Whatever for Hire

by RJ Blain

  “This is just a game to you.”

  “A rare one, one we can participate in without worrying for the fate of your soul. There’s nothing for us to protest. Even the devil can do good in the world, and I rather enjoy when he gets ulcers over it.”

  I waved bye-bye to another misconception about angels. “You have a bit of a mean streak, Michael.”

  “I prefer to think of it as a rivalry with my wayward kin with a dash of brotherly love mixed in.”

  “I’m still older than you,” the Lord of Hell muttered.

  “And I thank Our Heavenly Father for that each and every day.”

  While Gabriel prepared the papers, Satan glared at Michael, who didn’t seem to care he’d incurred his brother’s wrath. I smelled sulfur and hoped the stench wouldn’t linger. Any other time, the silence would’ve bothered me, but the trio fascinated me too much for me to disturb the quiet. They seemed so at ease with each other, as though my hotel room had become a safe territory for old friends meeting in secret rather than a neutral meeting place for ancient enemies destined to battle over the final destination of souls.

  Was that what it meant to be family? I wondered if I’d ever find out for myself.

  Mephistopheles, the Lord of Hell, the devil of the Christian Bible, and the Prime Evil, flashed a grin at me and winked. “You’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure. It’s human nature to unravel the secrets of the universe, after all. Sign, cupcake. You gave your word.”

  Without a real reason to say no, I nodded. “Give me a pen and show me where to sign.”

  Two archangels and the devil produced a pen, and I laughed at the absurdity of them pulling writing implements out of thin air. Choices, choices. Which pen would I choose?

  I picked the devil’s. His wasn’t made of pure light, which I assumed dramatically lowered my chances of the damned thing smiting me before I finished scribbling my signature on the pages. Gabriel stacked the sheets on the briefcase, and curtaining bands of blue, gold, and black covered the text I wasn’t allowed to read.

  Kanika felt like a lonely name, but I signed it faithfully all the same.

  Something about my thoughts amused the three immortals, and I scowled at their laughter. What assholes.

  They laughed harder.

  Chapter Four

  Instead of sleeping like a sane woman, I took the devil’s money out for a test drive. I needed a few things to pull off my plans—okay, a lot of things, and many of them I couldn’t get in Bristol, Tennessee. A car topped my list. Armed with my new debit card, I purchased a prepaid credit card, hit a rental place, and picked a classy but common SUV with tinted windows. It’d be the first of many; I’d switch vehicles as I went, eating extra charges along the way. As long as my name wasn’t spread around, I’d be able to alternate forms to keep any pursuers off my tail.

  With transportation arranged, I was ready to leave town and start the heavy lifting. I needed weapons, the kind the government didn’t want people like me to have. Returning to my hotel, I detoured to the front desk to add parking fees to my bill before retreating to my room.

  Even if I had to transform a hundred times, I needed to go as a sphinx. Preparations were necessary to account for my lack of hands. My wallet and phone went into a small duffle bag sitting on the bed with the straps dangling over the edge, which would allow me to slip it over my head without my claws tearing holes through the canvas. I wished I could go in another form so I could drive my rental, but my black-market contact wouldn’t deal with me unless I was a sphinx. He didn’t know me in my other forms, and I didn’t have the weeks necessary to convince him I wasn’t an FBI mole attempting to bust his operations. I also didn’t want to sit in some alley shedding sari, hoping I’d become a sphinx instead of a human or a sex kitten.

  It didn’t hurt I’d be able to hide my trail while I was a sphinx. Only people who’d met me knew my species; I made a point of maintaining secrecy on my website. The few who had posted information about me neglected to include pictures. Descriptions ranged from an unusually pale African American woman to a cat lycanthrope. One had even listed me as some sort of oversized faery specializing in illusionary magic.

  Few wanted to spend time getting to know me, and most went with the illusion theory, which made it easy to move around undetected. Even when I tried to tell the truth, no one believed me. They needed to see my sphinx form before they accepted the truth. Gorgons, faeries of all sorts, and even centaurs enjoyed the benefit of the doubt.

  I’d be fighting to prove my species until the day I died.

  It took three tries to become a sphinx. I supposed my heightened annoyance somehow helped. I wasted almost an hour preening in front of the mirror, shaking my head so the silver and gemstone beads decorating my many braids tinkled. In Ancient Egypt, the style had been reserved for the highest of nobility.

  Someone like Cleopatra would’ve worn her hair like mine, and she would’ve also worn an usekh similar to mine. Fashioned of silver and turquoise, the collar clung to my throat and draped over where my skin transitioned to fur, disguising where woman and beast merged.

  Despite popular belief, the lack of gold set me apart in a good way, and if I had lived in the days of pharaohs, I would’ve ranked among them. Gold had been plentiful when the pyramids had risen from the sands.

  Silver came from distant shores, so expensive only the wealthiest could afford it.

  When I shifted back to human, my hair would frizz from my many braids, requiring a lot of conditioner and a straightening iron to fix. The usekh would chafe if I wore it for too long. In the end, I found it all worthwhile.

  I could fly.

  Satisfied I would confuse anyone who might pursue me, I slipped my head through the strap of my bag, slinked to the balcony door, and pawed it open while cursing my lack of hands. To fit through the door, I had to stretch my wings vertically, a painful stunt on a good day, no matter how many stylized pictures depicted sphinxes in the position.

  If I ever met the jerk who’d come up with the pose, I’d rip him apart with my claws and eat his entrails, imitating my Greek brethren.

  The distant thunderheads promised a late afternoon storm, and I hoped it would stick around for my night flight back to the hotel. I enjoyed flirting with the elements and riding the gusting winds, and I appreciated the challenge of rain weighing down my feathers.

  I jumped, cleared the rail, and took flight. I dipped down before surging upwards, stretching my wings to catch a thermal to the thin clouds above. On my trip to Gatlinburg, I’d consider the difficulties the black-market operator would inevitably subject me to before selling me his wares. While I’d wandered across most of the United States, I’d only infiltrated one black market in Tennessee. I’d struggled to earn Hagnar’s trust, and I wondered how he’d react to my unexpected arrival; it had been several years since my last visit, and I wasn’t even sure if the gun shop fronting his operation remained.

  I’d find out soon enough.

  Flying was tiring, and while it would have taken twice as long to drive, I regretted not having my rental. I longed for a nap. Then again, after several hours of driving, I would’ve been just as tired.

  Fortunately, my luck held out; I found the store where I remembered, tucked down a side street in the city’s downtown core. A lit open sign welcomed me, and I rose on my hind paws so I could push my way inside. Hagnar leaned against one of his glass counters, his eyebrows rising at my entrance. His two customers, middle-aged men in ragged jeans and stained t-shirts, gaped at me. Narrowing my eyes, I stared until both men decided they valued their lives more than they wanted to buy Hagnar’s guns. They shuffled outside and didn’t look back.

  “They would’ve bought something if not for you.”

  I liked the man and his gruff ways. I thought he was meaner than the devil and as wicked as sin, which added to the feeling I toyed with a lit stick of dynamite whenever I paid him a visit. Laws meant nothing to him, and he worshipped at the altar of the almighty dol
lar. “I’ll buy far more than them, I’ll pay you better for it, and if someone asks you, you can be honest when you say survived a sphinx paying you a visit. No riddles today—at least not the kind that’ll get you eaten for a wrong answer.”

  I’d be surprised if Hagnar knew the differences between Greek sphinxes and Egyptian ones. Most didn’t. Egyptian sphinxes had a bad rep due to our Greek brethren, but fear served me when I donned my beloved wings.

  “You always ask for interesting things, lady sphinx. Kanika. It means black in Egyptian, doesn’t it? Is that your real name, or one you chose because of your fur?”

  “And ruin the mystery? Don’t be ridiculous.” I made a show of rearing so I could get a better look at him. The years hadn’t changed him. Even the wrinkles etched into his sun-worn face were exactly as I remembered.

  Interesting.

  “What do you need today?”

  “I was hoping we could talk in the back.” I’d graduated from annoying passwords and key phrases after my third visit, something I appreciated. He’d likely test me in some fashion, but I no longer needed to earn my right to see his office. My third visit to the old man had cost me two weeks on a scavenger hunt across Gatlinburg, ferreting out clues so he’d let me access his wares.

  For someone who worshipped money, he made it awfully hard for me to spend mine.

  Hagnar grunted. “Need to lock up.”

  While I waited, I admired the guns in his cabinets. I found three I liked, and with five hundred thousand to spend, I’d take them all. The Desert Eagle amused me, the Beretta would serve as my main weapon, accurate and reliable, and the cute little handgun with sparkly blue grips matched my favorite pair of heels. I’d let Hagnar talk me into extras, too.

  A woman could never have too many guns.

  I could’ve spent another hour browsing the weapon selection, but Hagnar marched across the shop to the back door and barked, “Come.”

  I followed, careful to avoid banging into anything, a challenge when maneuvering hundreds of pounds of bulk and wings through confined spaces. Once again, I needed to stretch my wings straight over my back to squeeze through the doorway. At first glance, his office was uninteresting, sparsely furnished with a metal desk and a few plastic chairs for the rare times he brought customers to the back. I shuffled out of the way and waited for the man to reveal his secrets.

  The floor mat hid the first secret. When Hagnar stepped on it with one hand pressed to the wall, the wooden floor descended several inches, clicked, and slid away to reveal a staircase. Once and only once, he’d let me try to open it, proving there was more to the lock than knowing where to stand and what to touch.

  I’d been unconscious for almost twelve hours before Hagnar had managed to wake me up, and he’d enjoyed a good laugh at my expense. Some lessons I’d never forget, and Hagnar’s I remembered better than most. Look but don’t touch was my motto when it came to him and his lair.

  The man grunted his satisfaction and lowered his hand from the wall. “New tricks, so don’t touch unless told.”

  Yeah, right. He’d have to bribe me if he wanted me to touch anything even with his permission. When he tricked someone, he tossed their ashes out with the trash. I’d seen him kill once, and I wanted to avoid becoming an addition to his bucket list. He engraved the names of those he had murdered on the metal bucket he used to dispose of their bodies. I couldn’t judge; I’d made a deal with the devil and planned to spend his cash—now mine—to kidnap a far better person than I’d ever be.

  Guilt had a way of rearing its ugly head and nibbling on me at the worst times. I got the feeling I’d be courting remorse for the next six months.

  Hagnar headed down the staircase, which was illuminated with wall-mounted lamps. Since my last visit, six fresh black smears marked the pale stone steps, and I dodged them as well as the faded, older stains. “I see you’ve been busy.”

  “The devil went down to Georgia, and business has been booming ever since.”

  I lifted my head, sucking in a breath. “Please tell me you’re pulling my tail and yanking my chain at the same time.”

  “Afraid not, darlin’. He’s gone and made himself a nest there, and the local demons are vying for his favor, so hunters are on the move. Some are saying the devil’s looking for new fodder for his army. Others claim he’s about to pick himself a prince so he can begin the final war with the high heavens. I’m rather partial to the idea he’s bored and wants to stir things up because he can. So, if you’re looking for demon-hunting gear, I’ve got slim pickings. Don’t involve yourself with any devils.”

  Too late. “How much is that little tip going to cost me?”

  “It’s all rumor, so nothing. No one’s confirmed anything except a few notable demons and devils close to the devil have been spotted in Georgia. Since the bit about demon hunters might affect your purchases, that’s fair game.”

  “How much for a full data dump on the Georgia situation?” With the devil actively interfering in my affairs, I was ready to bet the information would be worth more to me than the money I’d spend getting it.

  “A thousand. You’re not the first to ask, and you can walk out with it today. I’ll even be a gentleman and toss in the memory stick for free.”

  Whoever had struck the first deal for the information hadn’t been wise enough to seal Hagnar’s lips, and I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Deal. Any exclusive tidbits you can toss me?”

  “I might know a thing or two if the price is right.”

  “Think about it. I’ll need a lot from you today, if you’re selling what I’m buying.”

  Hagnar chuckled. “When am I not?”

  I could think of a few times he had refused to sell to me, and they almost always involved someone else getting to the man first. The rest of the time, someone had tried to make off with his stock without paying for it, putting him in a mood so foul he refused to sell to anyone. The six new smears further exposed his lie, but I wouldn’t question him about it.

  I didn’t want to become smear number seven. Whatever Hagnar was, he wasn’t human, or he had a magic rating so ridiculously high he could join the divines and their flock of immortal kin. Either meant trouble for me if I crossed him. Wings, a few hundred pounds of bulk, and claws couldn’t win against someone capable of reducing bone and teeth to ash.

  Flesh burned readily enough, but the rest? No, it took flames hotter than what mere mortals could hope to produce. A phoenix could reduce a human to cinder.

  I knew of no other species outside of the burning pits of hell who could.

  At least I could say with some confidence Hagnar wasn’t the devil’s kin. Satan left his mark on anyone he ventured near, and a devil—and some breeds of demons—could identify those who’d been in the presence of their unholy patron. The first time I’d met His Most Majestic Pain in My Ass, I’d crossed paths with an incubus several days later.

  The incubus had known, and he’d stalked me for almost a week before the devil’s scent had worn off. There were worse things in life than having an incubus around after dark, much worse things. It was his fault I’d started thinking of myself as a sex kitten when in my Bastet form.

  Good memories were worth cherishing, and he’d done wonders for my self-esteem.

  We descended several stories, my claws tapping on the stone. It would take fifteen to twenty minutes to reach the entrance to his primary and secondary warehouses, and on the way, I spotted fifteen more smears Hagnar hadn’t bothered scrubbing off the floor yet.

  That, too, I didn’t question. On the grand scale of exotics, I ranked a mere three or four out of ten, and I only ranked myself so high due to my free lifetime supply of matching bras and panties. Those things weren’t cheap, and when I added in my shoe collection, I was a sphinx of good fortune.

  “All right. You win the contest of silent wills today. What do you need from me?”

  Had we been competing? I cracked a grin at my accidental victory and made a note t
o woolgather later. “Weapons, mostly. I’ll need blow darts or a tranq gun and some restraints, including soft, light rope, handcuffs, and a suppression cuff if you have one. I’d also like a signal jammer and a whistler for one vehicle, one of your encrypted laptops with tracking prevention, nationwide cell tower taps if you’ve got them, and that’s just for starters.”

  “I can’t help you with the tower taps; the FBI figured out how to reverse them, so they’re the equivalent of wearing a bullseye nowadays. I can hook you up with some burner phones; we’ll talk about the specifics later. Since when have you worked live relocations?”

  Live relocation was such a pretty name for kidnapping. “Is that what it’s called these days?”

  “Among the more civilized of us, yes. You’ll want a dose of influencer. You know your target’s age, weight, gender, height, and species?”

  “He’s a man, but otherwise unknown across the board. I’ll be getting his vitals tonight. I can work the dose, I just need enough of it. I want to keep him long term.”

  “Are you hunting yourself a lover, sphinx?”

  Why not? If I was taking Mr. July or Mr. January, I’d dream about being his lover for however long I held him captive. I wouldn’t touch the man, as it wasn’t professional, but I’d love the view while he was in my care. “Sure. He’s pretty, so I might not object to keeping him.”

  Hagnar chuckled and shook his head. “This isn’t your expertise, girl. You’re courting trouble.”

  “I wouldn’t be working this job unless I needed to. I’ll pay for advice, and I’ll also pay the tip needed so this conversation never happened. If anyone asks, you were helping me pick a new handgun, and you had a new model you wanted to show me. You never sold me anything except that Desert Eagle upstairs, a Beretta, and that glitter gun in your display case, all legal acquisitions because I called in asking you to run my record—and you’ll run it to confirm my legal status. You’ll also run a check for my concealed carry status. More importantly, should a situation occur where your silence would harm more than help, you’ll talk to someone you trust will have my interests at heart if you believe it will make the difference in a life-threatening situation.”