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Chap. 9 - What About Yesterday
Published Nov 26, 2012


Written By

HumorMeh

Storyteller
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And so begins the self proclaimed second season of What About Yesterday . . .




And so begins the self proclaimed second season of What About Yesterday . . .




"A Change of Scenery, to Appease a Debt, and a Mac Heath" Marisa was trying to ignore the persuasive voice in her ears. “You could always stay with your cousin and his family, dear.” “No-no—no way—the hell I could.” Marisa spat. “Look at it this way: you’re already on your way out. The eviction notice was clear. You had two weeks.”
“But that was two weeks ago.” Marisa whined. “I wasn’t even here.” Grandma Louise smiled cruelly, “Whose fault is that? And besides, it’s not as if you have a lot of things; the move to Moonlight Falls would not be difficult at all.” “You just want someone to take care of Luna—if she’s not already dead.” Marisa growled. “You better hope she’s not,” her grandmother growled right back. “You’re going to need a familiar.” “I don’t even know what that means,” Marisa snapped unreasonably, and stomped away. But in the end it was an easy call to make. Surprisingly, it was an easy stop to make.
“You owe me.”

And she did.
“Where’s your bodyguard friend?” She asked.

“Not up for the task.” Oren forced the lie past his lips.
She gazed up at him, “You seem different; don’t tell me you’ve been hanging around mundanes.” Oren shook his head; he was not here to answer her inquiries—he was here so she could answer his. “The Bounty Hunter.” Oren ordered.

“Which one?”

At this rate he’d be here all night, “The Preternatural one.”
“Who is she?”

Again, Oren shook his head.
“The woman who left a mark on your heart—” and at the faint surprise on his face “—don’t tell me you’ve forgotten my ability to read men’s hearts. Yours is full of a turbulent darkness, filled with gray light . . . “

This time Oren didn’t shake his head.
“ . . . and Risa.” “The Bounty Hunter, Rosa. Heath. You use them often enough—tell me.” “Look, I’m not going to give up the information of a hunter just to appease a debt.” “How’s that friend of yours, Rosa? Because according to the news he’s missing; what was his name?—Josh—Joshua. Joshua Thom, was it?”

A nasty smile, “How is that any of your business?”
“And exactly how is my personal life any of yours.” Oren enunciated slowly—dangerously.

He was right, of course he was right.
Resignedly, “I’ll call ‘em. I’ll have to repeat when and where he’ll meet me—you better not overhear.” Oren nodded his thanks, crossed his arms and listened carefully. Among the listless shadows and far from the high-rise buildings, Oren still couldn’t see sunlight—it was 5:56.

“Rosa.”
“Rover.”

She handed him something in the darkness, “You have the stone?”
“Of course.” He proffered a white box with a dainty red ribbon, “For you, Rosa. The largest bloodstone this side of Anne Arbor.” Rosa didn’t say thanks, but she nodded and ran into the night.

Oren held his breath; Rover glanced skeptically around then started away:
This was Oren’s last chance—he followed, just another snowdrift in the pre-dawn darkness. It was a door man. A rather unfortunate one at that.
“Listen,” Oren growled, “I’m just looking for a vampyre. You either help me or endure the fate of those who stand in my way—”

“Downstairs.” He hissed frantically. “There’s an elevator. Sublevel G. It’s quite a long ride down.”

“Don’t worry.” And he promised, “I’ve been far closer to hell than that.”
And quite a long ride it was. A vampyre like Mac Heath would have cameras, tucked into every available nook and hidden in the most inconspicuous crannies. Hence the over-sized glasses, it verged on unnecessary but it produced the wanted affect. A vampyre like Mac Heath would have cameras AND guards. A vampyre like Mac Heath would have cameras, guards AND optic unlocked doors. “So…NICE of you to stop by, Prince Oren.” “No. It’s not.” “…So,” a breathy exhale, “Tell me—you are aware that there is a bounty on your head: one million? And I believe that it was two million and a boon from the queen for your remains...if a terrible accident were to perchance befall you. So my young, bull-headed, STUPID adversary what is preventing me from serving Queen Evelyn your head on a platter. Metaphorically...of course.” Oren had only a handful of words left to voice:

“Demetrius Carter. Whatever it takes.”
Woah . . . that was short.

Well, you're right (especially by my standards). But the truth is I've been holding this chapter hostage for waaaaaaaaaay too long hoping to expand upon it. But, alas, I find this to be a terrific stopping point -

So, look out for Chapter 9.2 of "What About Yesterday"


And never forget: I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

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#1spladoumDec 25, 2012

It's been too long since I had an opportunity to just stop and read. But this story is intriguing as ever, and I'm terribly curious to find out what Oren's about to find out ... and to meet Marisa's familiar.

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