The elf priestess, took one glass, then stepped around the table towards TJ. Blade glanced down at the elf’s feet to avoid making eye contact. Her eyes widened as she saw the woman’s shoes. The stiletto heeled shoes were open toed, and strapped like a roman sandal. The back heel was actually a sheath, with a four inch double-edged blade held in place by the long straps. A button above the guard of the blade held it in place, and a simple pull would free it. She set the glass on the table, then walked back around, and levitated the second glass to the edge of the table in front of Blade. Blade saw this as hopeful. That she took the time to personally place the glass in front of TJ meant she was not here to kill anyone, and that she did truly want to discuss something as equals, not as master to servant.

She motioned the two men forward, then levitated glasses up to hover in front of them. The two mages placed their wands into small sheathes on their belts, and slowly plucked the glasses out of the air. The runes on the side of her half-shaven head glowed, and TJ gasped as the spell was canceled. The sorceress purred in a soft soprano, “The show was to get your attention.” She gestured and a folding chair floated out of the corner, unfolded and set itself down behind her. She lowered gracefully to the seat, somehow making the movements remind Blade of a stalking predator. The woman ignored Blade, instead leaning towards TJ, her white dress outlining her curves.

She smiled then used a hand to push her blonde hair away from the runes. “I will offer wine, as a token of respect, and to prove my intentions, while flamboyant, are not intended to cause you harm, nor disrespect.” She looked back at the broken pieces of the once-solid oak door. A gesture swept the pieces into a spinning maelstrom that quickly reassembled into a wood door once more. The door floated, then settled back to the ground. The metal pieces remained where they fell. The elven lady looked to the mages.

Fae magic. It can’t affect anything with iron. But she used her hands to touch the guns. She’s not a normal elf. Unlike a full elf, she wasn’t injured by contact with ferrous items like nails, doorknobs, or door hinges. Iron was like silver to werewolves, a potent poison for long as they were contacted by it. The iron would act like salt on a garden slug, eating its way through the body and corroding the flesh it touched.

“I am Irelle”, she continued in her soft soprano. She turned to gaze at the two mages. “Rremember, We are here to offer them a contract. D do not attack them” They nodded politely, and held their drinks out towards TJ and Blade.

“As I said earlier I have a job for you, if you are interested.” She looked TJ in the eyes, her golden cat eyes meeting his dark brown ones in an unblinking stare. She raised her drink, and waited. TJ seemed angry, and confused. “If you raise your glass, we’ll negotiate, if you place the glass on the table, we will leave politely.” Irelle smiled, showing her teeth. Blade felt like she was looking at a opened straight razor. It was all on TJ. She shut her eyes and remained absolutely still, hoping to avoid any attention. Teej, this feels way to formal for ‘just some job’. WAY too formal. I hope you pick up on that.

– – –

This day just keeps getting and better! TJ thought to himself as he watched the elven intruder’s every move. After everything that had happened today, he had a strong urge to hurt somebody and vent his anger and frustration. This ‘visitor’ would do. Granted, he couldn’t move but, if looks could kill, that elf wouldn’t have managed to finish her last sentence. But she did. And somewhere beneath his roiling anger he felt a faint hint of curiosity bubble to the surface.

He was only peripherally aware of the guards and Blade, who was being uncharacteristically quiet for some reason.  His eyes followed the slender blonde’s every move and gesture.  As such, his lips quirked in annoyance when he couldn’t figure out just where she suddenly got that bottle from. There was no way he could’ve missed her reaching into her cloak, so the only explanation was some sort of silent conjuration. That, of course, meant she was even more dangerous than he’d initially assumed. Not a pleasant thought but, one reinforced by the way the coffee table slid back as if on its own accord, followed by several glasses drifting over from the now open cupboard. By the time the elf upended the green bottle and filled all five glasses at once, he was more irritated than surprised. Damn, this one loves to show off, doesn’t she?

When her guards stepped into the room after a nearly imperceptible motion of her fingers, he realized his first impression was slightly off. They weren’t dressed in brown, so much as they were just… drab. Some tan here, some olive drab there, several washed out shades of grey and green tossed into the mix to break up the monotony when seen up close. At a distance however, they would blend into any environment. He recognized them for what they were by the implements they had tucked about their person, and while he was confident he could take on one in a fight, two of them would be a challenge, even without their soft-spoken handler. Two of the filled glasses hovered towards them, and after tucking their wands almost reluctantly into their belts, they took them almost in unison.

The mysterious blonde smiled faintly as a nearby fold out chair hovered towards her, unfolding and lowering to the ground between the coffee table and the couch. Her blood-red robe fell open to reveal a white dress which clung to her like a second skin, emphasizing what curves she did have on that slender form of hers, as much or more so, than the plunging yet narrow neckline did. And she was seated with an almost cat-like grace the moment the chair touched the ground.

The runes on the side of her head glowed faintly, even as she raised one of her slender legs to casually rest it on the couch. TJ gasped. Not just because of the sudden end of the compulsion but, because of the literal stiletto heel that was resting almost absently between his legs, just a few millimeters from his crotch. One wrong move and he’d be a eunuch. Or worse. He glowered at the elf, and his fists clenched so hard that his knuckles turned as white as the elf’s dress.

The sorceress smiled as she brushed back some of her hair which had fallen across her runes. She had leaned forward, presenting one of the filled glasses to TJ. „I will offer wine, as a token of respect“ Keeping her leaned forward position, she glanced back over her shoulder and gave subtle flick of her fingers, only for the disintegrated door to swirl in a cloud of splinters and slowly but surely reform itself. Showing off again! He thought to himself. I wonder if that view down your dress you’re offering is part of your ‘intentions’ as well… Hearing her hiss softly, he looked up to see the door settle gently onto the carpet. Only the metal hinges remained where they had landed in the explosion. Huh… so she is affected by iron. I wonder why touching our guns bare handed didn’t seem to faze her…

A near fifteen centimeter long ear, curving upward and out, tapering to a needle like point. He tried eyeing Blade again, just in time to see one of those pale hands grip his partner’s, and as her father’s old S&W was almost gently pried from her fist, his own P7 was pried from his. Her face twitched in discomfort as her hands held the steel weapons. She tossed them underhanded into the kitchen. „We have to take the children’s toys from them, lest they hurt someone.“ She glanced at the two then intoned, „I have come, to discuss with you a job.“

Blade sat as still as she could. The magic was a mental command, one that she’d practiced herself when her mother was still alive. She knew the spell, and had mentally focused on its brittle link, and taken it down a few seconds after she was hit. The problem was not the mage, but the two other elves behind her. They were dressed in military style fatigues, with olive drab shirts and pants. Their black boots worked halfway up their shins, and the green belt had knives and bottles hanging in small web-like pouches. Each carried a stick that was about thumb-sized in thickness, and as long as her forearm. Each wand was graven with runes for energy and flight. Missile mages.

Missile mages were the magic world’s answer to guns and bullets. The wands had to be carefully made, using the caster’s own life force. The wand would not work for anyone other than its creator. One of her mother’s extended family had been a missile mage for an infamous kingpin back in Belfast. Blade thought she remembered that he’d been killed in a shootout with local police during a riot in the slums where most elves had been relegated to.

Her throat began to itch. Blade kept herself as still as possible. The mages were alert, and primed to fire. She had no doubt that any movement would get her lungs blown out of her chest and through the sofa to decorate whatever would be left of it after the mage blew her to smithereens. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she did her best to appear trapped by the spell. If any looked at her with mage sight, it’d be all over.

Elves loathed half-breeds, seeing them as an affront to their racial purity. She was a half breed that could cast spells, which was doubly reprehensible. The elves valued their magic as their religion, and that a half-breed could wield it would go against all the talk of elven superiority. Half breeds were not supposed to do magic, their blood was too mongrel for magic to exist in them. That was what the elves had told the world.

The elf priestess gestured, and a dark green bottle appeared in her right hand. The low coffee table slid back a half step from the sofa where Blade and TJ were currently sitting. Five glasses of different sizes and colors floated free from a small cupboard in the open kitchen by the wrecked doorway, then dropped soundlessly onto the coffee table. The woman upended the bottle, and five streams fell from the mouth, and filled each glass precisely. It was an amazing display of control to Blade. She risked a glance over at TJ, whose eyes stared at the woman like she was simply a target. She’d have to watch him to make sure nothing happened when the priestess dropped the compulsion.

Despite his mild paunch and unkempt appearance, she knew he was a lot faster than his looks might imply. She knew about his Mettinger reflex upgrade. Twice the reaction speed of a human, half again faster than an elf. She was certain there was more to TJ beyond that, but he’d been very closemouthed about anything to do with upgrades. Her cybernetics were easy to see. A nest of cables for a left hand that were used for system hacking and charging. Her left arm and shoulder had been fully replaced with cybernetics with a open lug roughly where her wrist used to be to mount a pistol.

Even at home, Blade went about her business with uncharacteristic silence, and it was only after she came back into the living room, with traces of the same substance he was applying to his wound visible on her lips, that he cursed himself for a fool. She probably can’t talk after that crazy spell of hers… he thought. He also knew that she wasn’t just smart when it came to hacking into things. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least if her mind were treading a few of the same avenues as his; trying to figure out how something as straight forward as this particular job could get so horribly FUBARd.

He shook his head slightly and sucked in a thoughtful breath through his teeth -something that looked almost comical with that old fashioned and silver streaked Van Dyke he chose to adorn his face with- then he chuckled „Hell of a mess. Wonder how our patron’s gonna take all this?“

Blade grinned at him and shrugged, then opened her mouth to respond but, whatever she said was lost in an explosion of splinters, as the door to their flat disintegrated not unlike the one at Dayner had. However, even as both he and his partner went for their weapons, what came walking -no, not walking, more like sashaying through the erstwhile door wasn’t a Vampire. Though he couldn’t quite be sure what it was, either. Well, aside from the fact it was clearly female. And a good head or two taller than even his 185 cm.

„Sit!“ She said in a voice that sent shivers down his spine. …and not in a good way.

This person hadn’t meant it as a suggestion. That one word was uttered as a command. A command spoken with the same casual, if not contemptuous annoyance one might use for an over-eager puppy. Still, even while his mind tried to come to terms with what just happened, his body simply /obeyed/, and he found himself sitting on the couch next to Blade, both of them still with their guns pointed at the hooded intruder. It was only once they were seated, that he noticed two more hooded figures standing just outside the ruined door. Though where the two -guards, obviously?- wore simple brown, the woman who stood before them wore a robe of such a dark red that it almost appeared to be black.

He tried to turn his head to see if Blade might be faring better than him but, the only thing he could move were his eyes, and from the grimace on his partner’s face, she was in the same situation.

„Good!“; their uninvited guest all but crooned. „Now that I have your undivided attention, we may begin. But first…“ The woman paused and two bone-white hands reached up to pull back her hood, and he was pretty damned sure Blade’s strangled gasp was even louder than his own. Long, blonde hair spilled down from one side of her head, while the other side was shaved so short as to almost be bald. And he was pretty sure he had ascertained why, for there were several runes adorning the side of her head; both tattooed and branded, with even more, smaller tattoos along her high, angular cheekbone. He knew runes, but he had never seen any like these. Not that he really paid much attention to anything else, after he noticed the most distinguishing feature. What was hidden by hair on one side, was blatantly presented on the other.

Blade watched as TJ lurched sideways, spinning in a grotesque pirouette as the bullet took him high in the shoulder. “SHITASS IDIOTIC DUMBJIZZ ASSHAT!” She dropped to her back, and aimed her heel at the shooter. He stood partially covered behind a cream-colored Cadillac. The high powered rifle nestled against his shoulder in a classic upright stance. He saw her movement and dropped behind the car, rolling away as fast as he could. Blade pulled a break dance move, swiveling up and back to her feet. She ran as fast as her bare foot and booted one would let her.

Three seconds was all it took to reach him. He was prone, eyes glassy from shock. Blood pumped a bright scarlet rope from his shoulder, arcing to land three feet away in a splash of crimson under the harsh fluorescent landscape. Oh god the blood, his artery got cut. He’s bleeding out! What do I do? I can’t stop this. I can’t… She tore off a strip of cloth, and viciously poked it into the wound. He gasped like a fish out of water, weakly flailing at her hands as she gritted her teeth and pushed more of the ragged strip of cloth into the open wound. I gotta stop it, pack it so tight the bleeding slows. I

“We surrender! We surrender! Help me! He’s bleeding out!” she held up one hand as the used the other to keep pushing the cloth into the wound. The gush of blood had stopped on this side. The exit wound still bled, but sluggishly. She’d pushed her metal finger full length into the wound to pack the cloth in. He wouldn’t bleed to death soon, but he would bleed out without some kind of help, and soon. She couldn’t leave him behind, and she couldn’t carry him out. He was the one who’d made the deal, and hired her to do the hack. “We surrender! Help us! Help him, please!”

The guards slowly advanced, weapons out. The nearest one had a nameplate Blade could barely make out. ‘Hanson’ was spelled out in white against the black of the badge. The huge four limbed star that made up the Dayner logo on his left chest below the badge. She held one hand up, the other resting firmly on the bleeding gunshot wound of her partner.

“On the ground, face down. Spread your arms and legs wide.” ‘Hanson’ punctuated his commands with an aggressive pointing of his rifle at Blade. She lowered herself slowly to the ground spreading her limbs out as the guard asked. One of the other guards stepped forward and put a heavy knee between her shoulder blades. He pulled both arms back, and placed a zip strip around her wrists, locking her arms behind her. Another guard flipped her partner over with a boot. He groaned painfully as he was rolled to his stomach, his long brown trench coat spattered and soaked with blood.

“Some professionals. First sign of blood and they quit. Spuds.” The speaker laughed harshly and another voice Blade could hear joined in. What’s next? Will we be turned over, or tortured and killed, or just killed? I don’t like the odds, but keeping him alive was more important. We were screwed the minute he got shot. They were waiting for us. To get in place they had to have advance warning we were coming, or we got spotted right off the get-go. I didn’t see any spotters, my sniffers didn’t spot any active surveillance. I didn’t miss anything. We had to be set up. Why though? Why us?

Blade kept quiet, unwilling to be subjected to any kind of abuse. She was close to panic. Her hands were restrained and she had no way to free herself. The helplessness threatened to overwhelm her mind. “So, we shoot ’em now, or find out what they’re doing here?” Blade’s mouth was dry. She tried to swallow, then tried to roll over. The man’s foot pressed down harder as she shifted. “Uh uh uh, no moving. Not unless you want to get hurt.” She froze in place, her breathing shallow and rapid. “Looks bad. I think the artery got nicked. Lookit how far he shot blood.” She heard shuffling behind her near TJ. “Can you clean him up a little, Hash?” A few more shuffles. She could see him walking slowly around TJ, sizing him up. “Yeah, not a big problem. I can’t do anything about the blood loss. He’ll be out for a day or two.”