First came the shock, then the anger, then the blame. In their carelessness, the villagers had murdered the wrong person. That night most returned to their homes, locked their doors, got together whatever weapons they could and sat huddled in corners. They listened and waited for what would happen next.
Nero, on the other hand, had something else in mind.
His employers were getting impatient. He had lived ten years on this little rock; watching, waiting, looking for his opening. Years of searching in archives, listening in on secret conversations, and tailing villagers had been fruitless. His search did turn up evidence of another agent in the village, one Nero assumed had been sent there to stop him. He knew better now.
The werewolves were, in their own way, a blessing. For good or ill these werewolf attacks would bring the end of his service.
However, to wait for things to unfold on their own would be very dangerous for him.
Nero had no intention of dying.
A cat ran across his path; there seemed to be more of them around lately. He paid no heed to it, instead walking to the house at the end of the lane, slipping quietly from shadow to shadow like a ghost. He had known enough to recognize one wolf for what it was immediately.
He knocked on the door. It swung open silently.
"I'd like to make a deal," said Nero, standing firm on the porch, "I represent very powerful interests..."
"I'm sure you do," said a voice. It was almost a growl, "But we don't work that way. Killers or not, this is
ourisland. I will, however, give you the opportunity to run."
Nero took off down the street, his heart pounding He daren't cry for help; that would only bring them on him faster. He ran faster than he had ever ran in his life until he reached his own house, leaped inside and bolted the door. He heard a vicious growl and a rattling, but the seal held firm. He stumbled over to his desk, panting, and searched frantically.
"Looking for this?" said a voice. Nero turned. In their gloved hands was Gladstone's silver gun.
"You!" said Nero, a wave of resignation passing over him, "I should have guessed."
The werewolf said nothing, only grinned and opened the door.
------
Nathanielandbartimaeus hadn't slept all night. As the sun came up that morning, a wave of relief washed over her. Maybe nothing had happened. She walked to her door, unlocked it, and went outside.
And began to scream.
Within an hour, and after much shrieking and crying, the villagers had gathered up poor Nero's body. He had been torn into pieces and scattered throughout the village, the word "Traitor" painted on him in blood.
_____________
I'm sorry Nero, I tried to give you a badass death to make up for the Trickster role being kind of boring, but it didn't turn out that way. Next time.
Okay, villagers and wolves, I would like PM's to be labelled "Vote 2." And the agent needs to PM me their next investigation. The clue is from Chapter 3 this time.
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