Manifest (The Darkening Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF

vampires have persevered for as long. 
    I exit the bathroom and I slip into some black dress pants with a black turtleneck and dark gray blazer.  Under the jacket is a holster that holds my fifty-caliber pistol.  It’s loaded with incendiary rounds, but I keep a few hollow point mags on me too.  Low caliber firearms are only moderately effective against supernaturals, since the comic-book weaknesses died out long ago.  Best way to kill a supernatural now is massive trauma, or in the case of chyldrin, sunlight.
    Sabetha emerges from her room as if stepping out of a Cynthefashion Magazine: Businesswoman .  High heeled, knee-high Phobes , pleated black Manuela dress pants, and a Cynthefiber button-down blouse under a one-button jacket.  Her trench is Exo-tiq leather, custom made like my waist-length bomber.
    As we collect our gear, I sense some tension coming from her.  She’s carrying a duffle bag full of metal, and guns aren’t usually her thing.
    “The canvas really clashes,” I say, nodding at the duffle bag.
    She shrugs off the comment and waits in the hallway, tapping her toe while I check and recheck our new door.  As I lock it, though, I can’t help but think about how fragile the walls around the door are.  Feels like I’m locking a foot-thick vault door to a vault made out of chicken wire.  With a sigh, I face Sabetha who tilts her head and asks if I’m ready to go.
    We exit through the back of the building and head over to Rolla.  Betha unlocks the doors and starts the engine with the press of a button and we take our places.  The duffle bag is placed lovingly on my lap and its weight is comforting to me.  The Velcro flap crackles as I tear it open and run the heavy gauge zipper down its length.  Inside is a jumble of gun barrels, handles, scopes, and magazines.  I pull out a slim black pistol with an extended, vented barrel and run through its firing system before sliding a clip into the underside of the handle.  Setting it down on top of the others, I use my other hand to retrieve my sunglasses, flip them open, and place them delicately on my face.
    “So do you want to talk about it?” Sabetha asks.
    My stomach tightens slightly.  I know what she’s referring to, but I play dumb.  “About what?”
    “You froze up last night.  Haven’t seen that in a while.  What happened?”
    “Does it matter?”
    “I think it might matter a lot.”
    “Well I don’t.”
    She nods. 
    “So who’s first?” Sabetha asks, slowing the car as three figures cross our headlights at the intersection.  “What the fuck is a pimp doing in our neighborhood?” she sneers, insulted by the man’s presence.  “I swear to god, they’re like cockroaches.  We should just kill them all one night.”  She’s said it a thousand times before and never meant it once.
    One of the two girls collapses under a broken high heel and falls to the pavement in a heap of frizzled blonde hair and fake fur.  Sabetha honks the horn.  It’s a modified noise, deep and robust like a growl mixed with a trombone.  The pimp turns and erupts into a boisterous display of arm movements and shouting, walking towards the car with a nickel plated revolver brandished.  I step out and stand behind the door.
    “You wanna get out tha car?” He threatens, cheap jewelry clanging about his neck and wrists, gold teeth glistening under his lips.
    I put the first bullet through his nasal cavity.  The webbing of bone there makes for a more… dramatic exit wound. 
    I hate pimps.  I look at the two fish he was with, both diseased and hopelessly addicted to innumerable vices.  I pretend like I’m making a choice, but I’ve already done so.  With a disappointed shake of my head, I retrain the gun and put them down.
    Getting back in the car and straightening my jacket, I answer Sabetha’s previous question.  “We’ll talk to the cyperas first.”
    She weaves Rolla around the three bodies and continues on.

 
 
 
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