Chapter Ten

SHE shivered, feeling a wave of nausea.

Infront on her lay dead bodies; some lying in horrifying positions, some lay sprawled out almost casually, their deathly pale faces starkly visible, while the others seemed almost- peaceful, like they had no fear, no worry in their life as if their death hadn't been a painful one.

But it surely must've been painful, she thought, looking at the bullet wounds, through chests and heads.

The room they were standing in, she noticed, looked like a dining room, furnished with a long polished oak table and antique chairs with high backs and rather uncomfortable cushions.

The chandeliers overhead cast a warm, cozy light, tinting everything with a pleasant yellow, creamy tint.

It would've taken her breath away (if she had a breath anymore and) if it weren't for the bodies.

The royal dining room looked rather haunted and horrifying now.

She wanted to get out of here, out and away, as far away as was possible. She wanted to run away from the life she had.

And yet she found herself rooted to the spot, her feet making no attempt to turn around and leave.

She closed her eyes, taking an unnecessary breath in and went over the events of today.

Walking up only to find out you're some mythical, damned creature, seeing your bestfriend in what felt like ages, meeting a vampire very much like herself, and a warlock with taloned hands.

Then the message that led them here.

And at that moment she had found herself thinking, No way this could get any worse.

Now, standing in the middle of some house strewned with dead bodies in the middle of busy LA, she felt happy for not saying that out loud.

Never again would she think or even say, could today get any worse?

Because now she knew, she knew how much less in control they were.

There was always something huge looming over them, over everyone, in fact. It could be change or death or pain, anything at all. All it was waiting for was a sign, a small, small sign.

And that sign could be the fact that you were getting a little too used to something or someone. It was waiting for you to get comfy with your routine and then it would come hurtling towards you, full speed while you are blissfully ignorant of it.

Until it comes.

And it will change your life in such a way that going back to what it was earlier isn't an option, hell, it isn't even possible anymore.

Nothing remains mundane for long.

There's always something that happens that comes to disrupt your routine, your so called daily life.

So what do you do? Hide in your bedroom? Retreat? Hide from people? Clamp up because you don't want your life to get disrupted? Because you don't want to lose someone or something? Because you love that little routine of yours?

No, you can't hide.

There is no hiding.

Despite everything and everyone, you have to live. Love while you can, smile while you can, learn while you can. You can't keep, you can't capture that little moment, that little joke, someones laugh. Because when you open up your hand a little later to re-live that little memory you'll find that it has already slipped out between your fingers, slipped out and gone forever.

You'll never have had a chance to really see it or hear it because while you did have that chance you kept it for later, later on.

You didn't enjoy it then.

And then you're in agony, pain, you had it, that memory, it was right there in front of your eyes and now its all gone, gone, never to be touched again.

Cristina didn't want to live half a life, never taking a risk, never doing something new and different, never living for the right, for doing good, risking her life for it even.

No, she thought fiercely, I want to do what's right, even it means my own end.

Opening her eyes with renewed passion, she realized all the bodies were vampire bodies.

They were too late to do anything.

She felt a hysterical laughter begin to bubble at the back of her throat: it was ironic, she thought, the immortal could be killed with a bullet.

Immortality didn't mean invincibility.

Immortality was seriously overrated. Huh.

SIt was a boy, somewhere in his late teens.

She knelt down by him forcing herself to stop panicking.

Maybe they could save him.

Maybe not.

But they would try.

There was blood welling up at his chest and his hair was matted with it.

"Hey..." she said softly to the dying boy, "It's okay, we'll get help."

She turned to Zac, who had now gone green but was trying to look composed, and mouthed, Dale.

He nodded a little too vigorously, sending his dark hair flying in all possible directions and took off like a shot to the where they'd entered the kitchen from and yelled, "Dale, in the kitchen." And cane zooming back to Cristina's side.

he forced it down when she heard Dale, who had gone through the house looking for signs of life, say there were Fifteen dead bodies.

But the murderers were no where to be seen.

Zac was still standing behind her, she realized with a start. She turned a little to him and looked at him through the corner of her eye. But he was already looking at her.

Apart from looking slightly queasy, he seemed fine.

But he was giving her that look.

She smiled a little at him.

So they did have the same thought after all.

Justice.

She nodded slightly and moved further into the house, knowing Zac would follow.

***

Three strides into the house, she realized that this was going to be way more difficult than it seemed at first.

But that didn't mean she was going to quit and stand at that doorway doing nothing.

She had never been the kind of person who sat around doing nothing.

She was all about action.

And being a vampire hadn't changed that, thankfully.

She strode purposefully through the royal dining room, avoiding the bodies and blood.

She was no longer dazed.

She had a plan and she wasn't going to stop.

Not now, not ever.

The long dining room led to a kitchen on the left and a bedroom on the right.

They strode into the kitchen, Cristina's feet making no noise at all, after noticing that the bedroom was locked and covered in a thick layer of dust.

They were quite sure no one had been there.

The kitchen, just like the dining room, was grand.

There were heavy, glittering chandeliers above them.

The walls were painted a metallic gold and walnut.

It looked like something out of a magazine.

Everything was sleek and shiny.

The chandeliers blazed overhead as they stepped into the kitchen.

An off-white marble kitchen island projected into the centre of the room.

The room looked....normal.

She ran her hand along the wall looking for switches because the lights in the further part of the room were off: only half the kitchen, the part where they were standing, was illuminated.

She found it weird.

But maybe it was nothing, she reassured herself.

She moved towards the darker, unlit portion of the room and stopped by the kitchen island.

Surely there had to be switches somewhere.

But she was quite sure there were none on this side of the room.

She obviously wasn't scared of the dark as she once was when she was younger but yet something seemed to be stopping her.

She was old enough to know that no monster was waiting to lunge at her if she stepped into someplace dark and yet her feet were rooted to the spot.

She took a deep unnecessary breath: calm down, calm down, she told herself.

She forced herself to turn her attention elsewhere for now.

But when she did so she caught sight of something that sent goosebumps down her body.

The kitchen island was covered in bloody fingerprints.

Dale had said there were no bodies in the kitchen.

No, no, no, no, was all her mind could think of as she followed the fingerprints around the rounded kitchen island.

She froze in horror and disbelief.

There: it was a body.

And it was still breathing.

***