Shadow Prophet (Midnight Chronicles Book 1)

by Andrea Pearson

  I parked my car and headed up the dark, stained stairs. As I thought about this new job, my hands began sweating again, making it difficult to grip the railing.

  It was time for me to look at my folders.

  Because luckily enough—and yes, that was sarcasm—this job from Alexander took me pretty close to where my next target lived.

  The Shadow Prophet would have no reason to suspect me of wavering from my duties. He’d just assume I was following the target.

  Before I put the key in my door’s lock, I chanted a few words, testing the spell I’d set in place before leaving. It was still intact—no one had tried to enter while I was gone. Good.

  I locked the door behind me, putting the spell back in place. It wasn’t so important now that I was home, but I still liked the backup.

  Once the door was secure, I checked out the rest of the apartment—making sure none of the windows had been touched.

  After I verified that everything was as it should be, I walked to the small kitchenette in the corner of the living room and knelt in front of the cabinet. It took me a moment to move the soaps and scrubbers out of the way, but once everything was cleared, I recited the words of a spell that allowed me to access the hidden panel underneath the cabinet.

  Most cabinets are suspended above the floor by a couple of inches in case of flooding and other issues. In that little space, I’d hidden the files for all seven victims the Shadow Prophet had “hired” me to assassinate.

  I picked up the files carefully, then placed them on the floor in front of me, closing my eyes. I was ready.

  The first several victims had all been men. They’d all been easy, as had Rachel.

  Things weren’t going to be so simple with the sixth target.

  I hadn’t opened that file since I’d first received it, but it had been impossible not to memorize the details with just a glance—they’d been seared on my brain.

  Would my reaction now be the same?

  My legs started shaking and my head felt light. I shifted my position, turning to the first five again to complete my ritual. I leafed through the pages in each folder, forcing myself to remember them. To picture how they’d died. Their struggles—or lack thereof. The emotions I’d experienced.

  I’d never forget what I’d done to them. Ever.

  It didn’t take long to get through Rachel’s file, since I’d just dealt with her.

  Steeling myself, I set the finished files aside. I was ready for that sixth one. I lifted it gingerly from where it lay and set it on my lap.

  And then, before I lost my nerve, I flipped it open to the first page.

  My stomach twisted. My heart clenched until it practically stopped beating. My mouth went dry. Panic rose in my throat as I looked at her.

  Those beautiful brown eyes. The perfect red curls. Her impish smile.

  “Lizzie.”

  4

  I was still in love with her. And how could I not be? The moment my eyes had landed on her so many years ago, I’d known. I’d known we’d be together someday, that she would make me more complete than I’d ever felt, that home would be wherever she was.

  I’d fallen hard.

  In part, I had the Shadow Prophet to thank for that, but still. It was like a teenage crush gone wild. And I knew “soul mates” was a cheesy concept, but it fit our situation best.

  Just thinking about assassinating her . . . Tears pricked the backs of my eyes and I had to resist the urge to dry heave. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t. And it wasn’t just because of how high-profile she was or how well-known now. I loved her.

  The consequences of not following through were awful, though. Try as I might, I still hadn’t been able to get out of this job. The emotional scars in that regard were even worse than the thought of killing Lizzie.

  Either way, it was time to move to Lehi, Utah. Not only had I just accepted a job to protect this woman, but I was bound to destroy her.

  How was I going to get out of this mess? Would it be possible for me to put off the Shadow Prophet until I’d finished my contract with Alexander? Maybe. I’d have to think that over.

  Either way, spending time with her might be the cure I needed for this love sickness. It would allow me the opportunity to get to know her. To see if she was still flighty, immature, and a determined flirt. If she was, and I suspected she would be, being around her might put an end to my years-long crush.

  And heaven knew I could use some emotional peace.

  I glanced at the tattoos on my wrist that were visible only to my eyes. They were simple circles and brightly colored. Unimaginative. The purple one was almost empty. I was due several days of rest before I could proceed with my new job.

  Not needing to check the email address, I sent a message to Lizzie, letting her know I had a potential Fire Impeder job for her. Might as well make it official because I didn’t think she’d be okay knowing I’d been hired to protect her. Things would probably go better if I offered her a job instead.

  I’d need to put some thought into why we’d been hired to do the same thing. It definitely wouldn’t hold up under serious scrutiny.

  Feeling good about my decision not to inform her of the job, I hit send, put my phone away, and returned the files to the cabinet under the sink, repeating the words of the spell.

  And then I walked around the apartment, turning out all the lights before heading to the bedroom. I pressed the purple tattoo and commanded it to let me sleep until Lizzie responded. It wouldn’t get me close to the seven necessary days, but hopefully, I’d rest enough before heading to Utah.

  5

  My phone beeped when Lizzie responded, waking me up. I quickly scanned her message. She’d be out of town for a while. Good. I was still exhausted.

  After a quick back-and-forth, we decided to meet at a restaurant in Lehi. Once all of our arrangements had been made, I pressed the tattoo again, asking it to allow me to sleep for two full days. Extra time was a nice surprise—my circle should be nearly full when I awakened.

  And then I rested.

  ***

  The nightshade tattoo woke me up exactly forty-eight hours later. I rose, energized and ready to tackle the day and close up shop in Chicago. As I showered, I made a mental checklist of what needed to happen.

  Cancel lease on apartment.

  Send notice to underground about relocation.

  Put out word for warehouse in Lehi area.

  The lease wasn’t hard to cancel. I’d done several jobs for the owner, so she actually owed me money now, but I didn’t make her pay. It was good to keep people in my debt in case I ever needed favors.

  We parted on good terms. She was sad to see her hit man go—I’d been better at getting her tenants to pay than she had been—but I promised if I were ever back in Chicago, I would stay in her building again.

  I drove to Utah, arriving one day before I was supposed to meet Lizzie. It gave me time to search for an apartment, and I found one in a dumpy building near the train tracks. Like my previous accommodation, it suited me well. I didn’t need luxury, and I rarely spent time “home” except to sleep. I wouldn’t even notice my surroundings.

  As I drove around, seeing what was available, I rolled my window down, enjoying the feel of the dry desert heat. I’d spent a great deal of time in that sort of heat throughout my life, and it was nice to be back. Chicago was a great place for a person like me—there was hardly ever a shortage of jobs to do—but I detested the humidity.

  By the time I found the apartment, I’d already received several texts from people in Lehi and the surrounding cities who had warehouses they were willing to sell or lease in exchange for odd jobs.

  That was how I operated. I changed locations frequently, depending on where the next job took me, and I brought the underground with me. The underground I’d created.

  My current contract—that of killing these innocent people for the Shadow Prophet—had taken me to several different states and a couple different countries. Inter
estingly enough, my sixth and seventh targets were both located in Lehi.

  I contacted the first person who’d texted me about a warehouse. He had the most promising situation, from what it sounded like, and he was willing to sell the place without money exchanging hands. I would do odd jobs for him to pay the mortgage. A common situation for me, but it did usually take longer than just a few texts to set up.

  I met the man at his warehouse on State Street in Lehi. The moment I walked through the huge double doors, I knew this was where I would set up my next underground. The exterior was industrial, rusty, and run down, but the inside was nice. Very nice. Not a speck of rust was in sight, the windows were clean, the floors were dust free, and no birds lived in the rafters. Plus, there were a couple of bathrooms, and nothing filled the spacious interior—no old shelves, no random broken wood pallets. There weren’t even leftover screws in the floor. I would only have to do a couple of things to get it ready.

  Randy rocked back on his heels in pleasure when I complimented the place.

  “As soon as I heard you were coming, I hired several crews to work 24/7 to get it ready.”

  I nodded. That didn’t surprise me. The last few relocations, I’d had the same thing happen. Pride made my chest warm. I’d worked hard to get to this point.

  “I love the windows,” I said, motioning to them. They were so clean, it hurt my eyes to look at them, and unlike most warehouses, they were big.

  He nodded. “I upgraded them as soon as I could. I’m sure you can imagine what they were before.”

  Yes, I could. Water-stained and small.

  The way he’d upgraded the interior made the warehouse feel like a palace almost. It was very well-lit and painted all white. That surprised me. And there was plenty of space for the fighting mats I would install as soon as possible.

  I enjoyed teaching, training, and providing places for unsavory—to the general populace—characters to hide and hang out. I fought tough and taught just as tough, and my contemporaries appreciated it. They knew what to expect when I opened a new warehouse.

  Doing this allowed me to keep a finger on the pulse of the darker areas in the places where I set up. And with me traveling so frequently, I now had status in many, many places.

  Why did it matter?

  Because of the abilities it gave me access to—I needed favors from others occasionally too, and powerful creatures frequented my underground warehouses. I charged a hundred dollars a month for that access.

  But I also did it for the gossip. My reputation as a sounding board was solid. People knew they could tell me anything, and I would never repeat their information.

  A lot of those who came to my warehouses worked in similar fields as mine. Assassins for hire. Hit men. Dangerous people. Most weren’t accepted in other walks of life, and a lot were supernaturals.

  “Will you need any magical fortifications?” Randy asked as we headed down the stairs from a small upper apartment in the corner of the warehouse. “Because I’ve got connections.”

  “No. I’ll be fine. If anything comes up, I have your number and will let you know. I appreciate the offer.”

  “I figured you’d have your own methods. But yes, if you need anything, be sure to tell me.”

  I nodded. The protection spells I’d been using were based on borrowed magic. Yes, I had a protection tattoo, but I rarely used it. It drained me too much.

  Randy was watching me closely as we walked across the warehouse back to the main entrance, and I wondered if he could sense the pent-up magic that surrounded me. I was supposedly an Arete—all Fourth children are—but I hadn’t yet gained access to my magic. Pretty frustrating, especially considering the fact that I was in my thirties, and other Aretes found their powers around the age of eighteen.

  It would be a miracle if my magic found me.

  It would be even more of a miracle if I survived the event.

  “I apologize for the bathroom without walls,” Randy said as we paused near the doors.

  “I was wondering about that,” I said. “Is it functional?”

  He shook his head. “No, but the upstairs one is.”

  “Good.”

  It was uncommon for warehouses to have living quarters in them. At least the ones I usually used didn’t have them. I was grateful to have a place to crash if—more likely, when—I needed it. From experience, I would be spending long hours in this place, hanging around and learning as much as possible from the people who lived nearby.

  “What sort of work would you like me to do in exchange?” I asked.

  Randy shrugged. “Odd jobs. I own a club, and every now and then I need a bouncer to fill in. Would that be something you could handle?”

  “Sure. I’ve been a bouncer several times.”

  “Good. I need to get back to work, but I’ll get in touch with you soon. Thank you for taking me up on my offer.”

  We shook hands, he gave me several keys, and we parted ways. I texted the address to Carlos, an acquaintance who was shutting down my old warehouse. He’d be bringing all my equipment to the new place, including floor mats, weights, bars, benches, and training weapons.

  Then I headed to my apartment to eat and to set up my spells in case I received any visitors.

  ***

  My meal was quick and made of leftovers I’d picked up during my trip from Chicago. After I finished, I set up my protection spells, ensuring that they surrounded my windows and all the doors. They were designed to alert me if anyone crossed them.

  Most of the spells wouldn’t do anything other than make the individual forget what they were doing, but some would hold intruders in place until I got there.

  I didn’t particularly like the holding-in-place spell, but it came in handy.

  It also created awkward situations.

  I’d once had a man get stuck for fourteen hours. He’d urinated all over himself by the time I reached him. I still felt bad about that. He hadn’t been dangerous—he’d actually sought me out to give me a job. Either I hadn’t locked the door all the way or it hadn’t latched when I’d left because he’d been able to get into my apartment easily.

  The man hired me in the end, and I added an extra job for free, but once I finished, he never contacted me again.

  Can’t say I blamed him.

  Finished with food and spells, I decided it was time to acquaint myself with Lizzie’s new surroundings.

  6

  I drove around her block, getting a feel for the area. It was an older part of town, and her house had been built in the late eighteen hundreds. Some would call it quaint. I called it a lot of work.

  She didn’t have a garage, and her car wasn’t there, so I knew she was still out of town. I parked and strode up her sidewalk to her porch. Protecting her meant knowing what I was working with, including the layout of her home. Upstairs, basements, attics—all of them affected my ability to do protection jobs.

  The bolt on her door was basic. I’d had plenty of experience picking that kind, and I only needed a little spell to undo it. To the casual observer, it looked like I paused long enough to put a key in the lock and let myself in.

  Breaking into her house might seem creeper-stalkerish, but I couldn’t very well walk around the exterior and stare in her windows. Nothing would get the cops called on me faster. And asking for a tour of her house would be just as awkward.

  I shut the door behind me, immediately sensing her personality. Cheerful vases of blue and yellow decorated shelves built into the small, tiled entry. A matching plush rug cushioned my feet. The window on the door was covered with a white lace curtain.

  I closed my eyes, trying to control my emotions. It was hard to figure out if my feelings for her stemmed from the several years I’d spent without freedom or from a genuine interest. Her bright and cheerful personality was so opposite from mine. It was refreshing, but it was also addicting. I couldn’t spend a lot of time here without it affecting my ability to do my job.

  Shoving my feel
ings aside, I started exploring. Directly in front of me was the hall that led to the bedrooms. To my left and right were arched openings into the kitchen and living room respectively.

  I inspected the kitchen first. It was tiny, with only a small square of countertop, an old-fashioned fridge and sink, and cabinets that had been painted white. The yellow curtains at the window over the sink made the room cheery. A little table that barely sat two was up against the wall on my right. More yellow and blue knickknacks dotted the room, definitely fitting Lizzie’s bright and airy personality. There wasn’t a door leading outside, like most older houses had.

  I headed to the brown-carpeted living room. Again, yellow and blue was the theme there, with more lace curtains. The couch looked comfortable. She had a decent-sized TV—probably forty-two inches—which surprised me until I noticed the sheer number of movies she had in the built-in shelving. I stepped over, reading the titles. A fair number of chick flicks, but she also had a lot of action movies. Good for her.

  On the wall opposite the entry was a big window, and on either side of the TV were two small windows overlooking the porch.

  Lots of windows. Most people appreciated that. They made my job harder.

  One of the windows had an armchair in front of it, but the one closest to the front entry was unobstructed. I stepped over and looked outside. The neighborhood was quiet. It obviously didn’t get much traffic.

  How close to her neighbors was she? If I went around knocking, what would they tell me about her? Would they give me any clues to her personality now, if she’d changed from what I’d known before?

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, holding it in for several counts when I realized I was procrastinating. I needed to rip off the Band-Aid.

  I headed down the hall. On the left was a bathroom, and on the right was a guest bedroom with a desk under the window. Nothing complicated there.

  The door at the back of the hallway was only open an inch. I hesitated a moment before pushing it the rest of the way.

  An unmade bed covered in rumpled clothes was the first thing I noticed.