At last, Sharon reached Charles' house. His neighborhood was a far cry from the one she had left. Expensive, well-crafted houses, green grass and trees in front of them. Not quite the manors or estates of nobility, but a certain step up from the hovels of the neighborhood Sharon and Siro lived in.
She shivered furiously. The temperature of the night had only continued to plummet, and the cold seeped right through her soaked clothes. Her legs burned, sore from all the day's walking.
She raised her fist and pounded on the door.
It took a moment, but the glow of a lantern soon leaked out from under the door. And it opened.
Sharon smiled as best she could with quivering lips. "Hi, Merissa."
Merissa was an older woman, about Charles' age, and it was beginning to show. Strands of gray mingled with her jet black hair. Tiny creases lined the dark skin of her forehead.
She gasped as soon as she saw Sharon. Called back over her shoulder, "Niko, light the hearthfire! And grab a blanket from upstairs!" Then, back to Sharon, "You look like you were lost at sea, dear. Dreadful, just dreadful. Come on, let's..." she wrapped an arm around Sharon's shoulders, guided her inside, "...get you warmed up."
"Thanks, Merissa."
"Shh, no need for that. You're always welcome here, Sharon. You're part of the family now."
* * * * *
Charles had his back to the wall. Moved along it right behind Gabriel. He aimed his pistol at the door on the right while Gabriel carefully opened the door on the left.
The shot rang out. Charles instinctively pressed himself harder against the wall, made his profile as small as possible. Gabriel charged in. If the first floor of the safehouse was any indication, then Gabriel certainly had the situation in the left bedroom handled.
So Charles rushed up to and kicked open the right door. Aimed his pistol at every corner of the room. Nothing but a bed and a table. No one. No crates, boxes, or barrels of any kind either.
"Ah! My hand! My fuckin' hand!"
Charles turned around and entered the left bedroom. A single lantern hanging from the ceiling provided light. Gabriel had the last man pinned, his hand twisted unnaturally. No crates in here either. But the top of someone else's head peeked out from the far side of the bed.
Charles kept his pistol trained on the hiding person's head as he moved past Gabriel and came around the front of the bed.
An elf. Unarmed, from what he could see of her clothes. And she only had a letter in her hands.
She looked up at him. Her eyes wide. Her body petrified.
God damn it. He didn't want to do this to her, should the shipment of Ignis root not be found in the house. She looked to be barely more than a kid in elven years. He didn't mind the job when he was up against other men who had taken up and lived by the gun or sword. That was just business, and the way business was supposed to be. But this, this elven girl...it wouldn't be right. Not at all. But it was the ugly side of the job.
Charles took two steps toward Gabriel and the pinned man. Crouched down. Pressed the pistol against the pinned man's head.
"Where's the shipment?"
"She has it! She has it! Please, don't do this! Don't—"
In one moment, the man's eyes were full of life. Terrified. Pleaded. The next, nothing. Dull. Blood and ichor stained the floor and the wall beside the man's head.
Charles' ears rang painfully. The small room and the loudness of the pistol shot were a bad combination. Might make him deaf one day.
He stood. Nodded to Gabriel. "Good work in here."
Charles holstered his main pistol and drew his reserve, switching it to his dominant right hand. He moved back around the front of the bed. Pointed it down at the female elf. She shrieked when she opened her eyes and saw it. Tears rolled down her face.
Jorge called from the hallway at the top of the staircase, "Boss! There's no crates of Ig down here!"
"I know," Charles called back. Then, to the elf, he made a 'come here' motion with his left hand. Spoke in a tone he didn't intend, but happened regardless: that of a father consoling his daughter. "Come on. Hand me that letter."
The elf had trouble breathing. Big, ragged, uneven breaths. She rocked forward onto her knees.
"Nice and slow. Come on."
She extended her trembled arm toward him. Presented the letter.
Charles took it, and kept the pistol aimed down at her with his other hand. He got a good look at the seal on the back, at the shape pressed into the hardened red wax: that of the snake eating its own tail. The ouroboros.
Charles didn't recognize the seal, and didn't think much of it. There had to be something of value in here. Intel, perhaps, on the real location of the shipment, or into Mr. Deegan's operations. He tucked his pistol between his left side and arm to free up his hand. Broke the seal. Tossed the envelope aside after he took out and unfolded the letter itself.
It read:
Monarch
rises
from
the
Abyss.
