Water Belongs to the Dead

A woman was looking down the barrel of a gun. She was on the right side of it.

The corrosive residue would become a problem. Serenica had to remove it. The flintlock rifle bathed in the vapors of her morning tea.

Her eyes darted towards the door to her kitchen every five seconds.

Nothing else on her face moved.

She listened and made no noise herself.

On the other side of the door, her friend Helen was having her own cup of tea.

Except that her spoon was no longer jingling against the ceramic surface.

The blonde woman sat in a rigid position in the kitchen chair. A man in a long grey coat held a knife on her throat.

Helen wasn't Serenica.

If not for the tanto shaped tip drawing blood from her flawless skin, she would have screamed.

She would have died.

In a way, it was a good thing that the city guard man was threatening her.

There were two other men in the kitchen. The taller one was a nervous young recruit in a similar grey uniform.

The other one was wearing a red robe. His beard kept and his eyes calm, he seemed to pose a far greater threat to Helen's safety than the city guards.

In fact, even the sturdy guy with the knife seemed threatened by the witch man.

Someone was sending people after Serenica Ingram. City guards with the legal power to kill her if she resisted arrest, and now there was a witch in her kitchen.

Serenica had been a witch for long enough that she knew her ilk. He had his opulent robes. He was serene in the face of violence. Case closed.

Serenica had been a doctor for long enough that she knew what the issue was. She had her special license that removed her gender disadvantage in her profession. She had all her paperwork in perfect order. She even mingled with Sennites such as Helen.

She had finished cleaning her rifle by now. Waiting for a commotion to cover the noise of loading it, she brushed her curly black hair back.

Sunlight swept over her olive skin. The beads of sweat on her forehead were not caused by terror.

It was too hot in here.

There was an unfortunately long silence from the kitchen. No good sounds, but no bad sounds, either.

Serenica had made too much noise with her practice in Neul. She had been too good and too cheap. Some doctors didn't like that.

Actually, most of the snake oil charlatans in this city of Neul didn't like her. She was too educated and competent to compete. The others played dirty.

The presence of the male witch was a bit too much, though. Someone was rallying the doctors of Neul against her. Someone had organized a vile attack that she couldn't write off as an actual arrest.

Serenica frowned. They should have dug up some dirt on her. It was illegal to perform witchcraft for money, after all.

"You will tell us where her license is or die!" the knife guy finally shouted.

Helen panicked, trying to get a single word out. Cupboard. A rather obvious answer and not the thing they were looking for. They weren't about to remove Serenica from the field in the legal manner. They wanted an excuse to scare her, even kill her if needed.

But the argument from the kitchen gave her enough time.

In a short movement she had practiced for more than a decade of her 21 years of life, she loaded the rifle. She used the timing of the commotion to approach the door.

No one heard her until she kicked the door open.

She faced the witch staring her down with his hands in his pockets. That was bad news. The witch was expecting her to try to take him out first. He knew she considered him the most dangerous.

She thought he was preparing for a spell, standing like that.

"Go," Serenica said to him, nudging towards the front door with her head.

She was brave, not a fool.

The witch left the room without looking away from her for a second.

The knife guy was still holding the blade to Helen's neck.

Helen, always the softie, was about as wide-eyed and panicked as a human person should have been.

"Two men, hard and big, against a woman," Serenica said.

She knew how this would end without her advantage. She had no muscle on her body to speak of, instead some feminine softness on a fragile frame. Her physical prowess consisted of steady hands and excellent eyesight.

Her agility and speed were another matter. These talents were more due to her mental skill sets than any actual athleticism.

Otherwise, she was pretty much shit at everything.

"You know why I am not scared of your blades or fists?" she asked.

"Shut up! She will die if –"

The knife guy could not finish his sentence.

Serenica shot him in the head, splattering his mortal mind all over Helen and the table.

Serenica pulled out her second gun, a small yet reliable pistol. She had modified the thing to suit her needs.

She preferred a long, rifled barrel, but this was a great emergency backup.

The frightened tall city guard was about to pull out his own gun. For a fraction of a moment, he seemed to hesitate between a firearm and a blade. That part of the crucial second cost him everything.

The mixture of human fear and hatred filled the air, a thick and greasy scent.

It had taken the city guards too long to go from torture mode to self-defence.

Had they immediately shot at Serenica, they would have had a chance of wounding her. City guard guns were inferior to professional equipment, as were their aiming skills. Still...

They could have taken her down.

Luck was always a factor. She was but one woman. Helen wasn't of any help.

A wound was still a wound.

"I have a gun," Serenica said and shot the remaining attacker in the chest.