by Riley Archer
“If I’m all-powerful, count yourself marked,” I murmured to myself while I pivoted over the fence. The pointy tip caught the lip of my ass pocket and tore it to my thigh. I dropped to the other side and chased after Damian, my jean pocket flapping the whole way to the elevator.
Dead squirrels and bunnies rose from their shallow graves to nip at me too.
If I had been fully human, I’d probably have died of exhaustion. But in that case, witches and creatures wouldn’t keep trying to kill me, so there was that.
A putrid wolf was late to join the let’s kill Ellis party, its bare ribs jutting through rotten flesh on one side. I somersaulted into the elevator, and Damian blocked the horde of deceased forest critters from getting in.
When the doors closed, Damian slunk to the floor with me.
“Why?” I asked the ceiling, bouncing my head against the wall. Softly, because a migraine was splitting my skull open.
“Because of what you are.”
“What is that, exactly?”
“The anti–Snow White.”
So help me, I laughed until tears streamed down my cheeks.
The tub was dingy, but I didn’t care. I soaked in it long after I had shriveled into a prune.
“You okay in there?” Damian rapped his knuckles on the other side of the door.
“Yeah, no thanks to you,” I called out and sank further down. I blew bubbles that splashed lukewarm water into my eyes.
“I had no idea she’d been plotting to kill you all your life, you know.”
“Sure you didn’t.” I sighed and pulled the plug on the drain.
Even if Madam Okiro had wicked plans for me, she wasn’t the one who had taken my life. It tore my insides to shreds, but I’d figured out who was.
It wasn’t just that I’d dreamed of him suffocating me. It was that I had seen him walk into Café Underground like he’d been there a hundred times—which meant he frequented the place where I had been abducted; a place that had a connection to the Black Diamond Gentlemen’s Club. And it was that he’d kept an eye on me my entire time in RC, closer than anyone. It was that he’d shown up a little too coincidentally too many times. And I’d grown to trust him, just like the Necromancer Queen had suggested.
I’d been a lusting fool.
I ran my hands over the purpling bite marks embedded in my arms. They were tender reminders of the exhausting shit I’d been through in the last week. But nothing was as tender as the truth.
Otto Tanaka was a major cog in the wheel of my misfortune. Well, that monstrous wheel was about to come loose, and I was going to push it right over him.
I wrapped myself in Damian’s itchy towel and poked my head out the door. “Can I borrow some clothes? Clean ones, if you have such a thing.”
Damian grunted but handed me a long T-shirt and a pair of boxers moments later.
I raised a brow. “These are walk-of-shame clothes.”
“Sorry. I’m fresh out of ballgowns.”
“That’s a damn shame.” I accepted the wrinkled but clean heap. I took a closer look at the boxers. It was subtle, but there was an oval symbol printed on the elastic. It was gray instead of bright yellow, but it was most definitely …
“Batman? Really?” I smirked.
I could just imagine him out in his trench coat, eyeing the lamplit streets, playing the big-city vigilante. Oh, he was so into it.
I was still grinning when he slammed the door closed for me. I reemerged in his oversize ensemble. Superhero decor or not, it looked like we were up to no good. Which was true enough, I supposed, although the kind of trouble we were getting into was a lot less fun.
Damian handed me a plate with eggs and toast. It was nice of him. I was instantly suspicious. I squinted at him and sniffed the buttery bread.
“You have trust issues. Understandably, I guess,” he said as he leaned against the counter and took a bite of his own. “So, about that heinous power, why didn’t you use it?”
“I couldn’t,” I said with my mouth stuffed full.
Damian passed me a glass of water to wash it down. My suspicion crept back up, and he shook his head.
“Look,” I said once my throat was clear.
I set the plate in my lap, closed my eyes, and imagined a dead guy coming after me, which was incredibly easy by now. I handled my palms like loaded weapons just in case, not pointing them at anything fleshy. The cold flow of the power trickled down my arms but jammed up in my fingers, as painful as if I’d stubbed them. I opened my eyes, and the faint green light shone on my right hand; it came from some abstract occult symbol beneath the skin, too deep to be a tattoo and too creepy to be natural.
How did that get there?
“That zombie-loving witch cursed me!” I knocked the plate off-balance but caught it before it hit the ground. My reflexes were extra sharp when it came to food. I should have been a waitress. Life would have been so much easier if I’d just been a waitress.
“I think you were born cursed, no offense,” Damian said, bursting my fantasy bubble.
“Yeah, whatever. What can I do about this?” The light dwindled until the symbol was invisible, and the pain faded with it.
Damian’s glance was dark beneath his perfect brows. “You might not like the answer.”
I sopped up the last bit of yolk with the remainder of my toast, giving my poor, tired soul a moment of peace. I set the plate aside and dusted the crumbs off the borrowed boxers. “I need to see another witch, don’t I?”
“That’s how it goes with abracadabra stuff. Takes one to undo one.”
“Takes one to know one,” I whispered.
Damian shook his head. “I was going for a play on words …”
“No.” I climbed to my knees, excitement rising in me. “Takes one to know one!”
Damian looked at me like I’d gone crazy. Maybe I had. But I had every right to, so I didn’t care.
I licked my salty finger and then waved it in the air. “I just so happen to know another abomination. Maybe he’ll help us out, being an outcast of supernatural society and all. Just one thing. Do you have any comic books?”
16
The Brother from Another Monster
Of course, Atlas was in the apartment when I got back. And of course, I was wearing a man’s T-shirt and boxers with slick, wet hair. I set down my heap of smelly grass-stained clothes.
“Ellis!” He rubbed a hand down his unshaven face. “Sorry for waiting around. I just thought that … you weren’t answering, and the reports said the Glitch was level 3, enough for even a trained bystander to …” His shoulders relaxed. “I see I had no reason to worry.”
I sighed, remembering the giant thing. “It was a doozy, yeah. I appreciate you worrying about me though.”
I couldn’t believe those sexy hands had been all over me. My attraction to him was part carnal, part curiosity. Someone that distant was like a perfectly wrapped present under a Christmas tree. Handled with that much care, it was either a really good gift or a really bad one. Either way, unraveling the giant bow and ripping apart the paper would be fun.
“And the call?” Atlas asked, and I realized I was biting my thumb.
“The ear ringing from hell made an appearance. Happened almost as soon as the soul left the body. Maybe even before.”
Atlas straightened. “Maybe these deaths aren’t as accidental as they seem.”
I moved to the kitchen and poured myself a tall glass of water. “I have a theory.”
Atlas tucked his phone in his pocket. “I’m listening.”
I paused for increased effect and walked back around. “Someone from Reaper Collective is feeding information.”
Arms crossed, Atlas drummed his fingers while he thought. “I see your point. But who? And who are they feeding the information to?”
My answer to that was more than just a theory, but telling Atlas I was the prophesized spawn of a magically forbidden love was off the table. If I wanted to keep my soul intact, it never wo
uld be on the table. It didn’t matter if he liked making out with me. He was a head honcho at RC, and I didn’t care to test his loyalty.
“I’m not sure.” I twirled the glass in my hand. “But I have an idea who’s feeding the information.”
I took out my mental tire iron and set it to my wheel of misfortune. I was ready to send it rolling.
“Do you have it?” I asked Damian with the quiet urgency of a drug dealer.
He patted his chest, and there was a crinkle of plastic.
I slapped the same spot. “I trust that they’re good ones, Batboy.”
“I hate you,” he said plainly as we stepped into the skull-topped alley that led to the black market.
I couldn’t hold back my yawn in the dark. I might have slept twelve hours straight, but I needed a century to make up for the last few days. I’d run a marathon of almost-lethal beatings.
As soon as we reached the end of the alley into the false dead end, two obnoxious brats jumped out from either side.
Speaking of beatings …
“Ash, Jose.” I glanced between them so fast that it gave me whiplash. “What’s wrong with you? Are you following me again?”
Ash blinked with snobby innocence. “Please note that we are ahead of you, not behind. Can you say vain?”
Her argument might hold water if they hadn’t been lying in wait to jump out at me.
“Okay, are you tracking me? How’d you know I’d be here?”
Jose sighed, bored of the banter already. “You were walking so slow, okay? Once we figured out where you were going, it was easy to get ahead.” He tilted to the side to peek behind me. “Who is this?”
“That’s none of your—”
Damian pushed past me and extended a hand. “Damian. Nice to meet you. I didn’t know Ellis was capable of making friends.”
“Oh, ha-ha,” I mocked and pushed his face. Stupid smirk.
“She’s not,” Jose said after his hand parted from Damian’s. “We’re just annoying.”
“Hey!” Ash and I complained at the same time.
I pressed my temple. “They’re my, uh, roommates. And apparently, my stalkers.”
The odd trio followed as I strode into the real black market. We stepped under the same warm pinkish sky as before. Darkly clad patrons roamed the spaces between mysterious tents, giving us the occasional side-eye.
“I see the rogue left an impression,” Ash whispered as she kept to my side. Louder, she continued, “Anyway, you’ve just been so weird and grumpy. Way worse than day one. We’re good at sniffing out trouble.”
“Try pinching your nose next time.”
“That’s the snark I’ve grown to love,” Ash cooed and gave me a squeeze.
Blech.
Jose poked his head between mine and Damian’s. “May I ask where we’re following you to?”
“A comic book store?” Damian guessed wrong on purpose. Incidentally, he’d told them everything they needed to know.
“You were going to see Erik without us!” Ash gasped. “Somebody’s got a lingering death wish.”
I stopped. I didn’t care how offbeat these two were; they were still RC reapers. My alleged parentage was off-limits. “You guys can’t come. Damian has private business.”
Damian’s throat made a low, almost indecipherable squeak. I shot him a quick play along look.
“I bet you’re all over that private business,” Jose purred.
“Remind me to never play poker with you. Anyway, can we just meet you guys somewhere after?”
“Ugh, fine. We’ll be at Jose’s favorite place. The Vamp Room.” She read my blank expression. “It’s a bar. Run by vampires.”
I gave my forearm little squeezes. I’d had enough beasties nibble on me for several lifetimes. “Anywhere else?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not like that. Liquor is the perfect product for vampires. They’re not all that interested in drinking it.”
“So, no biting?”
“Absolutely n—”
“Don’t lie, Ash Mash,” Jose cut in. “But that’s all back-office stuff. Totally voluntary.”
Damian gripped my shoulders and pushed. “We’ll meet you there.”
“You know where a vampire bar is?”
“Yes. We’re not all baby reapers just kicked out of the nest. And I know of Erik Westbrook too. I just didn’t know the comic book thing was a giveaway.”
When we entered Erik’s tent, we slid off our shoes.
“Do you know the rule?” I asked while Damian inspected the mound of strange treasures. I was delighted it hadn’t grown much since my last visit.
“Leave your junk?” he guessed. He picked up the jar of bugs and gave it a shake.
“Close. Leave your most precious possession. That you have on you.”
Damian frowned and pressed his pockets. “But I’m not carrying anything.”
And why would he be? He had an enclosure of dimensional space he could reach into whenever he wanted. It was basically unlimited portable storage. I thought this might happen, so out of the kindness of my heart, I’d brought something for him.
“Oh. Then, here.” I tossed his Batman boxers at his head.
In a rare, flustered moment, his pale cheeks went pink. The bulky lump in my jacket pocket was so worth it.
“You’re welcome. Let’s go.”
I went to step through the doorway, but Damian tugged my elbow.
“You stole this?” He slid the Polaroid I’d set down off the table.
Damn it. My distraction and sleight-of-hand technique hadn’t worked.
I kept my breath steady. “It was from my baby book. And it’s me and my mother. I don’t think that counts as stealing.” It might have been stupid to bring the photo, but I couldn’t part ways with it. It was difficult enough offering it up as collateral for the demon child’s company. Thankfully, Damian said nothing. When he set it back down, the knot in my chest uncoiled.
Erik’s shop was as cluttered and dusty as last time, but the birdcage wasn’t empty. The tiny door was wide open, and a lime-green parakeet with a red beak was perched inside. It watched us closely as we passed. I knocked on the round office door.
“What do you want?” Erik’s adorably rude voice bled through the wood.
I grappled with Damian when I reached for the comic book tucked in his coat. After a few slaps and elbows shoved in uncomfortable places, I held the plastic-wrapped text in my hands. The art style was old and a tad dull, so I questioned if Damian had let me down.
I went with it anyway. “The question, Erik, is if you want Tales of Suspense #39—”
The door immediately opened.
“Let me see it.”
I held it flat to my chest, a grin plastered on my face so big that it made my cheeks hurt. “But I need a favor.”
One of his eerie black eyes twitched. He glanced between me and the comic I held. His baby fingers rubbed together like he desperately wanted to snatch it from me. Well, well. Gold star for Damian.
Is it just me, or have Erik’s horns grown an inch?
Erik did his best to feign disinterest. “I’ll listen.”
He took a seat at his candy-coated desk while I explained how he and I were birds of a feather, both shunned from supernatural society—
“Get to the point, reapermancer.”
“All right,” I huffed. I called forth the chilly power and winced as it jammed into my fingers. I showed Erik my glowing palm. “The Necromancer Queen marked me. I was hoping you might know some witches friendly to us reaper-creature spawns who could help me out. Dead things keep chasing me.”
Roadkill rats, most recently.
Erik scratched beneath one of his horns. “The dead really love their Queen. But for it to block your power and make all manner of deceased attack you … the spell must originate from the Ars Magia Veterum.”
Damian coughed. I ignored him.
“The what-a-what?”
Erik thrust out his hands
, refusing to speak until the old-school Iron Man novel was in his possession. He handled it like it was made of fragile gold and stared at it like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. I could feel pain radiating from Damian beside me.
Both he and Erik goggled at it as Erik continued, “It’s the most forbidden magical text currently known. Naturally, it’s traded hands with all the most powerful covens.”
Erik slipped the comic out of the plastic, and Damian sucked in a sharp breath.
“Okay …” I egged him on.
These two really needed to snap out of it. I felt a twinge of remorse for Damian though. I hadn’t realized he’d offered something that was clearly from his personal collection. The guilt washed away when I remembered that he’d led me to the queen of decay in the first place.
“And?”
Erik finally looked up. “Which means you need it to undo that curse.”
I bit the inside of my lip. “Any idea where I might find it?”
“The High Priestess of the Ravenstone Coven had it, who is conveniently located a few tents down. But it was stolen from her last year.”
Everything in me slumped.
I rolled my neck and cracked it. “And the thief?”
“You’ll be happy to know the Priestess just completed her own investigation on the matter.” After a moment, Erik smirked. “She traded that information with me for some rare potion ingredients. It seems an elite gentlemen’s club has an interest in the arcane.”
At the words gentlemen’s club, my lungs shriveled like a released balloon.
“Why were you looking for that information?” Damian asked, speaking up for the first time.
“I rely on the rare nature of elevator juice. My skills are still in demand, but the value of my stock is plummeting. And the Ars Magia Veterum is said to have a complex recipe for forcing souls to go haywire.”
The Glitch call, a voice in the back of my head whispered.
Erik closed the comic and stroked the cover. “It’s Black Diamond something or other. By the way, rogue, my sources say your coat is your most precious possession.”
“Sources?”
“Spells and things. It’s fine, this time around. And, Ellie?” Erik’s voice was distant. “Ellie.”
