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.
“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.
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.”
“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.
“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?”
“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.
“If Hecate asks for me, I’m sailing in Aruba, okay?”
I finished my drink and set about cleaning the blood off the counter.
I had damn good luck.