Midnight had always lived alone in the shadows. It was easier that way, with nobody to worry about and nobody to protect she could come and go as she pleased. Which was exactly what she had been doing untill about 30 years ago when her Court had finally tracked her down. Midnight had just moved to Chicago, the crumbling buildings and half demolished sites appealed to the gothic side of her nature. Unfortunately, the Liderul of her Court knew that too.
Midnight had pulled up outside her building, leaving the black bike on the street. Everything had seemed normal untill she had stepped inside her apartment, she closed the door and scanned the living room but nothing seemed out of place.
"Who's here?" Midnight's voice was a low growl, she hated when people invaded her space. A board creaked in the bedroom and, with a movement too fast to be seen by the naked eye; Midnight crossed the room and slammed on the bedroom light. Nothing.
"You're getting old, Unul Mic." Midnight spun round, a small smile appeared on her lips but vanished just as quickly. The patriarch of her Court was lounging in one of the few chairs in the room. Riordan was tall and muscular; his silver hair was tied half up in a golden pin while the rest hung down his back. He always looked as if he were heading for a funeral, which he usually was, but the black suit and blood red waistcoat seemed to scream death.
"There was a time nobody could sneak up on you. You've been around humans for too long" said Riordan, he unfolded his legs and stood up. Midnight removed her own duster and hung it from a hook on the wall; she folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow.
"Did you need something, Fratele?" Riordan sighed, the old term of endearment seeming to fall flat after all these years. He stared at her for a moment before a small movement of his hand bought another figure gliding from the shadows. Midnight's golden eyes closed to dangerous slits as the familiar form of Drake moved across to her.
Drake had made no attempt to integrate with the rest of the Court. He was only 89, but that was no excuse for the jeans and black t shirt. His jet black hair hung over one eye, something Midnight just didn't trust. She never believed a word anyone told her unless she could look them in the eye while they said it. Both eyes.
Drake held out a folder. Midnight snarled and snatched it from him, turning back to Riordan.
"I thought I made myself clear, Fratele. I am not your Calaul anymore. Send Drake, he looks like he needs the practice" said Midnight; this last was said with a smirk. Drake's eyes turned black, he bared his fangs and hissed. Riordan sighed and gripped Midnight's arm in a vice grip, after 623 years he knew how to hold her down.
"This isn't someone I want killed. I want this girl in our Court. She's an empath and could be invaluable seeking out . . . Tradator's." Midnight gaped; The Blackwing Court was the oldest in the world. Every member handpicked by Riordan and the Liderul's before him. Surely there could be no traitor. Midnight took a deep breath. She didn't want to do this but she was still a member of Riordan's Court and it wasn't her place to refuse a personal request.
"What if she doesn't want to turn, do I kill her then?" asked Midnight, she opened the folder and raised her eyebrow again. The girl in the photo looked like a typical vampire wannabe. Black hair that fell almost to her waist, a crisp white blouse and black skirt and dolly shoes. Her bright green eyes smiled out from the photo as she played with a strand of her hair. Midnight raised her other eyebrow in what Riordan assumed to be shock, it wasn't an expression he had seen very often on his Unul Mic's face.
"I see you spotted the . . . Others." Midnight looked up at him, she squeezed her eyes shut and looked down at the photo again. Standing behind the Wannabe was another woman, she too had green eyes but her hair was auburn. She wore a denim shirt and black jeans and was waving at the camera with a spanner in her left hand. But that wasn't what drew Midnight's eye. Behind and to one side of the two women were four mice. Four, giant mice to be precise.
"What . . . Who . . . How . . .?" stammered Midnight. Riordan uttered a sharp little laugh, he flicked the folder closed and met Midnight's golden gaze with his own deep brown eyes.
"Just watch the girl. She needs protecting and if you can win her trust, we can bring her to the Court. If not, well, we'll throw ourselves into that grave when we come to it." Midnight's smile flashed out again before vanishing as if it had never been. She crossed the room, pointedly ignoring Drake and placed the file on the empty chair.
"I'll head out tomorrow, Fratele. It's only three hours till dawn and I have a feeling I'm going to need all the rest I can get with this one. Where is she?" Drake followed Riordan to the door, they turned back.
"She's staying with her Godmother. It's called The Last Chance Garage."