by Jamie Magee
With a bat of her long lashes Reveca commanded the cards to assemble in one deck, in the exact order that GranDee had left them. With a shaky hand she grasped that deck and pushed it into the back pocket of her cut off shorts.
Her other hand was still clutching her fallen friend, advisor, spiritual sister. She was letting herself grieve then and there, for once she left, once she was face to face with her boys, all those in her life, not one tear would fall, not one show of weak emotion would emerge.
Perhaps because she allowed herself to feel mortal in that moment, allowed herself to almost envy GranDee’s path, she didn’t sense the danger until just before she heard the wood creak on the floor, before she felt the cold barrel of a gun aimed at the back of her head. Then again, it could have been because she knew no weapon made of brass and speed could take her down.
Carefully, she let GranDee’s body settle back on the table.
“Where are your boys, princess,” she heard a broken hoarse voice say. Holden.
Slowly, she turned feeling the gun graze across her head as she did so.
Holden smirked as his seedy eyes dipped to the rim of her tank top, to the hint of cleavage that was revealed there.
“I suppose we’re overdue to have a little fun on our own now, aren’t we.” He grinned showing his stained yellow teeth. “I promise to send you to the grave with a smile on your face,” Holden said as he tilted his head and his long, dingy hair slid out of his eyes.
Reveca had to give the current lawman credit. Holden had the ability to make most any Club not doubt he was born and bred into the life. His arms were covered in ink that had shifted from black to green over time, he had a two pack a day smoker’s essence about him, one that caused his hair to be a mix of yellow and gray, deep scowl lines reached out from his eyes, his beard was long at the chin, more yellow than gray. His shoulders were curved into a permanent slouch, and he was sporting a gut that proudly broadcasted his love of ice-cold beer.
The thing was, though, he stuck out like sore thumb within the Pentacle Sons. Ragged, raw, and dirty was not their style. Big, mean, and lethal was. They were not lethal because of the weapons they possessed but for other reasons. Brilliance and dark splendor. The boys had penned the nickname gramps on Holden from the moment he rolled into the gravel lot before the Beauregard Boneyard Compound.
“Where are yours?” Reveca asked not even bothering to look concerned about the gun that was pressed to her forehead.
His eyes narrowed on her.
“I know your lawmen are not here, couldn’t be. You wouldn’t want anyone to be a witness to the set up, because, of course, that would mean more liabilities down the road.”
“When did you know?” he asked as his eyes glistened with malice.
“Before you arrived.”
“Because your witchdoctor told you?” he asked with an audacious smirk. “Her hoodoo didn’t see my ass coming.”
Fury bellowed within Reveca, but on the surface she was unnervingly calm. “Why her? Why this set up?”
“Shut the fuck up. Take your shirt off.”
“Answer me.”
He repositioned his grip on the gun, determined to use the butt of it to knock her out, have his way with her and end this fucked up job, but Reveca saw it coming. With lightning speed she lifted her hand and gripped the gun, pulled it from him as if he were a child, then aimed it at him.
“Answer. Me,” Reveca said coldly, not even troubling to let the rush of the moment elevate her breath or cause her heart to race. She had been here far too many times before. No doubt there.
“Talon. We want Talon.”
Talon was the president of the Pentacle Sons MC and as far as either world knew, Reveca’s lover.
“I know you want him. Why this? Why did you come here?”
His body began to shake as she pressed the barrel into his forehead. He went down to his knees, but it was all an act. He wanted to appear weak, wanted to make it to the ground so he could reach the piece he had strapped to his ankle.
“We tracked him here,” he said just before Reveca’s knee slammed into his jaw and sent him flying backward. She kept the gun trained on him as she crouched down and retrieved the piece he was after.
“You didn’t track him here. And since you have no desire to plead for your life,” Reveca seethed as she aimed the gun at his crotch. “Maybe I’ll let you live, most of you that is.”
“Wait. Wait. Stop. Source. A source told us that what you’re dealing is causing mutations. We were told GranDee was the cook.”
No expression came over Reveca, but she was confused. She was mulling through all of the enemies in her mind that would know of GranDee, what her family did. None of them would have gone to a lawman with that information. No, if anything they would have harvested the source, not destroyed it.
“You know we deal scripts. Cook? What the fuck are you talking about? Who sent you here?” she asked as she pressed the gun against him. He roared in pain as sweat poured out of him.
At this point smoke was moving through the air. Whatever blessed Sunday dinner GranDee was cooking before her death had met its demise as well.
“Fuck,” he roared. “I don’t know! I was given an address. I came and dealt with my business.”
“You set this up? This is your take down? You killed them to set us up. Has every fucking lawman lost their soul to the unclaimed, you evil son of a bitch?”
“I’m done with these bullshit games all of you play.” He lifted his sweaty brow, nearly grinned. “This gets me out one way or another.”
“Too boring for you?” Reveca asked with a raised brow. She knew exactly why he was over it. It was an endless game of cat and mouse between the lawmen and the Club, but that was only the half of Holden’s hell.
The boys had little to no respect for him and showed that in more than one way. He was ragged the most, given the shittiest tasks; prospects had more respect than he did.
None of the women around the Club would look his way on their drunkest nights, not with that whole ‘lethal’ thing the other Sons had. They would rather wait in line for one of them than crawl into bed with the rotten excuse for a man that Holden was.
“I’ve been working this case for five years and I’m not even allowed in Church. That doesn’t mean I didn’t know what you were fucking up to. If you let me in I could have steered everyone away. I’m sure you could have paid me more. I’m fucking done.”
Greed. They were all the same. Would turn their backs on any oath for a dollar.
No. He wasn’t allowed in any Club meetings. He was a wolf. The Sons let prospects within those meeting walls, for the general human meetings, that is. But the ones that dealt with both worlds, you had to be patched in. You had to choose the life, and the life had to choose you, for either to occur death came first.
“You want out of this life?” Reveca said as she stood above him.
Fear. That is what she saw in his eyes, that and a tinge of relief. The bastard really was over his role in this life, in more ways than one.
“Up,” Reveca said evenly.
Not breaking her gaze he rose to his feet.
“Walk,” she said as she nodded toward the door at the back of the kitchen.
He hesitated for a second then began to move in the direction she indicated.
They had reached the porch, were down the steps before he spoke.
“If you kill me they’re going to know it was you. They’ll twist the story. You’ll go down either way.”
“And what prize do I get for keeping you alive,” she asked as she jabbed the gun between his fleshy sagging shoulders.
“A deal. Turn on Talon. I have never once reported anything on you. You’re clean. We’ll protect you.”
They had reached the edge of the swamp, the base of a large tree that had moss hanging to the ground.
“Let me think about that,” Reveca said almost silently as she lowered her gun.
Holden looked over hi
s shoulder. When he saw the lowered weapon he slowly turned with his hands raised in a peaceful gesture.
Reveca wasn’t thinking about anything beyond the exact spell she needed to whisper. One wrong word and she would not be able to salvage this trash when the time was right, throw him right back at the assholes that had set up this slaughter.
She had it then. Slowly the words danced off her lips in a hiss of a whisper. Holden leaned forward thinking she was speaking to him, or perhaps he was noticing the faint glow her eyes emitted when she called on power. He didn’t get far. The moss came to life around him. At first he thought it was the wind and brushed it away so he wouldn’t lose sight of Reveca but when it began to grip him, panic filled his gaze.
Slowly the moss encircled him to the point where you could barely make out the shape of a man. His screams never had a chance to make it out. The branches pulled him back, then all at once the trunk of the tree parted, opened, and consumed him.
Reveca bowed her head to the nature before her, silently thanked it for harboring that foul infestation of a human soul until such time as she had plotted the perfect demise for him.
The moss that was deadly mere moments before gently swayed, caressing her skin.
Reveca pulled in a deep breath, tucked the gun in the back of her waistband, and turned to go.
That beacon that had caused her to manifest here tonight, the one that she was sure GranDee had sent, was still pulling at her.
She made her way back into the house, through the kitchen that was now masked in smoke, back to the hall that she was traversing before. A few steps later she was in a bedroom.
She saw the bullet holes in the bed, could see the tips of toes peeking out from beneath. That bastard Holden had shot someone through the mattress. With a glance, one push of energy coming from Reveca, the mattress moved, revealing the victim.
She was young, looked no older than twenty. Her hair was long and dark as midnight, her pure skin the rich color of milked coffee. Beside her on the floor in her blood was the symbol of the Pentacle Sons, one she’d made. Within that symbol was a broken vial. To the naked eye it looked empty, but within that vial was the essence of life that Reveca had given GranDee long ago, nothing more than energy—energy that belonged to Reveca.
As Reveca knelt down she saw the vial had been attached to a necklace, one that was around this young girl’s neck.
Her mind was mulling over all that she had seen tonight, all the hidden messages and broken truths. The only thing she knew for sure was that GranDee wanted Reveca to bring this girl back from the Edge, from death.
That was a high order. One that Reveca could perform, no doubt, but one that she always thought heavily about before she did, at least nowadays she did. There were consequences to this action. She knew that. Hell, half the time the Sons were still policing the consequences of a few past times that she had performed this spell.
Right then she heard the flap of wings once more, and looked up to see the crow landing at the head of the young girl. Within its eyes she saw a final plea, felt the honest urgency of GranDee lingering in the air around her. She felt her spirit begging for this action, stating that if anyone needed to come back, it was this girl.
Reveca gently rolled the girl’s dead body to her back. Her eyes, which were a wild green, were still open, staring into a fearful last moment.
She took the girl’s limp hands within hers. When Reveca closed her eyes, focused her energy, she could see where this girl’s soul was. She saw it lurking in the Edge, saw the frantic state, saw her rushing from soul to soul speaking Reveca’s name, speaking the name of the Sons that traversed both the living and dead worlds.
Silently Reveca’s energy spoke to her. The girl’s soul ceased her plea and listened. Slowly, very slowly Reveca’s energy spoke to this girl, told her that to return she must choose to, she must understand and accept that the human life she knew would be no longer, that she would be…enhanced. That is if the life accepted her.
The girl never questioned any word that was said. Instead, she nodded with a fevered understanding.
It was as if this young girl had been schooled on this process long ago. Considering the circumstances, Reveca had no doubt she was.
Reveca began to pull, gradually, powerfully, then all at once. She could feel life seeping into the dead flesh she was holding in her hands.
All of a sudden the girl began to cough. A golden light emerged behind her eyes as her body roiled forward. The wounds in her head, her chest, they closed. The blood vanished.
She didn’t stop coughing though, and with good reason. The small swamp house was now consumed with smoke. Reveca pulled the barely conscious girl to her, then out into the hall. She needed a better plan, that was for sure. She could see the flames licking into the hallway from the kitchen.
She pushed the girl back into the room with her then across it to bust out a window. Seconds later she was pulling the girl across the yard, to the gravel path that she had emerged on.
Carefully, she sat the girl down and stared back at the home. The approaching storm she had called just before had arrived. Thick weighted raindrops were falling from the sky, slicing the summer heat upon their decent.
Unfortunately, the downpour was also subduing the slow burning fire of the tomb that was at one time a home. That simply would not do. Reveca had to return to the Boneyard immediately and she had to ensure that any and all evidence aimed at her MC was squashed.
One thought. One focused thought enhanced with the raw power of her soul bolted forward, making contact with the flames.
The explosion was instantaneous.
The grief would be everlasting.
Chapter Two
It didn’t matter how long you lived, how many spells you’d cast, what you knew about power or what you didn’t know—everything and everyone had their limits. Manifesting your corporeal being from one place to another took energy, a lot of it. Manifesting yourself, along with an unconscious, clinging to death passenger, took immense power. Power that Reveca was far too low on before she was thrust into the hell she just endured.
Energy. It’s food. It’s food to those who know how to use it. It had been quite some time since Reveca had tapped into a pure source. So long that she made it a point to stay in reality as much as possible, to utilize good old fashion backwoods magic in lieu of the arts she was so adamantly trained in.
Right now, she was going to have to pull from somewhere deep inside her to find the power she needed.
She couldn’t call the boys to her. They had an alibi right now, one they would need to maintain when the dust of this inferno settled. She couldn’t walk. No, her body was already trembling with emotions she didn’t care to show, and GranDee’s home was literally in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by water on three sides, miles from what one might call a road. A boat wasn’t due here until the next morning.
Taking Holden’s bike would have been a daring idea, but being seen on it was too big of a risk. There was a good chance his lawmen were tracking him. Knowing that, she glanced down at the girl that was passed out on the gravel drive then made her way to the bike which was parked in the brush.
The glow of the fire had revealed its whereabouts moments before. She wanted to destroy that bike with a glance, but she knew at some point she’d need it, just like she needed Holden. Revenge was a dish best served cold—and calculated.
She charged toward the bike, kicked it just to make her feel better, then moved it toward the bank. As she approached, the sodden ground opened, nature’s way of telling her it would harbor her enemies for now. She urged the bike forward and watched the ground swallow it whole.
With each step she took back to the girl she breathed in as deep as possible, trying to find her center. She needed to go home. Needed to manifest not only inside the Beauregard Boneyard, but in a private room.
It was Sunday. The weekly barbeque. The one time each week the MC opened their doors to the world at large. I
t was their way of showing the community they were not the bad guys, their way of pretending they were part of the ninety-nine percent of bikers, and not the one percent, the outlaws. It was their time to seem human, normal. If any one of those wannabe rebels saw her appear out of nowhere, that would botch any and all American cover. If Reveca knew anything it was that no one knew how to keep their mouth shut; everyone loves a good story.
She knelt down to the girl, did her best to cradle her entire body next to hers, still focusing with all that she was on where she wanted to go. Slowly she whispered the words that with any luck would lead her there.
She felt the pull on her, felt the energy begin to whirl within, humming. Her body shook as she squeezed her eyes closed.
Seconds later she heard heavy breaths and a moan that was not coming from the girl in her arms.
Her eyes flew open. She was in her home, a home that stood just beside her club, in the second floor bathroom. In front of her, she saw the back of a leather kut, a vest all the Sons wore proudly that displayed the Club’s symbol—a crow with his wings spread around a pentacle wrapped in a serpent. Long, dirty blond hair met his thick shoulders, leading down his strong back to a lean waist, a waist that was wrapped with legs—long, feminine legs.
It was Shade, and he was doing what Shade always did.
“Get out of here you nervous fuck,” Reveca nearly growled but as breathless as she was it was not near as fierce as she wanted it to sound.
She wasn’t being cold to Shade. He was indeed a nervous fuck. Everyone had their vice, what they did once they dared danger and won. Some smoked, some drank, some fought, some fucked, others did it all. Shade always fucked. Every single time the Club came home he would find some girl and disappear for a moment or two then never look back.
Shade: that nickname came from his sunglasses, ones that look like Ray-Bans that he never took off, at least not around the very human girls that he pulled into tight rooms like this. He couldn’t. If he did, they’d see the glow behind the blue, the rays of lavender. They’d see that glow change with his emotion, know he was more than mortal.
