Entry #7: They were both entirely, completely, unequivocally gone.

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67094_111815065653204_1298985819_nThey were both entirely, completely, unequivocally gone. Stoph stared unbelievingly at the spot where his quarry had lain for three whole seconds before his face contorted with unmolested rage and he seethed, “That b*tch.” A Scrivener had rescued his prey. A writer had waltzed right up and plucked him from under his grasp.

“A f*cking writer”, he muttered with spent passion. He sat back on the bench to think. It had taken him months to track him down. Even today, it was not until he had run that Stoph knew this was the right person, a Reader, and now he was gone again. The Big Boss would not be happy.

Who was that Writer? Over the centuries, he had crossed quite a few of them. But did he know her? Probably, yet her visage had been cloaked.

He rubbed the spot where the water had stung him, still raw, but healing fast. The fact that mortals actually thrived on the stuff disgusted him. Then it clicked. Her aura had been cloaked! This meant he knew her. Which meant he also should have sensed her deception immediately. Yet he had been excited, and (though he hated to admit it) distracted.

A f*cking Writer. Now I have to track him down. . again, and as an afterthought, If the Big Boss doesn’t exorcise me first.

“What happened.” An insidiously cheerful voice called. Stoph looked up into the guise of a punk rocker chick. Shockingly spiked, pink hair and multiple body piercings glittered and gleamed in the day light. Her expression was questioning, her eyes abysmal spheres of darkness.

“A Writer showed up.” Stoph replied grudgingly.

“You mean you lost him.” The woman remarked with bemusement.

“Shut up Lilith.” Stoph said. “I need to think.”

“What’s there to think about?” she asked. “We had him, you lost him. You’re getting exorcised this time for good.”

Her last statement was probably right, but he did not intend to return to the pit solo. He said, “You’re probably right, unless we find him, but don’t think I’ll take all the blame for this. We had him, we lost him. You’re in as much sh*t as me if we don’t haul him back.”

A shrewd look past over her face, but she did not respond. Apparently, she already knew as much.

“So what’s the plan.” She finally asked.

Stoph smirked and shook his head. She would sell him for a new pair of shoes. If things got rough, he needed to have a plan in place for her. Dead people are great at taking the blame.

“The plan is simple,” Stoph said rising, “We get Azazel to track his aura. The Writer was cloaked, but if we move fast we might be able to trail him.”

“We better find him,” Lilith replied, “because I am not taking this failure to the Big Boss.”

The unspoken threat rang clear.

“Of course not,” Stoph said, “I always have a plan.”

Two seconds later they were gone, a pair of crows in flight.

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