by RJ Blain
“You have a soul?”
The devil sighed. “My wife told you to say that, didn’t she?”
Did I know the devil’s wife? Huh. If I did, I’d have to have a long talk with her about better leashing her wayward husband so he wouldn’t bother me as much. “Your wife’s probably crying into her beer because she has to put up with you for the rest of eternity.”
“Well, she’s the one who agreed to marry me. The other bachelorettes wisely ran away. Do we have a deal, Kanika? Also, you need a last name. You also need a middle name. A good Russian girl like you has three names. You have one. Get on the ball. Three names, Kanika—pick two, any two, but give yourself a proper name.”
“No, Satin. I’m not picking extra names because your delicate sensibilities are offended.” Even if he wanted me to name myself in the Egyptian way, following my mother’s culture and traditions, I didn’t exist, not on paper, not to my so-called family. Names were inherited by the legitimate. The Egyptian government often refused to issue birth certificates to children without fathers officially heading the family. I suspected the judgment my mother had faced because of her pregnancy had led her to ship me off to America to live with my aunt, who disliked me almost as much as my mother did.
According to my aunt, Egyptians valued marriage above all else. For them, family was a serious affair. For me, it meant a living nightmare. At least in America, I had a birth certificate, although I legally only had one name. I liked it that way, although it made people uncomfortable when they learned I lacked a surname.
“I wasn’t asking you to name yourself in the Egyptian tradition, Kanika, but even if I did, I’d only ask you to go back a couple of generations. Or even one. I’d accept one. Couldn’t you take your mother’s family’s name? I thought the Russian way would be easier for you. You’d be properly American.” The Lord of Hell hummed. “We are in America, right?”
I sighed. Why, exactly, would I want to take my mother’s family’s name? The devil needed a reality check—or a swift kick in the ass. If I met his wife, I’d have to suggest she act on my behalf. “We’re in Tennessee. Yes, Tennessee is in America.”
“Ah, good. It’s annoying when I get turned around, think I’m in America but found my way to Argentina instead. Anyway, do we have a deal, Kanika?”
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“Of course you will. I’m the devil.”
For a hundred an hour plus hospital expenses, I could live with a few—even many—regrets. “Sure, Satin. We have a deal.”
“Damned cats,” the devil muttered, then he left with a faint pop and a golden flash of light. I lifted my head to discover Miss Angorra had wandered away, probably headed home with her poor cat. The distant wail of a siren promised more suffering, but I’d endure as always. What else could I do?
I needed to work to eat, but I needed my ribs and my internal organs intact so I could work, so I waited patiently for the ambulance to arrive.
Chapter Two
The doctor and nurses at the hospital had no idea what to make of me and my almost human anatomy, although their fancy machines confirmed one of my ribs was perilously close to puncturing something important. Normal people called the organ a lung. While I refused to owe the devil for something freely given, I’d remember his help when he came hiring.
Like it or not, the first job he gave me I’d agree to do. That seemed fair to me.
The surgeons needed magic to fix my ribs, an expense my insurance company wouldn’t cover. I couldn’t afford the policy. True to his word, Satin authorized the hospital to bill him for my care. The doctor called him Mr. Santana, and when I laughed so hard I cried, he didn’t understand what I found so funny. There was nothing Hispanic about the devil and his hell, although I supposed hundreds of years of religious migration ensured my unwanted client had global notoriety.
Ugh. I had the Lord of Hell as a client.
Four hours later, following one surgery to return my ribs to their proper places and fuse my broken bones together, the hospital released me. The incision, with the help of more magic and an ointment, would heal in a few days. Scowling at the towering stack of paperwork didn’t make it go away, nor did it change my species entry. While ‘mixed’ for my race was accurate, why couldn’t they have listed the correct species?
The hospital refused to acknowledge I was a sphinx. The doctor had tried to convince me there was no shame in being a lycanthrope, especially since I had such a beautiful hybrid form. Infuriated, I’d insisted on a scan to check my lycanthropy virus levels, thus proving I wasn’t one. No virus meant no lycanthropy, so they’d written panther shapeshifter as my species. Me? A panther?
Not even roaring or waving the tufted tip of my tail in their faces had convinced them I was a black lioness. How many times would I need to shift to prove the truth? My driver’s license listed me as a humanoid, the nice way of saying I only looked human.
Damn it, I was a sphinx, a benevolent guardian and a treasure of Egypt, a stranger far from what should’ve been my desert home. When human, my skin was much paler than my aunt’s brown, and my hair had come from my father. While many Egyptians had dark hair, my family’s hair was a rich brown. Mine was as black as the night and prone to frizzing.
I loved my hair. Sometimes, I pretended I was Cleopatra with her glorious wig, ready to rule her empire. Unlike her, I didn’t need a wig to pull off the look. All I had to do was trim my bangs and braid jewels into my hair.
In reality, I clung to what had been denied me because of old traditions and modern prejudices. Shoving the papers into a plastic bag with my jeans and shirt, I headed for freedom. There would be time for fury later, after I secured more work. A retainer fee of paid hospital bills wouldn’t cover my hotel room or fill my belly. If matters became dire, I’d check out and shift, hunting to survive until my phone led me to more work. I had two weeks left on my prepaid hotel stay.
I wouldn’t be forced to hunt as a miniature lion again if I had anything to say about it. I hated it. I hated questioning every decision I’d made since escaping my aunt’s house at sixteen. No one, not even me, had known I was a sphinx, a good thing in my opinion. Tired of me wasting space and costing her money, my aunt declared I would marry an appropriately wealthy businessman so I could take his name and get out of her life.
Yeah, right.
My midnight escape had ultimately led to the discovery of my true self. Sphinx. Gypsy. I was both without truly being either. In true gypsy fashion, I roamed, though I did so out of necessity. One day I’d plant roots and build a home.
I’d make it happen one day. Sometimes, when I stayed in one place for more than a few weeks, I rented an apartment, testing the waters. It didn’t happen often, but I liked the idea of permanency.
Permanency was a long ways away. Fifty extra bucks in my pocket wouldn’t get me far. Nothing clarified my situation more than a good look at rock bottom. I reminded myself I liked my life when I wasn’t acting like a broken record. Tightening my hold on my bag, I marched into the late afternoon light, striding towards the cab stand.
I liked my life. I liked my life. Damn it, I liked my life.
My phone rang and jarred me from my thoughts. I grimaced at the number of people passing me on the sidewalk but dug the device out of my blouse anyway. At least my gypsy magic accounted for my breasts and helpfully included a bra with my attire; one day, maybe my magic would acknowledge the usefulness of pockets. Without bothering to look at the display, which chronically reported ‘unknown caller,’ I answered, “Kanika, Whatever for Hire.”
“Has anyone ever told you that’s a ridiculous business name, cupcake?”
I would never again assume my day couldn’t get any worse. “I see you found my number, Satin.”
“Accept the job offer you’ll receive in five minutes. My pay’s on top of whatever deal you cut with the caller.”
Excellent. I wouldn’t have to wait to fulfill my moral obligation to play nice with the d
evil. “You got it, Lucy.”
I loved hanging up on the devil, smiling as I returned my phone to my blouse. With laughter bubbling out of me, I spun, my bag whipping out while my sari skirt flared around my legs. If I allowed it, my father’s blood would take control of my feet and transform my coins and bells into the sweetest music. I indulged on my way to the cab stand, not caring who watched or if they approved.
My dancing didn’t hurt anyone.
When I arrived, I yanked open the back door of the first car in line and slid into the seat. “Garden View Hotel, please.”
“You got it, lady. Sure don’t see many lycanthropes out in the open round here.”
“I don’t have lycanthropy.” The lingering wild joy of my short dance kept my voice pleasant. “I’m a sphinx.”
“You sure don’t look like no sphinx. You look like a gypsy cat goddess.”
I almost smiled at that. “It’s easier to get around this way.”
Lie, lie, lie. As a sphinx, I could fly. It took work, but I could fly.
“I reckon you’re right. Next stop, Garden View Hotel.” He started the engine and pulled away from the stand.
“Great.” I retrieved my phone and waited for the call Satan claimed would come. Right on schedule, my cell rang. “Kanika, Whatever for Hire. How can I help you?”
“Can you make someone disappear?”
If I hadn’t promised myself I’d help the devil with the first job he threw my way, I would’ve hung up. Since starting my business, I’d done three assassinations, and I’d done them as a vigilante, refusing to accept pay for a murder. The men I’d killed, murderous assholes who’d escaped the law, needed to die. They hadn’t escaped from me.
Well aware I had a witness listening to my every word, I answered, “For how long?”
“I don’t want you to hurt him, cousin and all, but I need him out of town. He won’t leave, not without a fight. So, I want you to relocate him for me. I’d do it, but he’ll kick my ass if he gets his hands on me. The idiot won’t hit girls, and your site said you’re a girl.”
My website said I was a woman of indeterminate species, as I thought it was amusing to keep potential clients wondering. It landed me jobs, too—no one assumed I was a vanilla human, and that translated to competency for some reason.
Flattery often got me everywhere, and I planned on milking my new client for everything he was worth. “I have no idea why he’d do such a thing. You seem like a nice gentleman to me, concerned for your family. Please tell me more about your cousin.”
“You’ll do it?”
“If the price is right, I see no reason I can’t help your cousin with his move.” There. Unless the driver was freakishly suspicious, he’d think I was helping someone move to a new home. “What’s your name?”
“Bubba. Bubba Eugene Stewart, ma’am. My cousin’s Malcolm Findlay Stewart. Uncle Boyd’s a wee bit more of a traditionalist than my pa. Bottom line’s this: he’s just not doin’ the Stewart name proud. Pa says my cousin needs a lickin’. Uncle Boyd thinks Mal hit his head a few too many times as a child. I think he needs some fresh air and some space. He’s drivin’ us all batty. We can offer ten thou for you to take him out west, find him a nice place near a lake, and dump him in. Fresh water, none of that salty nonsense, you hear?”
What on Earth? Why would I dump someone in a lake? Since I wasn’t going to drown someone for ten thousand, I decided to take the vague approach. “Sure, I can find him a nice lodge near a lake for that much. Will he need help settling in?”
“I reckon not. You could just dump him in the water and bail; he’ll be fine on his own. Little lady like you couldn’t drown that rat even if you tried. Trust me. I’ve tried.” Bubba sighed. “It’s damned hard finding a lady merc willing to take a hike anywhere. They’ve all got themselves family and won’t leave. Can’t really blame them. You seem perfect for the job.”
Me, little? In my heels while doing my Bastet impersonation, I towered over people. One day I’d measure myself, but I was over six feet. Fortunately for both of us, I didn’t need to like my clients to do my job.
“I’m going to need more information from you, Bubba.” The cab slowed, and I glanced out the window, startled to realize we’d already arrived at the hotel. How had so much time passed already? Damn it. I scrambled for cash, glancing at the meter. I owed eight, so I fished a ten out of the wallet tucked in my cleavage, handed it over, grabbed my bag, and headed for the lobby.
To my relief, no one was outside the lobby having a smoke break. I waited for the car to leave before asking, “How many people will be looking for him?” I loitered by the glass doors, something I commonly did when on the phone so the hotel staff wouldn’t think twice about it.
A gusty sigh from Bubba warned me of trouble. “A few.”
“Define a few.”
“He runs a business in town. Them workers of his’ll figure out he’s gone pretty quick.”
I’d have to find out which town and state, although judging from Bubba’s thick accent, I wouldn’t have to go far to fetch his cousin. “Ten grand’s starting to sound like you’re lowballin’ me, Bubba. How long’ll I have to get this job done, and how hard will they look for him?”
“I reckon they’ll call the coppers pretty quick like. They like him over at the firehouse, and then them folks over at that investment doohickey like his money, too. He’s gotta go, ma’am. He’s ruinin’ our turf.”
If Malcolm Findlay Stewart was hurting Bubba’s turf anywhere near as much as Bubba hurt my head, no wonder the man wanted to get rid of his cousin. “Tell me about him. Any women? Lovers? Close family?”
“He’s the black sheep of the family. We like him, but we like him at a distance. No ladies. He’s into that equality bullshit and only wants a high-class broad who matches him, whatever the hell that means. He hasn’t found one. The ones with money aren’t his type, and the type he likes don’t got enough money or motivation to satisfy him. He likes sayin’ if he wanted arm candy, he’d hire himself a hooker, but he won’t do that because the hookers only want him for his money.”
Ah. Malcolm was a wise, wise man. “In short, he wants a go-getter, but a smart, ethical one.”
“You know him, lady? That’s the same type of shit he says. If a broad wants to ride him all night long, he should let her. Ain’t that what studs are for?”
Dear God, I’d found a man I hated more than the devil. “If you say so. If you want me to do this job, I’m going to need everything you know about your cousin. Listen carefully, because this is really important. I’m going to need his height, his weight, rough body fat ratio, and species metabolism level. If he’s ever gotten medication from a pharmacy, his metabolism rating is on the bottle. Look for MRL and a number. Better yet, get your hands on one of his prescriptions and take a picture of it for me. I’m also going to need an idea of his diet and habits.”
“What do you need all that for?”
I snorted, ignored his question, and replied, “I’m also going to need to know where he goes, who he’s usually with, his work hours, a list of who he knows in law enforcement—anything you think might be useful. Too much information is better than not enough information. Once I have everything, I can plan his vacation.”
With the important requests out of the way, I headed into the lobby, waving at the employees, who grinned at me. Since checking in almost three weeks ago, they’d grown accustomed to my furry forms—all of them. I’d even spent a few hours as a sphinx beside the pool between jobs.
It’d been too long since I’d indulged in carefree shifting, and I treated the hotel like a resort. I pressed the up button for the elevator and waited for the old, rickety thing to arrive. It would take a while; taking the stairs to the fifth floor would’ve been faster.
The silence on the phone dragged on, then Bubba sighed. “That’s a lot of stuff you need.”
“It’s required. No exceptions, unless you want to be attending his funeral.” I meant it, too. I cou
ld think of a few ways I could kidnap a man, but they were risky. The safest method involved the use of a potent drug, one the public wasn’t supposed to know about. If I dosed Bubba’s cousin appropriately, he’d be drowsy, functional, and pliant. I could tune his dose to the minute and make him completely obedient to my every command.
“I’ll get it for you. This needs to be done fast.”
The light for the elevator blinked, showing it was on the eighth floor and on its way down. I glared at the panel, tapping my foot while I thought through Bubba’s opening offer of ten thousand dollars. The Lord of Hell wanted me on retainer and had shown up mere hours before Bubba’s call. The six-month time frame stuck out to me. When it came to the devil, there was no such thing as a coincidence.
Mephistopheles answered summonings at his whim and his whim only. No matter how powerful a practitioner believed himself, Satan took orders from no one, not even God.
I’d met him in the flesh three times, although I’d tried to forget about our second meeting.
The elevator dinged and opened, and I stepped inside, tapping the button for the fifth floor. The door closed with a clunk, and the damned thing groaned its way up. “All right, Bubba. Here are my terms. I don’t feel comfortable leaving your cousin alone, so if I’m doing this, I’m keeping him busy for six months, starting now. You’ll pay me ten thousand up front. In addition, you’ll pay me ten thousand per month while I’m keeping him company, to be paid on the first of every month, so seventy thousand total.”
“That much?”
“If he wins fights against other men, he’s going to be a handful, and even the most chivalrous of men make exceptions when it comes to punching women. This isn’t going to be an easy job. Seventy thousand dollars, Bubba. Are you in or out?”
“In,” he snapped.
“I have rules. You’ll obey them. Understood?”
“What rules?”
