Name: Charlotte Cole (alias: Rouge Remington) 
Year of Death: 1945
Total Reaps: -5
Place of Residence: An underground bar on Stepford Way
Day Job: Assassin


“Took you long enough.”

I looked at Newland, still lying on the counter where I’d managed to drag him.

“Take it easy.” I ordered, finishing my drink, “Unless you want your guts spilling out again.”

He sat up slowly, groaning.

“Holy mother of fuck-”

“-Watch the stitches.”

Fred lifted his bloodied shirt, looking in what was either disbelief or resignation at my handiwork.

“I served as a nurse for a year.” I said proudly, “One of my last, actually.”

“Didn’t you take some kind of oath?” he asked through gritted teeth, poking at the wound.

I poured myself a glass of chianti.

“Meaningless words.”

“You’re not big on commitments, huh?”

“No, you could say that.” I replied, swirling my glass, “Care for a drink?”

“Just a smoke.”

He gingerly went about fishing a box out of his pocket, taking a cigarette in his teeth.

“Want one?”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d smoked.


He lit me up and I took a long drag, feeling an overpowering sense of nostalgia. I sat down on a stool, my dragon breath spreading a film of fog on my glass.

“Drink often?” Newland asked, probably having noticed the series of empty bottles to my right.

“I was just cleaning out the cellar.” I offered, “You were out for a while.”

“How long?”

I shrugged.

“A day, two?”

Fred muttered something incomprehensible.


“Hecate. She’ll kill me.” He sighed, “As if she needed a reason – ”

“What are you going to tell her?” I asked, tapping my nails on the counter.

His eyes softened imperceptibly.

“Cole, I can understand why you did what you did.”

I tried not to fall off the stool.

“You can?”

“That guy at the club…he looked like he would have gone through a shitload of pain. There weren’t any other reapers around to stop it.”

It took a second for me to realize what was going on. He didn’t realize I was the one who killed the senator.

“So…you don’t mind that it was off the books? Even though I broke the rules?”

“What rules haven’t you broken?” he smirked, “Honestly?”

“True enough.”

“Though, shooting me on the other hand, now that was uncalled for.”

“Oh, right.” I started, “Sorry about that.”

I looked at his shirt and resisted the urge to laugh.

“You look like you came out of a butcher shop.”

He scratched at some of the blood caked on his face, obviously far from amused.

“The bathroom’s down there.” I pointed, “I’ll try and find you something clean.”

He dropped to the floor from his seat on the counter, wincing.

"Nice place."

"I know."

“If Hecate asks for me, I’m sailing in Aruba, okay?”

“Got it.”

I finished my drink and set about cleaning the blood off the counter.

I had damn good luck.

The End

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