“Is it legal to milk your mambas for their venom? I bet I could make a kickass dart with your venom.”
“No.” My father scowled. “No, you won’t milk my mambas for venom. Absolutely not. No.”
“I think we should hold proper negotiations about this issue.”
“No.”
“Where else am I going to get black mamba venom?”
“How about from the supplier of your last batch? As those vials I discovered weren’t legal, I disposed of them. Should you acquire more, don’t leave them where I can find them. That said, I’ll acknowledge your excellent choice of supplier. The testing I had done on them revealed it was very potent venom.”
Damn it. I sighed, debating how best to hide where I’d gotten the venom. Money mattered to mail couriers, which offered me a suitable defense. “If you hadn’t been poking your nose where it didn’t belong, you wouldn’t have found it. That venom was expensive.”
“You’re getting free rent. I’m certain that’ll cover your losses. If you get bored and insist on working, arrangements can be made. It’s a twenty-minute drive to Rapid City. I’m sure Justin won’t mind escorting you to work to keep you out of trouble. That said, I’m insisting on a lifetime ban from working in any delivery capacity.”
“I mind,” my father’s bodyguard stated, his tone cold.
If he made his intentions to avoid me much clearer, I’d be forced to chase him to the ends of the Earth to enjoy his expression when he learned he wouldn’t be getting rid of me that easily. Two could play the same game, and I meant to play it far better than him. When I finished with him, he’d be chasing me, and I’d be running to get caught.
Whether he kept me or I made my escape depended on a lot of things, including how far he’d go to prove he’d be my ideal partner. In reality, he had little to prove. His species and involvement with my father in a bodyguard capacity erased most of my concerns.
No, I was the one with a lot to prove, and I’d test the waters with him in the only way I knew how: toying with him.
“Tulip?” my father asked, and I thought I heard concern in his voice.
“I’m busy considering the best way to eviscerate your bodyguard, Mr. Shiny Shoes. Give me a minute.”
“You can’t eviscerate my bodyguard.”
“I thought denying me my request to take him home with me so he can wake me every morning with his bacon was unreasonable. Why ban a good evisceration?”
“I need him alive, as do you, if you want him to make you bacon every morning.”
“So, you’re saying him coming home with me and making me bacon for the rest of my life isn’t actually off the table?”
The moment my father realized I’d cornered him, he spat curses. “My apologies, Justin.”
“With all due respect, sir, you’re an idiot. Please stop talking.”
Yep, I had a lot of work to do. Convincing Justin he wanted to belong to me would be a challenge, one I’d enjoy far more than any murder I’d ever committed. Until then, I’d nettle him and my father. “Yes, Mr. Shiny Shoes. Listen to your bodyguard. He’s right.”
Both men glared at me, and I smiled my triumph over having annoyed them.
True to his word, my father had relocated my property, but he’d been wise enough to bring me my laptop. If he hadn’t, I would’ve begun my revenge immediately rather than lulling him into a false sense of security. A check of the system logs revealed someone had unsuccessfully attempted to infiltrate the system, costing them almost two hours before they’d given up without accessing a thing. I hoped Justin had been the one attempting to hack his way in.
If I challenged him as much as he would challenge me, good things would happen.
Waiting to pursue him would give me the advantage. Until I was ready to make my next move, I’d turn my attention to my real job. I assumed my father’s internet connection was being monitored, so I’d need to take care with how I hunted for my next target. Did South Dakota even have serial killers? A quick look at the state map revealed two larger cities and a variety of smaller towns separated by vast stretches of empty land.
To play to my father’s beliefs I possessed at least some common sense, I began with some research into Rapid City, beginning with crime rates, dangerous parts of town, and everything a wise girl interested in protecting herself would want to know.
I targeted my searches to maximize my chance of stumbling across links referencing the types of people who’d escaped justice and left bodies in their wake.
Rapid City had grown exponentially in the past five years, more than tripling its population. A recent expansion of the Air Force base was partially responsible, with the growth of the weapon and ammunition industry in the area ballooning at an alarming rate. Several new munitions developers had opened up shop, bringing in thousands of new workers, their families, and the supporting tech industry.
The clues pointed to the United States fluffing its military again, although I couldn’t imagine why. After the emergence, most nations kept to themselves, the playing field changed from the influx of magic. Too many nations had powerful talents, people who could change the world with a thought. Once small, weak countries possessed the strength to hold their own in battle, and they knew it, and so did their once stronger foes.
Wars still happened, most of them raging in Africa, but the heavy hitters, including the United States, Russia, and China, had decided to stay home instead of flaunting their strength. If America decided to take the offensive rather than participate in conflicts as a supporter, the world would change, and I doubted it would be for the better.
Rapid City’s rapid growth worried me, and the population boom made it a ripe target for the type of people I hunted. I kept browsing, focusing my attention to the more dangerous neighborhoods, which skirted the booming industrial sector. Since serial killers walked all paths of life, where I worked wouldn’t matter until I got closer to the kill date.
Some were easier to lure out than others; angels of deaths gave me the most trouble. In their twisted way, they believed they were helping people by killing them. Those serial killers either believed they eased suffering or they wanted to remove a drain on society. I hated the latter far more than the former, but both stole lives against the will of their victim.
I’d walked away from an angel of death once. The woman worked in a nursing home, and every last one of her kills happened only when her victim was too far gone to save, withering in a semi-conscious haze, unable to communicate, give their last wishes, or recognize anyone around them, already lost to the world in mind while their body lingered.
She hadn’t done it for her victims, but for those left behind, family and friends weary of waiting for their beloved’s death to come on its own.
Only in her had I seen mercy, love, and respect for the dying.
I watched from afar for any sign of the woman’s mercy turning into something more, but she had, thus far, stayed true, walking the straight and narrow.
I suspected she would change one day, and when she did, I’d be ready for her.
I hated hunting angels of death. They preyed on the old and weak, doing what they believed was right in the worst ways.
In reality, if I wanted to find a serial killer in Rapid City, I’d observe the nursing homes first. From there, I’d search through missing persons databases until I found a trend. If I got lucky, the trend would lead to the same killer, and I’d find the link that chained the victims together.
When I found victims through those databases, I inevitably found their bodies, often dumped together as gruesome trophies for their killer’s satisfaction. My search for justice would one day get me caught and killed, but I would keep hunting the hunters until there was no one left for me to hunt.
There was no other place for me, no other purpose.
As I had from the first time I’d murdered a man, I knew the truth. I was unfit for my mother’s crown and my father’s favor, although neither realized it yet. One day, t
hey would.
Until that day came, I would do what I did best.
If I kept woolgathering, I’d depress myself with my inevitable execution, so after taking a few more minutes isolating the safer neighborhoods in Rapid City, I moved on to step two of my plan to convince my father and my future lycanthrope I was as normal as possible for the daughter of a mermaid and a gorgon.
To screw with my father, I searched for work handling reptiles, particularly snakes, and was unsurprised when I found no openings in the city. To screw with my father’s bodyguard, I looked into businesses with late hours skirting the industrial quarter, including overnight warehouses needing stock managers and grunt labor.
To make myself happy, I also looked for better opportunities in the business sector. If my mother saddled me with Madagascar, I’d use my work experience to help smooth the way. I also made a point of beginning my research on the island nation to learn what languages I’d need to speak.
The citizens of conquered island nations appreciated when their new rulers could speak their language. To my delight, I discovered the educated populace spoke French, which would make things easier on me. While rusty, I already knew the basics. Malagasy would challenge me, unless I kidnapped a few natives and forced them to teach me their language.
I definitely wouldn’t mention such a scheme to my mother, as she’d have a handful of candidates on the next plane off island—at gunpoint if necessary.
Not only would I have to manage a nation, I’d have to keep my parents from terrorizing the locals.
A princess’s work was never done, and thanks to the day I’d gone to kill Matthew Henders, my lot in life was even worse than usual. Oh, well.
I’d figure something out. I always did, one way or another.
8
The problem with searching for a new job after having worked as a mail courier for so long involved my resume. Firms wanting a secretary had no interest in grunt labor, and in a rare show of obedience, I avoided delivery jobs. I had the skills needed to do the job; my mother had made me manage resorts for months before permitting me to delegate to one of her minions.
My mother had the best minions, and if I ever decided to rule, I wanted to be just like her if I grew up. Unfortunately for her, I doubted I ever would.
She was a lion disguised as a fish, strong, fierce, and lethal. Compared to her, I was a flying fish, determined to jump from the waves and soar without getting anywhere in a hurry. I packed a punch in the lethality department, and I liked being a serpent, but sometimes, I wish I’d sided with one of my parents, for better or worse.
The safest way to be a freak was to ensure no one believed I was a freak at all, and I did that well.
It just meant I had to work with limited options. Drumming my fingers on the monstrosity of an oak desk my father insisted was mine to use as I pleased, I browsed for work. I’d thought becoming a secretary would be easy. People always talked about how secretaries were a dime a dozen, always in demand, and the grunt workers of the business world.
Someone had lied to me—a lot of someones had lied to me.
I suspected the sooner I accepted life made no sense, the happier I’d be. Abandoning my budding career as a paper shuffler, I delved into the dark, murky world of number crunchers. I could pull from my resort experience for my resume for an accountant job; I’d filled every damned position possible at my resort for at least three weeks each, from cleaning toilets to bossing everyone around.
Under no circumstances would I become a maid. People could be downright nasty sometimes, and after discovering humans would leave their soiled underwear in the bathroom for resort employees to find, I’d sworn I’d never work in a janitorial position again.
I frowned. Could my resort work help me land a secretarial job if I targeted companies with interests in hotel management? It beat sneaking around under my father’s nose to work a delivery circuit again—or retail.
Working in the resort had cured me of my desire to ever work in retail. Given a week, I’d be at high risk of becoming a mass-murdering psycho. By the time the holiday season rolled around, I’d lead the ranks of serial killers vying for the top spot of most victims killed in the shortest period of time.
No, under no circumstances, could I ever allow myself to work in retail full-time. I’d make one exception: if I needed to work retail to hunt a serial killer, I’d do it, and I’d take out my frustration on my victim.
Ten applications later, and I considered changing my mind about ruling Madagascar.
Humans, especially Americans, overcomplicated things and enjoyed forms way too much.
A throat cleared behind me, and I recognized my father’s voice. Scowling, I leaned back in the leather chair he insisted I use. “Yes, Mr. Shiny Shoes?”
“I’ve been informed if I leave you unattended for several consecutive hours, you’ll find some way to vex me and get into trouble. Is this accurate?”
“Does my mother love or hate me? It’s a great mystery of the world. If you must know, I was submitting job applications. I haven’t had enough time to get into any trouble yet.”
“It’s dinner time, and as payback for so many years of sending me pictures, there’s a seafood feast to be served in twenty minutes.”
If my father learned how many points he earned with me toying with my mother, he’d never let me live it down. “Please tell me there’s lobster.”
“As I’m not an entirely cruel being, there’s even steak to go with the lobster.”
“Are the steaks those tiny round ones wrapped in bacon?”
“As I’ve wisely noted your fixation with all things bacon, I’m pleased to inform you the steaks are round and have been wrapped in bacon for your enjoyment.”
“Is this what parental pampering is like?”
My father laughed. “I’m not above culinary bribery to earn good favor with the women of the household—and I’m also not above using it as a tacky revenge tactic. Tonight, I get to hit two birds with one stone.”
At long last, I had life figured out. I was my father’s daughter. “She’s going to kill you, and I’m going to enjoy watching the show.”
“I procured a lion fish, have set his aquarium up in the dining hall, and intend on asking if we were going to eat one of her cousins for dessert.”
I had no idea what my mother had done to annoy my father, but I admired the viciousness of his first assault on her delicate sensibilities. “When you die, I’d like to inherit your bodyguard.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Tulip.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it doesn’t.”
“Well, that’s pretty shitty of you, setting yourself up to be killed by my mother without gifting your bodyguard to me. You’re not going to need him anymore.”
“Is there a legitimate reason you’re fixated on my bodyguard?” my father muttered.
“Yes. One, he’s American. Two, he’s a gorgeous American. Three, he makes excellent bacon. Four, he might have a sense of humor. I need to do some tests to confirm my suspicions, but I’m feeling confident he possesses a sense of humor. Five, he hates me, which makes it even more entertaining.”
“There will be rules of conduct. Under no circumstances will you assault my bodyguard.”
“Physically, sexually, or verbally?”
“No assault.”
I scowled and spun in my chair to discover the bodyguard in question was with my father, and he didn’t look happy at all. Beaming, I waved at him. “Hi, Justin!”
“Are you sure you can’t give her back to the mer, sir?” Justin whispered, so softly I believed he thought I couldn’t hear him. I played along, widening my eyes, and portraying innocence.
“No assault,” my father repeated.
“Very well. I won’t assault your bodyguard without his permission.”
“He won’t be giving you his permission.”
“Well, that’s disappointing.” I sighed and made a show of shrugging, holding
my hands up in surrender. “He’ll be pleased to learn I’m capable of driving myself to and from work. Despite my tendency to attract mail bombs, I’m a good driver. No accidents, and no tickets. Are warehouse-to-warehouse lines banned?”
“All forms of delivery are banned, from pizza to transport driving,” my father replied.
“I could get a flight license and—”
“Absolutely not.”
“When I was young, my grandparents left me unsupervised. Are you the overprotective father type who’ll go to war over his precious little daughter’s plight?”
“Yes.”
Oh boy. “Then why are you so set against me taking your bodyguard?”
“He’s mine. You’ll just have to get your own.”
“Pass.”
My father sighed, bowing his head. “I’m beginning to think your mother was doing me a kindness taunting me with your pictures all of these years. Reality is a cruel mistress.”
“You only have yourself to blame. First, you wrote your contract with my mother in such a way she could do whatever she wanted with me. Second, you contributed half of my DNA, so by the standard laws of genetics, half of my problems are your fault. Third, you could have imposed and taken advantage of my rather wild upbringing and adulthood to visit sooner. In case you’re unaware, I’m well over the age of eighteen. Technically, there was nothing preventing you from imposing.”
“It seems you’re correct. I misspoke earlier. I helped breed the devil, not just a devil.”
I smiled. “My mother really will kill you for the fish stunt, but if you have eel, she might forgive you, assuming you set the plate in front of you before she goes for your throat. Also, she loves shark. If you so much as give the lion fish a dirty look, I’ll be picking out bits of my father out of my hair for years to come. Do try to survive the evening. I’ve been told fathers are difficult to replace, and my delicate, princess sensibilities haven’t been utterly offended by your presence yet.”
While Justin looked pained, my father laughed. “You’re something else, Tulip. Put away your work and come to dinner. I’d appreciate you witnessing my demise at your mother’s hands, so when your grandparents come calling and discover I have been murdered for my poor taste, someone can notify them of the truth. Justin runs away whenever they show up.”
Sirens and Scales Page 37
