Oh I am enjoying February's Dear Valentine Blog Challenge, inspired by @timonysouler poet, writer and queen of Toxic Musing. A recap of the rules:
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.
La Belle sans âme Part 2
The prompts for Sat 18th February are as follows:
A gun, a tuxedo, an abandoned fairground
Kinickie Airport wasn’t a bustling commercial place. It was a private airfield. Not the kind of place Karen went, not on her wages. She was careful this time, let her mind drift, exploring. Touched the flickering souls of baggage handlers, guards. Nothing untoward. But it wasn’t a soul she was looking for, it was a gap.
“Looking for me?” She froze at the rich, deep tones. Molasses. That’s what she’d used to think of when Cain spoke. Warm, dark, sweet.
“Yes.” Slowly, she turned around. She’d expected his beat up jacket, faded jeans. Black hair cropped close. Not a tuxedo. Not groomed and gleaming, bold as brass. Demon-black eyes unreadable in the twilight. “You look... good.”
His dark gaze dropped to her stained jeans, her oversized coat. “You look tired.”
And she was. Tired of this case, of chasing a phantom in the night. Nervous too. Damn Cain for showing up. It had been nearly three years since he’d gone. Since the incident.
She nodded at the planes on the runway. “Where to?”
“Change of plan, Cinderella. We’re going to a ball.”
She glanced up, startled. “What are you talking about?”
“The Hampton Masquerade at the old fairground. Target 1, Code Black.” Psych-Corps talk. She tensed at hearing it on his lips. Once that had been natural as breathing. He’d been one of the best, no, the best bar none. Deep souled, mind like a heat-seeking missile. Before the demon spliced him, planted his seed fathoms deep. Before he’d fallen off the grid, broken from the Collective. Gone.
“Why are you helping me?”
His lip curled, a half smile. “Old loyalties?”
“You expect me to believe that.”
The smile faded. “No. Ready?”
She slipped her hand into her pocket. The gun fell against her fingers, reassuring. Crystal bullets. Demon killers.