AN: Finally figured out who's doing what. Kind of.

Missed me?

-Shazzy

-Interrogation-

Blaise opened her eyes, obviously she wasn't fooling this man. She stared up at him, shaking uncontrollably in fear. He was whip-thin, and the veins on his arms stood out against his tanned skin. He was middle-aged, maybe in his early fifties, and he was obviously in better shape than even the detectives. His hair was greying and his eyes were ice blue. His nose was narrow and his cheekbones stood out, pronounced in his thinness.

"What do you want?" Blaise asked weakly.

"Information." The man crooned in his strange accent. "You seem to be the one who knows everything that happens in this city without being directly involved in anything interesting."

"What are you talking about?" Blaise countered. "I'm a writer. I drink more than I should, I don't sleep, and I compensate with caffeine. I write fiction, fer Chrissakes."

"Are you IRA?"

Blaise laughed aloud, a genuine laugh of amusement despite the danger she was in. "God, no." She smiled. "My Da' was a cop, he'd come back fra' the grave and kick my ass if I was IRA."

"Then how do you know so much?" The man asked again.

Blaise sighed and slouched against the bonds holding her. "Look, I think you've got the wrong girl. I don't know what you're talking about and I honestly -"

The sound of his hand smacking Blaise's face echoed in the small room. She hadn't been prepared for it. He moved so fast. She made a small, whimpering noise of pain and shock as she slouched sideways, limply.

"You will speak with respect when you speak to me."

Blaise righted herself in the chair and glared daggers at her attacker. "Big man, hitting a woman tied to a chair. I'm so fucking terrified." She added sarcastically.

He raised his hand to slap her again and Blaise interrupted him, speaking quickly. "If you lay another hand on me," she growled, "you will find that all the prayers in the world, all the pleading and begging to every god in every pantheon imaginable will not be enough to save you from the hell that you will experience in MY name."

A cold smile crept across the man's face and he crouched in front of her so that their eyes were level. "You speak with big, brave words for so simple a writer." He said, placing his hand gently against her knee. "You make me almost believe you."

"Belief is a mighty powerful thing." Blaise said evenly, trying to keep her temper in check. There wasn't much that she could do being bound the way she was. And she certainly didn't want to give this man any reason to walk to the workbench that filled the wall behind them.

"And who is it that believes in you so much that they would be willing to blaspheme against all the gods?"

A smile touched Blaise's mouth and a sort of delirious malice crept into her eyes. "They go by many names." She murmured, drawing out her words and laying her accent on thick through the swelling in her face, making herself sound like she was in a trance. "But they are mine, and they do not take kindly to unnecessary aggression. They do not fear blasphemy, for they walk neither in the light, nor the dark. I think you might call them angels of death, I simply look at them as hell hounds. Beasts summoned from beyond to do my bidding. To protect me and to keep me safe from harm. Immortal, and unkillable by mortal weapons."

The man smiled. "I look forward to meeting them."

"Oh, you'll meet them all right." Blaise assured him, playing up her forced insanity. "They won't be long." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "I can hear them coming."

"Then we had better work quickly."

Fuck.

Blaise huffed through her nose as panic crept up on her and turned her stomach to acid. "Why don't you just tell me what you want?" Blaise offered. "My hell hounds will be more lenient on you if we can conduct our business in a more civilized manner."

The man stared at Blaise and she stared right back, blood dripping from the split in her lip.

"You have information. I want it." The man said simply. "And I will stop at nothing to get it."