"Security forces are on their way," the mayor announced. "Remain where you stand and you won't get hurt."
The auburn-haired middle-aged woman stepped back with each advance of Mikayla. "You are vastly outnumbered, Mikayla. I don't wish to hurt you, so stand down," she warned.
A desk under a sole bright lamp, littered with yellow paper caught Mikayla's gaze while she was rolling her eyes. A sketch of a group of people dressed in black forcing a crying girl into a coffin was at her feet.
Mikayla stooped to take up the visibly old paper, her eyes widening when she recognized the signature below the sketch. "Gregory Hendrix," she muttered in the lamia's voice.
Using her vampire speed, she escaped Gerald and Mayor Mayweather's gaze and went over to the desk littered with sketches similar to the one in her hand. Her wide eyes darted from sketch to sketch as if she was trying to memorize what was happening in each of them, but she was out of time.
