Veil was accustomed to the sensation of death.

While every type of dying carried its own unique kind of pain, she likened it to flavors of ice cream. 'It tastes different, but it's all still the same damn thing.' How you got there might be new and interesting - but it was all, at its core, the same. And it all lead to the same place.

Lying flat on her back, staring up at the beige drop ceiling tiles of the little european cafe, she touched her hand to the wound in her chest, and lifted it to look at the blood dripping off of her fingers. Yup. Great. Definitely dying. It was painful to breathe - so she opted not to. The darkness at the edges of her vision would come faster that way. Sooner that happened, the sooner it'd be over with.

The bullet had punched its way straight through her ribcage, and made easy work of bone, lung, and flesh. The man was an excellent shot, she'd give him that. And his guns packed much more of a punch than they had any business doing. Enchanted, she assumed. It went with the territory, she figured.

Her mind flashed back to that time she watched West World as a kid. Man, Yul Brynner made a really weird villain.

That made her laugh, the abruptness of the thought - well, she tried to laugh and only succeeded in coughing blood into her mouth. The human brain was a strange thing. When deprived of oxygen, or deprived of blood, it seemed to default to the weirdest things. Odd thoughts, odd memories, and just plain weird 'things' pop out of nowhere as the mind struggled to grasp onto the last shred of life and humanity it had before it sank away into nothingness.

Going through it a few more times than most people, she knew what to look for. Veil knew the telltale signs and had a few more chances to observe the phenomenon and think over how peculiar it really was. But it still struck her as funny, the idle thoughts the act of dying would dredge up. Veil closed her eyes as her lungs burned, the hole in her chest burned. She could feel her body began to shut down.

A hand grasped one of hers, and she looked up confused. Looking up at a man with chestnut hair and sharp eyes, wearing the white collar of a priest. He held her hand gently and began speaking prayers in latin, holding two fingers aloft and crossing the air in front of him.

It almost made her laugh again. She probably would have if, y'know, she didn't have a hole in her chest that felt like it was the size of a golf ball.

"Don't bother," she heard a familiar voice say from a table nearby.

"What?!" the priest exclaimed and looked away from her, interrupted and appalled the crass statement.

"Give her a minute."

Once more, he was called awake by his duty. Once more, he was called to rise. Each time he climbed from his carefully concealed tomb beneath the ground, his heart grew heavier. Each time he donned his sword and went out into the night air to fulfill his purpose, he became more tired of it all.

Not that he would ever voice such a complaint. His was a heavy burden, and one that he carried alone. His sprites and familiars made for poor conversation - and truth be told, he was quite well aware that he was no better. It was a skill that he had never paid much value, and had no desire nor opportunity to practice.

And so, once more into the night, he journeyed. Once more, he sought the corruption that had awoken him. Once more, he-

"Lasa armele jos!"

A blinding light washed over him, and he shielded his eyes with his arm, hissing as it brought him nearly physical pain. It was not the sun - indeed, it seemed to be somehow brighter. More directed. His eyes were beginning to adjust - but slowly. He had spent much time in the darkness of his crypt.

"Lasa armele jos! Acum!" the voice screamed in Romanian again, and then repeated, this time in English, his accent thick. "I said, drop your fucking weapon!" The angry voice, from behind the source of the intolerably bright light hollered once more.

Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes narrowed his eyes, and offered a single word in response.

"No."

Romania was a… weird country, Veil decided. She honestly couldn't tell if she liked it or not. It was certainly very far away from what she was used to, really not having traveled through Europe besides England and the UK in general. She was standing out on the balcony of their hotel suite. They had booked a few rooms at the 'Casa Wagner' in Brasov.

There were four reasons: One, it was in a cute little 15th century building with exposed beams and it felt a lot more like they were in Romania than staying at some Holiday Inn. Two, it wasn't under $50.00 a night. Yeah, sure, the exchange rates were awesome, but her argument was that they were probably both about to die, so, spend it while you got it. Three, their website had an english option. And most importantly, four:

It was an hour and a half east of where Dracula's Castle had appeared. Or 'manifested,' which was her friend Richard's choice of words, not hers.

Originally, she had wanted to stay at a cute little 'chalet' (something the united states decidedly didn't have any of) at the foot of the mountain… but her friend in question had arranged a meeting. A meeting she was very uneasy about.

It was impossible to tell when the castle had actually shown up. No one had been looking for it, buried in the remote 'Piatra Craiului' mountain range. (Veil had tried six times to pronounce it, and had since decided to give up.)

Honestly, it wasn't the appearance of the castle at all that had first garnered any attention. It could have been there for weeks or months, nobody knew. Or at least, nobody with the satellite data was sharing.

What people did notice… were the murders. At first, it was just an uptick in crime. Romania wasn't known for being a safe country - and a beheading in an alley was unfortunate, but not international news. They had enough political and personal strife that a single incident was no big deal.

Two people, dismembered - blood streaking the wall like it had been caused by a gigantic piece of farm equipment? Okay, sure. Gross. No big deal.

But it didn't stop. Brasov wasn't the only town under siege by what seemed to be at first a maniac with a chainsaw. Then several maniacs with very large chainsaws. Then, who knew what could possibly cause the kind of mauling and death that they were now seeing? Reports of incidents in towns all around the countryside, in villages and little back roads, were now more common than not. It was actually the map of the murders, and the outwardly reaching circular pattern that lead people to the mountain range, not the other way around.

Then the first cellphone video of a monster eating a man on the hood of his own car, broke over the internet. Front page of Reddit, and that was the end of that. It was international news.

Fake! Screamed one party, saying it was all bad CGI footage. You could see the wires. You could see the motion blur. End of the world! Screamed another. Signs calling for mankind to repent. Fingers pointed every which way. ISIS. Putin. Trump. North Korea. Aliens. Everyone had somebody to blame.

It was a very small group of people - keeping off the main chatter, staying to back channels and email, who had an idea of what might be happening. But no one was quite sure. Not until the first photo of the castle was sent out amongst her friend's colleagues.

The black spires against the red sky - a sky that was dark with twilight regardless of the time of day. Spires that looked like black, jagged claws clawing at a blood-soaked sky. It matched the historical descriptions far, far too well not to be the castle of lore.

One quick shouting match between them, a long conversation, a bottle of wine, and a night to think about it… and here they both were. Brasov. They were going in, at the same time most people were going out. Most of the people had fled, or were fleeing. Romanians were superstitious - and considering current events, rightly so. The city was quickly becoming a ghost town. And now, there was a military curfew in place. The death toll had reached just over a thousand in this city alone. Total, over fifteen hundred deaths were attributed to these… 'things' that were seen in the streets, or stalking through the woods after dark.

The gunshots would ring out after dark - and the military were reporting to the news that they were successfully killing the monsters. But no bodies were ever able to be recovered. 'They just dissolve' was the official word. It didn't help the opinion of the outside world that this was some giant scam - some giant lie. But here, in the city in question, it was hard to deny what was going on.

It had been surprisingly easy to get to Brasov. But now that they were here, it was hard to get any further than that.

Veil walked from the balcony of their hotel suite - two rooms, joining a shared 'living area,' and went up to the little CRT television set that sat on the bar against one wall. (Flat screens weren't a thing here yet, it seemed.) It had the dial on the volume lowered all the way - as it wasn't going to provide anything useful unless there was a swarm of monsters, or if the castle launched an attack, or something. It was in Romanian anyway - a language neither of them spoke. Her friend tried, and did alright for himself - but he was hardly fluent. 'Why can't languages read aloud like they are written?!' he always complained about the four languages he could fluently read, but was useless speaking.

She chewed on her deep blue painted lower lip as she watched another caught video clip of a winged demon knocking over a cameraman, and tearing him apart in a fashion normally reserved for SAW movie sequels. Veil cringed as she watched the painful death of an innocent man. She turned away, not being able to watch any more of it.

Veil knew she'd see enough of it first hand, soon enough anyway.

The country had figured out that the creatures were coming from the mountain range, and had placed barricades on all the roads leading up to it, cutting off all information sources on what might be going on.

At least her friend had sources. From what he could gather, the Romanian military were now gunning down - or attempting to, anyway - anything that moved on those roads. Anything that looked like it might not be human. Or weren't human anymore. They had attempted to make military moves against the structure they had unexpectedly found buried in the mountain range - the one whose existence no one had any explanation for. But no one was returning.

Veil chewed on her blue painted lip again, and finally turned to look at her friend, who was sitting at a table in the center room of their suite, tapping away at his laptop. They should be at the chalet at the foot of the mountain, trying to find a way in. Not in Brasov, trying to set up a meeting that amounted to a deathwish. "This is dumb. No. Correction. This is incredibly dumb."

"Yes, and? What would you like me to recommend instead?"

"Oh, nothing. I just wanted you to admit the fact that this is stupid," she said with her arms crossed across her chest.

"Consider it admitted."

"Great."

A long silence, and a quick glance at her from over his rimless glasses. "Can we move on now?"

"Fine."

"I'm glad we are in accord."

She looked back over to the 'gentleman' sitting at the table behind her - a distinguished looking man in his mid forties, dressed in a knit vest, tweed, and a cliche sense of fashion that screamed 'history professor.' And it was appropriate. He was.

Veil stuck her tongue out at him - although he wasn't paying attention. He was too engrossed in whatever he was looking at on his laptop, switching between that and an old book next to him, flipping back and forth with a practiced focus.

She made fun of him constantly for basically being Giles from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, sans the british accent. He would always grumble something about 'nobody has some secret society of bookworms. We're too hard to organize. You should see the email chains.'

"You can understand why I'm a little dodgy about tossing the Order an email saying; 'Hey guys! We know that's Dracula's castle, and not only that, we have a potential bazooka for you! A bazooka you don't know exists." Her smirk faded as she talked. "A bazooka you might use once and then dissect or torture or something else horrible afterwards."

"Yes," the man said idly, clearly not listening.

"You realize that, y'know…" Veil drew it out slowly, mostly for her own amusement, since he wasn't paying attention. "I'm the bazooka in question?"

"Yes."

Veil narrowed an eye. "So you're cool risking my life?"

"Yes."

"Richard!" Veil snapped. That finally caught his attention and his head snapped up.

"Hum? Oh. … Sorry. I mean... " Richard paused, and pushed his frameless glasses up his nose with the push of a middle finger on the bridge. "It's regretful, but… I don't know how else to get their attention."

"We could just go up there on our own."

"We wouldn't make it past the barricade. Neither of us have the credentials, and from what I can tell, the Romanian military isn't exactly friendly to a pair of Americans waltzing up on them. The Order is a direct subset of the Roman Catholic Church. They are an international entity and may likely have the pull required-"

"I could just walk us through the barricade." She offered with a helpful smile, gesturing her hand in a walking motion with two fingers - knowing exactly what reaction was going to follow.

Richard blanched. "No. Just, no. I'm sorry. I can't do that again. Never again. Physical discomfort aside, you know what will happen if you do. You know who's attention you'll attract..." Richard let the foreboding statement trail off.

Veil sighed again, and slumped into a chair across from Richard at the table in the center of their hotel suite. She slung one leg over the upholstered arm, and kicked her knee-high-booted leg idly. Looking down at a printed map from google in front of her, with X's marking locations, she began to spin it underneath her fingers as a distraction, watching the edges lift from the table as she did.

The table had long since ceased its duty of serving food and instead became a cluttered, paper-ridden workspace for the 'scholastically insane' as she called him. Richard had gone back to typing, scrolling through whatever resources he was pouring over. She pulled her long, dark blue hair out of her ponytail and ran both her hands through it, and let out a long breath. "Fine. I know. I know we can't just walk up there. But that second part is inevitable. I'm going to get his attention. With or without the order, I give it a day before I have to do something eventually. And then 'He' will notice. And then 'He' will know where are are anyway, and then 'He' sends his goons. Like 'He' always does."

Richard barely glanced at her over the top of his glasses again. "You might be safe in there." Veil scoffed hard, and he let out a small grunt at his dumb statement. "Safe from that threat, anyway. I doubt he can get inside that castle. From what records we have, it doesn't let people in unless it's Master wants to."

"So you think the Order is going to knock on the door, and Dracula'll just say 'hey guys,' open the door and let them waltz right in."

"Or he'll open it because you're there."

"He doesn't know what I am."

"No, but his friend certainly does." Richard tapped his finger on the page of the open book next to him. A sketch of a figure, garbed in tattered robes, floating over the floor. A vicious, curved blade in its skeletal hands.

"How do we know his 'friend' you read about in those journals is actually the same entity? We don't. Anybody can stomp around and call themselves anything they want. It's not like you need to pass a DNA test before you can go around calling yourself 'Death,'" she said through a laugh, kicking her foot again. "If I told the Van Helsing's or the Belmonts my name was the Queen of Fuckin' Sheba, they'd write that down too."

She began twirling a strand of her long blue hair around her finger, watching it reflect the light as she did. 'Upscale, classy punk' was what she liked to call herself. Really, she just woke up one day with the urge to not look like she did the day before. So she made a change. It was a freeing experience. And she relished those when she had the chance.

Veil kept quiet again for a long moment, deciding on her next words. "Richie, I'm going to be surrounded by people who are going to want to kill me. The Order, Dracula, and we both know Asshole and his Goon are going to come after me. This isn't going to end well for me, no matter how it shakes out. I'd really appreciate it if you'd consider why I don't like the idea of sticking my neck out for a bunch of Catholic monster hunters. When, y'know, I'm kinda really sorta probably gunna get on that least real quick."

Richard finally stopped typing, and looked up at her, with an unusually forlorn look in his eyes. "I cannot stand the idea that…" he began, paused, and rethought his words. "You are a dear friend. Indeed the closest I may have ever had. But we agreed this thing… This structure, the things inside… They can't be set loose. We both know the armed forces are useless. And the Order… I only have writings on how they used to operate. I have no idea as to how capable they are now. And this is Dracula. They haven't faced him in… What, two, three hundred years? Or more? They will need all the help they can get. We're going to need all the help we can get."

He closed his laptop lid - and Veil blinked. His sincerity was one thing - but his focus was another thing entirely. Richard was never one to turn his attention away from his laptop - or whatever snippet of information he was feeding on at the time. He placed his hands on top of the still-warm piece of technology, looked down at it for a moment, and paused before he spoke again. "I'm sorry, V… I really am. I don't see another way… If you're changing your mind - If you want to leave-"

"No..." Veil ran both her hands through her blue hair again and shifted to sit straight in the chair. "We talked about this. This has to be done. I can't sit back knowing there was something I could do."

"Maybe you will get some answers."

"More likely dismembered," Veil muttered.

To: Richard Blanchard

From: Monsignor Rodolfo

RE: Regarding the situation east of Brasov.

We are not in the business of turning away assistance in these dark and faithless days. Regardless of their potential ramifications.

Our team will contact you when they arrive to the area.

Richard sat next to the window in the little cafe they had chosen, a nice place on a main street through the center of town they had found. The coffee there was incredible. That was one fact that was undeniable to him - Europeans made better coffee. Period.

He and Veil had chosen this place to meet, despite the Order's keen protest to the contrary. It was public, and out in the open. Exactly the reason why they preferred it, and 'the Order' didn't. The priests of the 'Ordo ut Solis' - the ancient holy order of demon, vampire and monster hunters - were a secretive bunch. In fact, they had been very keen on making themselves only a myth and a legend since the early days of their creation in the ninth century.

But Richard's specialty was in myth and legends - and specifically from where they derived their fact. It wasn't hard for Richard to find them - to find a way to contact them. To know what words to use, to garner a response. He had, from an early age, and for a single, deep seated reason, become obsessed with the myths behind secret societies, ancient orders and the monsters that inspired them. It seemed at the basis of every secret organization, there was a vampire, a demon or an angel.

More specifically, Richard was focused on stopping these cults and societies, where they meant harm. That was where he and Veil shared a keen interest. And in fact, how they had first met, so many years ago. And now, why they were both here. Doing what might be the most dangerous thing either of them have ever done. Certainly the most for Richard - he couldn't speak for Veil.

The coffee shop was about as public as they could get - in a town that was quickly becoming an empty one. Very few people remained, and even fewer were walking the streets in a city that was on the verge of declaring evacuation orders.

The Order had insisted on meeting at a local church - specifically the Biserica Neagra. 'Even though it was now a Lutheran congregation?' Richard had retorted to them. 'We are all children of God, and all holy ground is a sanctuary for any man. Unless your compatriot is wary holy ground,' was the response.

Richard had fumed over that for a while, before kindly replying that, no, while neither he nor his compatriot had any issue setting foot on hallowed ground - they prefered a place where they could not be so easily ambushed.

While Richard hoped that the Order wouldn't immediately attack Veil - her concerns were founded. 'Lenient' and 'accepting' were words never once used to describe the holy order.

When the castle had appeared, Richard had called Veil immediately. They needed to go. They needed to help. They both had their reasons. But by themselves, they were useless against the magnitude of the castle and the creatures within it. Their individual contributions might not tip the scales in favor of the living - but it may just. It was a chance neither of them were willing to pass up. And 'The Order' was the only group still in existence that might be trying to do the same.

Richard looked up, glancing at his companion where she sat across the room from him at her own table, swiping away at her cellphone, playing some nonsense game that seemed suited only to these moments of idle distraction. Her long, wavy hair was dyed a deep, dark blue. The color shone in the sunlight even as it obscured her face. He had known her before the decision to dye it - and while those kind of things were never really his style, he had to admit it suited her quite well.

He had bought her an iced coffee - her favorite, he needn't ask anymore - and she sipped it through blue-painted lips that were carefully colored to match her hair.

Richard smiled faintly, despite himself. As much as he chided the girl for her ridiculousness, he was fond of her. He had grown accustomed to her banter, and her light-heartedness through things that would seemingly crush others. Although he was eager to write off the chance that the Order would lash out against her - the thought of being without her company hurt him deeply. They had spent so much of their lives as friends, it seemed impossible to see his life otherwise. For that reason alone, he had put his foot down. Cafe, or no meeting. He wouldn't walk them into a trap.

The door dinged - and he credited Veil for not looking up, although her shoulders tensed visibly. That cue was all he needed to know that his meeting was going to start - quite punctually - one minute before the scheduled meeting time.

Richard stood up, turned, and smiled thinly at the two figures who approached. "Ah, hello then. Coffee?"

Veil tried to look like she was utterly focused on her cellphone game. Tried to look like maybe she didn't even speak english, as she sipped at the iced coffee in front of her. Luckily it took about an ounce of brainpower to poke idly at the screen as she listened to the conversation across the room. Her hair had fallen over her eyes, and it allowed her the shield to glance up without being noticed.

Two men had walked into the cafe as the door had dinged. One of the men had blondish-red, curly hair cut in a neat style that looked like it was overdue for a cut. He was shorter, and not quite as lanky as his companion. The other had long chestnut colored ponytail, pulled back at the base of his neck. That one stood a few inches above his friend, and was thinner in frame. Both looked in their thirties, both dressed head to toe in black, with long coats that almost touched the ground as they walked. White clerical collars pointedly visible. What was also pointedly visible, was that they were both armed.

The redhead had a holster at each hip, and a gun in each holster. The other man only had one gun - but she heavily doubted he was any less prepared. Each of them wore a strange necklace, one that looked, gold and white, but she couldn't quite make out what the symbolism was.

Richard hadn't been wrong. 'The Order' still existed. And these were two of them. This was actually going to happen.

Well, shit.

Part of her really hoped they wouldn't show, and they'd just have to go about their merry way and try and find some other way to save the world.

"Ah, hello then. Coffee?" she heard Richard ask, his nervousness leaking through with all the subtlety of an air-horn. He was a history professor, and not used to dealing with men with guns. While she wouldn't exactly call it her specialty, if one of the two of them had to put somebody down, it was always going to wind up being her. The poor man really tended to crumble under the pressure when a weapon was involved.

"No, thank you," one man said, with a thick Italian accent. - the one with the chestnut hair in the ponytail. "The offer is generous. I wish we were able to partake of proper manners, but… we are short on time, I feel." The man glanced out the window and at the sun, now past midday, making his implication clear. 'We have business to do before dark.'

"I cannot disagree," Richard replied and motioned for them to sit at the table.

The two priests sat down at the table with Richard, and he closed his laptop as they did so. He went to open his mouth, but was cut off as the chestnut-haired man interjected. "We would also very much like to…" he paused, as he searched for the words. English was very clearly not his first language.

"Let me," the redhead cut in. He smiled broadly, his blondish-red hair and irish accent were an immediate tip off as to where he came from. The Italian priest sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, readying himself for embarrassment with a practiced ease. "What he's tryin' to say, 'friend,'" he said, ignoring his companion's annoyance. "Is let's cut to the chase, huh?" We've come here to destroy that damnable castle, and the thing that's drivin' it. We don't got much time. You say in your email you want to help us, that you've got some crucial intel and somebody who can help us. Somebody you say we might not like, part and partial to the why they can help us."

"Conrad," the Italian said quietly, trying to get 'Conrad' the Irishman to stop talking. "I spoke to you of interrupting."

"About," Conrad sneered. "'About' interrupting. Nobody says 'of' anything anymore. Read a damn magazine will you, for chrissakes? And besides, you know I don't listen, whenever you tell me not to talk."

"Clearly. And language, Conrad."

"I told ya before, he bloody doesn't care! And if he does, he's got a lotta weird priorities right about now," he wagged his thumb towards the window, gesturing at the condition of the nearly abandoned city with its nightly climbing death toll.

"I, eh," Richard stammered for a moment - which was very unlike him. He was clearly upended by the two bickering-and-heavily-armed priests in front of him. These two weren't what either of them were expecting to meet as emissaries of 'The Order.' "My associate who I insist could be valuable to this cause-"

"Who is this associate?" asked the Italian. "Why are they unique?"

"I would prefer not to say until I can ensure their safety-"

"Do you intend to join us inside the castle walls?" the Italian spoke again. "Do you intend to fight?"

"Well, n.. no, my doctorate is in history and lore… I've studied this castle, and all the strange cults that surround its appearances and disappearances. I know a great deal about its history and the history of the people who fought it in the past - but I would be no use in a fight," Richard said, clearly battling to regain his footing. He clearly hadn't expected having to make an argument for his place at the table.

"Then you will tell us - as our lives are on the line - who we may be fighting alongside." The Italian leaned forward on his arms on the table. "It is our lives you put at risk, if this… asset of yours is instead a threat. Many times in our history we have chosen to fight alongside those of questionable origins and many times they have betrayed us and cost many lives."

Veil watched, trying not to look like she was looking, as Richard clenched his fists for a moment, before slowly relaxing them. They were letting him take his time in responding - and the professor was going to chose his words carefully, as he always did. "My associate is of no risk to you and yours, of that I can swear my life. And as is the case, if I am to remain behind, you may consider me a kind of hostage, should the unthinkable happen and my associate costs yours their lives."

Damnit Richard- Veil swore silently in her head. You just made yourself cannon fodder, you idiot!

The Italian leaned back in his chair, looking at Richard thoughtfully. "I have not even introduced ourselves, and already you pledge your life in exchange of betrayal, so little you think it to be plausible… Interesting."

"Oy, Gabe, what're you doing? We've been here five minutes and you've already got him on the defensive. You're muckin' this all up," the Irishman 'Conrad' snickered. "Look, alright - so, I'm Conrad. My socially challenged friend is Gabriel-" he pointed a finger at the Italian. "Now we're introduced, see? That ain't hard, Gabey-boy. He and I are the two who're plannin' to go in there to smoke out the joint. Although really, I'm going to do it by myself. Gabriel's really just there for show."

Gabriel punched Conrad hard in the shoulder, which just caused the irishman to laugh, grinning wickedly back at his counterpart, as if daring him to go again and taking glee in the fact that his more stoic friend had 'snapped.' "See?" Conrad grinned, holding his hands out palms up as he gestured to the two of them. "We're people. Not cold, heartless priests in a tower somewhere. We're reasonable. You and your friend are safe as long as you're on the side of the livin.'"

"As he so crassly observed, we are now met," Gabriel cut back in, trying to resume control of the conversation from his loud-mouthed Irish 'brother.' "And the sun continues its journey closer to our deadline for today. So tell us and be done with it - are you going to help us, or not?"

"I have yet to have any promises from your end that my associate will not be… harmed by you in any way due to their unique circumstances," Richard replied.

The lump in her throat she hadn't realized had formed tightened - and Veil took another sip of her iced coffee, trying to loosen it. It became hard to even focus on the stupid cellphone game, and not just get up and leave. These two seemed 'human,' as Conrad had pointed out - and a little bit like actual people. But still… This could go very, very poorly for her.

"We don't go lynchin' people that can help us take down an evil like what we're seeing here," Conrad said, shifting in his chair to sit sideways, leaning up against the wall and propping an arm against the back of the chair. "We used to. I don't blame you for thinkin' that. But these days are different ones by far. We're hardly in the position of turnin' people away."

"I will repeat myself. What guarantee can I give my associate in exchange that you will not betray them? My life is on the line if the opposite is to occur. What do you place out for trade?"

"We have no idea what you bargain with," Gabriel replied. "And even so, we have no such guarantees. We have nothing to give or offer of any value to you, surely you understand that. You must go on faith."

"I am not the one you are trying to convince - and my associate is not a person who takes things on 'faith' terribly often. I am not sure what they will say," Richard muttered.

"Why don't you ask her then?" she heard Gabriel ask.

'Her.' He had said 'her.' Richard hadn't used a gendered pronoun - and Richard was too good to mess up. Which meant only one thing.

You know that feeling when everyone is staring at you? That pins-and-needly 'what's wrong, did I spill something on myself' feeling? It crawled over her like insects. Veil's heart sank like a brick in a fountain. Short, fast, and a thunk at the bottom. Oh, shit.

"Hey honey!" Conrad yelled across the coffee shop. "You there - Blue!"

Veil winced and didn't lift her head. Maybe, just maybe, they'd think she didn't speak english. Maybe, just maybe, they'd ignore her. "You're the only one left besides us," she heard Gabriel say dryly. "Everyone else - eh - made an exit, when we arrived."

"He means to say everyone else left. And they did. Including the employees," Conrad added - and she could hear the grin in his voice.

Finally, she looked up - and realized all three men at the table were now looking at her. Veil glanced over her shoulder - over to the counter, and… yup. What he said was true. The place was empty, now. Entirely devoid of people. Just the four of them.

"Somethin' tells me they got spooked by a bunch of gun wearin' catholic priests," Conrad snickered. "Can't imagine why! Why, I think we look darn friendly."

Veil let out a long sigh and ran her hand through her blue hair, pushing it away from her face. Leaning back in the chair, she debated just leaving, right now. They couldn't catch her if they tried. But Richard and her had come this far to help. "God fucking damn it," she swore under her breath.

"Come on over, love. No need to be angry we found you out," Conrad said and waved his hand, as if coaxing her over.

"I'm not-" Veil tried to argue for a moment, tried to say she wasn't angry, and she had no idea what he was talking about - she had no idea what any of them were talking about. But it was far past the point of that doing any good. "Fine."

She stood up from the table, shoved her phone into her coat pocket, and walked up to them. She stood behind Richard, not wanting to take a seat, and looked at the two priests. Defiantly, she lifted the straw to her iced coffee and took a loud sip.

"This is the… associate of which you mentioned?" Gabriel asked, looking up at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Yup," she said with the straw still between her teeth.

"Would you like to sit?" Gabriel motioned to the seat in front of him.

Veil laughed, and finally took the straw out of her mouth. "No. No thanks, bud." She didn't need to be standing to 'nope' out of the conversation, but she was much happier standing.

"Nervous?" Gabriel asked, with a smile that Muse was sure wasn't supposed to be as threatening as it was.

The irishman Conrad was watching her, rubbing a finger along his goatee, thinking the whole thing over. She glanced at him, and then back to the Italian. "Honestly? Yes. These things don't usually go well for me. I don't like advertising what I am. When I tell people, they either scream and run, or try and do something horrible to me."

"Then why do this at all?" Gabriel asked her curious, leaning forward on his arms again. It wasn't a malicious question - it was an honest one.

Veil looked down at her iced coffee, and taking the straw in her other hand, stabbed at the ice as she thought. "The creatures inside that castle needs to be stopped. I have my own personal experience with things like them. My own personal, miserable experience. So if I can stop someone else from going through what I have, then, it's worth it. Whatever you people are capable of doing to me once this is all over, is worth it for the lives I might save." Veil looked back up at him after her little speech, and hoped it was good enough. My life was over a long time ago, she added silently inside her head.

"Enough enemies of man live inside those walls," Gabriel spoke, attempting to sound comforting. "We will not add to those numbers, my child."

"Ugh, don't say crap like that," Conrad complained. "You ain't doin' yourself any favors. Can't you see she's not the sanctimonious type?"

Veil had to smile at the irishman. He had a sense of humor she could get behind. He smiled back at her, and took the opportunity to ask his own question.

"So…" Conrad said and waved his hand casually, elbow propped on the table, tracing a circle in the air as thought. "We've been taking bets the whole flight over… Well, okay, I was placing bets and nobody was taking them, but - whatever. What are you? What's the big deal?"

"Rip the bandaid off, huh?" Veil let out a puff of air and took another sip of coffee. She looked down at Richard, who, looking up at her with a worried expression, nodded his head once, regardless. If they were going to trust them with this, now was the time.

Veil looked back to the two priests. "I was murdered on November first, nineteen forty-two."

Gabriel and Conrad had pushed back and stood from the table so quickly the two chairs toppled over backwards. Conrad had pulled two guns from inside his long black coat and were pointing them at her. One was gold, the other silver. Cute.

Veil sighed, annoyed. She rolled her eyes. "You can shoot me, but it really-"

She was cut off by the distinct sound of a bullet leaving the chamber.

Chapter two should be out in a few days. Enjoy! :)