Nightsoul

by McKenzie Hunter

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ll be at your apartment in an hour. I have a job for you.”

  Nope. So many nopes. I had an office for that. Too many people knew where I lived, making renting my little rundown office nearly unnecessary. But I had eight more months on the lease and I was going to use it.

  “I’ll meet you at the office tomorrow at ten.”

  “Ten.” He scoffed. I knew he was giving the phone the look of disdain meant for me. Landon was dramatic, born from the same thing that drove Victoria: self-indulgence, privilege, and an overly heightened sense of self-importance. I considered it a societal obligation to squash it every chance I had. No, the world doesn’t revolve around you. If I thought it was important, I’d have met him.

  “I’m going out tonight. I’ll hardly be up in time to meet you.”

  “Then you have to make a hard choice. Stay in and meet me at ten or go out and miss our appointment. If you do, you’re still responsible for my consultation fee.”

  “I’ll triple the fee if you meet me tonight.” It was so tempting, but sometimes I had to set expectations. Principles came at a price or, rather, a loss of revenue.

  “Is twelve better?”

  Sighing heavily, he sounded petulant. “Better but still not what I want.”

  I’m sure that hurt your feelings. You couldn’t buy the results you wanted.

  “I’d like to get this started tonight,” he pushed.

  “Is someone going to die?”

  “Eventually.”

  His voice was hard with repressed anger directed at whomever the call was about. Vampires preferred to dole out their own form of punishment, which was often violent, macabre, and with medieval elements. The STF watched them closely for that reason. The vampires enjoyed not having to live in the shadows. Most supernaturals did, so there was an unspoken and tenuous truce between us all. Humans had the numbers and access to weaponry and a military, but they also had human vulnerabilities. Supernaturals had magical abilities and resilience but were lacking in numbers.

  If there were a war between the two, it would be a Pyrrhic victory. We all enjoyed and benefitted from the truce and, in theory, we policed our own, or rather the STF did, and it was that careful eye and threat of repercussions that ensured the vampires played nice. Or at least made sure no one ever found out if they didn’t. Before, they liked to use people as a cautionary tale of what happens when you cross them. The stories lived on in journals and history books but not in current events. At least, not in a way that could be traced back to them.

  “Tomorrow at twelve and I’m not cleaning up a vampire situation, Landon,” I said firmly. “Are we clear?”

  “Meet me tonight, and I can assure you that you won’t have to.”

  At times like this, I felt like my business world was like one of those spinning plate performances and I was darting about attempting to keep them all rotating. If Landon was in fact considering handling the situation, then depending on what it was, the Supernatural Task Force might have a situation that would indirectly and possibly directly affect Madison. If I didn’t set boundaries with the vampires, Landon would spend most of the time during this job ignoring the drawn lines as if they weren’t there.

  “Twelve. If someone dies, I won’t be working for you but for the STF to bring your ass in. Are we clear?”

  “Of course, Erin.” Hints of dark delight tinted his words. “Good night, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  No, you’ll see me tonight, I thought, getting out of bed. At least it was on my terms, and anyway, there was nothing wrong with a little unpredictability. Especially when dealing with vampires.

  Quickly showering and dressing, I pulled my hair back into a sleek ponytail, taking more care than usual. It made my sharp features look more severe, which, when dealing with vampires, wasn’t a bad thing. Nor was putting on my least favorite color and outfit. Black leather pants, eggplant tank, and leather jacket. I hoped that at the end of the day, I would regret wearing my leather. It would mean no one tried to drag me. Except for my recent stab wound, dragging injuries are the worst. It only happened once and I still vividly remember the ground ripping against my skin. Sharp needle pricks the entire time.

  Despite hating wearing my leather jacket and pants, I got the chance to wear my favorite boots. Soft supple leather, with two slits where push daggers could fit. The reinforced toes ensured that if I kicked someone, they would definitely feel it.

  Getting dressed to meet clients was a bigger hassle than actually meeting them. Vampires in particular. They were a finicky group and a little too judgmental for individuals who drank blood to survive.

  I had a healthy glow to my olive-colored skin, so a few strokes of mascara and light blush and I didn’t look like I’d just rolled out of bed. Nor did I look nearly as embittered as I felt about Landon’s call. I would be fine meeting them in worn leggings, an oversized stretched t-shirt, slip-on shoes, a messy bun, no makeup, and a crabby disposition, but they wouldn’t take me nearly as seriously, even if I were carrying a flamethrower. I tried it once, but instead of a flamethrower, I had a broadsword. And they couldn’t pull their attention from my attire to care about my slice-and-dice weapon.

  A person holding a weapon that could take their head off was less offensive than my unkempt clothing.

  I headed to my car with a goodie bag of weapons and gadgets, hoping I wasn’t going to have to use them against Landon to prevent whatever massacre he was planning. The hushed darkness was unsettling, making me recall Ian swooping in and snatching me up. Getting stabbed. The feeling of helplessness. Giving the area another quick sweep, I pulled my weapons bag closer to me and clutched the karambit tighter.

  Once in my car, I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t have to worry about Ian anymore. It was my mother I’d eventually encounter. No one said she had wings. But could she Wynd in? Part of me regretted sending Asher’s sentries away. Grabbing my phone and taking a calming breath, I called Landon.

  “I’ll be at your house in twenty.”

  “Twenty? Oh my, time has passed faster than I thought, if it’s twelve already,” he teased.

  “I’m protecting you from yourself.”

  “I can’t think of better protection,” he said. Pressing my ear closer to the phone, I heard a low mewling sound, hissing, and a deep moan. I had no idea what he was doing but I wanted to get off the phone.

  “Is that okay?”

  “Of course. I’m in the middle of dinner, but I should be finished by the time you get here.”

  You better be finished by the time I get there. Because it didn’t sound like he was just feeding from someone. And why did he have his phone with him?

  CHAPTER 6

  The sharp lines and defined geometric shapes of Landon’s stark white home personified the ostentatiousness and eccentricities of a vampire who used priceless and rare magical objects, artifacts, and artwork as knickknacks and ornamentation. Landon’s home defied preconceived notions people might have about a century-old vampire who was a mélange of dangerous seductiveness, brazen selectiveness, and disturbing otherworldly anachronisms, all of which made him an unpredictable and difficult client.

  I was used to seeing him in crisp tailored shirts and his preferred Italian suits with bold patterned ties and his hair meticulously neat and coiffed to perfection. Now, his shirt jacket was missing and his shirt was opened by three buttons, giving me a peek at his chest. Disheveled hair and red-tinted lips made him nearly unrecognizable.

  “Erin,” he whispered in an airy voice, baring more of his red-tinted fangs. It was oddly comforting. He’d fed, which meant he wouldn’t be coveting my neck the entire visit.

  “Are you finished with dinner?” I looked past him at his guest, who’d decided it was a good idea to carry her dress rather than putting it on to traipse through his home in the direction of the kitchen.

  Moving aside, he directed me past him into the den. He didn’t follow but instead disappeared
into another room, returning with his hair neat and his shirt buttoned. Landon’s lips were still ruby-colored and his eyes heavy-lidded and euphoric. I wasn’t sure if it was from feeding or sex. Vampires tended to prefer to indulge in both simultaneously, so it was probably a Pavlov dog situation where either act invoked the same reaction.

  Languid and relaxed, he eased into one of his highbacked chairs that resembled a throne. It was new.

  Erin, don’t roll your eyes.

  I rolled them so hard I thought I was going to give myself a headache.

  Well, at least don’t comment.

  “Nice chair.”

  Dammit.

  Running his hands along the ornate patterns in the wood and settling back into the plush-looking leather, he said, “It is, isn’t it? I thought it would be ostentatious but it has a certain panache that is quite fitting.”

  “Definitely, it’s very fitting.” It looked like a self-indulgent vamp should be sitting in it.

  His eyes narrowed and roved over me, taking in my attire, lingering on my neck, then slowly moving past my lips until his gaze met mine.

  “Why don’t we hang out more?” he inquired earnestly.

  “Because you host poker games where you bet priceless objects and ancient artifacts. You drink brandy that costs my consultation fee plus some jobs,” I pointed out. “I drink cheap tequila, vodka, and wine.”

  “That’s by choice, not by necessity.” He flashed me a smug grin. Head tilted, he studied me for a few moments. “Yet you had no problem with Grayson. We run in the same circles and share similar interests and have common predilections. How are we different?”

  Adrenaline-ridden job, liquor—lots of it—attempting to stave off magic cravings, relentless flirting, and lust. That’s how I ended up with Grayson. But our shared history didn’t stop me from apprehending him and turning him over to the Supernatural Task Force when he stole a dangerous magical object and put Madison’s job and reputation at risk. But instead of saying any of that, I simply redirected him.

  “What’s the job, Landon?”

  “I think I’m going to kill the Lunar Marked coven,” he said, far too casually for someone admitting to premeditated mass murder. Landon regarded me with slightly pursed lips and narrowed eyes, I assumed trying to gauge my stance on it. My reputation had definitely put me on the gray side of things, perceived as morally ambiguous with capricious behavior. Clients liked to determine where my ill-defined lines lay. How far they could push the envelope before I either declined the job or established my boundaries.

  “Hmm,” I mused. “And you want me here to call STF and have them arrest you once you do?”

  “No, I want you to help me do it and get away with it. I don’t want any of my vampires to suffer because of a fleeting moment of anger.”

  Landon’s calm, measured tone was the reason I found vampires so dangerous. I was sure he was quite angry, killing angry. And a person wouldn’t know until the second before their neck was broken or their throat ripped out. Sometimes it was like dealing with a temperamental toddler. The fact they were calmer, or pretended to be, showed that the behavior could be controlled, but they were unwilling to do so unless there were consequences.

  “No, I’m not going to do that.”

  With a dramatic flick of his wrist, he tossed the idea aside. “Very well. I’m being blackmailed by them and I’d like you to make it go away.”

  “How do you want me to do that?” I inquired, needing clarification and an explanation for him outsourcing something that seemed quite simple.

  “I have to pay them, of course. But I’d like to negotiate it down and they are reluctant to meet with me or another vampire. I need an intermediary.”

  “Did you tell them of your gallant plans to slaughter them? I bet you did. People don’t like to meet you after you’ve told them you plan to murder them. You know, that whole self-preservation thing kicks in. Damn that stupid fight or flight system.” I flashed him a mild smile in response to his glare. “Ingratiating goes a long way. So does flattery. You should try that sometime.”

  I was making an attempt to ease the thick tension in the room. The smartest thing the Lunar Marked coven did was require an intermediary. The coven was new; I didn’t know a lot about them. Covens, because of their size, were numerous, and it wasn’t uncommon for a witch to leave one to start their own. It was rarely contentious, but severing their relationship meant they were starting from scratch with few resources.

  Apparently this was how the new coven decided to fund theirs: blackmailing the vampires. It was a bold plan albeit not the safest. Strangely, I was enthusiastic about meeting this ballsy new coven.

  A shadowy cast moved over Landon’s face and darkened his eyes, along with a very subtle look of murderous intent. Jutting his chin out, he said, “I made my displeasure with the circumstances known and the lengths I’m willing to go to rectify the situation.”

  In plainspeak: You did. Jackass.

  “They have Amber Crocus and would like me to pay to have it.”

  “How did they get it?”

  “That’s something I’d like you to find out as well. It’s my understanding that not even places like Dante’s Forest have it. Growing it is difficult and they’ve managed to nurture a whole garden of it. You can imagine how concerning it is for me to know there’s a garden of plants that can kill me.”

  Landon always did have a flair for the dramatic. It wasn’t like a vampire could brush the plant on their skin and it would kill them. It had to be ingested or injected. But if it was, they’d respond as if they’d been staked in the heart, except that if the stake is removed and they are fed, they can survive. My research revealed it’s not the same with Amber Crocus.

  “This is what they are asking,” he said, handing me a piece of paper.

  Damn, that’s a lot of zeros.

  I understood his frustration, even his anger. It wasn’t enough to send me into a murderous rage, but I think I might have slapped them with a glove for the ludicrous offense, and questioned their audacity.

  Seeing that he looked more irritated at the gall and not the lack of funds made me question how much money the vampires had. People said the reason for their wealth was their long lives. That never made sense to me. Some came from money, invested well, and the vampires, like the shifters, had multiple businesses but rarely worked among humans. I suspected a great deal of their fortune came from a time when they were able to compel people legally. How many times had they compelled a person into inside trading, to give them permits, sell them thriving businesses, leave their inheritance to them?

  “Are you willing to pay this?” I asked.

  “No, I don’t want to pay any of it. What I want is to make them rethink it.” He gave me a “tell me how to get rid of them without it being traced back to me” look.

  “I’m sure this is just starting negotiations. Offer them half,” I suggested. The Lunar Marked coven wasn’t very large and if they divided the money equally, they could still live off it for a very long time.

  “You’re more generous than I am. I’m willing to give them twenty-five percent of what they are requesting, along with all coven members taking a death oath that they will never grow Amber Crocus again, nor show anyone else how to grow it, and that they will inform me of anyone having the Amber Crocus or attempting to grow it. I don’t want this to open the door to others.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  Cory wouldn’t like it, but he’d perform the oath. No one liked doing them. Magical oaths required a great deal of magic, not technically dark magic but so close to it that calling it white or natural was incorrect. Opaque? Wording the spell is what took the longest because once it was cast, it was binding, and unbinding it was quite difficult. When there is a penalty of death, wording is everything.

  “I doubt they’ll agree. They’re witches, they understand the magnitude of it.”

  A death oath was one of the few spells that endured past the life o
f the casting witch. It was a good thing, too, because the casting witch’s life would be at risk from anyone who wished to break the oath.

  “That’s the only thing that I’m willing to agree to,” Landon said firmly.

  The creases of agitation had smoothed out and he’d returned to the image of refined beauty, indulgence, and ostentatious wealth. Effortless aloofness and ease that accompanied having all the time in the world to do something. Unhurried by limited time or resources.

  “Tell me your parameters,” I said.

  “I’ve told you,” he said breezily. “Perhaps you should start the negotiations by asking them to put a value on their lives.”

  “I’m not going to threaten them.”

  “It’s not intended to be a threat. This matter will be handled, hopefully with no blood on my hands. That’s clearly a statement of fact, not a threat.”

  It was odd, but I would have preferred it if he showed more emotion and was vocal with his anger. Bluster, a torrent of fury, melodramatic spewing of threats, and vivid descriptions of the pain and havoc that he planned to cause were rooted in emotions, and once the person calmed down, they rethought things and chose a rational path.

  When people were as calm and matter of fact as Landon, I grew concerned. His thinking wasn’t coming from a place of anger but from calculated planning.

  Taking another look at the number on the paper, I forced my face to stay neutral and kept my frown and groan to myself.

  Did the coven have any businesses?

  Their ploy reeked of desperation and wish fulfillment. But maybe it wasn’t; maybe it was a well thought out endeavor. If you were going to blackmail anyone and didn’t mind living dangerously, vampires were the best people to blackmail.

  “You have to give me room for negotiation.”

  Anger flashed over his face and in his eyes. “They didn’t even have the integrity and decency to come to me. I was made aware of it and sought them out.”

  This was getting worse. “How did you find out?”