A Tale of Two Drakes-Chapter 2 (edited)

After Review-day edit:
I found little rest in Ferret Park after I cleaned myself up and fell asleep on a bench. The people woke me up with their chatter, and I stiffly tried to walk to a place where they weren't talking about last night. I finally listened to the rumbling of my stomach and found a doughnut, bagel, and sweet roll cart.
Even here in the line, people buzzed on about the man who turned himself in. They pondered why, after all these years, would he choose now to come clean?
“Why do you suppose he did it?” asked the lady next to me in line.
I really only wanted some time in peace, so I answered bluntly. “He got tired of hearing his son's ghost crying at night.”
“What?” said the lady in surprise.
“Ghost,” I said, then stepped up to the vendor and ordered a cream-cheese frosted orange sweet roll.
My mouth salivated over it, the way it was still warm enough to melt the icing just enough to be appealing, but not so much that the icing turned into a puddle of sugar. I bit into it eagerly, ordering a second one before I could reach my stash of cash in my pocket. No one dared to bring up the subject to me again, and I paid for both rolls. I trotted to a sloped lawn, holding one orange roll in each hand, proudly displaying them before my senses. I sat cross-legged and gazed at the golden bread, the bright pops of orange peel, the stiff cream cheese frosting melting into the gaps of the roll. I set one plate on the grass. I peeled the end of the roll with my fingers and chewed the sweet bread, rolling it over my tongue, lavishing in the sweet sugar, the bite of orange, the richness of the cream cheese. I ate it, twisting the plate around and around until I was down to the knobby center with a massive glob of icing on top. I shoved it all into my mouth and started on the second roll.
While I was still masticating, a cute woman walked around, handing out fliers to other cute, young people. She saw me and when I accidentally made eye contact, she strolled over and handed me one. I accepted it as she spoke,
“Today is the Annual Kissing Day at the swan fountain. If you want a cute hunk to put a smile on your face, come over and see us. The festivities start in an hour and we have hired fifty professional kissers to keep the smooches going all day long. But don't tell anyone else. I'm telling you because I really think you could use a good make out session.”
I giggled and told her thanks, but I was sunning for now. She nodded and pointed to the map on the flier, then added to send any cuties I saw her way. I said I would.
Halfway though the second roll, my stomach felt stretched and contented. I put the remainder of the roll down to nibble on later and licked clean my fingers, enjoying the late morning sun healing my barely-there scratches. They looked like cat scratches did after a few days. At this distance from the benches, I could no longer hear the talk and gossip. I wondered what the magical world reported on. The Lamb version was a stub and little more, I was surprised they even had that. I didn't want to think about last night. I didn't want to think forward to tonight, I wanted to relax and recuperate in the sun without any clients to talk to me—Death most certainly included.
A little black songbird came to visit me. At first I was glad of its presence and whistling song, but when it fluffed itself to preen, I spied that the pattern of its yellow wing feathers was a skull. My smile fell.
“No work today, Death, please.”
The bird twirped and hopped closer. Maybe Death simply meant to give me appreciation. He usually sent me crows, not pretty songbirds. I tossed it a tear of my roll, and it happily pecked at the thumb-sized portion before picking it up and flying to a bush. A black cat came out of the bush, eying the bird, then gave a purr when it saw me. It rubbed its dusty fur against my arm and fell into my lap. I stroked it down its back, then scratched its throat. The cat kneaded my lap.
“I take it you met Charles this morning.” I said. Death had apparently declared me one of his unofficial agents, and I wasn't certain of how I felt about that yet. I had never met him, but he had been sending me jobs for over three years. The last few months had been draining, difficult cases, each one taking me deeper and deeper into the magical world. Railey's limited magic wouldn't serve us very well if Death sent us on an even more dangerous job—she was fading, and I worried she would soon loose her mind. I bit my lip to keep my composure. She died thirteen years ago, and it was well past time she met Death herself—she'd been dodging his creatures her entire after-life and these last few months it had been nearly impossible to get away from any number of black animals.
“Maow,” said the cat, and the bird cast its voice into a cheery song.
I pulled my fingers back from the cat and it looked up at me with large yellow eyes, then rubbed its head on my shirt.
“Death, I'm serious. I don't want to work today. I can't work today.”
I was about ready to fall into a nap when I smelled smoke from a burnt paper. I sniffed the air again, to be certain, then looked around the air. A slip of paper floated down on a breeze, twirling and spinning for all its might like a leaf, the licks of flame just leaving its edges, burning in reverse, adding paper instead of taking it. I snatched it and read the lines written in my brother's curly hand.
Our coffee shop, lunch time. Big news. -Leazar
The news with him was usually big, especially when he didn't bother to call. Curly or not, it still looked like it had been written quickly. The exact time for lunch was at best vague, as our family ate nibbles over a long time, savored often with a single drink or on occasion a full pitcher. He could have tracked me down, I knew, and sprung the news on me that way. It wasn't past him to do so, but last time he surprised me while I slept and I stuck him in the lotus ring. It was a new trinket at the time, so when I released him we didn't have too many nasties to go through—a bogart, a wailing repeater ghost, and a brownie I had agitated to originally test the ring out on. The brownie got away, and I think I saw some scathing reviews about items going missing from that hotel before it finally stole enough to grow bored.
I fell back on the grass, shut my eyes, and ignored the cat even when it nibbled then bit my fingers. I slept soundly, listening to the songbird and the water fountain, the kitty napping on my belly, digging its claws into my shirt.

Smoke filled my nostrils and I lazily woke up, looking around to see if someone had started a barbeque grill, knowing entirely well that the smoke I smelled was burnt paper and not charcoal or propane. True to my senses, no one was grilling—it was much too early for that anyway—and I caught sight of a burning letter descending on the breeze down to me.
In this case, the letter fell hard and fast, not flittering as a my brother's note had. It landed next to my thigh, finishing the burn and forming a complete letter enclosed in an envelope.
I picked it up, noting the heavy weight of the paper and the traces of silk running through it. The hand that wrote the letter was like wise elegant and professional.
Miss Feralyne Swift it read on the front. The back had a signature written over the seal so I would know if it had been tampered with. It had been. The lines on the 'n' in the word “Constable” didn't line up right, nor did the “s”. The name “Barnes” was well-fitted, though. Upon closer inspection I saw slight tears that if it had come through regular mail I would have assumed to be made from handling.
The cat was still with me, curled up higher on my chest now, its face almost in mine.
I thought of reading the letter—someone else had thought it important enough to read.
But, what if it included a summons to appear?
I simply did not want to be drug into wizard court over wizard matters when I honestly knew exceptionally little about the case or the people. Curiousity almost got the better of me. Today, I wanted to deal with no issues other than building up my rest and energy stores again so I could bring Railey back in a day or two.
I tossed the letter aside.
The cat perked up and stared at it, no longer purring or kneading my chest, even when I reached to scritch its ears. It pounced in one fluid motion, from laying down to flying through the air. I hoped it was just playful. I sat up to see.
The cat returned to me with the envelope.
I reached out for it, but the cat hissed and swatted my hand, leaving fine scratches.
I pulled away, muttering, “Fine!Temperamental creature.”
It dropped the letter in my lap.
I had to suppose the scratches were a threat for what would happen if I discarded it again.
I picked up the envelope, patted the letter to one long end, and ripped across the top. Squeezing the sides, I turned it upside down and the letter fell into my hand. The same writing scrolled inside the rather concise letter.


Why he didn't erase the first section was beyond me. It was incredibly sloppy to just leave it, especially in the magical world where a quick word was all it took to remove ink. It would have reeked of a trap if the seal hadn't been broken and carefully replaced. Or maybe they were crafty and broke the seal themselves so I would think it came from a legit source, was read by opponents, and was passed on to me. I supposed the question was what I was going to do about it.
Did I feel like running? No. I did not. I wanted to rest. Today was my day and that was that.
Good.
Was I going to wait for this Mordon and Barnes to come rescue me? No. I didn't trust the letter. If it was legit, it had been read by people I couldn't trust and would no doubt impersonate them. If it wasn't legit, well...same result as before.
Then I looked at the stupid cat purring and climbing back into my lap.
Ironic as it was, I knew I could trust Death. He could choose to kill me at any time, but he seemed to have an interest in keeping me alive and well as long as I was useful. Death had guided me with creatures before and if this cat was any indication, he seemed to think the best thing for me to do was recuperate. I felt warm and cozy about that until I wondered what he would want in return. It must be something big, something I didn't want to do. I checked all my rings and things and was confident everything was in order before I let the sun and the purring cat lull me into dozing.

I shivered, cold waking me from my nap. The cat woke up, too. It was still morning—about ten I guessed from the height of the sun through the trees. I hadn't napped for very long. I shivered harder and saw a man standing nearby, his eyes on me. I glared at him and sat upright, knocking the black kitty into my lap.
Even from a few feet away, I knew what the chills meant he was. With long, black hair, dark eyes, lean body, and a killer smile, he was pretty well the stereotype for a vampire. I didn't like stereotypes, and I most certainly did not like vampires. Once I made eye contact, he beamed me a winning smile. I saw his fangs. I didn't like them either.
Ignoring my go-rot-in-a-crypt glare, he came closer and stood at my feet.
“Morning,” he said, his voice smooth, his hair tossing in the wind, “I thought a pretty creature like yourself deserved some company.”
“Did you?” my voice was cold. He didn't seem to notice—or care.
“Perhaps I may walk you to wherever you wish to go,” he continued, “I hear they're having a terrible problem with hobo attacks today, you shouldn't go anywhere alone.”
Hobo attacks were a euphemism for any number of things—werewolves, bogies, night crawlers, or even vampires. My bet was that some vampire family had laid claim to this park as hunting ground, and probably a few other parks as well. While I detested this vamp's very presence, I silently thanked him for letting me know that there was at least one person on the police force who I couldn't trust.
“Funny,” I said, “I thought this park was safe. Not a homeless person to be found.”
I regretted the words the instant they were out of my mouth, knowing he would pick up that I had magical knowledge and most likely saw through his scam. I would have been better off flirting for a little, declining insistently, and pretending to be expecting a phone call to make my exit.
“I assure you, Feralyne,” he said, his voice silky, “there is no place you can be safe at.”
My heart skipped a beat and I forced myself to calm it down—no need to make him think I would be easy prey.
Except that I would be.
Vampires didn't fall for my illusions, nor for my invisibility ring. Something about their sight or maybe they had echolocation, or maybe their magic was just too different for them to fall for such a trivial thing. I'd learned this by stumbling upon a blood-gorged vampire several years ago. The woman had toyed with me, played some cat-and-mouse, whispered some slurred secrets to me, then fell unconscious. I had ran—before meeting her I had actually believed vampires to be a myth or an entirely different creature altogether.
He continued, kneeling in front of me, “I am Mordon. You should have received a letter introducing me.”
“No.” I got the letter but it was hardly an introduction. I had hoped he was some random encounter seeking a blood meal, but now I considered that he might be a bounty hunter. And, Mordon? For a vampire? It hardly fit in with Aiden, Victor, Vlad, Christopher, and all the other elegant names available. Mordon in no way sounded vampire-ish.
Also, he had the wrong vibe to be a bounty hunter, I decided, not authoritative enough. He fit into the the lackey category. I might be able to dissuade him.
“I'm not this Feralyne,” I said, giving him a sad smile, “I'm sorry, but you have the wrong person.”
He looked confused.
“Look, hun,” I said, “you're cute enough, and I think I can trust you. That's why I will tell you—I saw a woman come by here looking for you, and another man, I think his name was Bernie?”
“Barnes?” he asked.
“Could have been. Must be a last name.” I shook my head, “Anyway, she said she would be at the other end of the park, where that swan fountain is at? I guess it's kind of hidden off the beaten path. Supposed to be pretty, but I haven't gone that far yet.”
“Thank you,” he said, returning my smile, “I will go look.”
“No problem, hun,” I said, “I hope you find her.”
As he walked away I stroked the cat, smoothing down the puffed up fur along its back and tail. Confident he would not escape the professional kissers for quite some time, and add to that all the ladies who could match the way most people described me (kinda short, blonde hair, blue or green or gray eyes), and that vampire was going to have a real day's work cut out for him.
He turned around as he went around a pond. I smiled and waved, glad I had decided to stay put otherwise there would have been no way I could outrun him. He continued, following the general direction to find the swan fountain. I waited until he was good and gone.
I snickered. I bit my tongue and held my breath. I snorted, giggled, then burst out into peels of laughter, rolling on my back. The cat's eyes grew massive, it stopped purring, drawing its ears back. I looked at it, took a breath, then burst out in a giggle fit. The cat bailed, running into the bush, giving me a backwards glance, running away on slinking legs.
Someone stopped on the walkway and stared.
“Are you Feralyne Swift?” came a man's gruff voice, his accent like one straight out of Sherlock Holmes.
“Nope.” I said, recovering from my giggles a little. “Sorry.”
I wiped my eyes so I could see.
There were two men. The one that had spoke had a very square face and deep jowls, a human bulldog in about every sense of the word, except he wore a handlebar mustache. His body matched his face: stocky, muscled, and with a small beer belly. He didn't have much hair on his buzzed head, but his mustache was the color of weak coffee. His eyes were slightly darker.
His companion had red hair with blond highlights and almost black lowlights—it would have been an entirely artificial color if he'd been strictly human, but his eyes were peculiar as well, mostly golden with red-brown rims and green flecks. He was some sort of magical creature, either naturally possessing a human form or under a change spell. It was rude to ask what he was, so I kept my tongue in check.
The bulldogish man looked at his taller companion.
The second man said, “With that laugh, you couldn't be anyone else.”
The bulldog man now grew completely uninterested in me, instead surveying the park with all the attention of a working lawman. I squinted a little and saw creases in his receding hair where a constable's cap normally rested.
“You guys here about the boy and his parents?” I guessed as to the alluded “recent events” had been in the letter, but I knew my guess had to be wrong—the Constable would be the one paying me attention, and his protector would be aloof. I did a double-take on the man in front of me, not entirely sure what made me assume he was a protector. The most obvious reason was that magic lawmen never left their territory unguarded, but the next reason was I just felt power and authority roll off the man beside me. Though I had been intent on being cranky to the point of chasing them off, I found they had encountered me in a good mood and it would be difficult to work myself up again.
“What?” the constable snapped, his attention suddenly on me, “What do you know about that?”
The man beside me waved off the implied accusations, “Barnes, she was the Cleanser.”
Barnes squinted, his rectangular eyes reduced to wrinkles, “She can't be.”
I wondered how he had written out that letter with so very little information. I presumed Mordon had to be the source of information and Barnes wrote the letter without having first gathered all the data—hence why he had been corrected on my being a Lamb. If Mordon had been rushing him, it would explain why Barnes hadn't taken the time to erase his mistake. Of course, I was doing a good deal of presuming, and I hadn't a clue how Mordon got the information—supposing it was him at all—and why he would care. How did he know my laugh? Was it a bluff? No, it wasn't a bluff. He knew, but I hadn't a clue how he knew.
“She is indeed a curious creature,” said the other man with an admiring twinkle in his golden eyes.
Barnes was less than impressed, “Leave her be, Mordon, the only thing curious about her is how a Lamb managed to get lucky with a ghost and wizard parents.”
“I am not a Lamb,” I snipped, then remembered myself, “No one is. The term is archaic, outdated, and incorrect, and people will not stop using it unless you set an example.”
Barnes snorted, “Fine. What should I call you, the politically-correct 'magically-reduced person'?
I slapped my face and groaned. “You are missing the point.”
“My point is I don't understand what a 'magically-reduced person' is going to do to help our cause.”
I wanted to throw something at him, “I'm not a—I'm cursed. I'm a witch, sorceress, enchantress, miracle worker, whatever term you want to use. I just can't do what I was born to do.”
Wait—their cause? Was that why they had sent the letter, so I could still be alive to help them with whatever it was they were doing? What were they doing? Several ways to find out, and the quickest and easiest way was to just ask them. But the more I was around this Mordon, the more I felt that he knew me, and that bothered me to not understand why.
Both men stared at me. Barnes' face registered confusion and surprise, and I could only glance at Mordon's sad face before I turned my gaze down to the grass, heat spreading over my cheeks. I didn't want their pity, I didn't want them to suggest a cure. Much of my life had been taken up with false hopes and ridiculous cures, and I finally grew tired of devoting my life to regaining what I'd lost.
“Just...tell me the address of the job. I'll investigate it and tell you if I can do anything.”I said, mentally adding that I should ask my brother about these two and speculate about how Mordon seemed to know me before I'd ever met him.
Barnes nodded to Mordon and walked a little distance to the edge of the pond, making friends with the local waterfowl. A black swan swam near him. I had to take that as a good omen from Death, especially as black ducks joined the swan, but it still didn't make me reassured.
“I think you know it.” he said, his eyes darting a little, giving away the direction of the place.
“Is it up the street and around the bend?”
He nodded. “613 Ferret Drive.”
“I don't want to go back there.” I said decisively, crossing my arms.
“Because of what happened to Willow Fitzgerald?”
I winced, “I call her Railey.”
Willow was her mother's name, and her grandmother's, and her great-grandmother's. Going by the middle name was a necessity in that family.
“I don't want to go back.” I repeated, remembering with guilt how I had agreed to go with her. I should have tied her up and shipped her home. I should have gotten my parents, I realized, I should have had them send her home. But I didn't. I followed her there, no plan, no clue what we were getting into. I hadn't questioned her, though I should have. Should have actually asked my parents what was in that house before we started digging up the yard. Reckless, thoughtless, diving into things without checking them out first. I hadn't changed as much as I wished I had. For that reason alone, I was determined to not go back. It was the death of Railey, and it would be the death of me.
A chill ran through my body, sapping away what energy I had managed to regain. I put my hand on my forehead, feeling my pulse throbbing through my fingers. My stomach turned over and I shivered. Railey was trying to take form again, but it was too soon, she was stressing my body. This was the sort of thing we only did in emergencies, each time was worse, the last time we did this I woke up with a welt on my head in the middle of the kitchen floor in an abandoned house. Two days had passed, and I had to go to the hospital for dehydration.
“What's wrong?” Mordon asked. He waited for an answer that I couldn't give, then took my head in both his hands, pressing two fingers against my temples.
I felt energy flow into me, easing my headache first, then my stomach stopped writhing, then my aches and chills began to fade. Mordon pulled away to rub his own temple.
Barnes had come back to us during this and put his fists on his hips, “Mordon, what was that?”
Mordon let out a breath, having regained his light golden skin color, “Energy transfer. Her ghost wants to be part of the conversation.”
“Ghost?” Barnes looked over his shoulder and fidgeted.
“How else did you think she worked? Cleansers always work in pairs, else they end up knocked out in a tomb.”
“You blindly trusted a stranger with your magic? Mordon, you've gone looney.”
“She's not a stranger, she's—she's someone I've waited a long time to meet.”
Barnes squinted at Mordon, then raised his eyebrows wide, “Oh? Oh! ...her?”
Before I could insist on an explaination—how did he know me, why was he waiting to meet me, just who did he think he was—a bubbly giggle came from behind me. I turned my head to see Railey, and I glared at her, quietly demanding a reason for her emergency conjuring and for ruining my chance to get answers. Since she was here, she doubtless would not allow me to talk over or past her.
“I suppose you want me to take this job?” I said with a bitter edge.
“I can't stay a ghost forever,” she said, then spied a duck wandering too close; she swiped at it.
I wasn't so sure I could take the job. “Leave the duck alone, please.”
She huffed at me, “I can't even make it fluff up...I met Death. Grandma was there, too, they were eating her Kitchen Sink Cookies, and Whiskers was on her lap, and—Fera, I want to go home.”
I remembered her grandmother's cookies filled with whatever bits of dried fruit and chocolate chips she had on hand. Whiskers had been our favorite cat, even when we found burrs and sticks in his fluffy white fur and he bit us.
“Why don't you go?” I asked.
She groaned, “Out the window I saw that house and all the people he trapped. Fera, they'll never get to go home to have cookies and milk with their families.”
She died trying to free them. I supposed that sometimes, dying for a cause wasn't enough. I nodded.
I turned my attention back to the men. Mordon watched me with patience and Barnes had paced a trampled line in the lawn while muttering about an appointment.
“You'll do it?” Mordon said.
“I'll do it.”
“Bout bloody time!” grumbled Barnes.
“Go chase a duck,” said Mordon without furor. Barnes huffed and went to stare at the water again.
“I don't suppose you will wait until I am available to investigate the site with you?” Mordon asked. I shook my head. Mordon knew this would be the answer, and pulled a thick chain from around his neck. A compass was on it. He handed it to me.
“I want you to come see me if you need anything—money, supplies, enchanted trinkets, help...”
“Might take you up on the money and trinkets,” I said, half-teasing, half-serious.
“I wish you would let me accompany you.”
“Afraid of losing me?” I teased.
He smiled sadly and let out a breath, looking away, “Actually, yes.”
I stared at him, recognizing genuine care and fear in his eyes. Also, some sadness. It was like we had been friends, and I'd gone and completely forgot about him. I was going to press the subject, demand my answers right then, but he spoke before I could form the words.
“It's an old merchant's trinket. It takes you where you want to go. I have a shop called King's Ransom, you're welcome at any hour.”
I nodded, too tongue-tied now to ask him what I wanted to know, and from past experience it was best for me to not stutter and stumble over words while I was like this. Barnes had come back and was twitching his mustache the way a cross horse twitches its tail.
Mordon started to move away, but I remembered something else.
“About that letter!” I called, “What gives? No more hit out?”
Barnes turned to answer this time, “Gone as soon as I started asking questions. Can't do anything for you now, you understand, but rumor has it you were wanted alive. Best of luck.”
I nodded, brooding over what that meant. So, someone offered a reward for my capture, hoping for a quick and easy kidnapping. When that didn't happen and it attracted attention, they withdrew the kidnapping reward to keep from being found out. That implied it was someone connected to the law enforcement, possibly someone of influence. I didn't like that, not one bit. They seemed to know to send vampires after me, and the next run-in I wouldn't be able to con. After this one's failure—presuming I didn't run into him again while leaving—they would either put the pieces together and know my face, or they would find one of my old clients and discover what I looked like. Vampires weren't ones to be fooled with a dye job and hair cut, either.
I was out of my league, no better off against them than a normal human. Try as I might, I was no Van Helsing. My days of luck were going to run out fast, especially now that whoever my mystery opponent was would not underestimate me next time.
Maybe I could live with my brother for a few months. I dismissed the idea instantly. A few months was nothing more than a few days to vampires, and I did not want to do anything to jeopardize Leazar's diplomatic neutrality. Moving with my parents again was not going to happen. Their enemies would off me faster than any vamp could.
I needed my magic back, or I was a vampire play toy until they finally caught me. Well, the best I could do now was get out of the park, check out the house more thoroughly, figure out what was in it, and hope it somehow lead to helping me with my kidnapping problem. Maybe I would find a bottle of vampire mace.
I slid the compass over my neck, stretched in the hot sun, and winked at Railey.
“Hey, girl, how about an ice cream cone to eat on the way over?”
A monster smile spread over her face and she bounced, her pigtails flapping up and down.
“Ooo! Ooo! Do they have bubblegum?” she squealed.
“We will see,” I laughed, following her dart to the ice cream cart, joining the gaggle of children peering in to see the flavors. My smile faded as I realized this would be the last time we celebrated a job well-done. I hoped they had bubblegum flavor in heaven. I got in line and bought one small bubblegum and one cookies and cream. Railey eagerly snatched it away and licked violently at it, succeeding in eating more than she dripped as we walked up the hill and around the bend. We caused a couple bike crashes before someone announced I must be holding the cone suspended on a string.
Railey cackled and skipped far in front of me, appearing to all others as a floating, dripping ice cream cone carried on the wind. I rolled my eyes. It would never get old to her. That was one of the things I loved about her. I already missed her.

I really like the way you placed the adjectives and the verbs and things like that it is really a nice story do you have any more I can read I stopped at Come,” he encouraged, but the rest was really great

I'm going to point out the obvious here, so I'm sorry but this was very long! The trouble with a lot of people and reading on computer is that they get distracted a lot more easily. If you split this up into part one and part two, merely for the purpose of posting on YWS you may get more people come to read it.
Looking through, I didn't see any mistakes although I was confused about Railey. Firstly, you said she went off and I assumed she was going to come back in her human form then she has a human bone in her mouth? I won't lie, I got quite lost. But then again that tends to happen to me!
You have really good talent here, and I really think more people would appreciate it if it were posted in two smaller sections. You don't have to follow this advice of course, but it's only my opinion.
Keep up the good work,
Icy

Lol! I wondered if that form-confusion would happen. It's cool--I'll change that up some more. Railey's my most difficult character, childish one time, adultish another, human here, dog there, and she won't listen to a word I say. So I have to keep covering up for her. Thanks for letting me know where I need to flesh-in and make more clear!

Hmm. The idea of splitting them in two sections is a good one...though my goodness, it would mean I'd have to face a pet peeve! No real reason behind not liking it other than not liking it. *rolls eyes* I may split them in the future though... Thinking, thinking... because it IS long. Maybe I will do it. Ahh, dilemmas.

Thanks for the suggestions! Cuz they're both so true. And thanks extra for the comment!

Baaaack!

aged shingles hanging to the roof by half a nail

While I totally get what you're going for here, this just sounds funny to me. I mean, how does half a nail work? This is just bothering me in the most nitpicky of ways.

I hoped it would be a quick find-seek-destroy job, but the disrepair of the house indicated this was a problem no one had tried to resolve since our last attempt.

Okay, so I get that they've been here before, but I'm still a little fuzzy on this whole history thing. This story is treating the setting as if the reader is already familiar with it and is filling the gaps as we go along. There's nothing wrong with this. I seriously love this kind of introduction to a world, where everything is treated as common knowledge and the reader has to piece stuff together. But sometimes, we need a little help.

Why hadn't Feralyne and Railey figured out that this was occult before? Railey seems to know, seeing as how she went right for the bone, so why didn't she tell Feralyne before? They've tried to handle this house before, haven't they? So why is anything here a surprise for them? Why would they be able to handle it now?

“I'm dead.” I said, amazed at how I spoke without breath.

How did she die? Did I miss something? Is it a condition inflicted upon her for her to be able to meet Death? I'mma just a leeeeetle confused here.

I loved the sentient building. I just wanted to wrap the entire building in a snuggly hug. It just seemed so warm and simple and honest. I mean, just, d'awwwww. Seriously, my favorite character, right there.

Mmkay, so what exactly is Mordon's relationship with Feralyne? I'm seriously getting a vibe that they know each other already, but I thought they only just met for the first time last chapter? Why is she going to talk to him about her magic? I mean, she doesn't know the guy. It could be a trap, couldn't it? And why does she need help controlling it? She seems to be doing just fine on her own. Mordon even comments on it. It seems like going to see him was just an excuse to get her to the same location as him so she could rescue him.

Anyway, this chapter threw a lot of information at us really quickly. It just zoomed along (even though it was long) and I wasn't sure what all I needed to take in. Why does she have her powers back? I would have liked to have seen her work more within her limitations, before suddenly getting her uber-powers back. Why did Death decide she should have them back? Does he have plans for her or something? I would have liked to have seen this happen a little later, after we've seen just what she's capable of, so we realize that for Death to need her to have her powers, serious stuff is about to get real.

I do like this. I just wish it would slow down just a bit so that I could take a breather occasionally and get to see the characters interacting with each other, rather than constantly "action"-ing.

On to future chapters I am!

Again, feel free to send me a PM/drop a line on my wall if you have any questions or comments!

~Gryph

I loved this chapter. It was an excellent followup to the first. Now for your report card:

Spelling:I found no spelling mistakes in this chapter, so good job! You get a 100 in this section

Grammar

:“Really, ghost. Let him go and we will leave you stuff alone.”

This is what I found wrong with grammar. I figure it was just a tap of the keyboard that was too soft or something, so I am giving you the benefit of the doubt. still, Good job here. I am giving you a 95 for the one mistake.

Flow:The piece had an excellent flow to it, except of course for the grammatical mistake, which I ended up pausing on. I give a 95 Here as well.

Capitalization:There were no Errors that I found here, so good job! You get another 100.

Punctuation:I found no punctuation errors, so good job here as well. I give a third 100


Now for the report card:

Spelling:100
Grammar:95
Flow:95
Capitalization:100
Punctuation:100

Overall grade:98

Great job. a 98 is an A+! excellent work, and I look forward to reviewing more chapters. So, good job, good work, and good luck in future writing!



----LostMagi

Okay, I'm really sorry for taking so long. The illness lingered, I'd fallen behind on schoolwork, blah blah blah, I started it and then left it unfinished for days and days. Silly, really. Well, here it is. I commented where I thought it necessary, and snipped away parts that I had already commented on before or that just didn't have anything to note. I'll see when I can get to the next chapter, but I'm scared of making any promises since this one took me this long. (:

Spoiler

I found little rest in Ferret Park after I cleaned myself up and fell asleep on a bench. I must say, this sentence confused me. I first got the impression that she first cleaned herself, then slept, then found rest in Ferret Park. Maybe change this to: After I cleaned myself up, I found a little rest in Ferret Park and fell asleep on a bench. Or something to that effect, to make the sentence harder to misunderstand. The people woke me up with their chatter, and I stiffly tried to walk to a place where they weren't talking about last night. I finally listened to the rumbling of my stomach and found a doughnut, bagel, and sweet roll cart.

…

While I was still masticating, a cute woman walked around, handing out fliers to other cute, young people. The word “cute” is an incredibly vague concept. It’s something I would classify as a “weak word”, and personally would avoid using. She saw me and when I accidentally made eye contact, she strolled over and handed me one. I accepted it as she spoke,

“Today is the Annual Kissing Day at the swan fountain. If you want a cute Oh, and as it is, “cute” is repeated three times. It’s an easy thing to do (I see it all the time in my drafts), but repetitions like that really jump at the reader. hunk to put a smile on your face, come over and see us. The festivities start in an hour and we have hired fifty professional kissers to keep the smooches going all day long. Professional kissers? A world where there are ghosts, demon hunters and kissing officers. Is this going to be important later on, or am I just taking it way too seriously? Some readers might start thinking though, how much can a person earn by giving out kisses? But don't tell anyone else. I'm telling you because I really think you could use a good make out session.”

I giggled and told her thanks, but I was sunning for now. She nodded and pointed to the map on the flier, then added to send any cuties I saw her way. I said I would. ”Cute” repeated. I’d like to note, that “weak” words can be used in dialogue no problem (here too, since it’s practically a quote), but in the narration it can feel weird.

…

“I take it you met Charles this morning.” I said. ”…morning,” I said. (American) or “…morning”, I said (British). The comma needs to be there, since “I said” is a dialogue tag. Death had apparently declared me one of his unofficial agents, and I wasn't certain of how I felt about that yet.
…
I was about ready to fall into a nap when I smelled smoke from a burnt paper. I sniffed the air again, to be certain, then looked around the air. A slip of paper floated down on a breeze, twirling and spinning for all its might Personally I think “for all its might” sounds a little stiff here, and I’d jus cut it (leaving “spinning like a leaf”), but I think it’s a matter of taste.[/u] like a leaf, the licks of flame just leaving its edges, burning in reverse, adding paper instead of taking it. I snatched it and read the lines written in my brother's curly handwriting.

Our coffee shop, lunch time. Big news. -Leazar

The news with him was usually big, especially when he didn't bother to call. Curly or not, it still looked like it had been written quickly. Though it’s apparent from context, the sentence here doesn’t really make clear what is curly. It’s not bad, but refining this sentence could improve the clarity. The exact time for lunch was at best vague, as our family ate nibbles over a long time, savored often with a single drink or on occasion a full pitcher. He could have tracked me down, I knew, and sprung the news on me that way. It wasn't past him to do so, but last time he surprised me while I slept and I stuck him in the lotus ring. It was a new trinket at the time, so when I released him we didn't have too many nasties to go through—a bogart, a wailing repeater ghost, and a brownie I had agitated to originally test the ring out on. The brownie got away, and I think I saw some scathing reviews about items going missing from that hotel before it finally stole enough to grow bored.

I fell back on the grass, shut my eyes, and ignored the cat even when it nibbled and[color] then bit my fingers. I slept soundly, listening to the songbird and the water fountain, the kitty napping on my belly, digging its claws into my shirt.

Smoke filled my nostrils and I lazily woke up, looking around to see if someone had started a barbeque grill, knowing entirely well that the smoke I smelled was burnt paper and not charcoal or propane. True to my senses, no one was grilling—it was much too early for that anyway—and I caught sight of a burning letter descending on the breeze down to me. [color=#008080]I know this might be hard to avoid, but I found myself thinking if you had accidently put two versions of the same scene after each other. Sleepiness or actual sleep, followed by a burning scent, and a letter. Something should set this second section apart – maybe the letter could arrive when she’s still alert and thinking?

In this case, the letter fell hard and fast, not flittering as no a my brother's note had. It landed next to my thigh, finishing the burn and forming a complete letter enclosed in an envelope.

I picked it up, noting the heavy weight of the paper and the traces of silk running through it. The hand that wrote the letter was like wise elegant and professional. The last sentence is quite clumsy. Drop the “like” (it’s used in speech, but not in writing), and a comma goes between wise and elegant. But how is a hand “professional”? At what is it professional? You could describe the steadiness and the elegant curves, but the key word is describe, not tell.

Miss Feralyne Swift it read on the front. The back had a signature written over the seal so I would know if it had been tampered with. It had been. The lines on the 'n' in the word “Constable” didn't line up right, nor did the “s”. The name “Barnes” was well-fitted, though. Upon closer inspection I saw slight tears that if it had come through regular mail I would have assumed to be made from handling.

The cat was still with me, curled up higher on my chest now, its face almost in mine.

I thought of reading the letter—someone else had thought it important enough to read.

But, what if it included a summons to appear?

I simply did not want to be drug Isn’t the correct form “dragged”? into wizard court over wizard matters when I honestly knew exceptionally little about the case or the people. Curiousity almost got the better of me. Today, I wanted to deal with no issues other than building up my rest and energy stores again so I could bring Railey back in a day or two.

I tossed the letter aside.

The cat perked up and stared at it, no longer purring or kneading my chest, even when I reached to scritch Do you mean scratch? its ears. It pounced in one fluid motion, from laying down to flying through the air. I hoped it was just playful. I sat up to see.

The cat returned to me with the envelope.

I reached out for it, but the cat hissed and swatted my hand, leaving fine scratches.

I pulled away, muttering, “Fine! Temperamental creature.”

It dropped the letter in my lap.

I had to suppose the scratches were a threat for what would happen if I discarded it again.

I picked up the envelope, patted the letter to one long end, and ripped across the top. Squeezing the sides, I turned it upside down and the letter fell into my hand. The same writing scrolled inside the rather concise letter.

Stay where you are, your life is endangered.

Recent events resulted in a bid on your head. Public places are best.

This is a standard case of headhunting.

On second thought, run. Lambs should run.

This is not a standard case of headhunting.

Standard cases don't include Lambs.

A man named Mordon will find you soon.

I will follow.

Constable Barnes. I’d suggest somehow differentiating between this and the rest of the text, maybe by the use of italics or “” marks.




Why he didn't erase the first section was beyond me. It was incredibly sloppy to just leave it, especially in the magical world where a quick word was all it took to remove ink. It would have reeked of a trap if the seal hadn't been broken and carefully replaced. I’m not 100% sure if you’re saying what you mean here. Read it over carefully. So it would have smelt of a trap if the seal hadn’t been broken, but because it is broken it doesn’t smell of a trap? I’m not sure if I see the logic. Or maybe they Who is the “they”? Are we supposed to know? were crafty and broke the seal themselves so I would think it came from a legit source, was read by opponents, and was passed on to me. I supposed the question was what I was going to do about it.

Did I feel like running? No. I did not. I wanted to rest. Today was my day and that was that.

Good.

Was I going to wait for this Mordon and Barnes to come rescue me? No. I didn't trust the letter. If it was legit, it had been read by people I couldn't trust and would no doubt impersonate them. If it wasn't legit, well...same result as before.

Then I looked at the stupid cat purring and climbing back into my lap.

Ironic as it was, I knew I could trust Death. He could choose to kill me at any time, but he seemed to have an interest in keeping me alive and well as long as I was useful. Death had guided me with creatures before and if this cat was any indication, he seemed to think the best thing for me to do was recuperate. I felt warm and cozy about that until I wondered what he would want in return. It must be something big, something I didn't want to do. I checked all my rings and things and was confident everything was in order before I let the sun and the purring cat lull me into dozing.

I shivered, cold waking me from my nap. There’s a lot of napping going on. :D Keep an eye on it, don’t let it become silly. Not saying it is, just a piece of advice. The cat woke up, too. It was still morning—about ten I guessed from the height of the sun through the trees. I hadn't napped for very long. I shivered harder and saw a man standing nearby, his eyes on me. I glared at him and sat upright, knocking the black kitty into my lap.

Even from a few feet away, I knew what the chills meant he was. With long, black hair, dark eyes, lean body, and a killer smile, he was pretty well the stereotype for a vampire. I didn't like stereotypes, and I most certainly did not like vampires. Once I made eye contact, he beamed me a winning smile. I saw his fangs. I didn't like them either.

Ignoring my go-rot-in-a-crypt glare, he came closer and stood at my feet. These are nice paragraphs, good job. Also, if I’m silent, it generally means I like your text – don’t think I don’t. X)

“Morning,” he said, his voice smooth, his hair tossing in the wind, “I thought a pretty creature like yourself deserved some company.”

“Did you?” my voice was cold. He didn't seem to notice—or care.

“Perhaps I may walk you to wherever you wish to go,” he continued, “I hear they're having a terrible problem with hobo attacks today, you shouldn't go anywhere alone.”

Hobo attacks were a euphemism for any number of things—werewolves, bogies, night crawlers, or even vampires. My bet was that some vampire family had laid claim to this park as hunting ground, and probably a few other parks as well. While I detested this vamp's very presence, I silently thanked him for letting me know that there was at least one person on the police force who I couldn't trust.

“Funny,” I said, “I thought this park was safe. Not a homeless person to be found.”

I regretted the words the instant they were out of my mouth, knowing he would pick up that I had magical knowledge and most likely saw through his scam. I would have been better off flirting for a little, declining insistently, and pretending to be expecting a phone call to make my exit.

“I assure you, Feralyne,” he said, his voice silky, “there is no place you can be safe at.”

My heart skipped a beat and I forced myself to calm it down—no need to make him think I would be easy prey.

Except that I would be.

Vampires didn't fall for my illusions, nor for my invisibility ring. Something about their sight or maybe they had echolocation, or maybe their magic was just too different for them to fall for such a trivial thing. I'd learned this by stumbling upon a blood-gorged vampire several years ago. The woman had toyed with me, played some cat-and-mouse, whispered some slurred secrets to me, then fell unconscious. I had ran—before meeting her I had actually believed vampires to be a myth or an entirely different creature altogether.

He continued, kneeling in front of me, “I am Mordon. You should have received a letter introducing me.”

“No.” I got the letter but Would cut the “I got the letter” –part – we already know that. it was hardly an introduction. I had hoped he was some random encounter seeking a blood meal, but now I considered that he might be a bounty hunter. And, Mordon? For a vampire? It hardly fit in with Aiden, Victor, Vlad, Christopher, and all the other elegant names available. Mordon in no way sounded vampire-ish. Interesting. I guess it’s a matter of taste, I saw no strangeness in his name. It fits in well enough with “Aiden”, doesn’t it? Both are rare, semi-fantastic names. Just a suggestion, but have you tried going for a more obviously un-vampire-like name? This is really extreme, but something simple like “Matt” or “Oliver” would certainly set him apart.

Also, he had the wrong vibe to be a bounty hunter, I decided, not authoritative enough. He fit into the the lackey category. I might be able to dissuade him. Show us this. Show us the “lackey” vibes. How does he move, talk, gesture? So far I’ve seen none of this “non-authoritativeness” in the text. I don’t mean that you should spend any more time on him than you do now, just select a few carefully thought-out descriptions to paint this picture for us. Perhaps he has a slight hunch? Keeps his hands open and in view? Both are submissive signs, and studying more body language guides will give you more ideas. Drop in submissive and maybe nervous hints, and you won’t need this paragraph at all – the story becomes a lot more living if the reader can figure these things out from between the lines.

“I'm not this Feralyne,” I said, giving him a sad smile, “I'm sorry, but you have the wrong person.”

He looked confused. Frowned? Twitched his head? Tightened his mouth? Shook his head? Lifted a hand to touch his head? How is he confused? Again, not suggesting a long description, just a short sentence to show us his confusion instead of this line.

“Look, hun,” I said, “you're cute enough, and I think I can trust you. That's why I will tell you—I saw a woman come by here looking for you, and another man, I think his name was Bernie?”

“Barnes?” he asked.

“Could have been. Must be a last name.” I shook my head, “Anyway, she said she would be at the other end of the park, where that swan fountain is at? I guess it's kind of hidden off the beaten path. Supposed to be pretty, but I haven't gone that far yet.”

“Thank you,” he said, returning my smile, “I will go look.”

“No problem, hun,” I said, “I hope you find her.” Liked this section! :D

As he walked away I stroked the cat, smoothing down the puffed up fur along its back and tail. Confident he would not escape the professional kissers for quite some time, and add to that all the ladies who could match the way most people described me (kinda short, blonde hair, blue or green or gray eyes), and that vampire was going to have a real day's work cut out for him.

He turned around as he went around a pond. I smiled and waved, glad I had decided to stay put otherwise there would have been no way I could outrun him. He continued, following the general direction to find the swan fountain. I waited until he was good and gone.

I snickered. I bit my tongue and held my breath. I snorted, giggled, then burst out into peels of laughter, rolling on my back. The cat's eyes grew massive, it stopped purring, drawing its ears back. I looked at it, took a breath, then burst out in a giggle fit. The cat bailed, running into the bush, giving me a backwards glance, running away on slinking legs. I’m not sure if it’s this funny, but maybe it’s just me. A snort and a giggle sound ok, but maybe not manic laughter.

Someone stopped on the walkway and stared.

“Are you Feralyne Swift?” came a man's gruff voice, his accent like one straight out of Sherlock Holmes.

“Nope.” I said, recovering from my giggles a little. “Sorry.”

I wiped my eyes so I could see.

There were two men. The one that had spoke had a very square face and deep jowls, a human bulldog in about every sense of the word, except he wore a handlebar mustache. His body matched his face: stocky, muscled, and with a small beer belly. He didn't have much hair on his buzzed head, but his mustache was the color of weak coffee. His eyes were slightly darker.

His companion had red hair with blond highlights and almost black lowlights—it would have been an entirely artificial color if he'd been strictly human, but his eyes were peculiar as well, mostly golden with red-brown rims and green flecks. He was some sort of magical creature, either naturally possessing a human form or under a change spell. It was rude to ask what he was, so I kept my tongue in check.

The bulldogish man looked at his taller companion.

The second man said, “With that laugh, you couldn't be anyone else.”

The bulldog man now grew completely uninterested in me, instead surveying the park with all the attention of a working lawman. I squinted a little and saw creases in his receding hair where a constable's cap normally rested.

“You guys here about the boy and his parents?” I guessed as to the alluded “recent events” had been in the letter, but I knew my guess had to be wrong—the Constable would be the one paying me attention, and his protector would be aloof. I did a double-take on the man in front of me, not entirely sure what made me assume he was a protector. The most obvious reason was that magic lawmen never left their territory unguarded, but the next reason was I just felt power and authority roll off the man beside me. Though I had been intent on being cranky to the point of chasing them off, I found they had encountered me in a good mood and it would be difficult to work myself up again.

“What?” the constable snapped, his attention suddenly on me, “What do you know about that?”

The man beside me waved off the implied accusations, “Barnes, she was the Cleanser.”

Barnes squinted, his rectangular eyes reduced to wrinkles, “She can't be.”

I wondered how he had written out that letter with so very little information. I presumed Mordon had to be the source of information and Barnes wrote the letter without having first gathered all the data—hence why he had been corrected on my being a Lamb. If Mordon had been rushing him, it would explain why Barnes hadn't taken the time to erase his mistake. Of course, I was doing a good deal of presuming, and I hadn't a clue how Mordon got the information—supposing it was him at all—and why he would care. How did he know my laugh? Was it a bluff? No, it wasn't a bluff. He knew, but I hadn't a clue how he knew.

“She is indeed a curious creature,” said the other man with an admiring twinkle in his golden eyes.

Barnes was less than impressed, “Leave her be, Mordon, the only thing curious about her is how a Lamb managed to get lucky with a ghost and wizard parents.”

“I am not a Lamb,” I snipped, then remembered myself, “No one is. The term is archaic, outdated, and incorrect, and people will not stop using it unless you set an example.”

Barnes snorted, “Fine. What should I call you, the politically-correct 'magically-reduced person'? Close the quotation. Otherwise, awesome, that line made me smile. :D Good job!

…

“I don't want to go back there.” I said decisively, crossing my arms.

“Because of what happened to Willow Fitzgerald?”

I winced, “I call her Railey.”

Willow was her mother's name, and her grandmother's, and her great-grandmother's. Going by the middle name was a necessity in that family.

“I don't want to go back.” I repeated, remembering with guilt how I had agreed to go with her. I should have tied her up and shipped her home. I should have gotten my parents, I realized, I should have had them send her home. But I didn't. I followed her there, no plan, no clue what we were getting into. I hadn't questioned her, though I should have. Should have actually asked my parents what was in that house before we started digging up the yard. Reckless, thoughtless, diving into things without checking them out first. I hadn't changed as much as I wished I had. For that reason alone, I was determined to not go back. It was the death of Railey, and it would be the death of me. Pretty nice, especially the last sentence which gives a good glimpse into the history and the demons of this character.

A chill ran through my body, sapping away what energy I had managed to regain. I put my hand on my forehead, feeling my pulse throbbing through my fingers. My stomach turned over and I shivered. Railey was trying to take form again, but it was too soon, she was stressing my body. This was the sort of thing we only did in emergencies, each time was worse, the last time we did this I woke up with a welt on my head in the middle of the kitchen floor in an abandoned house. Two days had passed, and I had to go to the hospital for dehydration. Have I mentioned how I love that this Raily-thing is really affecting her and her constitution limiting her? Far too many fantasy stories don’t have proper limits for these powers.

“What's wrong?” Mordon asked. He waited for an answer that I couldn't give, then took my head in both his hands, pressing two fingers against my temples.

I felt energy flow into me, easing my headache first, then my stomach stopped writhing, then my aches and chills began to fade. Mordon pulled away to rub his own temple.

Barnes had come back to us during this and put his fists on his hips, “Mordon, what was that?”

Mordon let out a breath, having regained his light golden skin color, “Energy transfer. Her ghost wants to be part of the conversation.”

“Ghost?” Barnes looked over his shoulder and fidgeted.

“How else did you think she worked? Cleansers always work in pairs, else they end up knocked out in a tomb.”

“You blindly trusted a stranger with your magic? Mordon, you've gone looney.”

“She's not a stranger, she's—she's someone I've waited a long time to meet.”

Barnes squinted at Mordon, then raised his eyebrows wide, “Oh? Oh! ...her?”

Before I could insist on an explaination Just mind the typos, Word should even catch them for you.—how did he know me, why was he waiting to meet me, just who did he think he was—a bubbly giggle came from behind me. I turned my head to see Railey, and I glared at her, quietly demanding a reason for her emergency conjuring and for ruining my chance to get answers. Since she was here, she doubtless would not allow me to talk over or past her.

“I suppose you want me to take this job?” I said with a bitter edge.

“I can't stay a ghost forever,” she said, then spied a duck wandering too close; she swiped at it.

I wasn't so sure I could take the job. “Leave the duck alone, please.”

She huffed at me, “I can't even make it fluff up...I met Death. Grandma was there, too, they were eating her Kitchen Sink Cookies, and Whiskers was on her lap, and—Fera, I want to go home.”

I remembered her grandmother's cookies filled with whatever bits of dried fruit and chocolate chips she had on hand. Whiskers had been our favorite cat, even when we found burrs and sticks in his fluffy white fur and he bit us.

“Why don't you go?” I asked.

She groaned, “Out the window I saw that house and all the people he trapped. Fera, they'll never get to go home to have cookies and milk with their families.”

She died trying to free them. I supposed that sometimes, dying for a cause wasn't enough. I nodded.

I turned my attention back to the men. Mordon watched me with patience and Barnes had paced a trampled line in the lawn while muttering about an appointment.

“You'll do it?” Mordon said.

“I'll do it.”

“Bout bloody time!” grumbled Barnes.

“Go chase a duck,” said Mordon without furor. Barnes huffed and went to stare at the water again.

“I don't suppose you will wait until I am available to investigate the site with you?” Mordon asked. I shook my head. Mordon knew this would be the answer, and pulled a thick chain from around his neck. A compass was on it. He handed it to me.

“I want you to come see me if you need anything—money, supplies, enchanted trinkets, help...”

“Might take you up on the money and trinkets,” I said, half-teasing, half-serious.

“I wish you would let me accompany you.”

“Afraid of losing me?” I teased.

He smiled sadly and let out a breath, looking away, “Actually, yes.”

I stared at him, recognizing genuine care and fear in his eyes. Also, some sadness. It was like we had been friends, and I'd gone and completely forgot about him. I was going to press the subject, demand my answers right then, but he spoke before I could form the words.

“It's an old merchant's trinket. It takes you where you want to go. I have a shop called King's Ransom, you're welcome at any hour.”

I nodded, too tongue-tied now to ask him what I wanted to know, and from past experience it was best for me to not stutter and stumble over words while I was like this. Barnes had come back and was twitching his mustache the way a cross horse twitches its tail.

Mordon started to move away, but I remembered something else.

“About that letter!” I called, “What gives? No more hit out?” Not sure if I understand the last sentence – what did you mean by it? X)

Barnes turned to answer this time, “Gone as soon as I started asking questions. Can't do anything for you now, you understand, but rumor has it you were wanted alive. Best of luck.”

I nodded, brooding over what that meant. So, someone offered a reward for my capture, hoping for a quick and easy kidnapping. When that didn't happen and it attracted attention, they withdrew the kidnapping reward to keep from being found out. That implied it was someone connected to the law enforcement, possibly someone of influence. I didn't like that, not one bit. They seemed to know to send vampires after me, and the next run-in I wouldn't be able to con. After this one's failure—presuming I didn't run into him again while leaving—they would either put the pieces together and know my face, or they would find one of my old clients and discover what I looked like. Vampires weren't ones to be fooled with a dye job and hair cut, either. It’s nice that we’re getting suspense and mystery with this whole vampire & someone’s out to get her –thing. :)

I was out of my league, no better off against them than a normal human. Try as I might, I was no Van Helsing. My days of luck were going to run out fast, especially now that whoever my mystery opponent was would not underestimate me next time.

Maybe I could live with my brother for a few months. I dismissed the idea instantly. A few months was nothing more than a few days to vampires, and I did not want to do anything to jeopardize Leazar's diplomatic neutrality. Moving with my parents again was not going to happen. Their enemies would off me faster than any vamp could.

I needed my magic back, or I was a vampire play toy until they finally caught me. Well, the best I could do now was get out of the park, check out the house more thoroughly, figure out what was in it, and hope it somehow lead to helping me with my kidnapping problem. Maybe I would find a bottle of vampire mace.

…

All around, a strong second chapter. The constant sleepiness of the main character gets a little repetitive, but I see why it's required (and praised the motivations behind that in the quote. Varying the descriptions of it a little could help, but all around I don't think a very major edit is required here. There is conflict, suspense and mystery, enough to keep the reader curious. Some of the internal monologuing gets a little tell-y, and therefore I'd say that "show, don't tell" is still the most important thing for you to keep in mind while revising. Other than that, clarity and simple copyediting (the occasionall grammar mistakes or typos) should be kept in mind as well, and it could maybe use a teeny bit of shortening (I think others have mentioned the lenght already though). Despite all this, I'm quite pleasantly surprised by what's happening in the story, and curious about the next chapter.