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Lucy Reynolds - Assamite

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Watching Christina
I stood behind a garbage can and watched the girl lean back against the back wall of the building with her eyes closed. Her name was Christina Strong, and she looked tired and hungry. I felt sympathy for her; it was hard to be Kindred and work in a homeless shelter. I knew she only did it to get closer to her father.

I stepped out from behind the can and she spun, a hand going inside her jacket to the pistol she kept at the small of her back. Then she saw me and smiled all the way to her green eyes.

“Hi,” I said, pretending shyness and looking up at her. Christina saw me as a young girl of about ten whose mother was crazy. The woman I had chosen for my mother had protested every night for the week that we had been at the shelter that I wasn’t her child. I wasn’t, but then I wasn’t a child either.

“Hi yourself,” she replied, smiling. “Are you hungry? They’re serving dinner inside.”

“No,” I said. “I ate just a bit ago. Are you okay? You look tired.”

“I’m fine,” she told me as I came closer. She looked at me for a moment as if puzzled, then looked around the alley. I echoed her movements, as I had felt it long before she had; there were others about.

“Lucy,” she said urgently, “Go inside. Now.”

“Why?” I asked even as I tensed for the confrontation I had been waiting for.

“Something is here, something dangerous,” she said, pushing me toward the door of the shelter.

We both heard a faint noise from behind Christina and she turned quickly, keeping me at her back.

A dark haired Kindred stood against a parked car dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. “How ya doin’?” he sneered.

“What do you care, Brujah,” Christina said coolly, easily recognizing his clan.

I clutched the back of her jacket, ready to pull her out of harm’s way if I could. I saw more Brujah coming forth from the shadows and I knew I wouldn’t be able to help her here. My only chance to fulfill my duty would be if they took me with her.

“Don’t be so cool, witch,” he replied, referring to Christina’s clan, the Tremere. “We just wanna talk.”

She looked around quickly, startled to see the Kindred I had already spotted. A stocky blond was leaning against the door to the shelter blocking her way to safety. Her hand crept toward her gun, and I wanted to tell her it would do no good, there were just too many of them.

“Let the girl go,” she said sternly. “Let her inside.”

I thought her concern for me was sweet, but it was completely unwarranted. If I didn’t have orders to keep my cover, I could have killed the six Brujah in moments, and Christina would never have seen me move.

“But she’s such a pretty little girl,” one with a scar on his face said, moving closer. “We wanna talk to her, too.”

I whimpered and pressed closer to Christina’s back, but inwardly I smiled. I hoped that my behavior and Christina’s protectiveness toward me would encourage them to take me along with them.

“Don’t be afraid,” Christina told me. “Everything will be okay.”

“That’s right, sugar,” a short Brujah with a big leather jacket taunted, “Don’t worry, be happy!”

All at once, they lunged. She tried to pull out her gun but it was too late and she was knocked to the ground before she could get it clear of the holster. The dark haired Brujah grabbed me as I halfheartedly tried to dart around him, one of his large hands covering my mouth to silence me. The others were all on Christina, holding her arms and legs. I saw them stuff a rag in her mouth then put duct tape over the lower half of her face.

I made mewling noises in my throat and the Brujah who held me laughed softly, then shook me. “Quiet,” he ordered.

Christina pulled against her captors wildly, but they secured her in handcuffs and shackles rather quickly. Her long brown hair covered her face when she jerked at the bonds, but they lifted her easily and carried her to the waiting car, shutting her in the trunk. I saw her face as the lid closed, full of worry for me. I wanted to tell her not to concern herself, that I could take care of myself, but that would defeat the purpose of them taking me with them, wouldn’t it? It would also blow my cover, and I wouldn’t do that unless I absolutely had to.

The Brujah carried me to the car and threw me in the back seat, then climbed in after me. “At least we have a play toy,” he laughed.

“No,” the blond said. “If she’s hurt, the witch won’t cooperate.”

I breathed a silent sigh of relief that I wouldn’t have to reveal myself so soon. The others got into the car and we drove away quickly.

I looked out the back window and wondered how long it would take Christina’s man to miss her. He was human, but I could see in his eyes that he loved her. Number One’s information network had revealed that, for a mortal, Jason Kline was resourceful enough to be of assistance to my task.

I hid a smile in my hands and pretended to burst into tears. If he was as smart as I’d been told, the license plate number I’d scrawled in the dust with my foot should help Jason find us.
For questions regarding Lucy Reynolds, please contact the author.
Note: Some fiction contains explicit content and is not meant for children under the age of seventeen.
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