The Puppet Master - Part II

The stench of rotting garbage poisoned her sense of smell even as she delicately avoided pools of stagnant water that collected in the ruts left by day-carriages. There was nothing she could do about the dress, Mel thought as she fastidiously smoothed away any traces of dirt she could find on the white ruffles that ran down her bodice. A soft clicking sound to her left reached her before the scream actually did. A high pitched wail of pure terror followed by frantic sloshing sent her into a sprint down the alley.

Mel knew it was more than a little foolish to run headlong into a dark alley, but instinct sent her feet flying before she even realized it. The knife flashed in her hand as she left what little light that remained behind her at the mouth of the alley. Coldness pressed in on her from both sides like ice walls closing in. She felt the dirty grasp of the puppet master's magic before she saw him. The slight figure at the other end of the alley didn't even turn to challenge her. He merely flicked his fingers at the two sendings next to him, both teenage girls, younger than Mel herself. They stumbled forward, none of the grace of youth in their cold limbs. No spark whatsoever in the blue eyes that were rapidly turning black, the colour seeping into the whites of their doll-like eyes even as they moved. Both girls had identical stab wounds that still bled sluggishly, staining their bodices with the same black substance that was now flooding their veins.

Mel grit her teeth in suppressed anger. They had just been killed. New sendings, freshly made. Bile rose in her throat as the last, fleeting memories of the two girls flashed through her mind. The screaming, the pleading and finally the dying. They had both been sent out from the brothel, on a call to a wealthy man that had sent for them. The two prettiest flowers of Dastard Street. Their clothes had been on loan, Mel saw as the eldest sister wept quietly while tying up the laces to the back of the very revealing dress on her younger sister. Fourteen and thirteen. They were much too young to be working as call girls. The brothel owner was a haggard looking woman, in her late fifties, way past the usual call girl age but still caked in makeup, the white powder running in the wrinkle lines on her face and smeared with spots of rouge. She patted the girls distractedly, warning them not to ruin Rose's best dresses.

The final sight was always distracting, Mel tried to keep her mind focused but the gift of runes came with the curse of final sight. She swung the dagger in her hand, backhanding the girl nearest to her with the hilt of the dagger. The girl crumpled and dissolved into nothing at the touch of the rune carved into the hilt. Her violet dress sank to the ground with a soft sigh. The other one, the eldest, still lurched towards Mel, her pale blue dress swaying with the movement. Her pupils were now absorbed into the blackness that spread throughout her eyes. Mel tried the same trick she used on the younger girl but this sending was smarter. Or perhaps, the puppet master was getting smarter. Mel sneaked a glance at the figure standing with his arms crossed, resting against an upturned water barrel. A cocky grin was directed her way from under the brim of the top hat making her blood boil.

~Rei Shiori