Phoenyx in Flames

by Daisy St. James

  She stared down into the liquid, almost as green as her eyes and frowned suspiciously. “What is it?” She demanded, sniffing at the contents of the antique glass.

  Morty chuckled at her naiveté. “Absinthe, my darling. The Green Fairy! Have some.”

  She shook her head and slowly slid the glass onto the desk, purposefully avoiding the leather coasters there. “No thanks.”

  “Right,” Morty spat. “Tell me why you’re here again?”

  Before she could open her mouth, Cortez held out an arm to stop her and proceeded himself. “The tip you gave me. It was a hit.”

  “Ah yes,” Morty chuckled. “Yes, it wasn’t a hit.”

  “Wasn’t a hit?” Phoenyx exploded. “I beg to differ.”

  He shook his head. “No, it wasn’t a hit.”

  Phoenyx’s brows knitted together before she inclined her head, urging him to continue. Morty took a long sip of his Absinthe. “The MC’s gone into business with a new vampire in town.”

  “Mr. Armani.” Phoenyx murmured absently before leaning back in the chair. “Tell me about him.”

  Shrugging, Morty took a seat opposite them on the edge of his desk, and crossed his legs. “His name is Lazarus Morelock and he is very old. An Ancient, in fact.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Phoenyx said, unimpressed. “Lazarus Morelock, hmm? What does he want with me?”

  “Nobody knows!” Morty laughed maniacally, swirling the Absinthe around in his glass. “All I know is that he wants to get his hands on you, but then again, what man wouldn’t?”

  Phoenyx’s blood was roaring in her ears. Lewd little bloodsucker. He’d probably beg to lick my used tampon and then brag about it to whomever would listen. Her fingers were itching to gouge out his beady little rodent eyes and use his head as a bowling ball.

  “Some meathead vamp, who looked like he swallowed a shit ton of steroids before he got turned, came looking for Phoenyx again tonight. Know anything about that?” Cortez bit out, bringing her out of her dark thoughts.

  Morty laughed, waving a nonchalant hand. “That’s something else entirely.”

  “Mind shedding some light on the matter?” Phoenyx hissed, gritting her teeth.

  “There was a contract taken out on you yesterday, but it wasn’t Lazarus.” Morty smiled, talking with his skinny, smooth hands. “No––that was someone else, but don’t ask me who because that I do not know.”

  “Right,” Phoenyx said smiling coldly. “Of course you don’t.”

  Standing abruptly, she motioned for Cortez to get up. Turning to exit the room, Morty’s panicked voice called their attention back. “Where are you going? Don’t you have something for me?”

  Phoenyx glanced over at him indifferently, pretending to be clueless. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

  “Well,” he laughed, his eyebrows reaching to kiss his hairline, “I helped you. There’s usually an exchange of goods or money with transactions like these.”

  Phoenyx bit her lip, eyes wide.

  Morty was becoming increasingly agitated, his fists opening and closing at his sides. “Where’s my payment?” He snapped.

  “Your payment?” She mocked. “I don’t have anything for you, Morty.”

  “I just spilled my guts to you!” He cried out, throwing the lovely antique glass he’d been drinking from against the wall.

  “Temper, temper,” she whispered as she approached him silently, deathly quiet, as a panther, until she was standing nearly nose-to-nose with him. His pale grey eyes were wide and terrified.

  She smirked. “How about this,” she interjected. “How about I don’t tell your very powerful sire, Spider, that you’ve been dishing out his private details to my Sand Demon on the regular, and we’ll call it square.”

  Morty’s Adams apple bobbed nervously as he tried to swallow down the piece of humble pie she’d just shoved down his throat. He laughed lightly. “That seems fair.”

  “Good,” she murmured, pulling the front of his black shirt down tightly over his skinny chest. “And one more thing––you ever dick me around like that again, and I will make you suffer before I kill you very, very slowly. Are we clear?”

  If Morty had still had his bodily functions, he would have pissed himself. He cleared his throat, jerking his head in an awkward nod, before moving to the safety of the other end of the room while Phoenyx and Cortez finally turned to leave.

  As they entered the main floor of the brothel once more, this time greeted by writhing, naked bodies, some blurred while they fucked at superhuman speed, others moving slowly, like honey, Phoenyx met Monroe’s violet eyes one last time. A deep swirling sensation found its way into the pit of her stomach, a sensation that she tried to quell unsuccessfully.

  Phoenyx immediately turned her thoughts to the greater issue at hand. They finally had a name––Lazarus Morelock, and a new threat to add to a long list of threats. Lazarus may not have wanted her dead, but she couldn’t imagine what he did want. There was a new, silent enemy to fear, because someone actually had put a hit on her, and there was somebody out there who did want her dead.

  At the door they’d come in, the doorman slipped Phoenyx a small scroll and practically pushed them outside. The moon shone down on them as she and Cortez walked quietly to the Hellcat. Phoenyx unfurled the scroll as she approached the driver’s side and stared down at the bold, black cursive writing.

  When you’re ready to talk, you know where to find me, beautiful.

  Signed simply, M, Phoenyx inhaled sharply, crumpling the paper up and tossing it in a puddle by the front tire.

  She knew who she was. She didn’t need some Succubus whore telling her things she already knew. Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the doors and slid into the driver’s seat. Cortez watched her soundlessly, not saying a word as she revved the engine and pulled out onto the street.

  To the untrained eye, there was only the darkness, but to Phoenyx––she could see beyond the veil of shadows to the teeth and the eyes of evil. It was everywhere, surrounding them, waiting to open its vile jaws and swallow anything weak-willed within its path.

  The only thing she could do now was take what they’d learned to Hutton and pray he knew more.

  ELEVEN

  The luxuriousness of Lazarus Morelock’s apartment did nothing to quell the boredom Lilith felt as she sat cross-legged before the six-foot fireplace in the living room. She quietly nursed a glass of champagne as she gazed into the flames of the hearth, a bearskin rug crushed between her white Louboutin’s and the marble floor.

  They’d been in Crystal Haven for little more than a month and that crass little bitch kept constantly evading them. If it hadn’t been her father’s wish to have Phoenyx brought to him alive, Lilith would have ripped open her throat herself, and laughed as she watched the blood spill from her body. Crystal Haven being a hub for the supernatural only spurred her urges forward.

  “Lily?”

  Lilith’s pupils dilated at the sound of her father’s voice. “Yes, Daddy?”

  Lazarus Morelock strolled into the grand living room smiling. He looked every bit the part of a dashing, wealthy businessman. A beautiful illusion for the monster that lay hidden beneath the expensive clothing and charming facade. He was as ugly on the inside as he was beautiful on the outside––just one of the reasons Lilith worshiped him as she did.

  “Darling,” Lazarus beamed, leaning over to kiss her cheek before strolling to the plush, white leather sofa opposite Lilith, and taking a seat. He stretched his arm casually over the back and leaned into the softness, his softly greying hair shimmering in the firelight. “You look positively radiant this evening.”

  Lilith smiled, or at least what could somewhat pass for a smile, and pinned Lazarus with her eyes. “Daddy, we need to talk.”

  “About what, my pet?” Lazarus murmured, staring into the roaring fire as he stroked the stubble of his beard.

  To the average human, Lazarus Morelock was a fit, middle-aged man, who’d gone prematurely grey.
His skin was that of a forty-year-old man’s, his body bulging with musculature, his youthful green eyes shining like emeralds, and a sexuality that melted women’s thighs. He looked every bit the part of a wealthy socialite, sharing a nightcap with his spoiled daughter. It would hardly cross anyone’s mind to even consider he was nearing two thousand years of age, but he was.

  Lilith pressed her red lips together thoughtfully, unsure of how to proceed with the thoughts that had been circulating through her head all day long. For the last one hundred years, she’d stood by her father’s side, loyally. Most people died for speaking out of line, but if anyone could get away with it, it was her.

  She smiled, the emotion never quite reaching her cold, blue eyes. “Daddy, it’s been nearly a month. She has made it evidently clear she will not go easily. Don’t you suppose it’s time to perhaps, reconsider bringing her in––alive?”

  Laughter boomed throughout the room, echoing off the marble walls as Lazarus threw back his head, the sound tapering off into a low, slow chuckle. When he’d finally finished, he smiled thoughtfully at his daughter, a hint of mischief behind it, and clasped his hands to his chest. The look he gave her was all-knowing, chilling. “Lily, if we kill her, that would completely defeat the purpose, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I suppose,” Lilith began cautiously, aware that although she was his daughter, she was not immune to his wrath. “But I don’t understand what it is about her that’s so damn important. You’ve lived the last twenty-years without her, couldn’t you go another twenty-five without needing to know anything more than that she lived––a comely, ragged existence on this hellish plane?”

  Lazarus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and stared at his daughter hard. “She’s approaching The Nearing. It shouldn’t be much longer now, and once her true nature has taken over, it will make an approach from me much easier to accept.”

  “And what if her true nature isn’t what you want it to be?” Lilith snapped, turning her head around sharply to gaze back into the flames, her blond hair like spun gold in the firelight. “What if she goes––the other way?”

  Lazarus moved to sit beside Lilith, his movements so quick she’d almost missed it. His eyes were riveted intensely on the back of her head, yet she refused to look at him. The sigh he expelled was an icy blast on her skin. “She won’t go the other way, Lily. Grimshaw has been honing her––stupidly I might add, to be a murderer, since she was a young child. Had he raised her in the way of her mother, Rebecca, I might have done as you asked and moved on. However, there is a chance, and a very strong one at that, that her true nature will be exactly what I expect it to be. And once that happens, we will welcome her into the fold with arms wide open. Do you understand me?”

  “But, Daddy!”

  “Lily,” Lazarus roared, his usual calm façade twisting with anger. He instantly took a deep breath to calm himself, before continuing with words that made Lilith’s skin crawl. “She’s my daughter.”

  She hated the words. She hated how they left his lips so confidently, so softly. She hated that there was nothing she could do to change the past and make it not so.

  Daughter. It made her stomach turn.

  Lilith scoffed. “I am your daughter, Father, and already on your side.”

  “Yes, but Jane…”

  “Jane!” Lilith spat. “A common name for a common girl. You named me for your mother.”

  Lazarus brushed his knuckles across her cheek and smiled tenderly. “And you’ve lived up to it. You haven’t disappointed me––yet.”

  The threat was unmistakable, yet she couldn’t hide the resentment she felt. It was humiliating, but her father’s obsession with the child he’d never known sent her mind careening.

  “She’s not one of us, Father. She was raised by that imbecile, Grimshaw. She knows nothing of our kind. She doesn’t even know what she is, or what she’s capable of.”

  Lazarus stood and strode toward the fire. Thrusting his hands deeply into the pocket of his beige, front-pleated slacks, he stared hard into the licking flames. As an afterthought, he tossed a gaze over his shoulder, his eyes meeting Lilith’s before he bowed his head and sighed.

  “She was born of both good and evil. Her mother died when she was very young, unlike yours. Jane was never given the proper education of her history, so as to be able to choose her side. But as I said before, The Nearing is approaching for her, as it did for you. Jane’s true nature will take over then. We leave it to natural selection.”

  The reality of the situation hit Lilith like a ton of bricks. This wasn’t just about bringing someone new into the fold, strengthening their numbers. This wasn’t even about Jane, Phoenyx, whatever the hell her name was. This was something more sinister. Something I’d never even fathomed before.

  “You loved her,” Lilith whispered in awe.

  “Hmm?” Lazarus hummed absentmindedly, picking at an invisible speck on his vest. “Who? Rebecca?”

  “Yes,” Lilith hissed. “That half-brats mother. You loved her.”

  Lazarus fell silent for a long moment, a faraway look in his eyes before he turned and beamed at Lilith. “We need to prepare for her arrival. Those two troglodytes we hired to begin with, couldn’t capture her. Now we must depend on Spider and his filthy band of miscreants to bring her to me. Oh, how the other half live.”

  Rising elegantly from her perch, her long legs encased in wide-legged linen pants carried her gracefully to her father’s side, where she rested a cool palm lightly on his strong arm. “We don’t need her, Daddy. You and I can rule this spineless dimension together. Imagine the havoc we can unleash.”

  Patting Lilith’s hand gently with his own, he turned stern eyes on her. “I want Jane here, Lily. I want her to be a part of that. My word is final.”

  Wordlessly, he bent his head and kissed her lightly on the forehead before turning on his heel and leaving the room as quickly as he’d come.

  Volcanic anger began bubbling to the surface of her icy exterior, and before Lilith could stop herself, she’d crushed her champagne flute in the palm of her hand. Drops of blood pitter-pattered down onto her white designer shoes and smeared into the bearskin rug.

  A sister was the last thing she wanted, and if it was the very last thing she did, she would convince her father that this was an ill-conceived idea. Until she could successfully do that, she would have to come up with another way to take Jane out of the equation.

  She slipped her hand into the soft fabric of her pants pocket and pulled out her cell phone. Searching her contacts, she smiled wickedly when she spotted the name she was looking for. The phone was ringing before she’d even brought it to her ear.

  “Hello?”

  Lilith’s heart raced wildly. “Mr. Spider? This is Lilith Morelock––I have a proposal for you.”

  TWELVE

  Hutton sat watching the vampire sleep. Sleep? Yes, that’s what it seemed like. He was sleeping and dreaming. It was absolutely fascinating to watch, and at the same time, incredibly worrisome.

  Judas had fallen into a deep slumber after beheading the vampire assassin that had broken into the apartment earlier. It was interesting, watching how he had reacted to Jane being in danger. The bloodlust that had coursed through him was spellbinding. Nothing else was as important in that moment to the vampire, than to protect Jane, at all costs. It was as if he was tied to her somehow. As if him being there, at that moment, had been nothing short of divine intervention, but Hutton knew better.

  Bowing his head, he ran a thoughtful hand over his trimmed goatee and grimaced. He had a vague inkling of where Judas may have come from and who had put him in Phoenyx’s path. The thought made his stomach turn. If this all-powerful ancient vampire was who Hutton thought he was, their problems were only just beginning.

  Judas stirred on the bed, his eyes darting back and forth beneath his closed eyelids as they fought to open. Hutton was at war with a demon inside of himself.

  He stared down at the large,
angry tattoo on Judas’ chest. Was it truly his name, or was it a warning, that with a kiss on the cheek, he would turn on those closest to him? Was Judas truly a vampire suffering from some mysterious ailment, or a trojan horse, sent by those who wanted to take Jane from him––finally, after all these years?

  He must have been lost in his thoughts because when he finally snapped back to reality, he found Judas staring silently at him, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin. Hutton made note that it was no longer pink, and he cleared his throat lightly.

  “You’re awake.”

  “I’m awake,” Judas rasped, his voice hoarse and dry. There was no hint of an accent.

  Standing, Hutton wiped the palm of his hands on his slacks. “You must be hungry––er––thirsty.”

  The feeling of Judas’ eyes following his every movement made Hutton feel very uneasy. He cursed himself for allowing Jane to bring this monster into her home, no matter how docile he seemed. A vampire would always be a vampire. It was true, there were some non-practicing vampires, like Kassandra who refused to kill to live, but they were few and far between. The danger of Judas being here was immeasurable.

  Slowly, he made his way to the refrigerator and pulled out a bag of blood that Kassandra brought over earlier, before leaving again to get back to the club. He felt the weight of the sack in his hands and sighed. The strange way that death could give life and life could sustain death amazed him. If there was a God, he was a cruel comedian of fate and circumstance.

  He walked quickly over to the bed and cut open the bag for Judas, before lifting it to the vampire’s lips.

  “Maybe you can unchain one of my hands?” Judas asked quietly, those unnerving eyes still watching him.

  Hutton chuckled unapologetically. “I’ll take my chances feeding you myself, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Judas nodded, lowering his eyes quickly and wrapping his lips gingerly around the edge of the thick, plastic bag. His eyes rolled back in pleasure and he began to suck back the life-giving liquid. It only took a minute or so for him to empty the bag before he gasped. “More.”