A splatter of blue paint on the wall. Shattered marbles scattered over the cement floor. Discarded rose petals carelessly thrown on the iron-railed bed. And the sheets, the deep, crimson sheets, twisting and curving around the naked body of the woman laying across the sunken mattress. Her eyes were wide and dead, her back twisted, leaving one shoulder blade free to hang in the open air, exposing a detailed wing that traveled from shoulder to hip. A lone arm dangled to allow long fingers to brush the cold ground.

Grey stared at the picture on the wall, so different from the others hanging in the gallery. She pulled the collar of her jacket up a little more, so no one would make the connection between her face and the one in front of her. It was spite that had made this picture find its way here, and it was the last thing the population needed to know about her.

With one last look at the unwanted portrait, Grey moved into the crowed and made her way out of the museum. Once outside, she made her way up the street. Small, crystalline drops of rain fell around her, and soon her entire body was soaked, but she continued on until she reached an alcove where she could get dry.

The first available spot turned out to be the opening to a coffee shop, where she walked in and shook herself, sending water everywhere. After waving off the waitresses attempts to give her a towel, she walked around to find a seat. Once comfortable, she ordered a cup of tea and leaned forward to pick up the news paper. Her eyes fell on the main article:

‘Rich family move into Greystone mansion with plans for city remodeling.’

Her mouth began to quirk, but she continued.

‘James Avers, owner of the Avers Shipping Co. has moved his family into the mansion of the recently deceased Viktor Greystone…’

God rest his soul, she thought.

‘…and has formally announced his decision to make it his permanent residence. While unknown to Mr. Avers at first, locals know that Greystone comes with one third of the upper city, or the ‘old city’ as it is called by its inhabitants. When asked about his plans, Mr. Avers said that he intends to rebuild the entire thing.
“The last thing I want is to own a run-down city when I could own a metropolis.”’

With a disgusted snort, Grey threw the paper on the table and wrapped her chilled fingers around the steaming mug in front of her. She was finally beginning to warm up when someone opened the door and the wind hit her like a bitter slap across the face.
Her comfort zone disrupted, she left her money on the table, and thinking of a better use for the paper, held it over her bright head as she walked the few blocks to her store.

Grey owned a corner bookshop that included two floors and an apartment above. The gothic style reminded her of the orphanage she grew up in, so when she peeled off her wet jacket and threw it at the doorkeeper, the water fell with love onto the old carpet.

“Anything happen while I was gone?” she asked, her already husky voice raspy from the freezing rain.

The man smiled as she wrung out her hair and shook his head. “Nothing much. You seen the news?”

“Ugh, read it,” she told him, holding up the paper. “Don’t remind me.”

Leaving him to deal with her jacket, she climbed the two flights of stairs and entered her apartment. Hurrying across the main room, she lit the fireplace, and then wandered into her bedroom. It was chaotic, with clothes strung out everywhere and her book notes dominating one corner.

Deciding to take a shower instead of just changing her clothes, Grey walked into the bathroom and turned on the hot water, giving it time to warm up. It felt good as it fell on her cold skin, and she sighed and leaned against the wall. Soon, the air became thick, and she had the choice of getting out or suffocating.

Thirty minutes later, she stood in front of the counter, a towel wrapped around her still wet body, and wiped steam off of the mirror. Through its thickness, she was able to see her dark, auburn hair and hazel eyes. The rest soon followed; a low brow and high cheekbones, a proud nose and pouting lips. Not her favorite, but pleasant enough to look at.

Drying off, she threw her towel on the floor and got dressed: a grey, long-sleeved shirt, a flowing, ankle length black skirt, and her well worn black boots. The rest was habit. A pair of sunglasses pushed back into her hair, some eyeliner, and the smell of Eternity perfume.

Ready to face the rest of the day, Grey danced down the stairs and approached the front counter. The girl there wasn’t paying attention, she stared for a few minutes, and then, “Hi, I’m here to see Grey Lisel.”

The girl didn’t look up. “Ms. Lisel is busy right now. Do you want to leave a message? Or wait for a little while?”

“I’m busy?” Grey laughed as she jumped. “I’ll take over for a little while, Katie. Come back in an hour.”
Katie nodded and rushed out the front door. Grey considered yelling at her, but thought better of it, and sat down, preparing for
a long hour.

A package of sticky notes and two pencils in the ceiling later, an older man came through the door. He gazed around for a minute, and then walked over to the desk.

“Excuse me? My name is Charles. I called in about a book a few weeks ago…”

Grey missed the rest of what he was saying; she was to busy watching the hairs in his mustache twitch when he talked. Then he stopped and she realized he had asked her a question.

“Uh…I own the place. I usually don’t work the front desk. If you give me the name of the book, I can try and look in the back.”

Charles nodded. “My apologies, fair lady. I would be very grateful if you would do that for me.”

She smiled at him and went into the back. The name wasn’t one she immediately recognized, she decided to enlist help. “K.B.!”

A blond head popped up above the shelves and a deep voice yelled, “Hello?”

Grey followed the vibrations and ended up in front of a giant. “I need to find this book. You know where it is?”

K.B. thought about it for a moment, moved his blue eyes around the room, and pointed to the back. “Four in, second shelf.
Green book.”

“Your wasted here,” she told him, continuing her search. He only nodded.

It took her a little while to figure out whether second shelf meant from the top or bottom, but she found the book, “Redeemer” by Sham Chikoa. Tucking it under her arm, she walked back out and watched as the man took it, holding it like it was contaminated, and place it in a pocket. Fishing in another, he pulled out a little card.

“I’ve looked everywhere for this book. If there is anything I can do, please call,” he told her, pressing it into her hand.

Charles left, and when Grey turned over the card, it read, in bold, clean letters, ‘James B. Avers’.