TITLE: The Faithful
GENRE: Urban Fantasy
Raine Morgan pulled a crushed pack from his front pocket, fished a twisted cigarette from it. Flame flickered then vanished. He took a drag, stared at the bars, the neon flashing, calling the shuffling drunkards and wannabes out into the dead of night for some faintly promised tail. He scoffed, leaving a fresh trail of smoke diving from his open mouth.
Grasping his watch chain with one hand, he tugged on it, checked the time, and shoved the piece back in his pocket with a sigh, letting the jacket fall over his olive vest.
“Mr. Morgan,” said a soft, earnest voice. The man fumbled with a sheet of paper. It crinkled as he flipped it over. He'd worn it thin from the sound of it.
Leaning into the brick, Raine let his hand drop, replied, “Where to?”
“The Deserted Temple.”
He nodded, flicked his cigarette into a mound of trash as he walked forward, bathed in pinks, oranges, and flashing blues. The heat of the bodies struck him as the night’s bitter cold played at his fingers. He rolled his fingers as if rolling a quarter along his knuckles, turning a corner, coming to a stop at a rundown dive. Its shattered windows glittered with candlelight, a whisper of wind creeping through the winking panes. Its door hung slightly ajar, ragged holes in the wood revealing all their secrets.
He slipped in, letting the hot air waft over him. He peered over the warped wood, the remnants of the lower district.