The Cellar City Chronicles

“I have a craving.” X leaned against the narrow window frame of Westy’s shop, and grinned into the glass.

“I bet you do, guy, I bet you do.” Westy chuckled, shuffling over to the glass and peering at X with his quizzical eyes. “And what do you crave today? Wait wait, let me try to guess.”

X tapped his fingers in anticipation as Westy screwed his face up into a thoughtful scowl.

Prunes. He looks like an albino prune when he does that.

“I’m betting that today you want… duct tape and several wire hangers. Oh, and… Onion potato chips.”

Onion potato chips sound really good right now.

“What about –“

No. No more peaches. I don’t want peaches. Fetch me Onion potato chips.

Westy quirked an eyebrow, waiting for X to finish his sentence.

“Damn Westy-roo, you’re almost right on the money. Except for the wire hangers. Why would I want wire hangers?” X scowled.

Westy chuckled in his belly and it came out in a rumbly bark. “Heck, I dunno, you ask for the weirdest stuff sometimes. What was it –“ He turned and started rummaging, “- A coupla weeks ago you asked for Thumbtacks, a half gallon of skim milk, and…”

“It was 1% milk.” X corrected.

Westy laughed again, putting the duct tape in the drawer and turning to find the Onion potato chips.

He continued. “I think the last bit was Superglue?” He shook his head.

X shrugged. “I have unique tastes.”

That’s just sick. Do you remember what he looked like when you were done?

X’s left eye twitched, and he pulled out the second-hand wallet.

Westy returned in short order with the potato chips and put them in the drawer. As he did, he glanced over X’s shoulder into the street and let out a low whistle.

“I’d like to ride in style like that, eh? I haven’t seen a nice car like that in years.”

X glanced over his shoulder and saw a fancy looking, new-age limousine pull around the turn. Following behind was some douche-bag in a shitty car who sneered in Westy’s gaping direction and hurled something at the window.

Granted, he had no idea that X was standing there, and he didn’t stop driving to watch X catch the empty glass bottle before it connected with his face.

“God! He almost nailed you! You want me to call the cops?” Westy picked up an ancient looking receiver and waited for X’s confirmation.

X quirked an eyebrow and let the bottle fall into the gutter. He shook his head, and then found that his eyes were still tracking the shitty little car as it disappeared down the next street.

“Karma.”

“What?”

He’ll get his, don’t you worry. X hissed, eyes narrowing.

“What?”

X looked back at Westy. He had opened the drawer for him. His duct tape and onion potato chips were waiting for him to pay. X shrugged and put in some credit notes.

“Nothing.”

Giselle stood once more, naked in her dressing room. Staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror, she played with the settings on her bracelet. Her natural hair color wouldn’t do – it was too unique. If he survived, she didn’t want this black-cloaked character to know her face.

Blonde was out too. He didn’t seem like the ditzy type. Red head might be too aggressive. Brunette was too bland. That left black.

Like Lenora Whitmore.

She smiled.

Her face thinned in the cheeks, a slight shimmer projecting the illusion. She pulled her bust in just a touch and narrowed herself down. The ensemble gave her an air of independent innocence, with just enough similarity to this Lenora girl to give him an air of comfort.

When she was done changing her face, she carefully chose her outfit for the meeting. She would go with subtle on the top, but underneath…

She had a special little number for what lay underneath her comparatively conservative selection.

Giselle’s dress was basically a long wrap-around sarong. It was made of double layered black satin. She tied it at the base of her neck, and crossed it in front of her to drape down to the floor. Loose enough for comfortable movement, but opaque enough to hide the goodies beneath. Over top that, she wore a side-button gray jacket, fitting just well enough to conceal the top of the dress and the clasps beneath. It was three-quarter sleeved, and had a wide collar that ended in silvery studding.

She slipped her feet into a pair of wickedly spiked, strap sandals that wound almost up to the knee.

Afterwards followed the usual details – a silver poison ring on her right middle finger, several silver bands on her thumbs, pointers and pinky fingers. She wore shining silver bracelets that chimed when she moved her arms, and a pair of black earrings that gleamed with new polish.

The delight that came with a shopping spree before hand was what did Giselle in every time. She couldn’t help herself; she was a girl somewhere inside, after all, and what girl didn’t like shopping for accessories?

One more long look in the mirror. She did her make-up with the illusion in place, and then stored it in her bracelet for later. When she was finished she looked like her old self, and just as deadly as ever.

It was 9:15pm. Time to go get Useless.

Giselle smiled once more into the reflection, her hand caressing her breastbone. She purred to the stunner in the mirror. “I am going to take your head…” Her fingers traced the boning in the corset she wore beneath the shimmering layers of satin.

“…And you’re going to enjoy it.”

Useless lost count of how many times he had dusted his scant furniture. He had wiped the floor at least three times already. As a last ditch effort, he even washed his bedding and towels too.

All the while, he left the knife where it lay on the floor. It was suddenly very foreign.

Useless knew how silly that would sound; he had bought the silverware not even a year ago with his first big paycheck. Not only was that silly, but the man who had made this knife so foreign no longer in the apartment. Useless was certain that he was several blocks away, where he had seen Lenora go after shopping that one day.

He was waiting for Giselle.

Useless felt ashamed. He knew that Giselle was bad – deep inside he could feel it every time she was around, like it was poisonous to breathe the same air as that woman. Useless was certain she had killed a lot of people.

But to wish her harm? Useless could see his mother’s reproachful stare behind his eyes every time he blinked.

He didn’t know what to do. And she would be at his door in twenty minutes, regardless of how he felt about the situation.

He cast a wary look at the credits on his coffee table. Unbeckoned, Lenora’s sweet smile followed his thoughts. The mad-man’s cocky grin and his approving nod.

Useless shook his head.

They were both crazy.

For the next few minutes he stood, ready and waiting in his little kitchenette, unsure and uneasy. At last, Useless decided that he would have no part of killing anyone. If that meant he would have to stop Giselle, he would do so however he could.