I took a step forward, towards the downward sloping support beam that holds one bridge tower to the next. The untrained eye would see me as a figure about to take the suicidal last step, some poor soul who could no longer suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. The untrained eye… would be wrong.

Without so much as a second thought I dropped from the tower and onto the beam. I crouched ever so slightly as my booted feet slid down the beam, taking the rest of me along for the ride. As my speed built the wind slid through my hair, lifting it up and around my face. Even as my eyes watered I ignored the biting wind. My mind was elsewhere, always thinking, always planning.

Finally I reached the end of my descent and with a small but graceful jump I landed effortlessly on the snowy sidewalk, already beginning the stride that will take me to my intended destination. I ignored the looks that I get as I walk down the street. I’m used to these glanced. With my long, flowing black hair with artificial and vivid red highlights framing a pale pretty face with almond shaped eyes, I am frequently on the receiving end of many a curious glance. I have my parents, my mother Japanese and my father Chinese, to thank for my attractive Asian features. My name is Sara Zhen Long and I am only eighteen years old.

If I was just out for an evening stroll perhaps I would stop or smile to those people glancing my way; offer someone a wave. Not now. Now I’m on a mission.

The small earpiece I am wearing crackled softly, marking the absence of my partner’s voice, who had warned me of the resurfacing of the mark. I continued walking then suddenly take the next turn, making my way down the shadowed alley. I saw him then, my mark. He was leaning over his victim, a cowering and aging woman. The crow resting on my mark’s shoulder easily identified him.

“Elias Carpenter,” I called, my voice ringing clear in the cold night.

The man (if you could call him that) turned, his lifeless eyes fixed upon my own human form. The crow on his shoulder cawed angrily at me, as if it was bidding me to leave. “You cannot kill me,” murmured the man, a wicked grin crossing his lips.

“Watch me.” Before he could say or do anything I drew my weapon. A .45 caliber Smith and Wesson 945, its stainless steel glinting in the dull light. I squeezed off one smooth shot and the crow vanished in a small explosion of black feathers. It fell to the snow, dead. The second shot was quick to follow, the bullet destroying a good portion of Elias’ face and sending him back to whatever after-life he’d been dragged out of. Just to be safe, I walked up to him and fired two more rounds into the shattered remains of his skull. I turned to the woman, offering her only a small moment of my attention before turning to walk away. Wiping the blood spatter from my face, I pressed the small button on my earpiece and smile. “Mark terminated. I’m heading home.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The loft apartment was spacious but sparsely furnished, the living room area occupied by only a simple futon and a small glass coffee table in front of it. A rarely used flatscreen television hung on the opposite wall, its blank screen covered in dust. I entered and shed my long black peak coat, laying it on the futon gently before heading into the kitchen where I found my best friend and roommate.

Crispin Maclean was a man in his late twenties, with chestnut brown hair and bright blue eyes that seemed at the same time both naïve and wise. For almost a year now those same eyes have held a deep sadness. A year ago almost to the day, he lost his partner and lover, Jared Ashford. It had been back when both Cris and Jared were on the police force, partners in occupation, mind, body, and soul. I didn’t know all the details, but in the end only Cris was left alive. Needless to say, he resigned from the police force soon after. He still refused to talk about it, and I didn’t pry. I’d known Cris almost all my life. I knew when to keep my mouth shut around him.

He waved at me when he saw me. “I guess everything went all right?” he said, his mouth full of hamburger. Grinning, he pushed his glasses a bit further up on the bridge of his nose and nodded to the corner desk and expensive computer that he lovingly referred to as his headquarters. “Your paycheck came today as well.”

To understand what I do, one must have a knowledge of the. In the years following the first return, there had been many of the undead who returned to the land of the living for revenge on those who perpetrated their murder. However, it seemed that whatever power had granted them passage had somehow lost control of it and as a result every angry soul and bitter spirit had a way back. Even those who died by some mishap or accident, their resentment towards the living continued to grow and they returned on the black wings of the crow. That’s how my parents were killed. Members of a crime syndicate, they barely managed to escape from that life when I’d been born. They gave me everything I ever asked for. However, they’d been involved with shady dealings within the syndicate and as a result, one of those undead creatures had come in the dead of night and slaughtered them while they slept. I’d been at a friend’s house and returned the next day to be greeted by the eviscerated remains of my dead parents. I was ten then.

That was when I had gone to live with Cris, who had been my neighbor and babysitter since before I can remember.

“It was an easy target tonight,” I murmured, ripping open the envelope that protected the thin sheet of paper representing two weeks pay. I was an Unrestricted Paladin of the Malakim Syndicate. The syndicate was an order that had taken its name from the fifth choir of angels, the honor-bound warriors of God. We were the ones who could stop those that have returned from the dead. We were the only thing that stood between humanity and the disproportionate revenge of the undead. I joined this force when Cris and I moved into the city, four years ago. The same time Cris met Jared. I was the Malakim’s youngest member and their strongest.

I read amount on the check and smiled. The five-digit number was not bad for two week’s pay. The Malakim Syndicate paladins were well paid, where the technical support was not. I felt it unfair that I received so much money when Cris was the one who sat in front of the computer and tracked each mark for extermination. I tossed the check to Cris and smiled. “Looks like the rent’s going to be paid for the next few months.” I went to check the calendar, wondering if anything was going on in the next few days. There was only a few more day until Christmas Eve.

“I know, Sara.”

I glanced at Cris and his sad expression tugged at my heart. He must have seen my reaction to the date on the calendar. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded but said nothing, turning back to his meal. He didn’t eat though.

I stepped behind his chair and leaned over, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and holding him tightly. I knew it wasn’t the same as being with the one he truly loved, the only soul for his, but I had to offer some comfort to him. “You still have me Cris. You still have me.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Continued>>