Ready or Not

As she reached atop the stairs, she found the wispy thread suddenly go tight, it connected to the half-transformed male at the middle of the railing. Celesse was taken aback at the tackling by Ben 10, she rushed over, ready to poise an attack when the unknown werewolf took the SIB Agent and tossed him into the wall. Her mouth fell agape, yet her resolve dead set on this supernatural, ‘It’s gotta be this guy.’ Celesse ducked for cover, the whistling of a bullet went through the air, clipping the male in the calf. She took this moment to get up quick, her movements too fast for any normal human to catch onto. As if, in a comical way, she gave a wink at her saviour and chased down the nameless target, jumping over the railing to land onto the back of him.

The werewolf roared, unable to fully transform due to his injury. Celesse was thrown from his back, the male grabbed her by the ankle and slammed her into the ground. Before she could slam into the tiled floor, she twisted out of his grasp, switching places with him and slamming the werewolf with sheer force to dent the floor in two. The revellers in the party, those few that were human, were now screaming, a pack of them ran out of the building. Knocking the shapeshifter over several times. Soon, the whole club was emptied out with the exception of the few supernaturals who wanted to stay and watch the fight ensue.

The werewolf was back up onto his feet, his head snapped in the direction of his new attacker. His wolfish grin returning, “So you’re Sicarius.” His voice was deep, half-distorted as a result of being half-transformed. Celesse just tilted her head at him, “And you’re…somebody I’m supposed to know?” She blinked in a bored fashion, “Spare me the speech.” She darted across the room in a blur. The werewolf launched himself at her, and when their bodies collided, it sounded like thunder striking together, the waves of the cracked air went rumbling throughout the building.
 
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C'mon, move, Benjamin urged his body as he peeled himself away from the wall, blood pouring from his broken nose down into his mouth for that uncomfortable coppery taste. He could feel his diaphragm spasaming as it tried to regain the breath he had lost when Harold had slammed him into the wall. And was that Celesse he had seen on the other side of the room as Harold had jumped over the ledge? Too many questions. Not enough answers. Not enough time. Move.

Benjamin was unsure if he'd broken anything else. He couldn't feel any pain, which would wear off in about an hour when the adrenaline subsided and he was sure he'd find out then. Even only half-transformed, Harold's strength was something to behold. He could hear the screams of the revelers below and sprinted toward the stairs, taking a position halfway down and bracing himself against the railing to steady his gun. What was protocol for this? He had no idea who it was Harold was targeting, or who this second player was who'd taken it upon herself to interrupt the murder attempt. (Sicarius?) Did he have the grounds to shoot to kill in Harold's case? But then they would never get the information they needed. He needed to paralyze the beast, but a silver bullet to the spine would likely kill him. A regular bullet might not penetrate his thick hide, but several in succession...? The silver bullet in Harold's leg would be weakening his defenses. It just might work.

The SIB agent had managed to gain his breath back, but it caught in his throat momentarily at the sheer force of the two supernaturals battling it out. This was the kind of strength he was up against...? The discipline he submitted his own body to was laughable at this point. Harold could have squashed him like a bug, and indeed would have if he hadn't drawn his weapon in time. He pulled a clip of standard bullets from the ankle holster and swapped it out, sliding one into the chamber.

As their bodies collided, sending a shockwave out through the building, Harold wrapped Celesse in his powerful arms, holding her to him in an attempt to keep her from breaking away and gaining momentum again. He knew something inside him was broken from the force of their impact - a couple ribs, maybe. With her so close his instincts kicked in and he clamped his jaws down on her neck where it met the shoulder. A werewolf bite could only turn humans, but it didn't make it any less painful for the supernaturals.

The sudden stillness was the opening Benjamin needed. He took his aim, let out a calm, slow breath, and fired four times. Harold erupted in a howl of pain, his head snapping back and his back arching, reflexively letting loose his clutch on his prey and falling backwards. Benjamin once more swapped the clips in his gun, hopping over the side of the railing and pointing the weapon in the werewolf's face. "Harold Gardener, you're under arrest for attempted murder in the first degree. If you move, I will be forced to shoot." He could see it in the werewolf's eyes. He was contemplating his choices. Which would be better... to live to fight another day? Or in the face of his failure, suicide by cop?

Harold twitched toward him, and Benjamin put a bullet in his brain.
 
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The shapeshifter struggled in his grasp, it seemed she underestimated her opponent’s strength – a mistake she would not make again. The impact from tossing her body frame and all the energy she could muster, had depleted her own; there was enough to, at least, damage the werewolf. She was going to hook her leg around his weakened one, but was stopped by the dog biting into her neck. A yell ripped from her vocal chords, the werewolf had jaws of steel clamped down into her jugular, she was ready to take him down when four shots sounded out.

Again, she’d been saved twice by her immediate target. Celesse felt the wolf release his hold on her, giving her time to blur across the room and feel her neck for any excessive bleeding. The wound was already healing, but it would take some time before she’d be able to regain her strength. She watched the Agent, who was now in front of the one enemy she needed information from. With curiosity, she watched—hoping he wouldn’t kill the wolf—and read…’Is this guy for real?’ She thought. Which would go interrupted by seeing his finger press on the trigger and kill her target.

‘Damn.’ Celesse disappeared from her hiding spot. Using her unique ability to cloak in with her surroundings. Little energy enough to get the hell out of there. It wouldn’t be long before Police rolled up on the joint, which had become a battle ground between supernaturals. With SPD involved, they were sure to involve SIB, and the more important pressing issue at hand was, ‘What the hell was she going to tell Alaric?’ She was out on the pavement, seeing some lingering patrons still about—more supernaturals than mortals. Her clothes were a mess, her turtleneck soaked with blood, yet her wound was nearly gone, leaving nothing but a pink scar which would be gone by tomorrow.

Celesse turned her collar up on her overcoat, and closed the open part with her buttons. Fishing her phone out, she called Alaric, who immediately picked up with news to share.

“We caught him. We have Lucien in custody.” Alaric says after the greeting exchanged.
 
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"Damn it," Benjamin muttered under his breath as he wiped the blood from his nose on his shoulder. He was bleeding from the scratches on his chest, too, but they weren't deep and would heal in a week or two. Considering the wreckage to the building, he was lucky to get out with his life. His dark eyes scanned the room now for the other supernatural who had been engaged in combat with the werewolf, but she was suddenly nowhere to be seen. He noted two drops of blood on the ground leading to an empty corner of the room, the length of the droplets suggesting an extremely high velocity of movement. But after that there was nothing. She was gone.

Suddenly he felt exhausted. This was only the beginning of what would be an extensive investigation. There were a significant number of questions that needed to be answered. Thankfully, as he'd glanced around the room, Benjamin noticed some security cameras that would hopefully help in developing an understanding of the whole situation. But until then... he glanced at his watch. It was going to be a long night. In the distance he could hear the wail of police sirens. It would be a hassle staving them off until the SIB could show up and begin to conduct a more thorough investigation.

"I need everyone to stay right where they are until we have the scene under control and have taken witness statements," Benjamin called out to the few Supernaturals who had remained to watch the fight, sliding his weapon back into his waistband at the small of his back. The vampire heiress who had been Harold's target was nowhere to be found. Her posse of friends had whisked her away with the large group of humans who fled after the sound of the first gunshot. "There's cameras in here so if you think about running off, we'll be able to track you down," he warned, nodding to one of the devices in the corner of the room. After he was sure they weren't going to try to take off, he pulled out his phone and called the agent hotline, giving them the location of the incident so he would have backup on their way. After he ended the phonecall, he looked back down at Harold's body at his feet, a deep crimson pool of blood beginning to spread out from his deceased coworker's head. Benjamin cursed under his breath.

---

The incident happened just after one in the morning. Now, at seven twenty-six AM, Benjamin was just pulling into the carport next to his home. The adrenaline had long since worn off and his face ached from the devastating punch Harold had dealt. The paramedic on scene had set his nose for him and stopped the bleeding, but he would probably look like a raccoon for the next couple weeks with all the bruising. After a small turf war with the police who had started roping off and securing the building, the SIB had taken over the investigation and began with witness statements. Once backup had arrived Benjamin ventured to the freezer in the back of the kitchen to see if the young escort who'd been attending him had taken his advice. Of course, there was no one there. He hoped she had gotten out with the first wave and was alright.

Benjamin had pointed the agents tasked with gathering evidence to the blood on the floor that was Sicario's, whoever that was. His coworkers seemed to have a familiarity with the title but not an identification of who exactly it belonged to. Benjamin had the distinct feeling that the woman he'd seen upstairs before she'd chased after Harold was the same Celesse he'd met in the bar Friday night, but the coincidence was far too strong. Right? Of course he couldn't rule it out. But it seemed ridiculous, too. He'd just had the woman on his mind and made her description fit what he'd seen, that was all.

"You're slipping, Credit," he told himself as he turned on the cold water in the shower. How in the world were they going to handle all the humans who had been at the scene when Harold had leaped down upon them? Thankfully he hadn't fully transformed, and while he hadn't looked like a werewolf he was still... monstrous. Benjamin let the water drum against his face and chest, running pink with blood down the drain. What had he gotten himself into...?
 
She was back at Newmark Tower, stripping off the ruined clothes. Celesse appeared in the mirror on her way into the Master bedroom’s bathroom, she stopped and looked at herself. Her fingers tracing the outline of the now-gone bite marks. Maybe she should invest in a collar of sorts, that was too close to death. Turning from the sink, she found comfort of the hot shower, fogging up the glass doors that encased her into its shell. Closing her eyes, she relished the feeling of her muscles relaxing under the hot liquid. It didn’t take her long to clean herself up, and switch into more comfortable attire – a regular, grey t-shirt, joggers, and slippers.

Her hair damp, pooled down her back, stopping in the middle of it. Celesse had poured herself some wine and took a seat on the black single-couch, she sagged into its fold, taking a sip of the vice. The night had already come and gone, dawn break was coming, and she was still trying to process what had happened at the club. Alaric’s confirmed suspicions of Lucien’s on-coming faction war were confirmed when he attacked Lucius, only to be captured himself. The trap was sprung when the wolves surrounded the building and their Leader taking the initiative to head into the building first, was a mistake on his part. The hidden soldiers were waiting for him the entire time, taking him down in a matter of moments with a special type of tranquillizer made specifically for him. He was taken away in a cage, equipped for handling the pack leader, at the back of a truck that was taking him towards his new home – Prison of Seattle’s Supernaturals.

Her mobile had been on mute, it was blowing up from the many contacts within the city. Many of calls coming from the leaders of the various factions, they wanted information on what happened. With SIB scrambling to clean up the place under disguise, the supernaturals that reported back to their leaders were being treated like outcasts. Just who was daring enough to start a battle, right in the middle of down town Seattle? A majority of the inner city and other places marked around Seattle were claimed by the Vampires. Below Seattle, where the Industrial District was along with Harbor Island, and most of West Seattle was claimed by Werewolves – who’d been growing in numbers lately, a cause most concerned for the Council. The other parts of Seattle belonged to other supernaturals, most of whom were fine with living in their current situation, but there were still a number of them who were thinking of joining the werewolves. The strongest always won out the weak, right?


—

​
Alaric was alarmed at Celesse’s news, she’d been in battle with the target she was tasked with weeding out. More so, getting bitten by a Werewolf, he pondered if she would turn into one? Perhaps a half-breed? No, that’d be impossible, shapeshifters were strong to take out viruses attacking their unique DNA, right? Not only that, one of his own had been caught in the fray. He wouldn’t live down the criticisms from the Royalty living in the vicinity.

When SIB was dispatched to take over the investigation, his own mole in their ranks reported that Celesse was likely on those tapes. Alaric wouldn’t meddle in an investigation, but did Mr. Credit know it was her? If the shapeshifter gave her position away so soon in the investigation on him, how else would he obtain the information he needed? There was a meeting likely to be held soon, The Council had been noticing the factions within Seattle growing with ire, and that was a problem that needed to be dealt with. The Vampire would need to up the deadline on Benjamin Credit, if Celesse couldn’t get what he needed, he would just have to deal with it himself. Alaric rarely failed to get what he needed in terms of incriminating evidence or even vital information. He’d dislike to see himself working his methods on the recently-inducted Mortal Agent to become the first to die in his new line of work.
 
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After the shower, Benjamin changed into a pair of basketball shorts and a plain grey t-shirt. He knew he needed to eat something, but he had no appetite. He fell forward onto his mattress and wrapped his arms around a pillow, pressing his face gingerly into it. A disaster, Credit, he told himself. You're out of your league. What a fool you are. The pressure against his injured nose gave him the self-inflicted pain he desired to go along with those words. Up until now, despite the fact that he had hunted down the world's worst terrorists and most dangerous criminals, at least things had made sense. But the events of last nights's debacle...? He felt like he had stepped into the Twilight Zone. The question that was most pressing in his mind was why Harold had invited him to the bar that night, if he knew his goal was to murder someone...?

Before he realized it, Benjamin had fallen asleep as he lay pondering these things. His weary body eased into a dreamless sleep, which he woke from three and some hours later. He wanted to go back into that blissful darkness, but there was work to be done and already his mind was churning. His eyes watched the clock on his bedside table, doing the math. He needed to see what was on those security tapes, and by now they probably had them in the media room at the SIB. He started to pull himself out of bed and immediately fell back into it, grunting. His whole chest ached, his arms stiff and sore. The paramedic had told him last night that he hadn't broken any bones, but nearly his whole ribcage was bruised. It hurt just to breathe.

Slowly he pushed himself into a sitting position, his legs over the side of the mattress. This was going to suck. He stood slowly, stretched as much as he dared, and went to get ready to go into work.

---

Despite it being Sunday, the SIB was buzzing. A number of agents had been called in after the incident early that morning. They were all stunned. It was such a bold attack. There were so many mortal witnesses. And a werewolf dead. This was the messiest case they'd had in a while. In general, the idea was to keep the peace. Neither the mortals nor the supernaturals wanted to stir the pot. But something deeper was going on.

Benjamin was still exhausted and tried not to make too much conversation with his coworkers as he entered the building. A couple of them darted uneasy looks at him - after all, he had killed one of their own. The only reason he was still on the case was because he was a primary witness to what had happened.

He'd picked up several breakfast burritos from a fast-food chain on his way in and filled his mug with coffee in the kitchen before moving to his desk, sitting down gingerly. You never really realized how much you used your ribs until they were sore. Logging onto his computer he opened up his e-mail while practically stuffing a whole burrito in his mouth. He froze suddenly when he saw something in his inbox from Harold. Benjamin glanced around to make sure no one was looking over his shoulder, then opened the letter.

"Benny!

Sorry to do you like this, man. I figured I owed you the truth, though. So hopefully it's Monday by the time you read this, and Isabelle and I are long gone from Seattle. We've been seeing each other secretly for months now. She's a vampire princess, basically. I scored big time.

Anyway, what I really wanted to tell you is to watch your back, man. I wasn't honest with you when I invited you to the club. I was tasked to kill you. I don't really get all the politics, but we found out the vampires are looking for you for some reason. My pack leader figured if we could get to you first, then we'd be one step ahead of the vampires. I couldn't do it, though. Killing's not really my thing, you know?

Well, sorry for causing a scene. Gotta make it look graphic so my girl and I can run away together. Peace, man.

Harold"


Attached was a screenshot of the text message from an unknown sender requesting the hit. Benjamin read the email three times, his eyes glued to the screen. Then he deleted it and sat back in his chair. What the hell...? The email was timestamped just a few minutes after he'd arrived at the club. Harold must have had it saved in his drafts just in case he didn't show up. But what kind of idiot would send a message like that through work e-mail, where it could be traced...?

"Credit!"

Benjamin gave an uncharacteristic jump at the sound of his name, wincing at the pain that ensued. "On my way," he said, grabbing another burrito to devour as he moved through the cubicles to the media room, where his boss was standing at the door.
"We've got the tapes in, found a good shot of that woman who showed up on the scene. From what we can tell, she tipped the bouncer to skip the line and headed almost immediately for the stairs. She was hunting someone, too. Take a look," he said, moving aside so Benjamin could enter the room.

They had the video frozen on a frame of Celesse's face. It wasn't a perfect image, slightly grainy and the lighting was weird from all the coloured strobes, but Benjamin knew. It was her. He pulled out his phone and sent a text.

"We need to talk."
 
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Blinking her eyes open, Celesse awoke to the sun peaking through the windows. She shot upright, and blinked more while rubbing the crust from her ducts. She must’ve fallen asleep at some point, she looked to her right to see a wine glass sitting atop it, with a bottle of red next to it. Grabbing the bottle, it was light, not an ounce of its tempting liquid remained. She set it back down and stood, stretching out her limbs. Looking outside she was greeted with the ocean, taking note of a ferry coming in – likely from Alaska. She walked away from the windows and flicked the television on, just catching the afternoon news on Channel 7.

“Welcome back to KIRO 7 News, I’m Michelle…”

“And I’m Tracey.” Says the second Anchor Woman.

Celesse listens while she goes to the kitchen and makes herself a quick egg and bacon sandwich. While she’s cooking, the news gets around to the second bout of crime reports, “…late last night at Club Trinity in Downtown Seattle, a brawl broke out, sending civilians to race out of the club. The fight resulted in 1 causality, the victim known as Harold Gardener was a beloved local working at Seattle’s Police Department.” It shows a picture of the werewolf in his mortal form. “From accounts of neighbours and co-workers, he was a man who believed in upholding the law, protecting Seattle from danger, and volunteered at the homeless shelters during the weekends. As it happens, he spent Saturday night celebrating his 28th birthday. Though he had no children or wife, he will be missed in the community. The SPD declined to comment on last night’s event. There have been eye-witness accounts of Harold’s murderer being a woman, but that was ruled out as a rumour from the Chief of SPD. It was an accidental murder as Harold was trying to break up a fight that had happened between two drunk patrons on the dance floor. We at KIRO 7 News would like to extend our sincerest condolences to his family, friends, and colleagues. May Harold live peacefully in the afterlife…”

Celesse stood there, placing the last toast atop her well-made sandwich. She flicked the channel to another program. This one had reality TV playing, likely re-runs from another show she only put on for background noise. ‘Accidental death?’ Celesse placed her food at the dining table, pouring herself some coffee to go along with her breakfast. She finally picked up her discarded phone off the ground and took a seat at the table. Miraculously the battery didn’t die, she munched on her breakfast while she scrolled through the missed calls and messages. Opening her inbox, atop all of the others was a message from Ben 10, himself.

“We need to talk.”


—​


Turning down the corridors, the Vampire moved like he floating above the ground. Not even the sounds of his footsteps could be heard as he hurried towards the front foyer. Once there, he appeared at the balcony, looking down at the Royal Vampire, Head of the Valerius Clan, Cassius Valerius. Once their eyes met, it was recognized that Valerius was a drinker of Mortal blood, his eyes were pure red.

“Cassius.” Alaric spoke from atop the foyer.

“Alaric.” He retorts, watching the Vampire Overlord come down the steps with fluidity.

Once at the bottom, they formally greeted one another with the phrase he used with Sicarius. Then, Cassius kissed Alaric’s family crest ring. Though it was shining bright out in the outside world, it was dark as night where they were. The lights bathed them in an ominous atmosphere as they went from the foyer towards the library. Within Alaric’s Manor he had many empty rooms, not many servants to tend to him and he liked it that way.

“Has Isabella, told you of her…” His top lips curls, “Deceased dog.” Cassius inquires as they make it into the library. One of his most trusted servants comes bringing in refreshments, particularly for Alaric. Cassius despised Human food and would likely cut his own tongue than eat it.

Alaric plucked open the tea pot, tossing in his favourite tea leaves and poured himself a cup. Taking a long sip before answering the Valerius Heir. “No.” He simply says, crossing his legs.

“She planned to run away with that…wet…creature.” Cassius could thinly-veil his dislike of the werewolves. “And she was at that club last night. Rumours say a fight broke out between two factor members.”

He chewed on a cookie, nodding to his words, “That’s true. Though SIB covered it up as an accidental death. More of the factions are starting to grow irritated with our war on the werewolves.” Alaric dabbed away the crumbs on his lips, setting his handkerchief back on his lap.

Cassius furrowed his brow, “I don’t understand. Why quarrel with mortals present? They nearly outed our kind out. And in a club, no less.” He frowned.

Alaric licked his lips, “Valerius, surly you didn’t come all this way to gossip like Adelina and her ladies?”

“Why, I’m just bringing a concerning topic up, it involves everyone – not just Vampires and Werewolves.” Cassius rebukes, “Besides, you’ve been awfully quiet on the whole internal affairs of your own kind.”

“I’ve been busy with other matters that threaten the peace and co-existence among the mortals and supernaturals. Vampire conflicts can report to Internal Affairs Office, it’s not that far from here.” Alaric takes another drink of his steaming tea.

Cassius snorts, “That’s not what I meant. I mean…you feel it too, don’t you? The change in the winds lately. Lucien has been creating more werewolves, directly violating a law that-”

“I know.” Alaric interjects, placing the cup back down, “Lucien’s been imprisoned since last night.”

His brows raise, “H-how?”

“Like I said, I’ve been busy protecting our kind from afar. The mortals would likely turn on us if we were to just suddenly out ourselves. The Council has already agreed to burying his faction and running the remaining werewolves out of town.”

He narrows his eyes at him, “That can’t be possible. You don’t have grounds to…” His realization grows, “…so Lucius played a part in this, did he?”

“Perhaps he did. Though I won’t lie, I don’t have the evidence to bury his faction yet, but with concrete proof of his snake working in SIB – he’s been outed.” Alaric confesses.

“That doesn’t make sense. Lying won’t-”

“You can’t be against lying when that’s what’s brought you to Seattle. The Council will see to Lucien’s execution and likely those who were involved with him since the beginning.”


—

​
Celesse buried her feelings on the matter of what happened last. With Alaric retrieving his proof to imprison Lucien for the moment. There was still the matter of dealing with Benjamin, who she hadn’t a solid plan for yet. Celesse would have to tip toe around him, as he was working for SIB and she would likely be taken into custody if she were to be near him. The man seemed to have a great tracking record of taking down criminals and placing them in a concrete prison, but for her, it would likely take more than a silver bullet to take her out or even handcuffs.

The shapeshifter doubted Alaric would give her a favour of destroying the evidence that she was ever at Trinity. She couldn’t blame her ever-employer for not wanting to meddle in SIB’s investigations. It would cause conflict with the American Government and Alaric wasn’t one to risk his own hide and the peace of coexisting among the humans over one simple supernatural. She wrinkled her nose at the burnt coffee, not to her liking as she downed it in one go. Celesse quickly got ready for another day of working. Her messages would continue to pile up, yet she did not bother opening them up, it would just give her a headache. After switching into a regular shirt, jeans, and ankle boots, she opted for a grey hoodie and a leather jacket to keep her warm.

Celesse looked down at her phone, Credit’s message open, she hovered her fingers over the digital keyboard before typing a reply, “Sure. Where do you want to meet?” Hitting the send button. Letting her hair hang out today, she pulled the hoodie over her head and disembarked from the penthouse.
 
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"Well?"

Benjamin slid his phone back into his pocket, looking up at his boss and shrugging. Damn, that hurt. He needed to stop moving. "I mean, it's obviously the woman I saw that night. Harold called her 'Sicarius'. Does that name ring a bell?"

The Captain stared at him for a long moment. "The name sounds familiar," he said finally. "We should have a folder on her. Let me know what you find," he said before leaving Benjamin to watch the rest of the footage.

The two technicians ran the video through three times for Benjamin, though they stayed silent the whole time. Due to the angle, it was difficult to tell if Harold had made any actual move that warranted his being killed. The witnesses were split about 50/50. Half said they saw movement, the other half said they couldn't tell. Benjamin knew what he had seen. He wasn't a trigger-happy cop. He was a highly trained... murderer.

"Thank you," he said when he had reviewed everything he wanted to, making his way back out of the media room. He knew what they were seeing on TV. They had it on in the break room, and every once in a while the news story would come up. An 'accident'. But it wasn't. Benjamin had seen the look in Harold's eyes, his claws reaching toward him, and he'd pulled the trigger. Even if it wasn't his original intention, Harold would have wasted him in a second. And now Benjamin knew why. He'd rather be dead than put in prison and separated from his love.

What a stupid reason to die. Benjamin felt an ache, deep within his chest. He sorely regretted having to kill Harold. The e-mail he'd received this morning just made it all the worse.

The SIB agent had made his way even deeper down into the bowels of the building to the file room, where he requested and was granted access to the Sicarius file. When the assistant returned from the back, however, she was empty-handed. "I'm sorry," she said with a shake of her head. "I guess the computer was mistaken. We don't have a file back there under 'Sicarius'. Sometimes that happens when someone creates the record but there's nothing to put in there, so we don't end up with any physical copies of anything," she offered.

Benjamin thanked her and made his way back up to his office, sinking heavily into his chair. What was going on...? He felt like he was on a wild goose chase. Invisible "X" and Celesse at the bar who turned out to be Sicarius at the club, a spec of blood in an alleyway with no body, and Harold dead at his feet. Every time he thought he was landing on a solid hit, it vaporized in his hand and faded away like mist. He ran a hand down his face and stared at the blank monitor on his desk.

After a minute, Benjamin pulled his phone back out of his pocket and responded to Celesse's message. "My place, 7:30pm. Can you make it? 533 Waverly Way, Kirkland." He was beyond pretenses now. She had shown up where he was twice in less than two days. It was difficult to believe in that kind of coincidence. Especially when she had lied to him the first time. Just moved into town on Friday night, and on Saturday night time to hit the club and pick a fight with a werewolf? Yeah right. And what did she know of him? Was she aware he worked with the SIB? If not before, then she probably did after last night. He had been surprised, then, that she agreed to meet him.

Another, this time amusing, thought entered his mind. Maybe she was the person the vampires were sending after him that Harold had warned about, and here he was inviting her right to his own doorstep. But that would mean he had to believe his coworker's written words in the first place, which he didn't necessarily. He could not think of any conceivable reason for a vampire to be looking for him, except for maybe dinner. And they could get that anywhere, he wasn't exactly the last human on the planet (yet). And besides, if that was the case Celesse twice now had the opportunity to kill or capture him, whatever it was this vampire messenger was supposed to be doing, and she had not. So what game was afoot? Done with his pondering for the time being, Benjamin woke his computer back up and googled the word 'sicarius'.
 
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Before Celesse ordered a taxi, she was punching in the address on her Google Maps app. 2 of the routes were short though they had tolls and she didn’t feel like paying anything more than the taxi ride. ‘I-90 E and I-405 N seems the safer bet. Though it will cost more in a 24 min ride, that’s if the traffic is light.’ She thought to herself as she debated choosing that one and one going via WA-520 E and I-405 N. His message didn’t seem urgent, so Celesse figured he could wait for her arrival while she bided her own time on what to say. She called a taxi and gave directions via her phone while the driver programmed it into his own GPS. He was an older male, likely in late 40’s, who was of mortal form. She climbed into the back and pulled out her phone to look at it, making sure her driver didn’t have other intentions. Celesse was aware of the male checking her out in the rear view mirror.

“Are you from around here?” The male asked, turning onto 3rd ave.

“Sure.” She kept her words curt and clipped.

“I get many passengers, and I’ve never seen you around before. Tourist?”

While her hands are working her phone, she spares a single glance to the rear view mirror, “Why don’t you drive? I’ll make it worth your while if you remain silent for the rest of the ride, yeah?” She even tossed a $100 bill into the front.

The male nods, tucking it into his cup hole before continuing to drive, “You don’t mind me playing music, do ya?”

She shrugs her shoulders, “If that’s what helps you be silent quicker. You’re pleased to do what you want.”

He nods, turning the radio on to some Oldies station. From the speakers, she could hear, I’m Your Puppet, play. It was comical since this song was basically a polite way of saying, ‘Let’s have s—’ Celesse nearly snorted at the music choice. But she couldn’t lie, she enjoyed these type of tunes more often than modern stuff on the charts. She buried herself into the comfort of the backseat, it wasn’t plush, but it was comfortable and that’s all she wanted in the moment as she went away at replying to her clients.


—​


After seeing the Royal Vampire out, Alaric was back to his own work. He always had a pile of work waiting for him, awaiting his signature on more delicate operations. While he continued to do that, he’d check back in with his contacts within the city. Smoothing their worries with such comforting words that put the Leaders at ease. Their outcasted members soon welcomed back into their doors, letting them relay detailed information on the account. Some of the supernaturals told their account of an unknown woman taking out a werewolf caught in the fray. Many told of her being called, Sicarius, and some of that information made it back to the pack sitting with tense malice on Harbor Island. Lucien, on the other hand, had no idea his own middle-man had killed one of his own—it was one rule he laid out for Celesse, Never kill any of his kind. But she didn’t kill him, it was the SIB Agent. As if playing a game of telephone, the information got garbled and mixed up, landing into the pack’s lap as Celesse being the murderer and not Benjamin Credit.

Lucien’s second-in-command, Luca, was sitting in Lucien’s office, going over the information he had on what happened at Club Trinity. Like in a crime show, he had a cork board, photos placed over a map of Seattle, strings attaching to those that were involved in the incident. The one thing they didn’t have, was an accurate depiction of Celesse, so it was just a giant ‘?’ mark over a crinkled paper and a string connecting her to Harold in the middle. He stroked the stubble growing on his chin, wondering how the impossible happened in such a short time frame. His green irises flickering to the photo of Benjamin on the other side of Harold’s photo.

Information relayed under both as, “SIB Agent? Recent transfer from another department? Check contacts for more information.”

Under Celesse as, “Sicarius? Murderer? How did she know Harold? What motive did she have?”

It was almost comical in a way because Luca couldn’t believe the only shapeshifter he knew to kill one of their kind. In fact, Celesse never killed anyone she was contracted to kill. Sure, there were some she had to take out according to his Leader’s list, in their own pack, but other than that she never killed out of sheer bliss or that’s what he thought.

“Marcus.” His voice booming out from the open door.

A gruff, taller, and buffer male peaked in, “Yeah?”

“Get me what you can on this Benjamin Credit. Something tells me he’s not where he should be. Somehow he connects to Celesse and Lucien.” Luca points to the board.

Marcus lifts his brows, “I’m not sure what I can get on Celesse without a concrete photo of her, but I’ll see what I can dig up.”

Luca nods, “Don’t delay any further. I need to prove our bosses’ innocence. I know those bloodsuckers are up to something.” He continues to look at the board while deep in his thoughts. Marcus is already gone from the warehouse and making his way to collect the information.
 
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Around mid-afternoon, Benjamin spent some time in the men's restroom changing his bloodied bandages. He had a thin bandaid across the bridge of his nose from the cut that had been caused by Harold's first punch, and blood was beginning to pool behind his skin in deep circles under his eyes. He really didn't care too much. His nose had been broken a dozen times before, and it wasn't like he was out on the town trying to show off for anyone. If anything, the clear appearance of having been in a fistfight would stave off awkward small talk with strangers for the next week or two. Benjamin was ok with that.

The cuts on his chest were more bothersome. The deeper holes from the werewolf's claws and the scratches that descended downward from them were difficult to locate a standard bandaid for. He'd gone with gauze and medical tape. With the wounds being less than 24 hours old, they still bled easily and would soak through his shirt if he wasn't careful. He had to wait for a couple of them to stop seeping before donning his shirt again and sitting back down at his desk.

There was an awkward tension amongst his coworkers now. As Senior Lead Investigator, they still had to report to him even though he was part of the case. Under normal police rules Benjamin would have been excused from the case, but things worked a little different when you were dealing with the paranormal. It was clear, though, that the building was quickly being split in two. There were those who believed in Benjamin's innocence, and there were those who believed in Harold's. Of course, everyone remained professional. You didn't get accepted into an organization like the SIB with a childish attitude. But it was clear that the stress of this case was straining everyone involved. Underlying it all was the sense that there was something not quite right with the factions. Trouble was brewing all around.

At 6pm Benjamin called it quits. He was exhausted. He wasn't a fan of medication of any kind, but halfway through the day he'd taken a couple ibuprofen along with two bananas someone had left in the break room for almost a week. They were going bad, and he hoped the potassium would aid his sore muscles. He needed sleep, too, but that would have to wait.

He stopped by Subway on his route home and got a roast beef footlong on wheat bread, double meat and lots of vegetables. Once home he devoured the sandwich, finally feeling satisfied for the first time that day. The events of the previous evening had really thrown off his appetite. 'Cause you killed a guy.
Benjamin sighed, standing at the small island in his kitchen and leaning against his arms, hands on the counter. This was going to be a difficult one to get over. He wondered if he'd be allowed at Harold's funeral. He wondered what they were telling his family.

Around seven Benjamin took a shower to clean up from the day, pausing afterward to look at himself in the mirror. He ran a hand along his jawline, prickly with dark stubble. As the shaving cream foamed up against his skin, he finally thought about the meeting tonight. If, that was, Celesse even showed up. What was she expecting from such a meeting...? Hell, what was he expecting? Just answers. Even an answer. He just needed something. Anything.

Now changed into a pair of athleisurewear pants and yet another grey FBI t-shirt, Benjamin sank into an armchair in the living room to wait for Celesse's arrival, closing his eyes to rest.
 
Celesse took a detour from the taxi cab, she’d been half asleep when she read his text. ‘7:30 PM?’ She still had a lot of time to kill and there was time to head back to her apartment in Mercer Island, having the taxi driver drop her off there instead. She told him to keep the change as she waited for him to depart from the curb, she headed into apartment building. Climbing a flight of stairs before entering her own shoddy cave in the wall on the top floor. Celesse chirped out, “I’m home~” To no one. Remembering she had already given her cat to one of the neighbours to watch, and she was positive her beautiful turkish angora was being treated fairly well. Though her complex was filled with nothing but mortals, she actually preferred it this way. Mercer Island was always neutral territory, and no one staked claims to it – at least not yet.

She took a seat at her monitors, booting the homemade PC to life, bringing her immediately to the lock screen requiring a password. The hint was simple enough for her, she entered her password to unlock the screens. Two monitors, showing two different photos of Celesse’s cat in cute outfits and one with her in the shot, they’d gone on a small vacation to the Bahamas, though her cat didn’t seem to like it, he was content in the massages. A smile graced her lips as she unlocked her programs, bringing the profile up to speed on Benny-boy, she started up a new chat with the mole in SIB.

“What did they find?” She typed.

Though it took around ten minutes to respond, it was a large wall of text;

“It’s not good, they got a good view of your face, but the video is fairly grainy. The fight in the recording doesn’t really show you that well though. It does show Benjamin killing Harold, and everyone’s rather apprehensive around him. I’m positive half of the office hates him, and the other half believes he was in the right to shoot Harold. I did as you asked last night, anyway, get this. Benjamin must’ve heard what Harold called you, ‘Sicarius’ and he tried accessing the files on it, but the assistant had nothing to give him. Anyway, I have to get back to work now, oh but before I go…I thought I should let you know. Lucien was caught by C.”

She sat back in her chair, she already knew about Lucien being caught. Unknowingly, she played a part in it that she was only paid to do. Celesse nibbled on her bottom lip, it seems Credit was aware of her code name, but other than Harold calling her it, he had no other solid proof of who he thought she was. This gave her some semblance of relief for now, the other question was what or how was she going to charm her way into his life?

Celesse remained in the comfort of her apartment for another few hours, grabbing a few items on the way out after it hit 7:00 PM. The shapeshifter called another taxi, taking the same route as she planned from before she learned about his text mentioning it later in the evening. Instead of answering emails, and calls, she locked her phone and stuck it into her pocket. This driver wasn’t a talker and that’s what she liked in mortals, those who were chatterboxes. Though it was a nice question when he finally spoke;

“Long day, kid?”

A small smile returned, “Something like that.”

“I hear ya. You and me, both. Can’t wait to get home to the wife.” He offered a smile and that was the rest of the conversation. Celesse closed her eyes, enjoying the comfort of a stranger’s car and company until they finally pulled up to the curb at Credit’s house. Celesse thanked the man and gave him a rather, too large of tip, and shut the door behind her.

‘So, this is where you live.’ Celesse’s eyes scanned the surroundings, noting how in disrepair it looked. Though the ocean view was nice, like the one back at the penthouse in Seattle. Without much else to look at, she knocked on the door, unsure if the door bell worked.
 
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At the sound of the knock on his door Benjamin jolted from his half-sleep, instinct pushing him to reach for the gun at the small of his back that wasn't there. He listened for a moment over the sound of the blood racing through his ears, gathering his thoughts from the fog of the dream world. Clarity returned quickly and he got to his feet, stepping to the door and unlocking the two deadbolts before opening it to Celesse.
"Glad you found the place," he said, moving to the side to allow her to enter. In her current form, Benjamin was at least a head taller. As he realized this, he recognized he was thinking about it only because this was the first time they had been in such close proximity. Once his mystery woman had made it inside, he gently closed the door behind her and re-engaged the deadbolts.

"Can I get you anything? I have beer, whiskey... I'm about to put on a pot of coffee for myself," he said, leading the way to the kitchen. He had been tempted with his staple, a bottle of ice cold beer from the fridge, but he knew it would only make him more tired. He needed the caffeine.

The house looked like a teenager mired deep in the difficulty of adolescence - it couldn't figure out what it wanted to be. It was both bold and timid, proud and shy, making a statement for itself while simultaneously trying to hide in the background. The one thing it had over such a child burgeoning on adulthood, however, was its cleanliness.
Benjamin's tastes were simple, clean, refined. He enjoyed a more modern look with dark woods and glass tables, clean lines and muted tones. The previous owners had been exuberant in their decorations with puzzles of beach scenes mounted in picture frames on the seafoam blue walls, fish bowls full of seashells and decorative sand, every square inch covered in senseless memorabilia that did nothing but collect dust. These items had been removed from the house, of course, but ghosts of them remained. Holes in the wall where nails had once held up photographs, bright patches of paint that had been hiding behind their mountings for years while the rest of the walls faded and were covered in grime. The awkward tension and clear battle between the chaotic thing the house had been and Benjamin's attempts to tame it echoed well his current mindset as he fought to understand this world of the supernatural he had stepped into.
 
Celesse heard the door unlocking, bringing it to her attention that this guy was unlocking more than one lock. ‘Okay, so he’s paranoid.’ She thinks as the door comes open to him greeting her. She gave him a smile, watching as he moved aside to allow her inside the small home. Celesse passed him, noting how tall he was compared to when they first encountered one another at Vlad’s. Celesse stood in the entrance a ways, pulling her hood down to reveal herself fully and to get a better look around at his “cave.”

“Can I get you anything? I heave beer, whiskey… I’m about to put on a pot of coffee for myself.” He said, prompting her to look towards the kitchen.

“I’ll have some coffee too, if you don’t mind.” She softly spoke, her accent apparent. Celesse’s skills were likely not on par in the coffee making department. Though such a simple thing to make, she always managed to burn the coffee or make it way too light – which is why she left it to the pros.

While he was making noise in the kitchen, Celesse turned her attention back to checking out the house. Wasn’t everyday you got to wander into the lion’s den. ‘Lion’s den? More like a lamb’s.’ Celesse could tell by the way how neatly everything was arranged, or rather how clean his house was, that he was probably one of those guys who were punctual. She wandered closer to the walls, letting a finger swipe across it, then rub it between her index and thumb. ‘He must’ve just started working on the house.’ Benjamin was a kind, but quiet host, she pondered if he was still processing what he had stepped into. She could scarcely relate to a mortal just waltzing into another world without even getting the basics, Celesse concluded it was likely shocking to him.

After checking out the nails and the rest, she made her way into the living room and found a spot on the couch. ‘Will he mind if I take my coat off? Nah.’ Celesse pulled her leather coat off, hanging it over the back of the couch and made herself comfortable.

“What did you want to talk about, Mr. Benjamin?” She asked, crossing her legs, awaiting him.
 
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"Sure, coffee," Benjamin nodded as he disappeared into the kitchen to prep the machine. He never had anyone over so he didn't really know how to be a host. He hadn't thought about Celesse's coat or the fact that she might like to be pointed to a place where she could sit down and relax, though the house was small enough that it was pretty self-explanatory.

He had known as soon as he'd positively identified her on the CCTV footage that he needed to speak with her. But Benjamin struggled with the conflict of interest between his personal life and his job. That first night at Vlad's, Celesse had inserted herself into his personal life, but after the events of the previous night she was now part of an ongoing investigation. By inviting her over he was pretty blatantly ignoring some of his own individual rules, but what was more pressing at the moment was gathering answers to the questions burning in his mind.

Once the coffee maker was done he poured two mugs, bringing them out to the living room and handing one to Celesse. Up close, it was easier to see the long, silvery scars that ran the length of his right forearm where rods and screws had been inserted into bone to reconstruct it after the Humvee carrying his team had hit an IED in Afghanistan. "Firstly, you don't have to call me 'Mister' anything," he said as he took a seat in a chair across from her. "Just Benjamin is fine," he took a sip of the strong, black liquid and leaned back in his seat.

"Secondly I need you to know that while I had guessed as much after that evening at the bar, it was made clear last night that you're no mortal," his dark eyes fell to her neck, where she had sustained a bite that would have turned any normal human into a werewolf, if they were able to survive the blood loss. Celesse, however, retained not even a tooth mark. "And thirdly... I don't know how much you know about me," he said in a way that suggested he had his suspicions, "but I need you to know that I'm an agent for the SIB, and this is not an interrogation." It was a matter of business to get that out of the way. He had invited her here on no official terms.

"What I would like to know," he continued, finally able to get to the start of satiating his lack of knowledge and understanding. "Is what your intentions were at the club last night." The question was straightforward, but not accusatory.
 
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Celesse looked out the window, it started to drizzle, low tufts of grey clouds hung in the air. Regret clung to her mind about not bringing her umbrella along, perhaps it would stop by time she returned to the city – she even doubted that. Her thoughts interrupted by the male coming into view, she silently accepted the mug while noting the scars that ran along the length of his right forearm. Celesse took a sip of the black liquid, it reinvigorated her with renewed energy, she would have to ask him on how to work a coffee pot. She placed the mug on the glass coffee table, leaning back into the sofa and looking at the SIB Agent, who started talking.

Celesse snorted, letting him finish his talk of what he brought her here for. ‘I seriously need to be careful.’ She chided herself, this guy before her was just laying his cards out for her to see when she haven’t even played two herself. ‘Mortal? Well…least he knows his place.’ She sat upright to take the mug again and take a sip of its contents again. Nearly choking on her drink, she set the mug back down to raise an eyebrow at him outing himself to her.

She locked gazes with the tattooed agent, “What I would like to know; is what your intentions were at the club last night?” Her facial expressions have all been neutral with the three points he wanted to get across and out in the open. A smile graced her lips, “Benjamin, have you hit your head on something? Why you’re speaking as if I know what you’re talking about.” Her accent was laid on thick this time, “It was a Saturday night, I wanted to have a little fun of moving into the states.” Though her eyes spoke of another tune, she knew exactly what he was talking about, but what proof did he have besides her being at the club, “It was mere coincidence that you were at the same club, I don’t live far from it.” She took another sip of the coffee, this time downing the contents in one go, “As for…SIB, you said? I have no clue what you’re talking about. Why would I need to be interrogated in the first place?” She asked back, putting the empty cup back onto the table and leaned back into the couch.
 
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Benjamin didn't like playing games. Small talk was a game. Flirting was a game. This tiptoeing around the truth dance that Celesse was doing with him was a game. He supposed he couldn't blame her for trying to keep up her facade, but he knew too much to trust in it. He watched as her eyes focused in on his - what colour would they be this time, and what would it mean?

He gave a small sigh as she balked, maintaining her innocence. This was why he was never good at interrogations - he had no patience for them. "Let's just set the story straight, shall we?" he said, taking another sip of his coffee before setting it on the side table beside his chair. How she had downed her own drink so quickly was beyond him. The coffee was hot, bitter, pungent. It was reminiscent of how she'd pushed back three straight shots on Friday night. "Saturday night - well, technically very early Sunday morning at that point," it was difficult to believe these events had all happened earlier this same day. "You show up in the club where I'm meeting one of my coworkers, Harold Gardener. For some reason you decide to make your way up the stairs to the VIP room, where you weren't invited, and where Harold is about to leap off the balcony into the dancers below," Benjamin paused here for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He was willing to give her information he believed she already knew, such as the fact that he was an agent with the SIB, but not private information or that which pertained to the investigation, like the fact that Harold had indeed intended to create quite a scene but never meant to mortally wound anyone. "Harold throws me around a little bit," damn werewolf, Benjamin thought as he continued, "I shoot him in the leg as he's retreating and finally makes it over the ledge. And that's when you show up. You wink at me," he said wryly, not having missed the gesture, "and then take off after Harold and engage him in a fight. But why?"

He leaned forward again, meaning business. He was giving her a chance to come clean, to offer the truth. He wanted her to give him this small thing, to give him a chance at connection. She was deeply involved in something that kept intersecting his life tangentially. There was some deep, brooding tension bubbling underneath the surface of the supposed peace between the supernaturals in this town, and his intuition told him she was mixed up in it one way or another. "Even as a fellow supernatural being, fighting in front of a bunch of us regular humans is a pretty bold move. You didn't see any of the other supernatural beings step in to do the same. Instead, they were doing what every other normal person would do - they were staying out of it and calling the police. You're brand new to town, just trying to have a fun evening at the club, and you end up in a brawl with a werewolf? But not just any werewolf... Harold recognizes you. He calls you by name. Or, at least, a name. Sicarius." The blade. The reference suggested an assassin. "Now tell me, Celesse, why the SIB wouldn't be interested in investigating that?"

Benjamin wasn't trying to corner her - he couldn't. He had no solid concrete evidence of... well, anything. No file on Sicarius, no file on Celesse either at the SIB. Whether she had recently moved here or not was of question, due to the fact that Harold recognized her. If she wanted to admit to something going on beyond the surface of the events at the club, it would be of her on volition. Benjamin only had one true card to play, and he was keeping it close to the chest. He didn't want to play this game that way, but he would if it came to that.
 
Celesse already knew of what he had spoken of. She heard Harold, and she had an inkling feeling that he would it bring up. She had time to correct her own version, even Google the word just to see what popped up—which she had no clue it was a spider, only more points to stall him. She leaned back and crossed her legs, figuring she would be here awhile with Mr. Benjamin Credit. He must’ve not noticed the occult books he left so carelessly out in the open, Celesse was stringing a story together while he was talking.

Watching the agent taking another sip of his black liquid, and talk. She crossed her arms, giving expressions questionable to what he was speaking of. Celesse couldn’t help herself and smile, lips spreading at his mention of her wink. ‘He didn’t miss that, why Benny you have a sharp eye.’ She thought, but she would not admit that. Even if he was an agent, he was just a smaller piece of the bigger picture unfolding as they spoke. Celesse nodded her head, more out of respect to say she was listening to what he thought happened. Of course, he couldn’t know that she really wasn’t there that night for him, it really was on a whim of what Alaric gave to her. It just been her luck that she found the correct culprit, this made her lip slightly twitch which would’ve been unnoticed by Ben 10. Celesse wouldn’t forgive the agent for meddling in business he shouldn’t be, he killed the one person who held crucial information.

She sat upright, leaning towards him and gave a wry smile, “Benjamin, that’s quite an imagination you have there. Are you sure you’re okay?” She feigns worry as she places a comforting hand on his shoulder and pats it lightly before letting her hand fall back to her side, “I know Harold’s passing must’ve been a big shock for you, but you must seek help if you really think I was there fighting in that brawl.” Celesse points to the books sitting out in the open, “Perhaps you should change your literature choice. I think your shock must have you spinning webs of…wild imaginations.” She lightly booped his nose, “And you fantasized about me winking at you? Benjamin, you naughty boy.” She joked then got serious, “Werewolves and supernaturals, I’m guessing you’re a big fan of the fantasy genre, Vampire Diaries? Don’t worry, I won’t tell your next date.” She winked mockingly.

“As for this…Sicarius, that’s a spider, if I’m correct. The Google is helpful these days. I read it was…top venomous spiders.” She feigned being surprised and then grew worried again, “Benny, I did not know you and Harold were so close. My advice is to seek a therapist and try to come to peace with his death.” Though she was faking her worry for him, Celesse pulled the 'Benny' nickname out, giving him something to work with. Though not entirely since she was there to see what she was working with.
 
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As he laid out the story, Benjamin could see Celesse's response already forming in her mind. She was reacting to him like she pitied him. Like he had just jumped down Alice's hole into Wonderland. It made him furious. He was not a person bent toward emotional decisionmaking, and neither did his emotions allow him to fantasize things like the wink that she denied, or the fact that her eyes had changed colour that night in Vlad's bar. He'd kept that one to himself, but it was clear what she would have said to him if he'd brought it up.

As Celesse drew near to pat his shoulder, he stiffened but did not react, the corner of his upper lip twitching in a barely withheld snarl. Her actions were so typical of someone who held power over someone else. If she wanted to she could probably punch him in the gut and rip all his intestines out. The kicker, however, came when she booped his nose. It was light enough that it didn't hurt, despite his nose being broken, but the act nevertheless was the last straw. He stood suddenly, his hands clenched into fists at his side, muscles in his arms taught against their tattooed skin, but he kept his breathing even.

He realized now why he had been so quick to text her after seeing the CCTV footage from the club. He needed help. And no, not the kind she was suggesting. He had seen any number of psychiatrists while in the army and after being discharged, and they all agreed he was doing surprisingly well despite the things he had seen, done, and experienced. "Don't patronize me," he growled. Benjamin didn't like asking for help. He was incredibly independent, and up until learning that the world was full of immortal beings who could destroy you with a flick of their little finger, he'd been able to handle every issue that came his way on his own. But here, now, he was in over his head.

"If you're not interested in being honest with me, then thank you for your time, but you need to leave," he said, sweeping his arm toward the door. It was rare for him to be so worked up, but it wasn't often he found himself in a place of such mortal vulnerability. However, he was still thinking clearly. His emotions would not subvert the plans he had laid. He was playing his card, the only one he had - the fact that for whatever reason, Celesse had wanted him to have her number. She needed him for something, and while Benjamin had no idea what, he knew he could leverage that.
 
Celesse, though provoking him intentionally, had another reason entirely for doing so. When she first arrived at the place, she couldn’t help placing a weird feeling about this house, a hunch you could say in human terms. But when a breeze slightly went over, she could tell now when she walked in. And when she entered, looking around at his belongings, and casing the joint—especially out the windows. The shrubs and bushes that were meticulously placed around his windows was a smart idea, though she could see the house from across the road.

She went with her instincts to guess who was eavesdropping on their conversation. While she was back at her own apartment in Mercer Island, she got another anonymous call. It was another warning from said caller, telling her to watch her back whenever she left again, “They’re watching you closely. Trust no one.” Celesse had an ominous feeling about this since then. Just who was watching her? She couldn’t know who was, but she guessed it was the Council’s watchdogs. The irked factions were buzzing alight. More contracts were falling into her lap more than usual—especially after last night’s debacle.

She couldn’t fault Benjamin for throwing her out, even after her teasing and joking around with him. Celesse was playing a game with him, sure, but she was playing an affront, masking the worry that had her thinking about the mysterious caller. So, when he motioned her towards the door, she took the chance to stand up. Celesse couldn’t divulge any information yet, not until she had a clearer picture of who was watching him. Putting her coat on, she decided, even if he didn’t like her touching him, she would give him a warning.

“Well, Benny…it was nice talking to you. I apologize for striking a touchy chord with you. Hopefully, this sad news of Harold’s death doesn’t weigh on you.” Celesse continued with her apparent front with a sad smile. She turned towards the door, pretending to trip and slightly stagger into his frame. Her left hand slipped into his, Celesse placed a folded note into his palm.

“O-oh my. Excuse my clumsy-self, Mr. Benjamin. I will see myself out.” Celesse said, apologizing again as she gripped the handle and went outside. The door lightly closing on itself. By time he would open it, she would already be gone, vanished without a trace—only the expensive perfume she wore.

The note would say, ‘They’re watching you.’ It was a vague and cryptic note, sure, but Celesse had to warn him somehow.
 
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Benjamin's teeth ground together as she used that annoying pet name. He wished she'd stop bringing up Harold, too. Of course he was still working through what had happened in the early hours of that morning. He'd given the werewolf a warning, and Harold had made his choice deliberately. Perhaps other actions could have been taken, but Benjamin had acted on the law he'd laid down, and now a man was dead because of it.

He was shaken from that angry thought as Celesse suddenly stumbled toward him and he reached out automatically to catch her by the arm, feeling the slip of paper being placed in his palm. His nose twitched and his jaw worked as the woman gathered herself again, and he watched from where he stood as she made her way to the door and vanished out of sight. He stayed there for several long minutes, controlling his breathing and working to calm his emotions. But it wasn't working. He needed to go for a run. Finally he glanced down at the note in his hand and unfolded it. "Fuck," he growled, crumpling it immediately and throwing it toward the ground. Of course, being a small slip of paper, even crumpled it didn't give him the satisfactory slam he wanted. How was it that he now had more questions than before? Who was watching him? And why the hell did he care? Let them watch him blast old paint off his house. It was thrilling, he was sure.

Benjamin stormed to the door, grabbing his running shoes from the closet and sliding them on before leaving the house, locking the deadbolts behind him. He took off immediately without a warm-up, ignoring the screaming in his chest from his bruised ribs. The pain just propelled him further forward, driving his feet into the pavement as he ran.

Ten miles later he had slowed to a walk and was on his way back to his house, overall feeling more at peace. He felt like an idiot, too. He wasn't used to inviting people into his life, and certainly not used to those people teasing him and calling him a nutjob for simply telling the truth. He couldn't think about Celesse right now, however, without getting a headache. He didn't get why she kept lying to him, didn't understand why she needed to know who he was, and certainly didn't know why she had given him that note. What was he supposed to do with that information? The drizzle outside had drenched him through on his run, but he didn't mind. Really, it was the least of his concerns.
 
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