The park was on the outskirts of San Francisco. Sara headed back into the city. The buildings loomed above her, casting shadows over her. Sunlight rayed between the skyscrapers. Breeze whistled through the tunnels of the streets as to tone a musical note before the day ended.
Keeping to the dark alleyways, no gangs were hidden out. Her ankle boots splashed in the water and clicked softly along the city’s rolling roads.
Sara peaked into a busy street filled with shops. People roamed around and were zoned out in their personal lives or hustling to get back home. She wondered how modern humans would treat the Galas if they figured out the supernatural lived among them; it’s been centuries since those two lived in destruction. The Pulse of Deception greatly helped the Galas hide between the realms of magic and normality.
She tugged her hood up, the Prowler concealing her bloody face and secretly praising herself for keeping her attire dark enough to subtly veil blood. Anti-arch needs a different name, so lame.
“I very much agree.”
Rolling her eyes, Sara stepped onto the sidewalk and tried to act casually. However, her gaze darted back and forth with curiosity and fear. Humans mingled together, some giving her questioning stares. If a cop came to query about her or a mundane person stupidly asked her if she was alright, she needed to be quick to come up with an answer.
The Prowler glanced around her to see no one coming to her and she continued walking down the sidewalks. Besides missions, she hadn’t been out of her home.
Nerves fluttering and wondering if she was going to get caught by the humans, Sara wasn’t afraid of them; however, if any Infernals—werewolves, vampires, or Infernals in their monstrous forms could smell their brother’s blood on her cloak—were present, they would go full swinging.
The town she was in had small shops and shortcut to where she had to go.
“You did well. I’m impressed by the swing of your sword, gaining a nice slash to finish the Infernal. You need more practice. If that idiot wasn’t so dumb, there would have been many vulnerabilities where he could’ve attacked you. And you let your guard down by sniffing your damn cloak…”
Sara pulled out her phone underneath her skort and tried to ignore the man’s rant as if he were an annoying fly buzzing in her ear. She nearly forgot to check the mission was done.
As she finished messing around with the app during her walk, her body slammed against someone else. Her body jerked back, and the girl’s fingers reflexively snatched to her sword hidden in her cloak. Yet, she clutched her palms in pain as hot liquid ran down her tank top and down on her exposed but bloody stomach.
“Oh hell,” blurted a man, who looked down at the four spilled cups of coffee on the ground. His eyes flashed up at the stranger’s distraught face. “I do apologize for my clumsiness. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” He seemed to be in a rush somewhere, and his mind gaze beforehand was looking somewhere else than in front of him.
The coffee cups rolled messily around, the liquid contents splattered hotly everywhere and on her ankle boots—to her distaste. The smell of grounded beans did not mix well with her bloody state.
Words could not form in her throat. Sara tried to hide the burning pain in her stomach as she ground her teeth together. With a tightened jaw, she huffed under her alert breath, “Shit, oh I mean…damn it!” The Prowler glanced at dark chocolate eyes back at her stricken complexion. “Ah, you humans get so offended by those words—I mean, I’m sorry.” She started to pick up the cups and the other person also did the same, and they banged their heads against each other.
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“Ow!” Sara’s hood dropped, revealing her clumpy black hair. She rubbed her temple and wondered how worse her life could get.
The man with smooth black hair blinked at her clothing and furrowed his neat eyebrows, “Is that blood on you?” The scent around her smelled like sticky iron. He looked back into her bewildered eyes, which were so dark they looked black. The clumps of her black hair were drenched in blood and her breath had a rotten stench as if she bathed in a tub of organs.
Sara started, thinking to come up with a quick answer, “Um…” For some reason, this stranger looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place a finger on why he did. “Halloween party! Fake blood.” She traced her finger along her arm and sucked on the drying blood off her finger, “Corn syrup!” It took all she could not to gag on the indescribable taste of demonic blood. Sara gritted her teeth at the awful lie that she conjured up.
“You know it’s only September?” He grabbed the cups from her and silently scoffed at her trying to act nonchalantly.
Clutching her cloak in embarrassment, she hated herself for not looking at where she went. “My friends wanted to celebrate early—”
“Like you have any friends,” a voice chuckled in her head.
“I’m so sorry,” she continued. “I’ll pay for the coffee.”
“No, it’s fine,” answered the man, staring at her suspiciously. “I was distracted by where I was going. Are you okay?” Where the hot coffee spilled, it reddened her stomach and the male’s lips turned into a grimace of guilt.
“Um, sorry again!” Not thinking what to say next, Sara dashed away from the onlookers, she yanked the hood over her head and felt the random guy’s stare bear down on her. She wanted to run away from this town as soon as possible. She couldn’t believe her clumsiness.
At least she didn’t sense him being a Gala which would’ve made the situation much worse. The Prowler hurriedly slipped back into the comfortable silence of the dark alleys and went the long way home. She didn’t want to be spotted again or reported by the police.
The long way wasn’t bad, but the blood had more time to dry on her body which caused a crazy itch on her. Some splotches of slimy Infernal’s blood hadn’t dried up. Sara stepped out from the alleyway into the quiet streets of San Francisco. The streetlamps above her shone brightly from the night sky.
In front of a huge cathedral, a few cars were parked near it. No one strolled on the sidewalks, only a teenager walking alone in the stilled night.
Sara walked up the stairs of the cathedral and pushed on heavy doors with ostentatious arches above her. A statue of a Choir was praying in the middle of the arch. Words engraved overhead her that read: The Cathedral Basilica of Saint Raziel.
When Sara entered the church, the wooden ornamented doors gave a low groan and they shut behind her. Strolling quietly into an ornate sanctuary that had dark oak pews, she walked to a flowing fountain. Arches rose above her, and the sunlight spilled out from embellished stainless glasses, leaving the room glowing with a variety of colors. On the wall where a cross was suspended above the altar, there was a painting of heavenly light spilling from the clouds behind the cross.
Humans were silently sitting on the pews, their heads bent down and muttering in prayers. Sara inhaled deeply and walked to the holy water fountain. She dipped her fingers and a tingling feeling pricked along her skin.
She flicked a glance at the humans, who prayed with closed eyes. With hurried footsteps, she went into the confessional booth—a heavy, dark oak wooden structure—so the mundane couldn’t detect her stink.
There were single doors where a priest sat on one side and the prayer stand was on the other side. Sara sat down with a sigh of relief. She had been on her feet all day, killing the annoying Anti-arches trying to wreak havoc.
“How may I help you?” Father Clark questioned her in a whisper tone. His head was bowed down and ready to listen to her prayer.
Sara blew out the sticky strands of her hair from her face and replied, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned; it’s been seven days since I read the four gospels of the Bible.”
Raising his eyebrows slightly, Father Clark looked at her bloody state. His voice was calmer than still waters when he said, “May I ask who you assassinated?”
“Anti-arches. The name is so lame,” replied Sara with slumped shoulders.
The priest nodded with a contented and warm smile. He snapped his fingers. No one in the sanctuary could see the bright white light illuminating the cracks on the floor in the confessional booth, for violet curtains were drawn over the window panels. The glowing luminescence surrounded Sara. The confessional booth started to drop down like an elevator, and a new one appeared.