Short_story_20210202

gistfile1.txt

In secluded corner of Rowans House, Morriston Templeton shuffles a deck of cards.
His mark, a young acolyte, just entered. One of them was about to walk out with a loaded spirit bottle,
and it was important it wasn't the cult that wronged him. 

He surveyed the room and noticed no whispers.
That seemed odd, in a city, where a spirit of a murder victim could avenge her death if left unchecked. 
The seller was in the opposite corner. He should approach them before they make the trade.

As he nears the table, a burly man stands up to intercept: "Mr. Volaris doesn't want t be disturbed". 
He didn't anticipate bodyguard this big. Moriston was used to being the most intimidating man in the room. Maybe this really was above his paygrade.

Volaris looks up at Templeton and then back at the acolyte: "Are we expecting someone?"
Moriston jumps at the opportunity and shouts: "The church sent me to help escort the initiate 
and the precious cargo" and he holds up the polstered briefcase to give his words some heft.
Volaris frowns. "We agreed you come in alone,the deal is off". 
The acolyte looks puzzled: "At least show me you have the cargo, church will then surely arrange 
a new meeting without interfernce"

Volaris opens his briefcase. The bottle was there. Templeton could feel the rage of the spirit trapped in there. 
It was her. Focused, attuned to the spirit and pushed as much energy he could into the ghost field. 
The bottle started to crack. "You madman, what are you doing?", shouts.
The bodyguard realized too late what was happening and even though he knocked Morris out out in a single swing
the spirit was already out. She was free to avenge herself.