Everyone Dies in the End #89

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Happy Thor's Day. Okay, not giving you background. You all (Did you know that "all" means 10,400 page views?) know  this story jumps from character to character. In the book it's not an issue. Here it is a little bit more so. Anyway, read Everyone Dies in the End #85 first, and this one will make magnificent sense.  

Susan

The popping gunplay pulled the scruffy man’s attention for a second, maybe not even a second, before he realized he had more immediate concerns than the shooting in the church. That second, however, was all the time that Susan needed. Her gun had been drawn when she saw the man; he had yet to draw his. She aimed, and she fired, worried about hitting his captive, but wondering if she really was. Call it luck, or acquired skill from the last months of killing, but her bullet flew true to the man’s eye, killing him instantly.

He dropped, and the woman screamed. Partly in fear, partly in shock, but mainly it was a scream of rage, and now Susan knew…she was no captive. Then the woman was on her.

Susan wasn’t a fighter, but fear gave her strength. The woman was a little bigger, a few pounds heavier. She ran at Susan. Susan, thrust out her leg and leaned away, grabbing the woman’s T-shirt and pulling, using the woman’s momentum to send her off balance. At the last possible instant Susan released the shirt. It worked just like the jujitsu instructor in the college self-defense class said it would, the woman flew over Susan’s leg and landed on her back.

Susan strode toward her, the .38 gripped in both hands, aimed at the woman’s panting chest. She didn’t want to kill her, but kill her she would if the lady gave her any trouble.

The woman fixed Susan with a baleful stare. “You’re a bitch.”

Susan nodded, holding the gun steady. “You know, I’m getting tired of that little mix-up. The word you are actually looking for is…”

“Witch.”

The word came from behind her, the voice sultry and rich.

Susan whirred to face the speaker.

Before her stood a tall, almost androgynous bodied, brown-skinned woman, her face beautiful, lips full, dread-locked hair wild. She was dressed in flowing robes, and held a scimitar at her side. But none of that really mattered. It was her eyes, her beautiful, swirling, gold on blue eyes that mesmerized Susan. The beautiful, brown woman spoke again.

“I know, because I’m one too.”