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Abraham stood anxiously in the foyer of the extravagant hotel, awkwardly trying to iron out the creases in his cut-rate suite. Everything around him looked like it cost more than the average working class man made in their lifetime, from the ornate vases, to the marble pillars which supported the elaborately painted celling. 

Exhaling quietly, the businessperson steadily made his way over to the front desk, soundlessly composing himself as he did so. 

The figure that leered behind the reception table was gaunt-faced and limber in appearance, with haggard features, needle-like teeth, beady eyes that were the colour of dense mist, and a noticeable hunch. 

The bestial exterior of the figure made Abraham recoil slightly, but he had come too far to turn back now. The fact that he had been afforded such a seemingly miraculous opportunity, the prospect of finding a buyer for his grandfather’s dilapidated old manor, was beyond a stroke of good fortune, and he would not let one slightly monstrous-looking figure hold him back. 

“Can I help you sssssir…?”The crooked man hissed, his slender tongue briefly peeking out from behind rows of rotten teeth, spraying flecks of spittle across the luxurious wood of the front desk. 

“I believe you may,” Abraham begun, forcing a smile by way of greeting. “I have an appointment with Miss Kosmar. Might you be able to direct me to her?” 

The crooked man’s black lips contracted into a serpentine grin, as though he found something terribly exciting. 

“Miss Kosssssmar isssss awaiting you in the dining room.” He extended his bony arm to his left; one slender finger pointing in what Abraham assumed was the direction of the eating place. 

[i] Dinning? At this hour…? [/i] His eyes drifted over to one of the room’s enormous glass windows, noting the ceaseless blanket of darkness that loomed overhead, illuminated by the glowing radiance of the glistening sheet of starts. 

Abraham thanked the man, before continuing on his way, venturing down a long corridor that stretched on like some immeasurable tunnel. 

The hallway was plastered with overly-elaborate pale wallpaper, and floodlit by a gush of ghostly moonlight, which seeped in from the immense skylight that covered the entirety of the corridor’s celling, its glass panels elegantly catching the moon’s glow. Every few feet or so, there was an authentic wooden table, which had some sort of classy-looking ornament on top of it. 

The dining hall itself was a vast cathedral, the very depiction of exclusivity. Cut-glass chandeliers of immense girth hung down from the ceiling above, huge tables which ran the breadth of the room were covered in spotless table cloths, and a gargantuan glass panel gave guests a spectacular view of the Los Angeles waterfront, the dark waves blending seamlessly into the incalculable vastness of the night sky. The room was entirely abandoned, with the exception of one table, which housed two solitary figures, making it that much easier for Abraham to discern his destination. 

As he drew closer to the table, the duo became more visible. 

Sitting in a dark oak chair that looked as though it were twice her size, was an almost elfin young woman, who barely looked old enough to be out of school. A partially shaven head of shoulder length blonde hair cascaded loosely to the right, the left side of her scalp completely shaven, exposing a glistening pale scalp. Striking emerald eyes that adopted a bold assertiveness adorned her slightly mouse-like face, and a somewhat stout nose ran gracefully down her likeness. She was clad in a short black evening dress, which exaggerated her generous curves, and was taking large sips of some dark red liquid from an ornate wineglass. 

Her entire form had a statuesque beauty to it, as though each of her features had been intricately carved by some master sculptor, and simply gazing at her stirred something dark and primal within Abraham, an unrelenting lust that whispered twisted notions in his ear. 

Looming over her, lacking even the slightest inclination of any emotion, was the largest and most muscular man Abraham had ever seen, his broad figure clad in a long black trench coat, his finer features obscured by the combination of a darkly coloured scarf and a wide-brimmed fedora. 

Abraham managed to catch the young woman’s attention, and she beckoned him over with one sleek hand, grinning broadly as she spotted him, something slightly unnerving flashing across her eyes. 

The businessman regarded the giant brute with a curt nod, but he continued to be completely still as Abraham sat down at the table, remaining frozen to the spot. 

“Mister Williamson!” Tanith Kosmar exclaimed with some flourishing hand gestures, dabbing at the small amount of her drink that was trickling down the corner of her mouth. 

“Miss Kosmar.” Abraham spoke in a friendly manner, extending his hand to the young woman. She gripped it in her own, shaking it firmly. 

As their skin touched, the first thing Abraham noted was the sheer coldness of the young woman’s hand, that in itself almost making him pull backwards, followed promptly by the fact that he could have sworn he felt her flesh soften as he touched it, his fingers seeming to sink into the putty-like surface of her hand. 

Dismissing it as his imagination running wild, Abraham calmed himself, as he prepared to address the potential buyer. 

“Thank you for seeing me at such short notice,” he begun, lightly dabbing at the perspiration on his forehead. 

“It was of no inconvenience to me, Mister Williamson.” Tanith casually stated with the wave of her hand, her tongue running back and forth across the edges of her lips. 

“I trust your journey here was without incident?” One of her neatly plucked eyebrows curved into an arch as she asked her question, the sheer elegance with which she conducted herself making the businessman more than slightly flustered. 

Never in his life had he felt so very out of his league, as he did now, sitting before this graceful young woman. 

“Ehrrrm…No, not at all! My journey was very…ehrrrmmm…smooth.” He just about managed, all the while struggling to make eye contact with Tanith, something almost dreamlike dancing across her stunning orbs. 

“I find this particular area to be refreshingly free of traffic, wouldn’t you agree?” She snickered lightly as she spoke; it was a dainty and delicate little laugh, one that ooze innocence and incorruptibility, that dark voice once again whispering in Abraham’s ear. 

“Ah yes, quite,” he stammered nervously, desperately trying to gather his bearings. 

His awkward fumbling made Tanith snicker again, but it was not a degrading laugh; she was laughing with him, not at him, as though they shared some private and scandalous joke. 

It took everything Abraham had to dispel the depraved whispers in his ear. 

“Shall get down to business?” She queered with a sweet smile, her expression warm and reassuring, making him feel as though whatever he did in life, she would always be there, always supporting him, having faith in him like no one ever had. 

Repressed memories, forced back images of his disapproving mother, his string of judgmental ex-girlfriends, and his golden sister, who had always been [i] everyone’s [/i] favourite, flashed across his vision, yet they did not matter anymore: Tanith had made all the bad things go away. 

Coming to the realisation that he had spent the past five minutes staring at the young girl, without saying a word, Abraham decided it would be best if he said something. 

“I suppose you’ll be wanting to hear about the property-“He begun, but she almost instantly cut him off. 

“I’ve already made my decision, Mister Williamson; I’m interested in acquiring your grandfather’s estate.” 

That caught him off guard. He wasn’t one to question good fortune, but deciding to purchase some rickety old manor house, based off of a few pictures, without even having heard his sales pitch? It seemed almost too good to be true. 

“Oh, I-I see…” He spoke slowly, trying to maintain his composure. “Well then, there’s just the small matter of payment, I suppose.” Something about this struck him as off, but he didn’t want to potentially ruin an easy sale by asking stupid questions. 

Tanith giggled manically; it was a horrid laugh, high pitched and screechy, likes bone scrapping against bone, and it made Abraham’s skin go cold. 

“My associates have already [i]persuaded[/i] the right people to sign the appropriate documents.” 

“I…I don’t quite follow, Miss Kosmar.” 

She laughed again, but this time it was a deep and throaty cackle, layered as though there was a whole chorus of demonic beings bellowing in some satanic symphony. 

“I simply invited you here in order to more easily factor you out of this particular equation.” 

Before he had time to react, Tanith hurled her wineglass across at him, the cup shattering into a mass of broken pieces, the blood it contained mixing with his own as the jagged shards bit into his skin. 

Abraham cried out in pain, tumbling off of his chair, and crashing to the wooden floor. 

Within an instant, the humongous brute was looming over him, now very much alive an animate, fiery red eyes bearing down into his very soul. He pulled away his dark scarf, his multiple mouths, snapping and snarling, being the last sight that Abraham Williamson ever saw. 

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The long black limo eased slowly into the manor’s driveway, surrounded by dense thickets of overgrown bracken and twisted greenery on all sides. 

Tanith stepped elegantly out of the smart car, a wine glass full of Abraham Williamson’s blood poised gently in one hand, gazing up at her recently commandeered mansion.

The Blythman estate had long ago fallen into a state of dilapidation, its once imposing gothic pillars having become cracked and fractured, gaping holes criss-crossing the surface of the supports. The glass panels of its windows were chipped, shingling had fallen from the slopped roof, and even the brickwork itself was starting to erode in places. 

Tanith grinned eloquently “No one will look for us here,” she begun, addressing her Szlachta as they fell into place besides her, Mister Grudge standing strikingly to her right, his black trench coat concealing his muscular form. The Koldunic sorcerers gestured for her party to enter the manor, taking a delicate sip of blood with her one free hand. 

“Let’s get to work.”