01 New Moon

"Fucking ow!"

So far, today had not been one of my best days. For one, I was sitting on my ass for the fifth time in the past two hours. For another, I dwarfed the cause of my predicament by at least a foot and out weighted him by a hundred pounds -- Jack, no last name, was by no means an impressive man. Well, visually anyway. Despite wiry muscles on limbs some people would call skinny, the inch-long stubs of iron-grey hair barely on a level with my chin and at least four decades of wear and tear, he was a fast bastard -- emphasis on bastard.

"Your balance is off, your technique terrible and you don't know a damn thing about reading your opponent's movements."

See? Bastard. I had to resist the impulse to jump up and tear him limb from limb or do something equally graphic. It would be so easy; all the technique in the world would not save him if I jumped him faster than he could see and tore his head off. Or maybe I could tear off his right arm and enjoy all the blood and wailing and gnashing of teeth...
I shook my head in an attempt to banish that image pretending to need a couple of seconds to focus through the pain of the fall. I didn't. I barely even felt the fall or the blow that led to it. Just like with the colorful articulation of my pain and indignation a few seconds before, it was all show. The reason for doing it? Jack would expect a kick to the shin, the fall and a subsequent blow to the head from the inconveniently placed floor to hurt. I needed his help so I went along with human norm-I couldn't afford an inquisitive teacher that was also smart enough to cause trouble. I reminded myself for the fifth time in half as many hours that killing people barehanded was not normal and stood up, facing my instructor in the center of the mat in a stance that was one part trained fighter and nine parts clueless bimbo.

"Not my fault that you've had forever to train and I had only six months. And your bedside manner sucks."

My impudence was rewarded with a lightning-fast fist to the head followed by a circle kick intended to send me flying. Problem was, it was getting late and I wasn't paying attention so I moved on instinct and way faster than I intended. As everything seemingly moved in slow-motion, I sidestepped the fist, grabbed Jack's right leg and shoved, the entire sequence ending with me trying to catch up with what I've done and Jack spreadeagled on the mat with a pained expression on his face. Dark. Hastily kneeling to check the damage, I sighed in relief-nothing seemed broken.

"Are you all right?" Yeah, stupid question but I was entitled. I was blonde and it did come out of a bottle. He smiled at that -- he fucking smiled!
"Do you know what your problem is?" he said as I dragged him to his feet. Yeah, I did know but I doubted he could guess. He wouldn't even come close.
"You have potential but you don't accept it. You fight dumb and slow most of the time but sometimes -- like now -- you do something really impressive. You don't give your best and it is no way to learn-why?"
Dark, sometimes I hate being right. I also hate lying but there was no way I could answer his question.

"I don't know how to fight so I came here to learn. I'm not competent or anything." I pouted, blonde bimbo image fully displayed, my best I-am-cute-and-clueless expression concealing the lie. It worked -- Jack shook his head and let the matter drop. People wonder why many blondes look cute and stupid. If you could get away with almost anything by looks alone, wouldn't you do it?

"It's getting late -- see you Monday evening. Don't forget to practice. And Erika? Be careful. Chinatown can be dangerous at night."
He had no idea.
"I'm a big girl, Jack. I'll manage."

Grabbing my bag from the rusty old locker near the entrance, I looked back at the warehouse-turned-gym. Cracked brick walls forming a forty-foot windowless square and a rusty roof resting on rotting wooden supports glared back accusingly. The building might be as old as I felt at the moment but looked much older, worn-down and dying. Barely surviving the quake of 1906 put an end to any future it might have had but no one got around to rebuilding or tearing it down-the owners had had too bad a case of crushed-by-bricks to care. Jack found it about a decade ago when he was 'retired' from active service and thought it would make a decent sparring area for his few students. Nine years later it still looked about to collapse but beggars can't be choosers. At least he got rid of the century-old paraphernalia once stored within.

As always, I was the last student to leave, everyone else vanishing early and leaving me alone with Jack. Cowards, all of them. Taking inventory of my things and myself revealed my bluish tank top drenched and dusty, my tight jeans torn at the right knee and my bag devoid of extra clothing. Dark. My purse was also dangerously close to empty but no sense worrying about that perpetual state at the moment. With daylight rapidly diminishing and my house being at the far side of Sunset district (talk about irony) I had to hurry. I pulled the heavy iron door open under Jack's surprised gaze then left it open for him as I walked away; a feat everyone but me would need half a dozen kicks and several minutes of cursing to perform. Fortunately, I was taller and heavier than anyone in our little group so my door-opening skills did not seem unusual. Hastily moving towards the darkening side roads where I would not be observed, I felt the uneasiness Chinatown caused me ebb away. It wasn't the yellow skin tones and slit eyes that bothered me; it just didn't feel right towering above everyone by more than a foot, usually closer to two feet. So when I glimpsed a shape almost as tall as me as I crossed a dark side street and felt a slight prickle at the base of my neck I knew things were about to take a turn towards hairy.

Picking up some speed as the last light of day vanished, I reached a tangle of streets not wide enough to warrant the name. Focusing at the weird feeling crawling down my spine I could sense the direction of whoever observed me; a skill that had proven useful more than once. So when the muffled footsteps of someone trying to both keep up and remain silent but failing miserably at both were barely audible I paused to take stock of the situation. Darkness was swiftly swallowing San Francisco now and I knew what was coming and from where-three points in my favor. I didn't know who was tailing me though or whether they had help-two points against. Add a couple of points for curiosity and a few more for stubbornness and the decision came easily. When the seventy eight-inch-tall, three hundred-pound form of a professional badass turned around the corner a minute later I was facing towards him and tapping a foot impatiently.
"What do you want Jim?"
Jim paused, surprised. He shouldn't be. I could both see and hear alot better than him and I knew him well enough to identify by his walk alone.
"Alasdair wants to see you..."
"No."
"Wadda ya mean no?"
In case it slipped anyone's notice, Jim wasn't very bright.
"Non, nihein, nada, na. I don't want to see him. I don't have to see him. He is neither my keeper nor my master."
"I were told ta 'insist'."
"Really? Go ahead whelp, insist. I hope you're insured."
I didn't think Jim knew what 'whelp' meant but one of the first things he ever learned was to follow orders. So with a growl and a prayer he launched himself at me. Wearing only worn jeans ending just below the knee to show his impressive physique-sculpted muscles and all-along with a long mane of dirty, unruly black hair, hands wide as shovels and bloodshot eyes, he might have been frightening if I hadn't seen much worse. He might even have been mildly entertaining if he'd remembered to shift. As things stood though, everything was over before it even began. I struck out with one hand open as he slowly sailed through the air at me and shoved back. With the muffled sounds of a snapping rib or two his momentum reversed and he slammed into the wall behind him. As my dilated perception faded the normal flow of evens resumed and the heavy, bass sound I was hearing turned into a high-pitched scream. Yeah, I know-despite monstrous strength it is physically impossible for anyone to just slap away a larger mass. Of course, levitation can tell momentum to shut up and sit down. I walked up to where Jim lay to find his eyes glowing an eerie red and his hair growing longer so I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. I was taller by several inches so his legs dangled half a foot over the pavement.
"I want some info. If you shift you won't be able to talk and it will take me all of ten seconds to leave your pieces lying in a pool of your blood. So you'd best reconsider."
"Fuck you, bitch!"
"I'd rather you didn't. So I might return you to Alasdair neutered. Think about it."
Jim was stupid but male. Castration was much bigger a threat to him than premature and violent death so he calmed down and his eyes returned to their usual bloodshot brown hue. Go figure.
"I'm glad we can understand each other. Now, what does your boss want with me?"
"Dunno. He telled me ta find you cause ya walk around afore dusk and ta tell you ta go meet'im"
"Not interested-you tell him that. If he really wanted to meet for something important he'd come to my house."
I searched both pockets of the ridiculous jeans, they were a freakish orange color like some prison uniforms, and came up with close to a thousand dollars (must be his weekly pay day), a wallet with some useless papers and a prepaid cellphone. Nice.I've never had a cellphone before. I pocketed the phone and the money then noticed how focused Jim was on my cleavage. Talk about screwed up priorities. I took out a fifty and dropped it at him as I left.
"Find yourself a nice strip bar for the night, Jim. Don't interfere in grown-up business; it's bad for your health."
"Hey! That's my money!"
"Not anymore."
Yeah, it had taken him that long to realise I was robbing him. He tried to stand but he was out of breath and his broken ribs hadn't healed yet. But just in case, I ran at well beyond human speed through back roads and dark alleys, levitating an inch or so over the pavement so as not to leave a trail. I was not arrogant enough to believe Tzul didn't know where I lived but Alasdair might not. No reason to make it easy for him.

Fifteen minutes later I was in the very proper, very silent residential area of Sunset district. Small, almost identical homes between the rows and columns of an almost perfect grid of not very wide roads, it was by far the quietest and most peaceful area of the city. My own house was an old, wood and brick construction with only one floor and an attic of barely a thousand feet (not counting the attic itself) with a tiny but deep basement I rarely used. The rumor of being forced to sleep underground, or in the soil of my homeland, was just that; a rumor. Doing it had its advantages but it was by no means mandatory. Marching up to the door I spared a glance for my humble garden. Mostly cactaceae, mainly due to their needing little work on my part. It was not a very inviting spectacle. I always mean to buy some flowers but I can't find anything that suits me (no flowers in black, see) and I'm too busy anyway. I unlocked and opened the heavy wooden door while juggling my purse, my gym bag, my keys, some letters left at my door (I have no mailbox) and my new cellphone when a sudden silvery gleam and a barely audible displacement of air drew my attention to the slowly revolving combat knife flying towards my head. Yeah, today definitely wasn't my day.