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Edgar and Isabelle emerged from the Manor in their full outdoor regalia--slicks, helmets, gloves. Isabelle carried her pistols in a set of holsters running criss-cross at her hip, an ammo bag attached to one gun belt behind the holster. Edgar carried his as he always had: one on the hip, the other at his side. They carried their rifles in hand, ready for combat. Edgar quipped they were like a pair of gunslingers with finer weapons; this was lost on Isabelle, who had no idea what the fuck a gunslinger was.

Despite this, Isabelle felt like a bona fide bad motherfucker. Had she known what a gunslinger was, she would have proudly worn the title. Rarely had she ever had the opportunity to exercise the full capacity of the more subtle aspects of her preternatural prowess as she did when firing these weapons. It felt good.

"Let's go fuck some shit up," she said, as the two prepared to venture beyond the Manor grounds. Edgar raised an eyebrow in response.

The sky was alight with reds, oranges, and yellows, remnants of the setting sun, which had dipped below the horizon only moments prior. The lingering light afforded the two a clear view of the grounds; they walked side by side out the front door, across the courtyard, and over the winding driveway to the front gate, which was left wide open. Edgar paused at the check-in booth just beyond the gate to test the opening and closing mechanism. It was dead. Nothing seemed to be operational outside of the Column.

"If its electric, it won't work."

Edgar turned to look at Isabelle. "¿Porque?" Why.

Isabelle shrugged. "They shut off the electricity. Something about it drawing unwanted attention."

Edgar weighed these words. The prospect confused him, as the Coven had lived in general peace with their neighbors since migrating to this location. Notwithstanding the order of things, the Coven was in a crisis of leadership; there was a mutiny of sorts with some leaving, some staying; the electricity was shut off; there was a fight or invasion; and a complete exodus. Near complete, anyhow. Those who did not flee placed themselves and others into hibernation. But why? He had more questions than answers.

"The electricity in the Column?" He threw out the question, unsure of the benefit in asking. Perhaps he needed to sate his curiosity or address an inconsistency. Even he did not know.

"I don't know," said Isabelle. "They didn't explain it."

He stepped out of the booth and the two continued down the wide boulevard intersecting the driveway's entrance. The Manor sat some distance from the city, but not too far out; Isabelle and Edgar could see with ease the tall buildings creeping toward the property.

Creeping. In the failing light, the dark buildings seemed to merge into a great shadowy mass. No light was cast from any building--from anywhere in the city, as far as they could tell by their vantage--adding to the haunting effect. It seemed the Coven had done more than just cut the electricity at the Manor. It was as if they had cut the electricity to the entire city.

Continued after the break

The two walked with purpose down into the city, to be swallowed whole by its great shadow as they approached. The buildings lining the boulevard--at first low and simple, then great and extensive as they moved further along--were devoid of light and movement. Isabelle experienced a sort of sorrow as she drank in the current state of what was once a lively metropolis. Giant neon signs hung as silent sentinels, dead, dusty, and rusting, their light having been expunged long ago. The massive digital panels lining the ground floor exteriors of the larger buildings--once bright, loud, and obnoxious transmitters of incessant advertising--now stared blank and hollow, a fitting end to their abominable existence. Still, as much as Isabelle had hated those things, their silence echoed the trauma this city had endured. She wondered if they would ever be returned to life.

Edgar, on the other hand, walked in utter confusion. So much had changed over the century he had lain dormant. Plastic and silicon reigned where once storefronts were so much decorated brick, mortar, and plaster. Giant flat boards soared overhead, some packed with thin white tubing, and others composed entirely of miniature panels. The vehicles littering the road were of such strange design. Everything seemed foreign. Though this confusion was not uncommon after waking from lengthy slumbers in the past, he had the luxury of attendants to fill him in on the progression of society. Not so now. He may have been able to lean upon Isabelle for the requisite knowledge to catch him up, but he doubted it mattered. This alien landscape was dead, and dead things were irrelevant to the living.

Or, in the case of Isabelle and Edgar, irrelevant to the undead.

Darkness closed over the city as the last of the day's light faded, heightening Isabelle's and Edgar's preternatural senses. There was no moonlight, though it mattered little; the two were able to make their way with ease. Isabelle peered through the darkness, sweeping her gaze from one side of the broad boulevard to the other, while Edgar tuned in to the subtle sounds of the night. Both discovered little of interest. Whatever had spooked the Coven had spooked the inhabitants of the city as well. Edgar wondered--not for the last time--if the fleeing members of the Coven had started a panic in the city, resulting in its desertion.

The two walked further into the city for some time, investigating the rare vague impression upon their senses but finding nothing of interest. The night deepened beyond twilight, midnight came and went, and witching hour loomed. Edgar and Isabelle paused beneath the awning of an empty strip mall. Broken glass lay all around them as they discussed their next course of action. Unsure of how to proceed, Edgar was prepared to turn around. He wanted some time to think about their next steps, when a distinct sound settled into his awareness. He perked up, silencing their conversation, and gestured to Isabelle to listen closely.

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