The streets were empty, quiet. Too quiet. Taliesin knew every kind of
silence. This was the eerie kind, when something had startled all the birds
of the forest into silence, when not even a bullfrog croaked. THAT was the
silence he heard now. Nowhere, especially a city as big as New York, should
ever be this quiet. Especially when TALIESIN couldn't hear a thing.
He shook his head slowly, easing a crick in his tan neck. He shouldn't be worried, they had gone over their plan a thousand times. Even so, he felt nervous. The minute hairs covering his body seemed to all stand on end at the same time. Not a pleasant feeling.
Why? Nothing was going to go wrong. Even if they were seen, they looked like they belonged. All of them. He risked glancing around, at his friends and partners. The first he saw was Oberon, of course. Little Obie only wore white. Sad thing was, it suited the spritely vampire. Oberon was a lamia, and he had stopped aging around eleven. Though really fifteen, he looked like a little blonde, doe-eyed kid. Looks could be deceiving, because Obie was dangerous, especially if his victim didn't see it coming. And they NEVER saw it coming.
Tonight, Oberon was pretending to be a little boy waiting for the bus. He even had a backpack on, so he looked like a normal human kid. At the moment, he looked like a little kid trying not to stand next to the prostitute who was apparently waiting with him. That curvacious girl in a leather miniskirt and fishnets standing next to him could have caused quite a few double takes, if anyone saw her. But between the emptiness of the street and the fact that it WAS New York, no one gave the hooker a second glance.
Of course, anyone who tried to get this particular girl to go home with them was in for a big surprise. Lenore was a made vampire, bitten last year when she was sixteen. She normally dressed only slightly less like a slut, so convincing her to dress up like this took nothing at all. At the moment she was checking her nails to make sure the black polish wasn't chipping.
Somewhere across the street, another person was lurking. Taliesin thought that Habbakkuk was behind the dumpster in the alley, but now he couldn't be sure, even with his infrared vision. It didn't matter. The werewolf would make an appearance when he was needed, not before. That Taliesin couldn't see him was a good thing, for anyone who saw Habbakkuk would hear alarm bells in his head.
He could picture the werewolf in his mind, snarling down at him even in his human guise. Habbakkuk the man was nearly seven feet tall and pale, with thick black hair in a braid down his back. His goatee was braided in two, and those braids reached down to his chest. He always wore all black, his clothes made from solely the hides of wolves and werewolves. That outfit meant he could shapechange at will, a major boon for him. Taliesin refused to keep thinking about his tall and menacing friend, for he could almost feel the heat of the werewolf's grey eyes on him, cutting thorugh the dark.
The last person in the group was standing right beside him. Guenhyvar was a witch, and a cousin of Oberon. She had long hair, silvery blondish white. Her eyes were a frosty periwinkle blue, almost the color of a blind man's. She wore pale blue, the same color as her eyes, and her soul. It suited her. The witch of the group, Guen was neat, organized, quiet, and cold. Especially cold. There were walls upon walls surrounding her that no one could breach. Taliesin knew; he had tried. He was still trying.
Finally, of course, Taliesin looked at himself. He could picture how he would appear to anyone who happened to notice him. Not that they were supposed to, but... He was medium height, about five and a half feet, deeply tanned and fairly lean. His muscles were lean, wiry, rock hard. His hair rose above his head about three inches, black with flaming orange tips. His eyes were brilliant amber, a color the ladies loved, though just now they were flashing with tense worry. He wore baggy black jeans and a tight-fitting black shirt to match. Those thin threads held back a seemingly delicate body that bristled with hidden strength. The strength and the fury of a tiger.
"Taliesin! Play the part!" Guenhyvar hissed, moving closer to him. She was standing right in front of him now, leaned her head towards him, like they were going to neck. But they never did, she just rested the side of her face against his so they could talk more discreetly. Taliesin didn't mind, Guen wasn't bad looking, even if she was taller than the chicks he usually went after. He could tell by the tension in her jaw that their proximity was the LAST thing she was thinking about though, so he kept his thoughts to himself.
He leaned close as well, whispering in her ear, "How much time before they open up?"
The frosty witch shrugged. Her voice was deep and somewhat monotonous, like she was bored out of her mind. "A few minutes, who knows? Just keep your eyes peeled, since I can't." She didn't seem particularly happy about that fact. Taliesin almost offered to switch spots with Guen, then he stopped. She had human night vision, which basically meant she could hardly see, while he had eyes like a cat's. His pupils were probably twice the size of hers right now, and they could grow even larger. He could even see infrared, body heat. Basically, he needed to be the look out for the pair.
They didn't speak after that. Taliesin simply watched the deserted street. Until building they were leaning up against, the Black Ivy Club, opened its doors, they would have nothing to say. And even then, the two probably wouldn't need to speak. None of them would. Verbal communication would be both difficult and risky, and they knew they couldn't take chances.
It was supposed to be a quick mission. Grab one person from the club and get out. Of course, that wouldn't be easy. Night people are notoriously strong and dangerous, and a Nightworlder who was still with the Council would be exceptionally so. The Daybreakers would be afraid to hurt an innocent, but the sort of people who backed the Council wouldn't give a damn. Why should they?
Taliesin was suddenly jolted from his thoughts. SOMEONE WAS COMING.
He sensed him long before he saw him. There was a scent to him, whoever he was, a strange scent he couldn't place. That Taliesin couldn't recognize the smell was a bad sign, a very bad sign. All the cats had keen noses, and every shapeshifter worth his pelt could recognize almost every scent under the sun.
When he finally came into view, all Taliesin could do was stare. He seemed to be made of beautiful, dark colors, much more intense than everything else on the nighttime street. His shirt was the color of clotted blood, his jeans like the night sky, his hair the color of goldenrod in the moonlight. And that was just the color spectrum! On the infrared, he was exuding rays of heat, his vision was going wild. He could barely see, there was bright red everywhere. Who the hell was this guy?
He was looking around casually, just observing everything around him. As he walked, he was whistling. Taliesin recognized the tune instantly: You are My Sunshine. A strange song to be whistling, Taliesin thought. Odd for a human, macabre for a Nightworlder. On a night this dark, who would be thinking about sunshine?
Taliesin was about to ask Guenhyvar to check him out, but the words died in his throat. The guy turned his head, only slightly. With a jolt like lightning, they made eye contact. Taliesin's field of vision shrank and shrank, until all he could see were his eyes, staring back at him. Everything seemed to disappear but for the two of them. He couldn't feel Guen in his arms, he couldn't feel the wall he was leaning against. There were no more streetlamps, no buildings, no ground under his feet or night sky over his head. The only things left were Taliesin and this strange guy's eyes. Hazel. He had hazel eyes.
Finally, they both looked away. Looked away was the wrong way to put it. Tore themselves from each other was more appropriate. The silence was terrible, and Taliesin realized that the guy had stopped whistling. Then, with a shake of his head, whoever he was just turned back towards where he was going, and he began to whistle again. But he seemed to have lost some of his confidence, for the tune was choppy and slightly off key.
He shook his head slowly, easing a crick in his tan neck. He shouldn't be worried, they had gone over their plan a thousand times. Even so, he felt nervous. The minute hairs covering his body seemed to all stand on end at the same time. Not a pleasant feeling.
Why? Nothing was going to go wrong. Even if they were seen, they looked like they belonged. All of them. He risked glancing around, at his friends and partners. The first he saw was Oberon, of course. Little Obie only wore white. Sad thing was, it suited the spritely vampire. Oberon was a lamia, and he had stopped aging around eleven. Though really fifteen, he looked like a little blonde, doe-eyed kid. Looks could be deceiving, because Obie was dangerous, especially if his victim didn't see it coming. And they NEVER saw it coming.
Tonight, Oberon was pretending to be a little boy waiting for the bus. He even had a backpack on, so he looked like a normal human kid. At the moment, he looked like a little kid trying not to stand next to the prostitute who was apparently waiting with him. That curvacious girl in a leather miniskirt and fishnets standing next to him could have caused quite a few double takes, if anyone saw her. But between the emptiness of the street and the fact that it WAS New York, no one gave the hooker a second glance.
Of course, anyone who tried to get this particular girl to go home with them was in for a big surprise. Lenore was a made vampire, bitten last year when she was sixteen. She normally dressed only slightly less like a slut, so convincing her to dress up like this took nothing at all. At the moment she was checking her nails to make sure the black polish wasn't chipping.
Somewhere across the street, another person was lurking. Taliesin thought that Habbakkuk was behind the dumpster in the alley, but now he couldn't be sure, even with his infrared vision. It didn't matter. The werewolf would make an appearance when he was needed, not before. That Taliesin couldn't see him was a good thing, for anyone who saw Habbakkuk would hear alarm bells in his head.
He could picture the werewolf in his mind, snarling down at him even in his human guise. Habbakkuk the man was nearly seven feet tall and pale, with thick black hair in a braid down his back. His goatee was braided in two, and those braids reached down to his chest. He always wore all black, his clothes made from solely the hides of wolves and werewolves. That outfit meant he could shapechange at will, a major boon for him. Taliesin refused to keep thinking about his tall and menacing friend, for he could almost feel the heat of the werewolf's grey eyes on him, cutting thorugh the dark.
The last person in the group was standing right beside him. Guenhyvar was a witch, and a cousin of Oberon. She had long hair, silvery blondish white. Her eyes were a frosty periwinkle blue, almost the color of a blind man's. She wore pale blue, the same color as her eyes, and her soul. It suited her. The witch of the group, Guen was neat, organized, quiet, and cold. Especially cold. There were walls upon walls surrounding her that no one could breach. Taliesin knew; he had tried. He was still trying.
Finally, of course, Taliesin looked at himself. He could picture how he would appear to anyone who happened to notice him. Not that they were supposed to, but... He was medium height, about five and a half feet, deeply tanned and fairly lean. His muscles were lean, wiry, rock hard. His hair rose above his head about three inches, black with flaming orange tips. His eyes were brilliant amber, a color the ladies loved, though just now they were flashing with tense worry. He wore baggy black jeans and a tight-fitting black shirt to match. Those thin threads held back a seemingly delicate body that bristled with hidden strength. The strength and the fury of a tiger.
"Taliesin! Play the part!" Guenhyvar hissed, moving closer to him. She was standing right in front of him now, leaned her head towards him, like they were going to neck. But they never did, she just rested the side of her face against his so they could talk more discreetly. Taliesin didn't mind, Guen wasn't bad looking, even if she was taller than the chicks he usually went after. He could tell by the tension in her jaw that their proximity was the LAST thing she was thinking about though, so he kept his thoughts to himself.
He leaned close as well, whispering in her ear, "How much time before they open up?"
The frosty witch shrugged. Her voice was deep and somewhat monotonous, like she was bored out of her mind. "A few minutes, who knows? Just keep your eyes peeled, since I can't." She didn't seem particularly happy about that fact. Taliesin almost offered to switch spots with Guen, then he stopped. She had human night vision, which basically meant she could hardly see, while he had eyes like a cat's. His pupils were probably twice the size of hers right now, and they could grow even larger. He could even see infrared, body heat. Basically, he needed to be the look out for the pair.
They didn't speak after that. Taliesin simply watched the deserted street. Until building they were leaning up against, the Black Ivy Club, opened its doors, they would have nothing to say. And even then, the two probably wouldn't need to speak. None of them would. Verbal communication would be both difficult and risky, and they knew they couldn't take chances.
It was supposed to be a quick mission. Grab one person from the club and get out. Of course, that wouldn't be easy. Night people are notoriously strong and dangerous, and a Nightworlder who was still with the Council would be exceptionally so. The Daybreakers would be afraid to hurt an innocent, but the sort of people who backed the Council wouldn't give a damn. Why should they?
Taliesin was suddenly jolted from his thoughts. SOMEONE WAS COMING.
He sensed him long before he saw him. There was a scent to him, whoever he was, a strange scent he couldn't place. That Taliesin couldn't recognize the smell was a bad sign, a very bad sign. All the cats had keen noses, and every shapeshifter worth his pelt could recognize almost every scent under the sun.
When he finally came into view, all Taliesin could do was stare. He seemed to be made of beautiful, dark colors, much more intense than everything else on the nighttime street. His shirt was the color of clotted blood, his jeans like the night sky, his hair the color of goldenrod in the moonlight. And that was just the color spectrum! On the infrared, he was exuding rays of heat, his vision was going wild. He could barely see, there was bright red everywhere. Who the hell was this guy?
He was looking around casually, just observing everything around him. As he walked, he was whistling. Taliesin recognized the tune instantly: You are My Sunshine. A strange song to be whistling, Taliesin thought. Odd for a human, macabre for a Nightworlder. On a night this dark, who would be thinking about sunshine?
Taliesin was about to ask Guenhyvar to check him out, but the words died in his throat. The guy turned his head, only slightly. With a jolt like lightning, they made eye contact. Taliesin's field of vision shrank and shrank, until all he could see were his eyes, staring back at him. Everything seemed to disappear but for the two of them. He couldn't feel Guen in his arms, he couldn't feel the wall he was leaning against. There were no more streetlamps, no buildings, no ground under his feet or night sky over his head. The only things left were Taliesin and this strange guy's eyes. Hazel. He had hazel eyes.
Finally, they both looked away. Looked away was the wrong way to put it. Tore themselves from each other was more appropriate. The silence was terrible, and Taliesin realized that the guy had stopped whistling. Then, with a shake of his head, whoever he was just turned back towards where he was going, and he began to whistle again. But he seemed to have lost some of his confidence, for the tune was choppy and slightly off key.