by Ciara Graves
“What is?” I asked without thinking.
“Someone with such great potential being all alone.”
“Yeah, well, if you’re going to try and drag me down because I’m alone, woe is me, save it.”
“I smell it on you. Desperation. Loneliness.”
I jerked his arm harder, but he only laughed through the pain.
“You’re lucky it’s the middle of the night, or I’d be leaving you out in the sun for a few hours. Give you a nice roast.”
“Yes, sarcasm, the answer to everything.”
“And what would you know about me, huh? What?” I snapped, the adrenaline from the fight wearing off and pain from my new wounds making me irritable. “You don’t know shit, so do us both a favor and shut up.”
“I know enough about you to know you and I are not too different.”
Yanking him to a halt, I shoved him into the wall of the tunnel leading to the surface and held my knife to his throat without even realizing I’d done it. “You and I are nothing alike. You eat kids, and I am the person who hunts down scum like you to keep others safe.”
He gulped, eyes darting to the knife in my hand. “And how long until someone hunts you down for your crimes?”
“What crimes?”
“You might not have committed any yet, but you will at some point. You’re already nearing your breaking point. How much longer do you really think you can hold out? And so young, too. I wasn’t lying when I said you would need allies before long.”
I glared at him as I dug the blade into his neck until black blood covered it. “Keep talking. I dare you. No one said you need your tongue.”
He tilted his head back, trying to get away from the blade, but I followed, keeping it pressed into his skin. Seconds ticked by and when he said nothing else, I removed the blade, sheathed it back at my thigh, and shoved him forward again.
It was a long walk to the office, but I was not going to strap this bastard on my bike behind me. So we’d walk. We exited the tunnel and onto the bustling sidewalks of Sector 21 where I lived, where I worked mostly, and where the supernatural beings of Nashville could live without fear of being persecuted by the norms.
Norms. Humans.
They knew of us, had for a few hundred years, but our history was not even close to a pleasant one and these blocked off sectors were the only way we could live in harmony, for the most part. Both sides were always claiming deaths caused by the other, but that wasn’t any of my business unless a name was given to me. There were bounty hunters like me all over the country, but I was the only one in Sector 21, and only one of five in the entire state of Tennessee. Sounded like a lot, but it wasn’t enough. And the Federal Paranormal Unit was a joke at actually keeping criminals off the street. I couldn’t complain too much, picking up their slack was how I got paid.
With Rufus in tow, I made good time as the crowd parted for me without even having to say a word. He hissed and snarled at everyone we passed, but said nothing else to me. When we finally reached the old, red, brick, three-story building, I threw Rufus in through the front door.
The bell chimed cheerily, and I followed in after.
“Honey, I’m home,” I yelled.
Rufus opened his mouth, and I walloped him in the gut with my boot, cutting off whatever smartass comment he was about to make.
“’Bout time,” Damian said as he exited through a black curtain blocking off the back room. “Ah, and I see you’ve brought a gift.”
“He’s a chatty one. Be careful,” I warned.
Damian, my boss, and a bounty hunter when the need arose, walked around the main desk and hauled Rufus up.
The goblin shrieked in pain.
Damian eyed me with a raised brow.
“What? He asked for it.”
He gave me a quick look over then looked at Rufus. “Sure he did.”
“Don’t give me that crap, alright? Rough last few days and this asshole had to go hide out in the Underground,” I snapped, hopping up on the counter. I picked the dirt and gunk out from my nails with my knife. “He’s lucky all I broke was his arm.”
Damian took Rufus to the back where several holding cells were situated. The goblin minister who put the bounty out on him would come and pick him up later. Rufus was no longer my problem. I waited for my boss to come back and pay up, so I could head home, take a shower, and crash for what remained of the night.
Unlike so many in this sector, I was just a mage and not nocturnal by nature.
I spun around as Damian came out and went to the painting of a naked mermaid on the back wall. Pulling it aside, he revealed the black safe set in the wall. He opened it, pulled out a stack of bills, and handed them over.
“You get the rest when I get paid from the minister,” he said.
I reached for the cash, but he yanked it back.
“What? Look, I’m sorry he got roughed up, but I got swarmed by a damned pack of gobs, and the asshole wouldn’t stop talking.”
“Yeah, and? You’ve said that about the last six targets you’ve brought in.”
“You saying you have a problem with how I do my job?”
“I’m saying if you’re not careful, you’re going to rough up the wrong target in the wrong part of town. I care about you, Mercy. Don’t make me regret taking you in.”
I fumed, yanking the bills from his hand. “Right, it was completely out of charity.”
“It was,” he said innocently.
I rolled my eyes.
“I took you in, taught you all I know. But if you start messing up, we’re going to have problems. Don’t make me turn on my best employee.”
“I’m your only employee.”
“You’re going to wind up costing me,” he warned as he came around the counter quickly, and his hand was around my throat. Not choking, but the threat was in his red eyes. Damian was a half-demon, and a bastard, no matter how nice he attempted to come across as. “Cost me too much, and I’ll be putting a bounty on your head. I have plenty cause to do it, too,” he added in a whisper.
I moved in closer, glaring as I snapped, “Then do it, huh? What are you waiting for? Oh, that’s right, I’m the only one here who’s willing to work for you.”
His lip lifted in a snarl and he shoved me backward. “Get out of here. You stink.”
I tucked the cash safely in my coat and turned around to leave.
“Remember, Mercy. You belong to me, so ensure you keep making it worth my while to keep your ass around!”
I flipped him off as I stomped out of the office, trudging through the streets and heading back to the Underground.
I needed my bike and a drink, but there weren’t many welcoming bars in these parts for me.
I’d get my bike and ride my ass home.
The whole ride to my tiny studio apartment on the upper floor, I imagined beating the shit out of Damian.
But if I lifted a hand to him, I’d have to kill him.
Otherwise, my life, everything I had, would disappear in a shot.
Chapter 2
Mercy
I bolted upright drenched in a cold sweat and fought the blanket tangled around my legs. When I finally freed myself, I chucked it aside in a heap, flopped back down, and buried my face in my pillow to block out the too-bright rays of morning. Or afternoon. Whatever.
Without checking my phone, I had no way of knowing what time it was, and I was alright with that. Just as sleep crept back in, my phone rang. And rang. Until it finally cut off. I smirked and settled back in when someone banged on my door instead.
“Get up, Mercy!” Damian yelled. “Know you’re in there.”
“What?” I hollered back. “Can’t a girl get some damned sleep?”
“It’s four in the afternoon! You haven’t answered your phone all day,” he shot back. “And you’ve got a new job so get your ass out of bed and answer your door before I break it down.”
Spewing curses and shoving my messed-up hair from my face, I climbed out of b
ed and stalked across my small living space to yank open the door. “There. Happy?”
He frowned, but moved past me and inside. “Jesus, don’t you ever clean?”
“Why? Not like I’m ever here long enough,” I muttered through a yawn. “Coffee?”
“I’ll never understand how you sleep so damned much.”
I mocked him as I went to the small kitchenette area and tossed some grounds in the maker then filled up the pot with water. “You do realize how busy I am, right? That most of the time I’m preoccupied with getting my ass kicked?”
“I see your wounds were taken care of.”
“Yep. No thanks to you,” I snapped with a mocking smile, finished filling the pot, and started the maker.
My elbow was burning which was normal after a goblin bite, but I had plans to visit another acquaintance to see if there was anything else she could give me for it. Not that I actually made it to the clinic last night, this morning, whatever. Too damned tired and nursing my wounds in peace was preferable to parading them around the ER.
“You have a new target,” he finally said and tossed a file on the kitchen table that was barely big enough for one person to sit at. “All the info’s inside and your way to get close to him.”
After pouring a half cup of coffee, too impatient to wait for more, I flipped open the folder. The face of a man looked back at me, frost-colored eyes telling me exactly what he was without even having to look at the line that proclaimed his type.
Mage.
I shot Damian a look, but he was walking around my place, sniffing the air, and grunting to himself about my lack of care for how I lived. The temptation to chuck my mug at his head was extremely high, but it was the only cup I had, having smashed the other one into the head of a djinn who’d followed me home one night. The fight ended with chucking him down several flights of stairs, and when he tried to come back again, I threw him out my window instead. Sometimes supes were too stubborn for their own good.
I shuffled through the pages more and frowned. “What the hell is this?”
“Invitation, what does it look like?”
“To a ball,” I said. “Damian, do I look like I’m going to fit in at a ball?”
“Our target is a high priority bounty,” he said as he joined me at the table. “You will need to find a way to get inside with whatever weapons you can in order to get him out, in one piece, without being harmed. He’s wanted by the Gathered, and they want him alive and unspoiled as much as possible.”
“What did he do?”
Damian shrugged. “Does it matter?”
I glared at the image of the mage and sensed the dormant magic inside me struggling in vain to break free as my anger grew. Not that it ever did when I needed it. The scar on my face tingled, and flashes of my latest nightmare had me gripping my mug until my knuckles turned white. “Not in the slightest. You sure I can’t rough him up a bit?”
“Yes. Okay now, the ball is tomorrow night, so I suggest you start getting ready.”
“How much they want for him back?”
“Five million.”
I choked on my coffee. “What?”
“As I said, high priority target but there is one slight issue. I doubt we’ll be the only ones after him. And this ball is being held in Sector 13.”
This time, I set my mug down before it slipped from my hands, and shook my head. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“You’re kidding, right? Sector 13? If I walk in there and anyone figures out who I am, they’ll eat me alive. Literally,” I said. “I can’t go in there alone!” Usually, I was game for taking down any mage with a bounty, but my anger would only get me so far in a room filled with other supes who hated me. No, not just hated me, would be more than happy to tear me apart.
“Don’t have a choice. This is the job.”
“And if I refuse?”
Resting his hands on the table, he leaned in close, growling under his breath, “Then a little birdy might be dropping off a tiny bit of information on a certain bounty hunter that will get her ass arrested. Or worse. Is that what you want?”
My gun and sword were across the room. And Damian was a big half-demon. The chances of taking him were slim to none. He trained me, after all, and I only ever bested him one time, and that was because he was distracted by some hot vampire walking in while we sparred.
His gaze drifted to where mine was aimed, at my weapons. He sneered. “I thought we were past this.”
“It’s Sector 13,” I repeated. “The Underground is bad enough, but I’ll be walking literally into the clutches of death.”
If anyone was smart, they avoided that sector. Not only was it known to harbor the worst of the worst criminals, but it was watched over by reapers. Old bastards who did what they wanted. The dead ruled that sector and very few entered without an invitation. The ball, I’d heard of it before, everyone had. Reapers always found it highly amusing that humans celebrated Halloween, so every year they threw a party of their own to mock them for it, along with all their traditions. There were rumors humans were often kidnapped, and no one ever saw them again. For years the Feds had been fighting to shut them down, but no evidence had ever been found. At least, nothing concrete. The mage was smart to hide there. The Gathered were strictly forbidden, so whatever this mage was accused of doing must have impressed the reapers—
“Wait, how did you get this invite?” I asked, confused.
“I’m a half-demon with very good connections. End of story.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I mumbled, waving the invitation back and forth nervously. “A ball. You really know how to ruin my day.”
“Big payday for us. If you pull this one off, maybe I’ll even let you take some vacation.” He looked around my apartment again. “Haven’t you made enough to live somewhere half decent? Is that a crack in the wall?”
“It is and what’s the point? Like I said, not here except to sleep.”
The truth was I was stashing away everything I made so I could make a run for it and get to another country. Hell, another continent would be ideal. Disappear. Since I became old enough to understand my arrangement with Damian, that had been the plan. Get money and get the hell out of here. I’d managed to stay off the radar so far, but all it would take was one slip-up. Or Damian deciding he didn’t like me any longer.
“Hmm. Just get your shit together and get to that ball.”
“These others after him, who do you think they are?” I asked, not watching him walk to the door. Already studying what was in the file before me.
“Other hunters, no doubt. Oh, and the Feds.”
“Right because that doesn’t make this about a hundred times harder.”
“You either do this mission, or you’re out. How about that?” he threatened.
I stilled, refusing to turn around.
“I expect to see that mage in your custody soon, or else this is the end of the road for us both.”
“And if I get killed in the process?”
“I’ll be sure to say something nice at the funeral. Though I’m pretty sure I’ll be the only one there,” he replied then walked out, slamming the door behind him.
Anger getting the better of me, I whirled around and chucked my coffee mug at the door.
It shattered, covering the floor in chunks of ceramic and coffee.
“Damn it. I really liked that mug.”
Leaving the pieces to pick up later, I found a small bowl, filled it with more coffee, dumped some creamer in it, way too much sugar, and sat at the table to get back to work making a plan that would not end with getting killed.
Chapter 3
Mercy
That reeks, what the hell are you cooking up in here?”
Gigi, the smiling witch on the other side of the massive black cauldron in the center of her back room, shrugged as she tossed something in I was sure looked like a heart. Animal, at the very least. “Something special for a new client. All ve
ry hush-hush.”
“It’s your dinner, Don’t lie to me.”
She tilted her head back and forth, then grinned wider. “Your visits are always so much fun.”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t a social call. Sadly enough.”
“I figured. What mess has Damian got you into this time?”
Through the green smoke rising from the cauldron, I studied Gigi. Probably the only person I would ever call a friend. We met ten years back. She was fifteen, and I was a scraggly twelve-year-old trying to survive under a very strict Damian. She took me under her wing and taught me other useful things, such as all she could do as a witch. And girly things that Damian refused to acknowledge.
Now, I was twenty-two and wishing I’d taken Gigi up on her offers back then to take me in for good, bring me into the coven, despite me not actually being a witch. Too late now.
She was the only other one who knew what I was. What I really was.
She ran a shop here in Sector 21, a thriving business dealing out potions and charms to anyone willing to pay the price. On the outset, she was a bright, happy woman, always wearing bright pinks and purples, her black hair filled with flowers.
But piss her off, and she turned into a raging banshee. Worse, actually. Several attempts had been made on her life, but she was one witch you did not mess with unless you were suicidal. Thank god she was on my side.
“I need some magical aid and some girly help.” I handed her the invitation.
It only took about five seconds for her eyes to bug out and her hands to shake. “This—no, you can’t go there! Is he trying to get you killed?”
“Kinda what I said,” I muttered, walking around the back room, cringing at the eyeballs in the jar closest to me. “But don’t have a choice. So can you help make sure I come back alive, or what? Oh, and I need a gown, and I guess I should do something with my hair.”
“Makeup, we’ll have to put some on you,” she added quietly, narrowing her eyes at the invitation. “Hell, you’re going to need a charm to disguise your face. Who are you after?”
