Chapter Eleven
But he was also a collector. He collected mystical items and
his latest catch was a big golden piece he'd bought from some man for five
months ago or so. It was said to be a vital piece of a once very powerful
talisman and so he'd bought it for a small sum, according to his budget.
A window in the great residence opened silently and a dark
figure swung his leg over the windowsill and slunk in, crouching near the
floor, looking around cautiously. Next;
"Ouch!"
"Ssh!"
"That hurt!"
"Shut up, Gabriel." The figure hissed and helped his comrade
on feet.
"You sure this is legal?"
"Mhm," Wrath said absently and peered behind one of the priceless
paintings, looking for safes.
"The man's a collector. More probably he's got the most valuable
stuff under his pillow," Gabriel said and peeked over his friends shoulder.
"Do we have to do this? I'd much rather go after Gracie."
"I know, but we have to get the shards first. It's all written."
He turned to Gabriel and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Gray is after them,
don't you worry. She'll take care of grace, should something happen."
Gabriel sighed.
"His bedroom is next to the collection. We'd better keep
quiet."
Wrath smiled softly.
"All right then," he murmured.
Harold woke with a start at the sound of a shrill
crash of porcelain. His precious china vases! Thieves!
He jumped out of bed and fumbled after his gun in the second
drawer. He pulled the trigger and tiptoed into what he called "the Chamber
of Trophies"
"Oops."
"Damn you, Gabe! You've woken him up!" Wrath hissed and threw
himself into the shadows of the large room with catlike speed the same moment
as the door was thrown open, revealing lord Ericsson in white nightgown,
gun in hand.
It was one of those moments when you can look at yourself from
the outside. Gabriel saw the pieces of blue and white vase around his feet
and the stupid grin plastered to his face. Most of all he saw the finger
resting uneasily on the trigger of the big gun.
"Eh, hello?" he tried.
"Who're you?" Lord Ericsson's voice trembled with rage and
fright.
Gabriel was just about to reply.
"That's none of your business."
At the sound of another voice, Harold Ericsson begun to spin
around, rather quick in Gabriels eyes, but even faster was Wrath's chokehold.
The lord gurgled and the ShadowHunter stared wildly at the snarling silverhaired
demon.
"Now, Mr. Ericsson. Where've you put your golden shard?"
Ericsson pointed weakly.
"Gabe, is it there?"
Gabriel obediently followed the order and looked into the monter.
He nodded.
"Is this monter alarmed, Mr. Ericsson?"
Lord Harold thought about lying. But this unseen man might
kill him. And he did not want to die. He might go to hell or somewhere
worse.
He shook his head.
"Take the shard, Gabe."
"W-will you let me g-go now?" lord Harold stammered when the
golden shard was well in Wrath's hand.
"You could say so, yes." he said, laid his hand on Lord Harold's
head and turned. The neck snapped audibly and lord Harold fell instantly.
"No!" Gabriel screamed, shocked and stared at the late Mr.
Ericsson. "How... Why did you do that you... you demon!"
Wrath, who was almost out the window, froze. Then he slowly
turned towards Gabriel again, eyes narrow slits. Gabe gasped at the wild
and dangerous flame that was burning there.
"Either you come with me and use my methods," Wrath whispered
harshly and began advancing like a looming shadow on Gabriel, "or you perish,
leaving Grace with Shatter for eternity. He wants her, and you do not know
what that means."
Gabriel swallowed, averting his eyes from the corpse on the
floor and braced himself for a counteroffensive.
"Alright. I'll come. But only for Gracie."
"For your own sake," Wrath corrected.
"No, only for Gracie."
Wrath went past him and jumped out the window.
A dark jewelryshop, lit only by a single candle,
the flame soon to drown in its own wax. An old man, his name known to no
one, was working in the small light, making a ring. That was his specialty.
He was called the ringmaster by the old ladies that came for a look in his
shop now and then. The door creaked.
"Um," someone coughed
The old man with his wrinkled black skin looked up, seeing
another man, this one younger. Brown hair, brown eyes and a jacket in brown.
Dull, he thought. But he had a shadow behind him. Tall, with hair to his
chest, two cold eyes. Calculating and dangerous, that one.
"Can I help you gentlemen with anything?"
"Yes-" the dangerous one began, only to be silenced by the
dull boy.
"Yes," His smile wide. "I don't know if you remember me? I
sold you a very large gold piece, picturing a serpents head?"
The old man didn't have to think long.
"I remember. You want it back? I've already made a ring out
of it, you know."
He heard a barely stifled growl from the dangerous one and
the dull boy swirled his eyes desperately.
"Could we please see it?" he hurried on.
The old man understood that someone's life was at stake, presumably
his, so he hurried to get it from his desk. The dull boy showed the gleaming
serpent ring to the dangerous one.
"It'll do," he growled and threw a bunch of dollars on the
counter. "I do hope it'll suffice?"
The old man picked it up with trembling hands, counting a few.
It was several thousand dollars. He nodded weakly.
"Good, we're in a hurry." The dangerous one turned and walked
away into the night, leaving the confused boy standing.
"Good night, sir." He said and left, running out.
The wrinkled old man heard them argue on their way.
"Were did you get all the money?"
"I didn't think Lord Harold really needed them any longer.
What do you think?"
The ringmaster could imagine the evil smile gleaming white
in the lamplight.