4 days, 4 stories, 300 words. Each with a different set of prompts. I've chosen for once to make my four stories a set of interlinked tales entitled La Belle sans âme . To get the full benefit, do read them in order. You can read the earlier installment here:
La Belle sans âme Part 1.
The prompts for Sat 11th February are as follows:
A box of chocolates, plane tickets, the Eiffel Tower
La Belle sans âme, Part 2
She hated the sea. Had always hated it. Hated the rotting salt-tang seaweed. Hated its unpredictability, its murkiness. As she picked her way through the derelict docks, disturbance rippled around her, a projection of her own unease.
“Karen.” She glanced back. He was leaning against a faded poster of the Eiffel Tower, arms crossed. In the dusk his eyes looked black under dark slashed brows. Demon eyes. She’d been so caught up she hadn’t sensed him. Stupid. The kind of stupid that got a girl killed.
“What you doing here, Cain?”
“Watching you.” The ghost of a smile flitted across his face.
Her fingers tightened on her bag strap. “This is Pysch-Corps business. You’re disturbing the scene.”
Lifting his head, his glanced around. “Don’t see no tape, angel. This is the badlands - even the Corps don’t come here without an invitation.” In a blink he was beside her, demon-fast. She’d forgotten how big he was – or had he got bigger? Swallowing, she stepped back.
“I didn’t sense you,” she said. “Why didn’t I sense you? I can’t sense you now. How far gone are you, Cain?”
His smile was crooked, all too human. “Pretty far.”
Nearly full blood. She could see it in the obsidian flatness of his eyes. Psych-Corps didn’t tolerate full blood demons. He’d be outlaw. Enemy. “Why are you here?”
“You’re looking for La Belle.”
She gasped. “How...?”
“Never mind how.” He pulled out a bulky envelope from his inside pocket and thrust it in her hand. “Plane tickets. You want La Belle? You meet me at Kinickie Airport at 9pm tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
In a flash he was gone. With shaking hands, she split the envelope. Two plane tickets slid out and a tiny box containing a single chocolate, two words scrawled on its surface. Happy anniversary.