Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Speaking of creatures who wish me dead, I have noticed the 

  woman seated by the bar counter gazing at us several times. Was 

  she one of them, too? Was she a member of the Circle of Red? No 

  way could the red circle have followed me all the way to 

  Bournville. I had ensured that those witches could never happen 

  again, and I’m not kidding—whoever did earned a medal or 

  something. However, something about this weird woman gave 

  me the creeps. Although I couldn’t identify her, I knew she 

  desired me as well. 

  “Iris” I turned her around as we danced by sliding my hands up 

  to her waist. Not wanting to attract the notice of our observer, I 

  muttered softly into her ears, “Don’t freak out or anything but- I 

  think the woman by the bar is spying on us.” 

  I immediately regretted that I had even brought up the woman I 

  had described to Iris, who yelled out, “WHERE?!?” and frantically 

  shook her head in search of the person I had mentioned. Oh 

  goddess, let Iris handle everything when things get a little too 

  close for comfort. 

  I murmured, glancing at the woman with the red hair in braids 

  and the black suit, “Fuck it, Iris! I said don’t freak out or she 

  would notice. You are freaking out.” She was sipping from her, 

  glass without realizing it, a proud smile on her face. She was now 

  facing us. I have to use caution in whatever action I take next. 

  In a tremulous, whispery voice, Iris continued, “Isabelle—she 

  doesn’t smell… human.” I could see the horror in my dearest 

  friend’s eyes. She shouldn’t have to deal with the mess I’ve been 

  dragging her through for the past fifteen years, so I felt terrible 

  for her. In actuality, every monster we had come across had 

  acknowledged that they were pursuing me and not her. The 

  monsters weren’t targeting her. But because of me, she was 

  always going to be in danger. 

  However, I don’t know how the demon found me. It was 

  incredibly difficult for me to keep a low profile for the past three 

  years, but I tried my best. I cast a cloaking spell to make it nearly 

  hard for the Red Circle to find me or Iris. I even went so far as to 

  bound my witch powers by wearing a charm bracelet my mother 

  had given me. So far, it has worked, at least to keep me off their 

  radar. 

  A group of exceptionally skilled mercenary witches known as 

  The Red Circle. Fortunately, I haven’t encountered them in a 

  long time. They were assassins and had been pursuing me for a 

  number of personal reasons. My aunt, who is accountable for my 

  parents’ demise, is the head of the Red Circle, which is a 

  significant factor in why they were pursuing me. Just thinking 

  about it made my stomach turn into a knot.

  Don’t worry so much, I could just be imagining the whole thing. 

  I’ll go out through the back and see if she is going to follow. 

  Don’t worry it’s going to be okay.” I appeared to be smiling. I was 

  certain that I wasn’t dreaming. Though I was very sure the 

  woman on the other side of the bar wanted me dead, I didn’t 

  want to worry Iris any more. She’s already endured enough. 

  Iris asked, holding my wrist back as I turned to go, “Do you need 

  backup?” 

  I winked at her and made my way out of the dancing crowd, 

  saying, “No, It’s okay. I got this.” I left the club by going out the 

  back door, which led to a silent, shadowy alley. 

  It was pitch black everywhere, with the lovely moon overhead 

  serving as the only source of illumination. It illuminated 

  everything below, shining brightly. 

  Now, where in the world is she? I questioned myself as I 

  searched for our stalker creature. The chilly night air was 

  stinging my face as I withdrew my silver knife from my boot and 

  gripped the helm tightly. It belonged to my mother, and I took it 

  everywhere I went. Whenever I held it, I had the impression that 

  she was still here, keeping an eye on me. I swept those, melancholy memories from my head with a swift brush. I had to 

  pay attention to the threat below. 

  The elderly British voice behind me shocked me, “Are you 

  looking for me, darling?” I clenched my grip around my dagger, 

  protecting it from behind. 

  “Oh fuck—” I said as I took a closer look at the woman at the bar. 

  She appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties, dressed 

  in black makeup, and covered in several tattoos and piercings. 

  She was dressed all in black, and I have to say, she looked fierce. 

  Her hair was long and plaited, with an Auburn red color. 

  I inquired, “What do you want?” to which I already knew the 

  answer. All she wanted was one word. Me! and just me. She 

  craved my blood, just like any other monster. 

  She obviously wanted me too, as I had assumed, saying, “Isn’t it 

  obvious, darling, I just want you.” Just as my mother had warned 

  me fifteen years ago before she was killed, they all wanted me. 

  That awful memory, which has been bothering me in dreams 

  since I was a child, made me cringe a little. 

  That was until I met the man with the butterfly tattoo. My mom 

  also mentioned that he could be able to help me with my destiny, melancholy memories from my head with a swift brush. I had to 

  pay attention to the threat below. 

  The elderly British voice behind me shocked me, “Are you 

  looking for me, darling?” I clenched my grip around my dagger, 

  protecting it from behind. 

  “Oh fuck—” I said as I took a closer look at the woman at the bar. 

  She appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties, dressed 

  in black makeup, and covered in several tattoos and piercings. 

  She was dressed all in black, and I have to say, she looked fierce. 

  Her hair was long and plaited, with an Auburn red color. 

  I inquired, “What do you want?” to which I already knew the 

  answer. All she wanted was one word. Me! and just me. She 

  craved my blood, just like any other monster. 

  She obviously wanted me too, as I had assumed, saying, “Isn’t it 

  obvious, darling, I just want you.” Just as my mother had warned 

  me fifteen years ago before she was killed, they all wanted me. 

  That awful memory, which has been bothering me in dreams 

  since I was a child, made me cringe a little. 

  That was until I met the man with the butterfly tattoo.