’s a simple task lacing this one up by myself. My flexibility makes it easy for me to reach back and tighten the ribbons without trouble. Black velvet with a purple tint lines the outer part of the leather, and the ribbons that tie off are dark purple, giving it just a bit more splash of color. I slide on some panty hose that has the seam going up the back of my legs and take the clip out of my hair. My curls cascade down my back once they’re free. Applying some makeup to complete the look, the thick black liner and smoky eye shadow make my bright verdant eyes shine brighter. To finish it all off, I add some dark-purple, matte lipstick. It makes me look paler than I actually am, but I love it.

Not that my paleness really matters. It’s not like it’s going to be noticed once my skin shifts into its second form anyway. I slip on my over-the-knee, black stiletto boots and take one last look in the full-length mirror that hangs on the back of my door.

With a nod of approval, I use the side door that opens to a narrow-curved staircase leading to the second-floor balcony. When I enter, the bouncer guarding the door to my loft helps me down the last few steps.

---