My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

She was hearing it again. 

That slow methodical taps, so loud, so grating, in a constant quiet that stayed deafening. Like a metronome, or those swinging pendulum those humans used to keep rhythm - those tappings kept to her rhythm. 

Click, clack, click, clack… click. 

She stopped hearing it, stopped doing it. Irene sat at the edge of the grandest, softest, and gentlest piece of comfort she's ever had the pleasure to have slept in - swaying her clacking heels in the air, hanging loose at the tip of her raised feet. 

The penthouse suite felt a lot more desolate and lonely with only the sounds of her heels filling in the vast silence. Darker too, now that's she closed every blind, dimmed every light… half out of obligation, the other consideration.

She was late. 

And going by the small bright glare laid out in the palm of her hand, the clock only just struck three on a bright sunny afternoon day… perhaps that was it, outside was just far too bright.

Why else would she be a full hour late? But then again, how would a bit of sunlight ever hope to impede someone especially as nimble and elusive as her? 

Irene sighed, in vain attempting to refortify a patience wearing dangerously thin. She never understood people's penance for unpunctuality. Was it really that difficult an undertaking for most to arrive in a timely manner? 

All her life, she's never recalled missing an appointed time - matter not what it is. Meetings, interviews, work, dates… dates…

Come to think of it, he was late too that day, wasn't he? Twenty minutes, the sheer audacity, the utter nerve… why, she couldn't even find it in herself to be upset by it… and why would she? Especially after what happened next? 

He never struck her as the type to chid off a man so high in stature and big in demeanor as Mr. Ferdinand. Seeing that hint of jealousy stirring within him over her more than made up for his belatedness. 

She'd like to see more of that side of him one day…

"Oh…" Irene fell on her back, collapsing onto the bed. "Doing it again…" 

Her mind had its own metronome, those swinging pendulum things keeping time, and all they ever do nowadays was tick and tick on and on accumulating the seconds they've been apart from one another.

She turned herself sideways, her right cheek pressing against the soft white bed. Housekeeping had been barred sternly from any entry, so ever since that day… that bed has still yet to be made, or even changed.

Slowly, and very much against her better judgment, Irene inched herself gradually to his side of the bed where he slept. If she squinted, if she really strained her imagination, vaguely she could still his faint outline, a slight indent on the pillow, on the crumpled sheets… of him.

And… turning herself even further sideways… inching herself ever close forward… the tip of her nose grazing his pillow… if she really tried, if she really wanted to… she could still somewhat smell his scent, if only barely… she just had to get closer, breathe harder… then maybe perhaps she could…

Then a voice. A loud, harsh, intrusive voice sounding abrupt.

"I'm presuming there's nothing of great pertinence I'm interrupting, am I?" 

Irene jumped up with a start, the bed's generous springiness, shooting her a couple of inches into the air, before it caught her again, like a bouncy ball slowly losing in momentum. 

Muscle memory had her reaching to her hip for a weapon that wasn't there. Sudden realization had her lowering her hands down going limp. And the scorching sear of embarrassment had her trying to play it cool, sternly, perhaps a bit too hurriedly, speaking out, "You've any idea how late you are?" 

Sadly, it was too little too late to try and pretend nothing happened. Those dark black eyes staring amusingly back at her simply could see too keen, and within the darkness, unfortunately, too much.

The voice spoke. "Do you believe it at all effortless to find you in this particular time of day especially?" 

Irene, unsurprisingly, couldn't find herself sharing too much sympathy. "I was under the impression Matriarchs are as every bit as capable as your reputation has described you to be."

A snort faintly sounded, and those black eyes began to drift elsewhere as the sound of bare feet lightly pattered against the floorboards. "You think it wise to deride the only sole aid in your venture?" 

"Well if you wish to prove me wrong, Amelia," Irene shifted closer to the edge of the bed, closer to those black glowing beads in the dark. "Tell me you have good news for me." 

Amelia didn't like being given orders to follow, or rules to abide by. After reverting her sister back, Irene had spent an agonizing few days trying to tame this unruly being of the night. 

And still even now, they've yet to fully see eye to eye with one another, but as many grievances as they have with each other - that was all put aside for now, in favor of something beyond petty disagreements.

Amelia, contempt brazenly visible in the glimmer of her gaze, continued to speak civil, cooperating, "I must confess, Irene… yesterday, I've believed you a babbling fool for steering me away from finding clues on this Magus' whereabouts in favor of scouring for something I thought to be completely and utterly devoid of meaning. I thought you simply inane."

"I see," Irene said, wishing silently for once that she'd just get the point. "And how about now?"

"Now, I think…" The Matriarch gave a throwaway glance, one this time, that was not as hostile. "Perhaps I've thought of the Succubi a little too harshly. I suppose sex and debauchery aren't all that you are good for, after all." 

"Flattered," She spoke blankly. "What did you find?" 

"1590 Bentley Hill Road," Amelia smiled, a bit of fang protruding slightly. Two-story house, red roof, a dog house in the garden. You'll find it there." 

"Good," She nodded. "Did you… see it?" 

"Indeed I have," Amelia said. "A man. Tall, lean, his age showing in the sporadic whites in his hair, I wager he didn't put up much of a fight against it." 

"Why didn't you kill him?"

"Kill him?" She cocked a brow, her smile turning wry. "My, my, detective…" 

"I told you you are allowed to if you could," Irene stared coldly at her smirk. "What stopped you?" 

More of her fangs were visible now. "Why I've merely assumed you'd prefer a more personal discussion with him than the one you had yesterday, do you not?" 

"I suppose you're right." 

Irene stood up, without thanks, without gratitude expressed, she readied to leave with haste. 1590 Bentley Hill Road. That wasn't far. If she went now, she'd reach in forty… thirty minutes if she went lenient with the speed limit. 

"Will you kill him yourself?" Amelia asked, watching her figure skirt deeper into the darkness. "If I recall right, that's the exact opposite of what your career here entails, yes? I wonder, if your boyfriend does find out about - " 

Irene cut across from her. "Stay with him." 

Amelia drew her head back, blinking once. "I beg your pardon?"

"Depending on the circumstances, you might have to stay with him. Keep an eye on him. Make sure he's safe. I'll tell you if it ever comes to that." 

From the darkness, another scoff sounded. "I believe his Elf would prove more than capable of protecting him on her own." 

"But she doesn't know, and neither does he," then Irene spun her back, staring at her stern, as if in warning. "And none of them should. Just do it alright?" 

Before, Amelia would have challenged, she had contested, argued… but now, she decided to simply cooperate. "Very well. I have a matter with him that needs tending to anyway. The Divines have blessed you with such convenient timing, haven't they?" 

"If only they've given you the same treatment…"

"Pardon?"

"Nothing. Now if you may rest here if you wish, spend the afternoon until the sun goes down," Irene opened the front door, leaving, then before swinging it close, spoke. "Just don't touch the bed, especially the right side. Is that understood?" 

Another cooperating smirk. "Understood."