Meet 'n Greet
Chicago Illinois- Somewhere in Rhode Island 2008

(Bart used with permissions.)

Bart Fitzroy awoke to find two ghouls standing in his doorway. Groggy eyed, his hair sticking up at odd angles, he propped himself up on his elbows and grunted a hoarse voiced ?What the hell do you two want??

"You're gonna meet the boss tonight," grinned Sunny Jim, a former boxer with a face rearranged by too many blows to the head and no more than two teeth to call his own. Bart had met him a few times before and each time the impression had been the same; those punches had rattled a few wires loose in the old fighter?s brain.

"Not many people come back from that," chimed in pug-faced Barker, a trollish looking fellow who constantly smelled of wet dog. Rumor had it that the man had ties with one mob or the other, a matter which Bart had never really thought to press, much to Barker?s chagrin. ?So up and at ?em, pretty boy.?

Muttering beneath his breath, Bart slipped into his clothes, laced up his shoes like a good lad, and followed them through the door. That he had never met his boss lady filled him with fear, but he would be damned if he would let those two jackals know that.

The hotel's hallway seemed to go on forever; the perfect length to allow Bart's mind to wander to the darker corners of his imagination. He had never personally met the woman, but Bart enjoyed the visits her money paid him every Friday, and the pay had been enough to keep him from asking too many questions.

Depending on whom you asked, Mona Oliveira was either a Saint or The Devil. Some said that she was so old that she had hooves while others swore that she was no older than twelve. She was once called a Cadela de Portugal, because of her indiscriminate killing of clergymen. She had one leg. She had three legs. She ate babies. She helped orphans. Light of any kind could burn her, and yet she bathed in fire. Some swore on their children's lives that she had once been a princess, while others whispered that she had never been human at all.

The two ghouls left him at the door to room 87, with Barker tipping his hat and Sunny Jim giving him a pat on the back. Their laughter trailed behind them, harsh and mocking. Had he not knocked then he did, he probably would have walked away; just left it all, good pay included, behind. His hands were sweaty and his knees were weak and his heart was lodged in his throat. Bart could probably kill a younger vampire, he was a mage, after all, but he had no chance with a three legged, priest eating, fire humping demon.

The door opened and a pale girl in her early twenties (if that) greeted him with a too sweet smile. The towel wrapped around her head did little to keep all of her dark hair at bay,and a few curling tendrils framed her pretty face.

A crutch was cradled in the hollow where her arm met her shoulder, and Bart wandered stupidly if she had broken her legs. Only when she turned her back to him did he dare look down. Her leg wasn?t broken- it was nonexistent- but the other was as pale as the rest of her and shapely. Bart swallowed hard, and when the girl gestured for him to take a seat in the chair across from her own, he dropped into like a bag of rocks.

He could almost see a restless energy race beneath her skin like lightening streaking across a bruised sky. Her sleepy amber eyes betrayed an age her face never would, and the way she studied him was disconcerting, as if she could see into his soul and deeper. As the three legged beast he had imagined faded from his mind, Bart found that he desperately wanted it back.

His boss wasn't scary. She was absolutely horrifying.

?Ola, Bartolomeo,? she leaned forward, giving him a peek down the front of her towel and grinning like an impish child, ?you know who I am??

It was an odd question, and her accent was mud thick, but Bart brought his eyes to her face and nodded. ?You?re the boss lady, yeah. You?re Mona Oliveira.? His sweaty palm squeaked across the vinyl covered arm of his chair and the girl clapped her hands as if this display of awkwardness delighted her.

She sat back, looked at him, beyond him, and her eyes grew wide. ?What are you being??

?What am I?? He hadn?t meant to correct her, but she didn?t seem bothered by it, so he decided he would just play it off. ?I..uhh. I?m a mage.?

Mona nodded as if she had known all along (if she did or did not, it wasn?t for him to question), and she motioned to something behind him. Bart turned his head and looked to the lovingly crafted wooden leg resting by the door, and he moved to retrieve it. He didn?t ask if she wanted him to fit it to her, but she made no move to stop him when he knelt down before and pressed the cushioned socket to the stump.

But as Bart began fastening the prosthetic?s buckles, he felt her hand light upon his head. The chill of her touch spread throughout his scalp and he closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath to still his nerves. His nose stirred at the scents of peppermint soap and copper.

?You drive. I have seen it. You do the races sometimes.?

Bart wouldn?t answer, couldn?t answer until he was finished, and so deep was his fear that the words only formed when he was sitting back in his chair, staring at her appreciative, slightly shamed expression with wide eyes. His heart was beating fast, and he wondered briefly if she could hear it.

?Yeah,? he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. ?I like cars.? Smooth, man. Real smooth.

?I don?t,? Mona spat. ?I think they are very loud. Complicated. Sunny Jim, he does not drive so good. His bell has been rung too often. He screams at stop signs and drives on the sidewalk.?

Bart bobbed his head up and down. He could imagine that. Right now wasn?t the time to defend his love of the automobile. Right now he was pretty close to sure that Boss Lady was bleeping with his head. With that in mind, he threw caution to the wind. ?Are you gonna kill me??

Mona?s dark brows furrowed and she shook her head, the movement unwinding the serpentine curl of the towel upon her head. She caught it midair and her hair tumbled down her shoulders. ?Why would I kill you??

Because I?ve offended you, he thought. Because they said you ate babies and killed priests.

?Everyone is kind of afraid of you,? Bart blurted out, his eyes settling on the curls kissing her collarbone. ?By ?kind of? I mean ?really freakin?.??

The dark haired girl studied him for a long moment, her head held high and eyes narrowed. Seconds turned to minutes, and Bart nearly leaped from his skin when she spoke again. ?I want you to be my new driver."

"But Sunny.."

"Sunny Jim, he has his uses, but he does not belong behind a car's wheel. You do. You will be my new driver." The last was said with a stony finality that brooked no further debate.

Bart could only nod. His head hurt and his mouth was dry, and while she didn't seem to notice that her towel was creeping south, displaying more and more flesh as it moved, he certainly did, and the ensuing stirring in his loins opened up a whole new can of what the .

"Alright. Okie dokie. Can do." He scratched the back of his head. "When do I start?"

"Amanh? ? noite," she crooned, the words dripped from her tongue like gritty honey, and Bart crossed his legs as she continued, "I will meet you out back near the pool."

He was on his feet seconds after she had found her own, and with the prosthetic leg in place her move to the door was graceful, regardless of the presence of a slight limp. She even opened the door for him, and before Bart could bolt to his room, she gripped the sleeve of his shirt.

"Bartolomeo?"

He swallowed. "Uhhh...?"

"Obrigada. Really, thank you."

And she was gone so quickly that the door met his uttered "No problem, Boss Lady."

The clerk was a greasy haired kid, polite enough, but with the way he picked his nose neither of them wanted to shake his hand. Bart loaded up on jerky and meat sticks that made no promises about which animals they had been made from. Mona went with stranger fare; a pair of socks, a box of toothpicks and a cheaply made hat adorned with floppy dog ears. Tilling their money, the kid watched as they retreated to the gas pumps.

Mona leaned against the old beater's side as Bart pumped the gas and casually flipped through a Chick tract she'd found in the ladies room.

"So, I'm just going to come out and say it. This whole thing is probably a trap."

His boss looked up from a cartoonish depiction of hell. "You are making that very hard to forget."

And that was the thing. Mona very rarely remembered journeys, simply because she figured the final destination was the most important thing and everything in between was achingly boring. Sunny Jim had understood, but obviously Bart didn't, and such was the curse of those deemed 'driver' and not simply 'operator'. They hitched their stars to the journey.

He wiggled the gas pump and then hung it up, closing the flap with a shift of his hips. "I'm just saying. This kind of stuff can worry a guy."

Mona yawned and rolled her shoulders, but she didn't look away from the little book a second time. "It does not worry you too much. You are here with me. You could have left me, but you didn't. I figure you like adventure. I like adventure. We might die, but..eh..we might not."

Bart watched as she tucked the little comic away in the pocket of her hoodie, perched the dog eared hat upon her head and lit a cigarette in blatant disregard to the NO SMOKING signs plastered on the pumps. She was an odd little beast, but Bart was by no means normal, and there was something exciting about facing down the unknown. For all he knew, it could be just as the letter had said it was. Or it could be their undoing.

He sighed and slipped into the car, kicking the engine only when Mona was sitting at his side. "Alright Boss Lady. I get hazard pay if I get hurt though."

"You'll get what is owed to you and you will like it, Senhor, or whatever is waiting for us will be the least of your worries."
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In contrast to the rest of the state, Rural Haven was a dusty stretch of No Man's Land, where scrawny cattle seemed to outnumber the human residents four to one. The air was thick with the scent of rotting tobacco plants, and the houses that dotted landscape were not only few in number, but old hovels with decaying wood, collapsed porches and bare clay yards.

As they pulled into the local Come On Inn, a scrawny old dog greeted them with a hoarse bark, its legs trembling and its eyes yellow. The man who followed it from the office swatted it on the nose, told it to 'get on' and met Bart and Mona just as they were leaving their car.

"Hey and welcome t' Rural Haven!" His breath smelled like whiskey, but his tone was pleasant enough. "It ain't much, just a little land what time forgot, but we like it just fine that way." The way he said just fine made Bart shudder. We like murder just fine here. The old man looked from Mona, who stood intently studying the his face, to Bart. "Little lady ain't much of a talker, huh?"

Bart peered at her from over his shoulder, looked back to the old man, and stuffed his hands into his pocket. "Not really. So, yeah man, we were just looking for a room for a few nights."

"We called," piped in Mona.

The old man narrowed his eyes in thought and then smiled. When he did his dentures slipped away from his gums, and he casually pushed them back into place. "Damned things. Can't hardly keep 'em in my mouth. Of course ya called. Pardon me, but where're you from, honey?"

She stepped beside of Bart, her ears perking up at the sound of the old man's dentures rattling around in his mouth. "Portugal."

The old man was in awe. "Well ain't that somethin'. Well don't you two worry. Ain't no one here but me and the missus. Oh! And Timmy, but he ain't no bother. Just keeps to himself, works days." He pointed to a small, ratty bungalow across from the empty pool. "Anyway, that's enough of my dodderin'. Follow me."

They did. By the time he gave them the key to their room, they learned that his name honestly was Grizzly Addams, but everybody called him Old Grizzled. He had lived in Rural Haven all of his life with his wife Anne. They had had two boys, both lost to two separate car accidents, but a drifter named Timmy helped them maintain the motel in exchange for a room.

Bart was tired and never had a bout of White Line Fever followed him from the road before. While he was shucking off his sneakers on the end of his bed, Mona was slipping into a jacket and pulling her hair into a ponytail. The Mage's eyes followed her. "Where are you going?"

Mona stopped dead in her tracks and only her pale brown eyes shifted his way. "I am going to explore."

Bart could think of several reasons why that was a bad idea, but Mona was a big girl and he was exhausted, and right now all that he cared to see were the backs of his eyelids. He laid back on the top of the blanket and closed his eyes. "Tell me how it goes."

But he was met with silence. Mona was already gone.

Mona was still tempted to gut Timmy and just let the Ventrue have his stinky little town.

She was in above her head with this one, but it didn't worry her. It irked her. Deception was the preferred method of Getting Stuff Done among the undead, but she had other things to do. Money was great and all, but she didn't do what she did for that. She didn't do it for pats on the back, because screw that noise. She wasn't a good guy. Truth was, Mona wasn't sure why she did anything anymore.

It may have been idiotic to release Bart from his duties so early in the night, but the walk down the main stretch of road that connected Rural Haven to the outside world had done a wonderful job of calming her down. Timmy had been right about one thing; there really were no other vampires in Rural Haven (with the exception of his enemies, who were probably snoozing beyond city limits in two grand a night hotel rooms), but she shivered every time she heard the lonesome howl of wolves off in the distance.

The odd car drifted by, each blinding her with their lights, and as the howling grew louder, closer, Mona Oliveira did the only think she could think to do. She stood where she was, stretched her arm out and jerked her thumb up. An ancient eighteen wheeler slowed as it approached her, the hiss of its brakes loud enough to stop the howling, if only for a moment.

A figure leaned toward the passenger side door and threw it open. Mona, her arm still outstretched, peered up into the man's face. He was at least sixty, possibly older, his arms decorated in faded ink and his long beard as white as the hair that hung out from beneath the tye-dyed bandanna on his head. His leather vest was adorned with patches, the most prominent being a black one with POW-MIA embroidered across the front in white thread.

"You need a ride?"

Mona looked to her thumb. "No, I was just trying to figure out how stupid I could look out here."

The old man chuckled. "Get the hell in here, kiddo. There's wolves out there." He winked at her, and Mona, who showed little fear but in truth was afraid of a great many things, eyeballed the climb into the cab and began rolling up the bottom hem of her skirt. The truck driver looked away, his cheeks red. "I don't take trade for a good deed. Jesus H. Christ..what are you.."

And he saw out of the corners of his eyes what she was doing. His gaze widened when she unfastened the last buckle on her wooden leg, and he turned his head back to her just in time to watch the fake limb land next to him. Mona pulled herself up into the cab then, closing the door behind her.

"Well I'll be damned," the old man whispered, and then he laughed. "I been on the road a long time, little girl, but ain't ever seen no one do that."

"Never seen a girl with a wooden leg?"

"Sure I have. Saw a girl with wooden teeth once, too," he clinked his own pearly whites to emphasize his lie, and Mona smiled. "Where you headin'?"

"I'll know when I see it, eh.."

"Mad Jack, and maybe the 'mad' part is true. Had a dream where I picked up a girl just like you, only she was dead. What's your name, Dead Girl?"

Mona tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, which perked up when Mad Jack started the engine. She read his aura, the way that she had read Bart's aura, and how peculiar it was. Wobbly, yes, Mad Jack had apparently not gained his nickname unjustly, and streaked through with bright white lights that provided poor covering to the serenity underneath. "Mona," she finally offered, and she relaxed.

"Well Mona, wherever you end up, right now you're where you need to be."

They pulled into the parking lot of Ruby's Cafe just as a mustang peeled out. Mona took note of how similar the car was to Bart's, but he was back at the motel sleeping, and how much mischief could a man get into when he was dead to the world?

About as much as a vampire and a crazy old truck driver, she reckoned. The great old truck thrummed where it sat parked, but neither of Ol' Gina's passengers seemed in too much of a hurry to get out. Willie Nelson was blaring so loudly on the radio that the truck's windows were shaking. He was singing of a simple man down Louisiana way, who lived with his hateful wife, and both Mad Jack and Mona were singing right along with him.

When the song ended, Mad Jack made a wistful sound and patted Mona on her head. "Ol' Willie gets it. Maybe it's because you can get a contact buzz just standin' near him, but he gets it."

Mona peeked up at him from beneath his bandanna and smiled from ear to ear. She had no clue what Mr. Nelson 'got' but Mad Jack seemed to believe he got it so vehemently that Mona dared not ask what it was. When he spied Mona retrieving a cigarette from her pocket, he rolled his window down just a crack. "I don't mind smokin' in here, but I can't stand it myself. My lungs are old as is, but I guess it ain't gonna do you no harm."

Mona rolled her window down further and hung her head out of it as she puffed away on her coffin nail. "How did you know?"

"You get old as me, you learn to look for things. You don't breathe for one thing. Some of you guys, you learn how to do it for show, but a guy can even spot that if he works hard enough at it."

Mad Jack was a source of amazement for Mona. There was no pretense about him, and while that was rare, rarer still was his complete and utter acceptance of the lesser seen aspects of the world. He knew what she was and he didn't seem to care. If he had, he would have left her for the wolves to deal with, dream or no dream.

He turned down the radio and watched the cafe's comings and goings, just happy to be. Mona eyed his POW-MIA patch, and if he noticed then Mad Jack didn't say a word. He wiped at his brow with a napkin and killed the engine. "There ya go, old girl," he muttered to the truck. "Rest sweet."

"Who are we waiting for?"

Mad Jack looked down at her and smiled uneasily. "More of your kind, Mona Girl. That's what you're looking for, right?"

Mona nodded and looked off to the cafe. Just truckers and drifters so far, nothing that stood out. "These ones, they probably do not like the Willie Nelson."

Mad Jack laughed a deep laugh. "Hell, I doubt they like anything. Only two reasons you dead folk come to Rural Haven. You're looking for someone or you're looking to take it over. Timmy being the exception, of course. That old bag of bulls*** is just looking for peace."

Mona sank down into her seat. She wondered if Mad Jack had ever found peace, but she knew the answer to that. He knew peace when he was driving, like Bart, but even calm rivers were no strangers to storms.
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The woman stuck out like a sore thumb. She was dressed in a blue business suit, her hair twisted into an immaculate bun, and the way she walked in, the way her hips slipped from side to side, drew the eye of everyone in the cafe.

Mona watched her cautiously, committing her appearance and her movements to memory from the safety of Ol' Gina's cab. Mad Jack had assured her that the truck could have been carrying a dozen of her kind, and no one but he would know. Mages had their ways, even if they weren't always so obvious on the surface.

The woman ordered nothing, but whatever she said must have angered the plump man behind the counter, if only until he looked into her eyes and was Dominated into silence.

"Blue blood," said Mona and Mad Jack in unison, and the old man grinned. "Jinx, Mona Girl, you owe me a soda."

Mona knew better than to assume why anyone would want to control Rural Haven. She came from a dot on the map herself, a lovelier place no doubt, but almost forgotten, and still her kind fought and died over a foothold there. She tossed her spent cigarette from the window while Mad Jack drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.

"I think she told them that their cafe is gonna be leveled," observed the old mage. "Why do you think she did that?"

"So Timmy would find out, hunt her down and meet his end. I doubt she knows he called in reinforcements, you know?"

They watched the woman sashay from the cafe, and if looks could kill then she would have died a thousand deaths from the glares the patrons were shooting her way. A driver moved from the van that she had arrived in and opened the door from her. Mad Jack turned the key, bringing Ol' Gina's engine sputtering to life.

"Mona Girl, I wouldn't be too sure of that. Why go through the trouble when it's pretty easy to find Timmy?"

Realization hit Mona like a brick to the face. "..because she doesn't know if other vampires are around. Causing a scene lures them out."

The old man nodded and rolled his window up. "Bingo, chickie. Don't matter if she knows you're here or not, she's still as paranoid as a crackhead in a police line-up. So how about you and me tail her? Put a bit more fear in her?"

Mona smiled and slapped the dashboard. "Sim sim, but I get to blow the horn."

Mad Jack smiled and steered Ol' Gina out of the parking lot once the van was gone. A mile down the road, the ancient freighter's horn honked out into the darkness.

Her name was Elizabeth Burton and she was a tough nut to crack. They had enlisted Timmy's help in holding her while Mona removed the stake, and she had screamed and screamed until Bart was sure his ears would bleed. Mona knelt down before her, stared her in the eyes, and commanded her to stop her caterwauling. Under her spell, Elizabeth did as she was told, but there was still hate in her eyes, as bright as any sun.

"You are going to tell me what I need to know," crooned Mona, her face just inches from the Ventrue woman's. The vampire spit a red glob of saliva into her face and glared bloody murder.

"Eat me."

Mona's eyes narrowed and she wiped the spit from her face. "I might do that. Put my teeth to your neck and drink and drink and drink until you wither away to dust." Pale amber hues shone with promise. By the door, Bart shuffled nervously from one foot to the other. Timmy remained calm, but his hold on Elizabeth tightened.

In one hand Mona held a dull edged butter knife, and in the other she held three of Elizabeth Burton's fingers. It had taken some doing, some sawing, but Mona was anything if not persistent. "How many of you are there?"

Elizabeth remained quiet, and Bart turned his back just as Mona lifted the woman's wounded hand up. The worst part about it was that he could hear what she was doing, and when the blade hit bone, his stomach lurched. Still under Mona's glamour, the woman did not scream, but she didn't have to. Her eyes were awash with agony. When he turned back around, two more digits had been added to Mona's quickly growing collection.

"I will ask again," Mona said in a cool manner that would have given any dyed in the wool sociopath a run for their money. "How. Many. Of. You. Are. There?"

"Six," Elizabeth cried. "Six! There are six of us! There! THERE! Are you happy!?"

Mona studied her face and smiled a sweet smile. Timmy remained as still as a statue. "No," Mona whispered, bringing Elizabeth's intact hand in hers and lacing their fingers together. She brought it to her lips and placed a kiss on each knuckle. "You have four more fingers and a thumb still. Then we will move on to your toes, then your face."

Bart blanched at what he was seeing, but Mona didn't seem to notice. He wondered what Mad Jack would think if he was around, but the old man had had the good sense to excuse himself from the interrogation. Elizabeth looked horrified, the seriousness of the situation no doubt abundantly clear. She bared her feeding teeth at Mona, but Bart wasn't sure if it was to threaten her or if it was because the pain was too great.

"Tell me where you all are?" Mona's voice was too sweet, too casual, and Bart could taste bile.

The woman winced as Mona drug her fangs across her remaining fingertips. "...the construction site down Wolfe's Road. There are trailers there. Four of them."

"And your leader?"

"Sylvester Malloy."

Mona released her hand and stepped back, her eyes resting upon Timmy's face. "Let her go."

Timmy, Bart and even Elizabeth looked confused, but Mona wasn't in the mood to argue. "Let her go." As Timmy reluctantly released the woman, Mona smiled at her. "Obrigada for your help, Senhora."

Without a word, Elizabeth rushed from the room, leaving all but Mona to stare after her, gobsmacked. Bart was the first to speak. "You're not afraid she'll just run off and tell her bosses?"

Mona turned on her heels to face him, and thumbed away a spot of blood from her cheek. "I hope that she does. I doubt they are at the construction site. Meet me out in the car in five minutes."

And she turned and left. Timmy watched in confusion and then looked to Bart. "I hope she has a plan."

Bart slumped forward, studying the blood and the severed fingers with disgust. "Man, I do too."

Hickory House had been beautiful once upon a time, yet time had taken its toll on the huge mansion. The entire third floor was completely caved into the second, leaving only the first floor in relatively good nick; but its windows were busted and boarded, and a large pin oak had torn away the house's left side. The yard was blanketed with weeds as high as Bart's waist, and he nearly tripped over a rock in the darkness. Cursing, he righted himself and his little rider seated upon his shoulders and quickly turned his flashlight on. A tombstone, the name and date worn away by the elements. Bart and his boss looked around and discovered that the whole yard was littered with them. There were dozens, perhaps hundreds, and the flashlight's beam could only travel so far.

"Yeah," Bart mused, "this isn't freaky at all."

If she agreed, Mona didn't show it, and she answered him by nudging her heel into his side and pointing to the side of the house still standing. Bart wanted to remind her that he wasn't a frickin' horse, but he knew when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em, and obediently the young man carried his cold little burden toward a set of old cellar storm doors.

In the scrub forest that surrounded the property, a wolf howled, and Bart could feel Mona tense up. He winced when her nails bit into his skull. "Probably a coyote," he hissed, he lied. "Nothing to really worry about." But since when had a coyote's howl, or a wolf's for that matter, sounded so eerily similar to sinister laughter? Another howl joined the first, and then another and another, and Bart scrambled to help Mona down to the ground. If he didn't she was bound to take his scalp off. The moment her foot touched terra firma, a bust of articifical light blinded them. Bart immediately threw his hands behind his head and squinted. "Well," he muttered, "**** me."

It was meant for Mona, but something told him that she was gone.

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They threw him into a large, iron cage in the basement. There were five of them, not six, but Bart figured Elizabeth wasn't going to be making it to the party. Their leader was a tall, thin man with short hair as dark as pitch. He would have been handsome had his grin not been so smug. It took awhile for Bart's eyes to adjust to the dim light, but it didn't take long for him to spot Mona's wooden leg propped against a shadow cloaked corner.

The vampires spoke in hushed voiced, clustered around their leader like an unkindness of ravens, and Bart secretly hoped that they had forgotten about him. It had been thirty minutes since they had captured him, but it felt more like hours, and not a one had looked his way since then. But it just wasn't Bart's night. No sooner had he relaxed did tall, dark and self-satisfied turn around and fix him with that stupid grin. "You are the boy our Ruby told us about, eh?" His voice was as smooth as butter, damn him, and it clung fast to a faded Spanish accent. "I am called Sly."

And I'm a unicorn, man. Bart glared at him, his lips drawn tight. The rest of the man's coterie watched closely, their faces expressionless masks.

The man withdrew the hand he had offered and smiled his self-satisfied smile. He smelled like expensive cologne and mildew. "Not very chatty, are we? Well, no matter. The girl you were with, what's her name?"

There was a look in his eyes, hidden behind a sheen of cold calculation, that Bart knew all too well. Fear. This asshat was afraid of Mona. Why else would he have stolen her leg? "Why don't you ask her, dude?"

Sly's smile slowly faded. "We would if we could catch her. Antonio almost had her, but all he managed to swipe was her leg." Another dead guy, probably Antonio, smiled as if he had just won some prize.

Bart was looking beyond sly, beyond Antonio and the rest. A small pale hand shot out of the darkness to grip the leg, and in a flash it was gone. It was his turn to grin. "Mona Oliveira."

Sly's entourage looked confused, but their master's face grew paler, if such a thing were even possible. Whatever plans he had had for Bart were suddenly gone, the mage could tell that much. "Anyone can drop a name, boy." He turned quickly to face his comrades, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. "I want all of you out looking for her, and don't screw her up too much. I'd like to personally see who it is we're dealing with."

Antonio cocked his head to one side. "What about the boy?"

"The first one who brings her to me gets to keep him."

They left in such a hurry that Bart wasn't sure if he should be horrified or flattered.

Bart had somehow managed to fall asleep, but it was an uneasy sleep, filled with nightmares that, upon waking, he still couldn't shake. Mona lay as stiff as a board against him, her head on his shoulder. So the sun is out. He was still too afraid to venture beyond the safety of the basement, and there was this weird need to keep Mona where she was. She looked so innocent when she was sleeping, and he hadn't the heart to move her.

But the call of nature was far more powerful than sentimentality, and he guided Mona gently to the floor before finding a corner to take a leak in. He groaned in relief and tipped his head back, but he learned too late that he had slept longer than he had thought. When he turned around, tucked himself back into his jeans and zipped up, he found his boss staring at him. "Well. This is pretty embarrassing."

Mona shrugged her shoulders and stretched her arms high above her head, but she smiled a small smile when she noticed how red his cheeks had become. "Humans, they are always leaking. Do not apologize for it. No one else does."

He coughed and cleared his throat. "Should we leave?"

His boss shook her head and reached for her crutch. "And risk running into one of those things? No no no. We stay."

There were a few flaws in her plan as far as Bart was concerned. For one, he was hungry. Secondly, she was probably hungry. Last but not least, he didn't fancy ending up on her dinner menu. But he had something new and shiny to worry about when the storm doors were thrown open. They both tensed up and Mona's feeding teeth slipped free, but all that they heard was Timmy's laughter.

"Hey guys. Figured you'd be here. Come on out. I'll give you a ride back to the motel."

Bart blinked and looked from Timmy to Mona and back again. "I could drive. My car's just outside."

Timmy shook his head, his lips pulling into a half smirk. "Not anymore, man. Looks like a bunch 'a bears tried to make it their girlfriend."
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Bart really wasn't sure what the wolves had done to his precious, four wheeled baby, but after seeing the havoc they had reigned down upon it, he was certain he didn't really want to know. Even so, he sat in the back of Timmy's old beater in mourning. The 'Stang had been a good car and it certainly had deserved a better death than what the Black Spiral Dancers had given it. Mona had busied herself with rummaging through Timmy's glove compartment, and her search had yielded a plethora of random treasures; a three dollar bill, four bucks work of nickels, some neon pink string and a small brocade change purse filled with receipts. She stuffed everything but the receipts into her pocket as if Timmy hadn't been watching her the entire time.

"Not even gonna ask about the string," he mumbled.

At the motel, they found that they had company. He was sitting on one of the algae stained chairs by the defunct pool, his eyes numb, his mouth twitching. Timmy gripped the steeling wheel harder, while Bart watched Sly warily from the backseat. When Mona reached for it, he passed her crutch to her. "Need help, Boss Lady?"

Mona shook her head, and when Timmy went to move, she placed a hand upon his shoulder to still him. "Tying up loose ends, that are part of the job."

Sly rose when she approached, and even held the rusted chain link gate open for her. He spared one look to the car before removing his jacket and placing it upon one of the chairs for Mona. She smiled, a pointless, polite gesture was still polite, and sat down.

"You're Mona Oliveira." Not a question but an observation, and for a moment Sly looked utterly disappointed. "I expected you to be..bigger."

Mona wasn't offended by the remark, but she wasn't about to entertain it either. "What do you want?"

The man laughed a dry, humorless laugh and rolled one shoulder. "I would like my employees back, but I don't see that happening. I had thought the wolves would leave us alone." He shook his head and stared up at the stars. "You play a good game, and as much as I hate to say it, you win."

The little brunette lifted a dark brow, her lips pursed together as she chewed on his words. Sly tore his gaze from the stars and peered into her face. "This place is cursed. I should have guessed that by all of the abandoned construction sites, but hindsight and all that jazz." He clasped his hands together and forced a smile. "Tell Mr. Timothy that he can have the damned place. I'm washing my hands of it. He'll have no more trouble out of me."

Mona's own smile was faint and short lived, and with a nod she rose with the help of her crutch to her remaining foot. Without another word, without so much as a last glance over her shoulder, she went straight for the car to tell Timmy the good news.

===============================

Timmy was extremely thankful, but that didn't stop him from trying to convince Mona to donate her profit right back to him. "For maintenance," he had said. Mona had looked around the grounds of the motel, and remembering what Timmy had told them when they first met, she plucked the envelope from his hand and said. "You are a sorry maintenance man, are you not?"

In the motel room, she split the cash 50/50, tucked her share into her purse and Bart's back into the envelope. She tossed it his way. Mad Jack watched from his spot on the bed. He had been doing a hell of a lot better than Bart would have thought. If one good thing had come out of him being shot, it was that he could rest, and Mona had went ahead and paid the room up for another few weeks the moment Timmy's money had touched her hand.

"You guys leavin' so soon?" he managed in between channel surfing. He never lingered on one channel for too long. He said he was afraid he'd miss something.

Mona patted his leg and smiled. "Get better, okay?" And when she pressed a chilly kiss against his cheek, he even blushed.

"We got things to see, people to do," croaked Bart as he zipped up his jacket. "But really, it was nice to meet you, man."

"Come visit us sometime, Mad Jack," Mona chirped. "When we are not so much moving around though."

"Mona Girl, I think I'll do just that. You two stay safe, and say a prayer for your old pal Jack, if'n you're the prayin' sort."

They weren't, but they did anyway.