Chapter 8: San Francisco

Miles Roscoe wasn’t in the PIA when it exploded. Neither was Agent Eyre, who had decided that an emergency room receptionist was a much quieter job.

The wiring had apparently been tampered with. Meaning, that “someone” stuck a time bomb in the fuse box. The whole PIA exploded from the inside out two days after Grey had broken in.

On the corner of the street, watching with pale blue eyes, stood Grey; watching with a smile as the infrastructure collapsed in on itself, taking its leader with it.

“So,” Grey said to the cat at his feet, “Have you considered what I said about going to California?”

Dominus Fluffy made a motion that could have been a shrug. “It sounds like it could be fun. I’ve never been to California.”

“Neither have I. So, do you think they’ll catch me?”

“I doubt it. You never look the same for more than a week. Even if they find some lead to you, they’ll be looking for you as a fifty year old, not thirty four.”

Grey nodded, “It was a real pain in the ass to take all those people’s souls.”

“Ever feel bad about it?”

“Rarely. They generally just go on with their lives.”

Dominus Fluffy gazed down the street at the new pile of ruble that had been the PIA headquarters. “You read the article about Roscoe, right?”

“Yeah,” Grey’s voice softened, “Pity about him hanging himself. He really did adore that kid. I probably would have warned him to get out. But he saved me a phone call. Glad S got her due, though…”

“Yep. We should start walking. I think I can hear the sirens.”

“Alright."

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A/N: The ending of this story was very rushed. I wrote the whole thing in three weeks in New Jersey at a summer arts camp.

Thank you Sir Scott and Madeline West for your continued support!

Dedicated to Aly, for making me read this to you every night, and beleiving that the first chapter could go somewhere good.

And now I have to go and re-write "The Raath Organization for the Aristocratic Undead" which needs a new name... and a plot...