“You sure no one can hear them?”
“I do this all the time,” she answers simply. I inspect her from the corner of my eye, looking her up and down.
“You kill people often?”
She’s a small thing, but the girl can fight. And by the near-constant murderous gleam in her eye, it truly doesn’t surprise me.
She shrugs. “Only the demons.”
I can’t help the small grin. “Do you call yourself the demon-slayer too?”
She snarls and stomps her foot like the child she’s dressed up to be. “You’re not funny!”
I disagree.
But instead of arguing, I turn my attention back to the matter at hand.
Just as expected, the second I rip the tape from his mouth, he starts pleading for his life. And the minute I tell Mark who I really am, his reddened face instantly drains of all blood until his skin is an ashen, grey pallor. The other three men’s faces follow suit, looking at me as if I’m the grim reaper.
I smile.
I am the fucking grim reaper.
I ignore Mark’s reminders that we were friends and his pathetic attempt to point the blame on his business partners while citing his own innocence.
It doesn’t surprise me that he’d pass off the blame so easily to others. He’s selfish, narcissistic, and a complete imbecile. And by the look on the distressed men’s face sitting next to him, they don’t think highly of him right now, either.
In the short time that I’ve known Mark, I've discovered not very many of his colleagues do.
He's loud, boisterous, and outspoken. Always trying to be the cool guy and fit in with the crowd. I've also heard through the grapevine that Mark tends to disagree with a lot of his colleague’s political views. Always voting opposite on bills within his own party.
Don't give two fucks about politics either, at least not the kind that deals with laws and regulations. I break those on a daily basis. The fuck would I care about what laws are getting passed when I've never applied them to my life anyway?
I also manage to piss off the demon-slayer when she starts whining about not getting to kill them yet.
“By all means, start the killing,” I say, gesturing towards Miller, Jack, and Robert. “Don’t let me stop your demon-slaying.”
The air whistles, my only indication that some type of weapon is on its way to plowing into my head like the asteroids that killed off the dinosaurs. I jerk to the side, watching the blade sluice right past my head and into Mark’s gut.
That looks like it fucking hurts.
And then she goes off the deep end, tackling Robert and stabbing him until he's literally mush. Despite the fact that he's no longer a solid mass, she keeps going. It’s when Mark starts puking that I’ve had enough.
Sighing, I get up and walk over to her, grabbing her hand and stopping her from her inane stabbing. She's got strength and energy, that's for sure. It takes a lot to stab someone repeatedly. It's more exhausting than people give it credit for. Stabbing someone even up to a hundred times with the force she's using would have a grown man panting for breath.
And while a thin layer of sweat coats her made-up face, she looks like she's ready for more.
“Now you’re going to stop me from demon-slaying?!” she shrieks, her voice pitched so high, it nearly makes me cringe. God. Fucking women and their screeching.
“Little girl, there’re quite a few things you need to get serious help for, but I’d say anger management is top of the list.”
She stares at me, her face starting to get twitchy. She looks like a malfunctioning robot, and I'd say that this experience now takes the number one spot of the interesting situations I've gotten myself into.
She looks on the verge of exploding, so I reign in my temper and demand, “Look at me.”
Her big ass brown eyes stare up at me, and if it wasn’t for the crazed glimmer in her eye and the fact that she’s covered head to toe in blood, she’d look innocent and sweet.
What a fucking lie that would be.
“Drop the knife.” Her hand instantly seizes, letting the knife clang to the blood-soaked floor. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Sibel.” She pauses. “My friends call me Sibby.”
A pang of pity stabs at me. Something tells me the only friends this girl has are the people in her head. This girl is alone—completely alone. Judging by her niche for lurking in the walls, I would bet money that no one that works at this fair is even aware of her presence.
Sighing internally, I decide to throw the girl a bone. Don’t know if it’s because I feel fucking bad for her or what, but fuck, I guess I do.