The boy played with the flat brim of the cap in his hands and looked around the room. He sat back in his chair, trying to look casual, but the heel of his hi-top sneaker drummed rapidly on the concrete floor. Regan sat opposite him with her legs crossed and her hands folded on her tartan skirt. She watched him without a word and brushed a strand of blue-dyed hair behind her ear. Somehow this seemed to unsettle him more.

'Calm down,' she said. 'It's just murder.'

The boy licked his lips. They were sitting on the third floor of an abandoned office building. Gusts of wind occasionally whistled through the broken windows and rustled the piles of semi-translucent sheet plastic that lay scattered about the floor. Everything was coated in a thick layer of concrete dust. They were sitting on some office chairs that had been either too old or too broken to have been taken when the building was abandoned. Kessler stood slightly apart from them, resting her hand lightly on the remnants of a shattered windowpane. She brushed her hand from time to time across the jagged points of glass as if she wanted to test the tensile strength of her skin.

'There's this guy named Chris Lewis who deals drugs out of a club in City Cross called Sultan's,' said the boy. 'He's a low level pusher, so the investigators don't even care about him enough to do anything about it.'

'I don't really care,' Regan interrupted him. 'If you want him dead, I'll kill him. He won't get deader just because you have good reasons.'

'He sold my friend the drugs that killed him,' said the boy. 'Got him hooked on the stuff and then kept pushing them at him until his brain was like a sponge.'

Regan sighed and looked out through one of the grimy, broken windows.

She'd seen it before. It didn't matter what she said; people felt the need to justify themselves. There was usually no way to derail them after they'd started.

'I tried to help him,' said the boy angrily. 'But do you know how hard it is to kick something like that when you have some greasy piece of crap offering them to you every second day? I had to watch my friend die.'

He stood up and pulled a wad of notes from his pocket held together with a rubber band. He threw it down on the floor where it kicked up a small puff of concrete dust.

'There's your fee,' he said. 'It took months to earn it. I want Lewis dead.'

'Do you have a picture of him?' said Kessler from the window.

'No, but he's easy to pick. He's got long hair he keeps in a greasy plait down to his ass and he wears these little round glasses with purple glass in them. I've never seen him without them.'

'Does he have a craft?' asked Regan.

'What do you mean?'

'Lewis doesn't sound like he's got much protection, and you strike me as more of an act-first-think-later guy than someone who'd wait for months to get revenge. So, I figure there must be a reason you wet yourself and went looking for another solution. My guess is Lewis has some sort of power you can't stand up against.'

The boy shook his head.

'You talk about killing like was nothing,' he said. 'It's not that easy for people who aren't screwed in the head. No offence.'

Regan shrugged.

'I don't care if he's got a craft,' she said. 'I'd just like to know in advance. If we go after this guy and he starts shooting fire out of his hands then you and I aren't going to be friends.'

The boy drummed his hands on his thighs and made some mildly irritating popping noises with his lips. He looked like he was deciding whether or not to speak.

'I'm not sure,' he said finally. 'But two guys tried to go after him before and he took them both out. I heard when they found the bodies they were coated in some kind of goo or mucus or something.'

Kessler silently walked across and picked the stack off notes off the ground. It disappeared into one of the pockets of her heavy coat.

'Lewis will be dead within the week,' she said. 'You won't hear from us again.'

 ***

Two nights later, Regan stood leaning against the darkened front window of a jewellery shop across the street from Sultan's nightclub. It was late evening. People thronged around her on their way to restaurants and cafes. Regan let their noise wash over her. Some early club goers had gone into the Sultan's, but they were only a trickle and most of them left after less than an hour. She waited patiently, not moving from her spot. There were two bouncers outside the front door checking IDs. That wasn't a problem. She'd already checked out the club and knew it had a back entrance that was less well watched.

As the night wore on, more and more people walked into Sultan's until a queue formed out the front. The bouncers threw the doors open to allow the thumping dance music to spill out onto the street. Regan could see multicoloured lights flashing in the darkness beyond.

People walking past glanced at her and hurried on. A group of people in clubbing clothes walked close enough that Regan caught a scent of bubblegum perfume. The girls walked awkwardly in their high heels and tight dresses, and the boys tried to strut like they owned the street. Regan caught snatches of their conversation.

'...totally not!' said one of the girls.

Her friend giggled and one of the boy's eyes lingered on Regan as they passed. She ignored them.

'Can I buy you a drink?'

Regan looked to her left. The boy whose eyes had lingered had left the group and stood beside her, swaying slightly. She estimated that he was maybe one or two years older than her. He looked at her owlishly through a pair of glasses then put a hand on the wall to steady himself. He laughed. Regan could smell the syrupy scent of alcohol on his breath.

'Woah, that's a scary face!' he giggled. 'It makes me sad to see a girl all alone. Why don't you come with me? We can drink to chance meetings and dance together under the stars.'

He threw his hands in the air and twirled around, almost losing his balance. He put his hand back on the wall to steady himself, then ran a hand through his messy brown hair and grinned. It was the stupid grin of a drunk smiling at nothing in particular.

'Go away,' said Regan flatly.

'And I quoted poetry for you and everything,' he sighed. 'Well, I quoted made up poetry for you, but same difference right? Goodbye, my frosty angel. I'll always regret what could have been.'

He lurched forward to embrace her. Regan stepped out of the way and he stumbled past. He laughed again.

'So cold!' he said, turning to catch up with his friends. 'You're breaking my heart, but I guess that's life. See you later my frosty angel!'

'Shot down!' yelled someone from across the street.

Regan swore. People in the queue for Sultan's were watching and laughing. The drunken moron had drawn attention to her. She left her waiting spot and made for the back door of the club. She'd have to wait for her prey inside.

 ***

On the roof of the next building, a dark female figure watched Regan enter the club. The shadowy woman turned at the sound of a tread behind her. The boy with the glasses appeared out of the shadows. His eyes had lost their drunken softness.

'Trevellian,' said the woman. Her voice was clipped and educated. It was the type of voice that visits another person's house and checks for dust on top of the door frames.

'Seline,' Trevellian inclined his head slightly. 'Sorry I'm late. I got distracted.'

'I saw. What was that performance in aid of?'

'In aid of?' the boy laughed. 'I did it for fun.'

Seline turned her eyes back onto the street below.

'You're far too carefree,' she said. 'Some day it's going to get you into trouble.'

'Perhaps,' said the boy as he picked up a dark grey coat from the ground and slipped it on. 'But I loath being bored. I'd far prefer to be dead.'

He stretched. Painted on the back of his coat was a red circle with three vertical slashes running through it.