“What do you want Jinko?” Tyler was tired. Strands of blonde hair fell in front of her eyes as she fell back into the black leather recliner that she considered to be her ‘thinking chair’.
“Sire, I thought you should know that Marcus has made plans to arrive within the week,”
“Marcus? Are you sure?”
“Definitely, my lord,” Jinko was pale, thin, and didn’t look a day over two hundred. He had all the substance of a walking corpse with anorexia.
“Well done Jinko. Leave me,” Tyler watched her emaciated servant leave the room and turned her attention towards this new wrinkle. Why would the Prince of Washington D.C. be coming here, especially without giving Tyler a proper warning? Combined with news that there were troublesome numbers of increasing Anarchs in town, Tyler was beginning to feel hemmed in. She used to think that it was hard fighting the system. Who knew that controlling it would be even more work?
Still there was good news. She had found the Banshee Blade…