(6.2) Deus Ex Machina?

Chapter 6, Part 2

I stared at my phone for a few minutes before finally deciding that if Mab wanted all these (presumably) innocent people dead, there had to be a good reason. After all, it was obvious that my target had already left the scene, so what good could come of this slaughter? Maybe they were all linked somehow to an enemy of Mab’s that I didn’t know about.  Perhaps this was all part of some big plan that my puny non-fae mind couldn’t comprehend. Then again she might have just been a murderous bitch.

I tried ignoring that last thought as I cleaned my sword on the last victim’s shirt, beginning to wonder just how in the hell I was going to get away from the scene.

Apparently, whatever God or Demon that was in charge of Deus Ex Machina liked me as I was treated to the wonderful sight of headlights on the horizon. However, as the car got closer the outline of the station wagon became more apparent, making it clear to me that I wasn’t liked enough to get out of here in style.

After putting my sword back in my luggage, I grabbed a small satchel, a nifty little thing that I normally used to bypass security guards or bystanders that I didn’t need to kill. Then, I got on my knees in the middle of the road, bowed my head and cried…

Don’t look at me like that. It’s called acting.

When the car came skidding to a halt in front of me, I went into overdrive mode, sniffling and bawling my eyes out. My eyes being closed at this point, I could only hear the car doors opening as a man asked me what happened. When I opened my eyes, a man and a woman were standing over me. They were older folks, both dressed in jeans and matching t-shirts that read “VEGAS OR BUST!”

“Young man,” he started. “What happened here. Are you alright?”

Being a fan crappy movies and dramatic clichés, I couldn’t help but say “I’ve never been better.” I then looked up at him, grinned my biggest smile and lifted my hand, bringing a handful of sand to my lips and blowing it into the faces of the couple.

It took them about two seconds to hit the ground, and about four seconds for me to hear them snoring.

Oh. Did I mention that I got the bag from a friend of Mab’s? Most people call him the Sandman. I call him Eric. But I digress.

After gathering up my things and throwing them into the passenger seat, I started rooting through the couple’s luggage, searching for something that was a little less blood-drenched. I really only needed a shirt, as my pants were black and simply looked as if I’d spilled something on them. I ended up finding a white tank top and put it on. The man I’d knocked out was smaller than me though, so it clung to me in a very emasculating way.

After searching the man’s body, I located his cell phone, flipped it open and dialed 911. I guess the old couple had better cell phones than those of us stricken to the bus. When the operator came on, I screamed once and dropped the phone. Climbing into the driver’s seat, I gunned the engine, threw it into gear and drove towards Vegas like a bat out of a nursing home.

“Okay,” I said to myself. “First I need to get to Three-Eyed Tom, and then I have to infiltrate a secret organization that specializes in studying and killing the things that go bump in the night.”

I turned on the radio, thinking to myself just how in the hell I was supposed to get into Department 7.