Nyssa:

“See over here?” Nyssa asked, pointing to a dark smear on the artwork she’d drawn less than an hour before. “That’s you.”

Wolfgang tilted his head, squinting at the drawing as best he could while walking briskly towards his home.

“Where is the rest of me?”

“Over here,” she said, pointed to opposite end of the paper.

“How macabre,” Wolfgang said mildly. He ran his fingers over the rest of the drawing, smudging it as the rain fell and soaked into the thick paper. Four deep indentations gained his attentions. His fingers found the ridges where Nyssa’s pencil had dug deep, sketching the writhing shapes. “I get torn apart by snakes?” Wolfgang seemed to take Nyssa’s revelation in his stride. There was none of the usual questions or disbelief.

“Nothing so literal as that,” Nyssa explained. “You actually get stabbed through the head. The snakes are just a representation. Four snakes, four enemies. Probably men.”

“Why men?”

“Snakes mean men or male feelings like aggression or ruthlessness or determination. Or sometimes they are representation sexual desire.” Nyssa rose an eyebrow suggestively. Wolfgang cleared his throat, a faint pink colouring his otherwise grey skin.

“So, four men then.”

Nyssa laughed. “Black snakes. That means corruption, evil, rage, basically anything bad. Snakes are also seductive, they entice and encourage evil. They aren’t blind fury; they are cunning.”

“So the four men from the market have planned an ambush somewhere along my route home.” He peered ahead as if he could pierce the surrounding darkness through sheer will alone.

“You are good at this game,” Nyssa said, impressed they he’d guessed at the danger that lay ahead of them so quickly.

“Shouldn’t we be heading the other direction?” Wolfgang stopped and shoved his fingers roughly through his shoulder length hair, slicking the damp strands behind his ears. “I, for one, want to be walking away from the people who want scatter bits of me across the whole of London.”

“Yeah, so next week they can try the same thing,” she said dryly, stopping to look back at Wolfgang. He stood in the middle of the street, hair tucked behind his ears and shoulders hunched. “Better we face them now when we know what’s coming.” She started walking again, and Wolfgang followed obediently. They soon arrived at the graveyard Wolfgang called home.

“Think of the bright side,” she called as she scaled the graveyard’s gate, landing heavily on her feet on the other side, “if we do end up stopping them tonight, you will probably get a good snack out of it.”

Outside the protection of the buildings, the wind and sleet hit them head on. Nyssa shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her, covering her lower face with her scarf.

“How do you know where I live?” Wolfgang called from the top of the gate.

Nyssa rolled her eyes heavenward, weaving in and out of the headstones nimbly. I predicted his death and that is what he is concerned with.

Wolfgang jogged to catch up to her, talking cheerfully. Nyssa tuned him out, clutching her drawing to her chest.

There, the rose bush. Its thorns glistened ominously with beaded drops of rain. Wolfgang sidestepped the bush easily, not aware of the warning it broadcasted.

Cobblestones, fog twisting around gnarled tree roots, rain streaming down a stone angel’s face like tears. She’d seen this all before.

This was the place.

Nyssa said something to Wolfgang, her voice muffled by her scarf.

“What?” Wolfgang paused his brisk walk to stare at her.

Nyssa pulled the scarf away from her mouth.

“Duck,” she said calmly. Wolfgang immediately dropped to the ground, his knees hitting the rough stone hard enough to bruise a normal human.

But Wolfgang was not normal, and he certainly wasn’t human.

There was a flash of starlight reflected off steel and a headstone exploded into pieces, raining chunks of masonry down on his shoulders and neck. Just seconds before, Wolfgang’s head had occupied the space where that wicked looking blade was now buried hilt deep into the stone.

Wolfgang didn’t stop to gawk. With faster reflexes than should have been naturally possible, Wolfgang snagged Nyssa by the wrist and dragged her behind a tree.

“Told you,” Nyssa said, smiling despite the circumstances, “stabbed in the head.” She pointed to the long knife, a short sword really, that was sticking out of what used to be Margaret Doyer, loving mother and wife’s gravestone.

“What happens now?” Wolfgang whispered harshly, ignoring Nyssa’s triumphant grin and peering into the darkness. The rain had stopped at least but the fog refused to disperse and the night was moonless and dark.

“How should I know?” Nyssa said at a normal volume. Wolfgang shot her a withering glare, his black eyes narrowing savagely.

“How should I know?” she repeated, matching his hushed whisper.

“Can’t you see the future?”

“It’s going to start raining again in an hour,” she said dryly. When Wolfgang shot her another glare she just shrugged.

“I don't see everything,” she explained. “Once I stopped your brain prematurely hemorrhaging, the future changed. We are on our own.”

“What do we do?” Wolfgang eased his head around the trunk of the tree, low to the ground. Anyone watching would expect him to poke his face out at about head height. Hopefully, they won't be watching down low.

“I don't know, I didn’t think we’d get this far,” Nyssa said, cheerfully unhelpful. A shrug and a suggestion to “wing it,” was the best she could offer.

Wolfgang couldn’t see anything in the direction the knife was thrown from, there were too many headstones and trees in the way. Hopefully, that meant they were out of sight of their enemies as well.

“Okay,” Wolfgang slumped against the tree, running his hands roughly through his long hair, “we head back to my grave, string them out and take them out one by one.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said. Her frizzy locks bounced by her ears, despite the rain that had soaked into them. Her eyes flickered to a patch of darkness far away from where the knife had come from. “A vagabond doth approach from o’er that hill yonder.”

Wolfgang pulled a face, the bewildered expression looking odd on his grey, sallow features.

“What?” He yanked her back from where she was peering around the tree, trying to spy the enemy. They ended up kneeling face to face in the bed damp leaves and mulch laying on the ground.

“You’re super old right?” she said innocently. “I thought I would talk in your language.” Wolfgang suspected she was teasing him.

“First of all, I’m middle eastern. I never spoke Old English,” a rustling of a bush drew his attention, “and second,” he continued, distracted, “that sentence made no sense.”

“You’re missing the point,” she said, rolling out of her crouch and crawling away from the measly protection of the tree, “someone is coming.” She could feel the tightly wound knot of rage and male violence creeping closer to their hiding spot.

Wolfgang swore softly and crawled after her, moving so he was almost on top of her. His hot breath brushed against the back of her neck, smelling slightly of rotting flesh. Wet, freezing sludge squished between her fingers and dampened the knees of her jeans.

She was cold and dirty and at that moment considering if this was worth the absolute nightmare getting the mud out of her hair was going to be.

What do you think of Wolfgang?