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The Battered Lamp Chapter Seventeen: The Decision of the Mother
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kill little Fumi. But no Hidden Person could kill a mortal. Her people could do a lot to one, control them, torture them, but not directly kill one. And her pawn was taking far too long. With a flare of irritation she flashed into a whirlwind of fire, streaking through the sky to the second floor walkway, rematerializing before the door. She didn't want to walk through the heavy snow if she didn't have to. The door was locked. So she knocked. No one answered. She grasped the knob, flooding it with her fire. The brass glowed red, deforming and melting into a blob that fell in a sizzling mess around her hand to drip on the cement floor. The door creaked open an inch. She pushed it open, summoning a ball of fire to light the hotel room up. Her puppet was dead, his pants around his ankle. “Si'lat whore,” she cursed. “How did that little girl kill you?” The corpse didn't answer. They never did in Zaritha's experience. She examined the dead man. He was young and fit, his body compact and muscled. She didn't see any wounds on him or smell any blood on the air. His throat was unmarred, there was no foam about his lips. She moved her flame over him, illuminating his flesh, and froze over his groin. His cock was black and shriveled. Dessicated. “The little thing isn't human,” Zaritha purred, a tremble going through her body. The rules had changed. Excitement burned through the Ifrit. She scanned around, wondering where the little thing had fled. What sort of powers did she possess? ...