The Sixty-Seventh Chapter
“Rozelyn…” He muttered her name as if it was a sacred word, a prayer.
“Roz…”
“You really think that—never mind!” She jerked her head back to Thalia’s house and saw Rosette and Aruba waving at her, the latter was holding an umbrella.
“Hush you two! You’re both already soaked in the rain!”
“We’re fine, Aruba,” Rozelyn simply said then walked towards the house, without any umbrella.
“Love quarrel, eh?” Aruba teasingly utter. Cyrill just glared at her, then glanced back at Rozelyn. The latter was given a towel by Thalia.
“Love is a monster indeed…” Cyrill Emerson Clarke declared.
***
“You’re a bitch, Romaine.”
Romaine—Mary Bathory peered at Dorrien, smiling like a villain. Well, she’s a villain after all. “You’re right. You can quit calling me Romaine, lad.”
Dorrien was making use of this opportunity to speak again. This whore had hindered him to speak for the last few days, or probably weeks, he can’t recall.
“They’ve found out who you are,” Dorrien realized, a smirk on his face.
Mary just rolled her eyes. “Rozelyn found out. It was her who told everyone.”
Dorrien grinned, earning a punch to his throat from her.
She muttered a spell again and Dorrien’s tongue was again rendered useless. He was speechless yet again—literally.
Luckily, Mary unchained him, making him able to walk freely—to leave freely.
Finally, he saw her real face: the Mary Bathory face. She looks a lot like Maebh. Well, Maebh’s her daughter so her child probably inherited her looks. Yes, this Mary Bathory has bigger tits and more voluptuous looking.
But beauty is an illusion, a mask for witches.
And fortunately, Dorrien Ronan already knew where to go so that he may lift Mary’s spell she put to him.
It was none other than to Thalia Turner, the remaining healer in Shamrock. Dorrien was lucky that she’s still in this hellhole place of a city.
***
The five of them were all in Thalia’s living room. The night is quiet as the grave.The rain ceased, thanks to Rozelyn’s serene emotions now.
The girls, except Thalia, are playing snake and ladders. All have their dinner in the same room—a pepperoni pizza and a diet coke. To which Cyrill was a bit dismayed. This man is fond of a healthy diet and even scolded Rozelyn for ordering these foods.
“I’m only concerned with your health!” Aruba and Rosette, the new partners-in-crime, just silently cackled.
“We’re vampires and werewolves. I’m sure the Blood Rose didn’t grant us immortality only to be ruined by a bunch of pizza slices,” Rozelyn countered.
Their dinner was filled with talks and laughs and gossip and match-making.
“Aruba will do well with Dorrien,” Rosette teased.
“Nah..Vesta fits with Dorrien. Ice and fire be like,” said Roz.
“What if…” Rosette peered at Aruba, “That hot and sexy doctor and Aruba.”
“Dr. Fiona White,” Thalia joined the gossip.
“Yeah that,” Rosette turned to Aruba. “I’m sure you’ll like her. After all, you don’t have a preference, do you?”
Aruba grinned. “Not really. I date both men and women.”
“Then Dr. Fiona White it is!” Rosette remarked.
“The doctor fancies Roz, Rosette…” Thalia remembered. All of them turned to the healer.
“Is that true?” Aruba asked.
Rozelyn nodded, head still down as she knew Cyrill was watching her every move. “But I like dating men.”
Aruba Lynn smiled, glancing at Rozelyn. Then to Cyrill. “I can already tell.”
An hour later, Thalia began logging into her journal while Cyrill…he was so busy looking at Rozelyn. Thalia noticed and nudged him to approach Roz.
Aruba saw them and whispered to Rozelyn, “Your hot boyfriend wants to talk to you. He’s been staring at you for centuries already.”
Rozelyn immediately turned to him and said, “Fuck off, Cy.” Aruba giggles and Rosette scowls.
“Lovers…” uttered Rosette.
“I’m curious, Thalia…” Rozelyn finally spoke, changing the topic. “What happened to Aleksander Corvin and Count Vladymer? They are the first two Thaumaturge, aren’t they?”
Thalia gaze at her for a while before responding. “They say that every successful man is a woman. But, what they don’t know is that a woman can also be the downfall of man. That’s why we are called women or woe-men. We are the woe to men…”
The women just looked at each other. Cyrill’s face was just blank.
“I guess that women are dangerous after all,” he said, earning him a pillow that was thrown by Rozelyn.
The girls just laughed and began to throw pillows at each other as well.
And the night in Thalia Turner’s house becomes the battlefield of pillow-throwing and the fortress of girls laughing.
