It watched me without eyes
"Hey- You listening?" My date snapped her fingers in front of me, tearing my gaze away from it. For a brief moment I couldn't remember her name, then it came to me.
"Sorry, Frances. Didn't mean to doze off like that," I said sheepishly. "So… you were saying?"
Frances reclined back, seemingly mollified. "Well, Miriam _had_ to run around telling everyone about Henrietta's boyfriend, so Mirabelle and I teamed up to stop her from running her mouth. But could you believe it…"
"Yep, I'm sure," I said idly, tuning her words out. Goodness, that woman ran her mouth like nobody's business. She was pretty enough to make up for it, a bombshell blonde with baby blue eyes. I had met her on a dating app. She was the bubbly, spiritual sort, going so far as to call herself a 'witch' and brag about her astrology knowledge. Not the brightest bulb in the box, naturally, but I had always had a thing for bimbos.
"Ugh, I know right?! Like, how could she say such things about poor Glendy! It makes my blood boil just thinking about it, you know you know?! That's why I think Mitchell was so brave to stand up for her…"
Something brushed against my bare, exposed throat, and I jolted away, standing up and turning around sharply. But it was only an elderly woman in a bright pink scarf, shuffling to her seat. "So sorry for starting you, dearie," she purred, settling down. "Really, I ought to be more careful."
I nodded placatingly. "Sorry about that, ma'am," I said, nodding my head in apology. The hunger made me skittish. We were at a cosy little Italian restaurant, newly opened and barely occupied.
"Goodness, you're really anxious!" Frances tittered. "Say? Where's our food? I think I need to go call and talk to the waiters at this point." She waved her arm about, trying to catch the attention of the waiters. From the corner where we sat, I caught sight of three of them, heads bowed in some sort of conversation.
None of them looked up. The restaurant was practically empty, and I understood why. Who would want to go to a place with such poor service? They had yet to greet the old lady next to me. "I'll deal with this," I told Frances, and got up ready to give them a piece of my mind.
Pushing my chair back, I strode purposefully over to the waiters. "Hey, we ordered a lasagna, a risotto, two white wines and a bread basket twenty minutes ago! Where the hell's our food?"
They didn't look up, and I suddenly felt a rush of rage. "Didn't you hear what I just said? I want to speak to your manager now!" The nerve of them, to ignore a paying customer. Had they even conveyed my order to the kitchen? I took one step closer until I was glaring at the back of a dark haired waiter's head. Fed up with him, I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "Don't play dumb-"
He was watching me with no eyes. His face was nothing more than a smooth plateau, devoid of emotion. Yet I had the distinct feeling that he saw me, that he was staring at me, and most of all, that he was angry.
It occurred to me that I might have made a significant error. An error so significant that it might cost me my life. I took two steps away, releasing the faceless waiter from my grasp. "My bad, boys," I said, raising my hands in surrender. "I won't bother you again, eh? Take your time with the lasagna."
The other two waiters looked up, and I swear I saw a twitching of the cheeks that signalled a grin. I turned and fled, only to run right into the old lady. "Run, somethings really wrong with the waiters!" I grabbed her wrist, but something held me right there. I turned around.
The old lady grinned at me, revealing far too many rows of needle-sharp teeth. Her scarf wrapped itself about me like furry pink tentacles, constricting my chest and making my head spin. "What a nice youngster you are," she purred, grasping my arms with bloodied, tetanus-ridden claws. "Looking after an old lady like that, hmm? Why, I could just eat you up!"
Her jaws unclicked, and I gagged on the rotten stink of her breath. They expanded, and I found myself staring down the deep abyss of her oesophagus. I was going to die here, I realised dismally. I was going to die because I went on a stupid date at this miserable restaurant.
And then I wasn't. A small, manicured hand pulled me back, and I found myself wedged into the not-insignificant bosom of Frances. She bore a look of complete, utter disgust. "Let go of my date, skinwalker," she snapped. "This one's mine!"
"Frances, run! Don't try to fight that thing," I urged, trying to hurry her along. I hooked my arm around hers and picked her up, only to get a snack on the head for my troubles.
"Put me down, you idiot! Didn't you hear a word I said?" She glared at me ferociously. "I'm a witch, bitch! And I can take a skinwalker. Now get behind me, you nitwit, and stop pretending to be so macho." For once, I did as she told me to, and ducked behind a table. This was way out of my paygrade.
The skinwalker — if that was what the old lady really was — laughed at Frances. "Little witch, do you really think you can def-" Frances smacked the skinwalker, cutting off its words. It was almost comical, in a horrible way, to see her stare down a monster twice her size.
She grabbed the coat of the skinwalker and pulled it down. With her other palm, she whipped out her lipstick and sketched a strange symbol on its forehead. "Yes," she said triumphantly, as the skinwalker thrashed and screamed in her iron grip, "I totes think I can beat you."
The three waiters exchanged glances with each other, then made a run for the door. Smoothly, Frances capped her lipstick and pulled out a dagger. She threw it expertly at the dark haired waiter, who was almost at the door. The waiter went down like a stone, hitting the floor with a too-loud thump. The other two followed suit soon after.
Almost as an afterthought, Frances pulled out a tiny, pink handgun and shot the skinwalker in the back of the head twice, then did the same for the twitching waiters. "Ugh, I bet Miriam sent those summonings after me," she said casually, turning to me. "She's always so jealous of the guys I pull, you know you know? I kept telling her she's such a red flag, and you know- she kinda needs to change and get a glowup, but does she listen? No, of course not! Who listens to little Frances, am I right?"
I stared blankly at her, then nodded obediently. "Err," I started, trying to arrange my thoughts into coherence, "Thanks for the save earlier, and I'm really sorry for not listening to you, you know?"
Frances beamed at me and pulled me up, leaving my sleeves coated in blood. "Aww, you're so sweet! I'm just glad you're not the sort who can't deal with a girl being stronger than them, you know you know?" She skipped over to the waiters and pulled out the daggers, which I noted to be decorated in eye-wateringly cutesy stickers. "Look, can I invite you over to my place? It won't be nearly as good as here, but I've got some microwave lasagna??"
The sheer hope on her face, and the fact that she had just single handedly taken down the stuff of my nightmares, meant I really couldn't say no.
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