Kiss at Your Own Risk

by Stephanie Rowe

  Her friend glanced over. “Yeah?”

  Reina’s eyes were gold with black pearlized rims, as they always were when Reina was present at a death. So not a good sign right now! Trinity whirled around to look more closely at Martin. This time, she saw the bleak gray tinge coating his skin, creeping up his arms toward his face. The death mites were already bringing out the champagne. Martin was dead.

  Her dad had become a murderer to save her soul.

  Stunned, she gripped the edge of an overturned chair to keep herself upright. Could she be any more of a failure? Almost thirty years old, and so weak she couldn’t even handle her own issues without her dad turning into an assassin to protect her from herself?

  She’d wanted to kill Martin. There had been no hesitation. She could still feel the anticipatory rush of taking his life. All her meditation, all her belief in herself… nothing but delusions.

  Despite all her efforts, she would have killed Martin. No one could have stopped her, and in her depraved state, she’d loved that feeling of power. She’d thought it was fantastic to shove the two people she loved most against that table.

  Yeah, the motivational speaker she’d listened to on her iPhone this morning had been all into appreciating yourself as step one in overcoming addictions, but who in God’s name could be feeling the self-love right now? Hi, I’m a murderer, and I think it’s the coolest thing ever that I can’t stop myself from killing people I love. Group hug, everyone?

  Numbly, she watched Martin’s date kneel beside him.

  “I’m so sorry, Martin,” Trinity whispered. She hadn’t gotten better. She’d gotten worse.

  She forced herself to watch as his date leaned close. Made herself listen to the words of anguish. As if maybe, just maybe, something in the woman’s grief would touch a chord inside Trinity and awaken the humanity she was beginning to doubt existed within her.

  “Martin, my love.” His date laid her hand on his shoulder and lowered her mouth to his ear. “This serves you right, you cheating bastard. I hope the fires of hell feel good on your lying ass.”

  Trinity blinked as his date slipped her hand into his lapel jacket, filched his wallet, then marched out of the room, not a tear in sight.

  Reina started laughing beside her. “Oh, man, you have such the knack for falling in love with winners. Did you see that? That’s a true quality relationship right there.”

  Trinity scowled at her. “It’s not funny. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m a freaking murderer.”

  “Yeah, but you have to admit, it’s a little humorous, you know, given the whole Barry the Serial Killer thing—”

  A lady in a black cocktail dress and a look-at-me-now diamond necklace pointed at Elijah who was still sprawled on the ground. “Someone call the police! That man murdered him!”

  The shouts of the onlookers sliced through Trinity’s damning self-assessment. She couldn’t let her dad pay the price of the death that should have been her responsibility. “Dad!” She jumped up and raced over to him. “Grab our stuff, Reina.”

  Reina held up Trinity’s purse. “Still have it from the last escape attempt. Efficiency is always handy when death and destruction are involved.”

  “Excellent.” Trinity hooked her dad under the arms and dragged him across the floor. Without the curse in its active state, she wasn’t much stronger than an average five foot four human female. “Wake up. You’re heavy as hell.” Damn his six and a half foot sugar-addicted hide. People were swarming now, shouting at her not to take him outside.

  “I’ve got him.” Reina tossed Trinity her purse and then hoisted him up on her shoulder. “Call your mom.”

  Reina had been around for Trinity’s last assassination five years ago, and she knew the drill. How pathetic was that? That her best friend knew the family’s process for covering up a murder and moving to a new location? They actually had a process, for God’s sake!

  But times like this, she was glad they did. Trinity fished her phone out of her purse and ran after Reina, who was clearing a path with strategically placed laser-like shots of death powder. People were sneezing and turning ashen with indeterminate fear as they stumbled back from the nightmare they couldn’t quite put their finger on.

  Her mom answered on the first ring. “Tell me he got there in time!”

  “We need a relocation. Now.”

  “Oh, Trinity!” Olivia sounded heartbroken. “You didn’t kill someone, did you?”

  “I didn’t. Dad did.”

  “Dad?” Her mom’s voice was incredulous. “How in the world did he manage that?”

  “Mom!”

  “Right, for later. Well, thank God it was your father who did the killing today. I’ll be there in three minutes. Find a patch of grass, and I’ll come get you. Bye, hon.” Trinity’s mom had an intimate relationship with Mother Nature, and using plants to travel was one of the more handy benefits. Unfortunately, Trinity hadn’t inherited it. Hadn’t inherited Olivia’s ability to refrain from murdering either. Oh-for-two.

  Reina tossed her an amused grin as they hurried down the hall past the screaming patrons. “Your family is too cool. I just love them.”

  Trinity grabbed Reina’s arm. “I won’t risk anyone anymore. Call your boss. Tell him we’re going to the cabin in Minnesota. No more deaths.”

  Reina let out a sigh of relief. “Good call, girlfriend. That’s the smartest choice. You’re doing the right thing.”

  “I know.” But it felt so awful. It was an admission that she was a failure, but she wouldn’t risk any more lives just so she could love herself. Today had been too close, and even if Martin was a lying, thieving bastard, it wasn’t her role to decide when he got his permanent tropical vacation. “Call him.”

  “As soon as I get your dad outside—”

  Elijah suddenly lifted his head and slid out of Reina’s grip. “I don’t need to be carried.” He landed without a whisper of sound on his feet, then stumbled.

  Trinity caught him as he tried to right himself, frowning at his weakness. “That was foolish for you to kill for me. You know how badly that affects you.” It would take him several years to heal even the small scratch on his forehead. Even accidentally stepping on a bug depleted him severely. Taking a person’s life? It would take him at least six months to be able to walk normally again. And his pottery… she shuddered. He’d be sculpting some seriously scary things for a while.

  Elijah laid his hand on her cheek. “Oh, Trinity, if you had any idea what your mother and I owe you. I’d kill a thousand times to keep you from doing it.”

  The heavy guilt in his tone made her stiffen. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, you owe me?” She was the one who owed them. Her parents had put their lives on hold to help her beat the curse. She owed them so much, and they were part of the reason she’d had to test herself.

  She had to be worthy of what they’d sacrificed for her.

  And apparently she wasn’t. And that felt really, really good. Not.

  Elijah glanced at Reina, as if debating whether to speak in front of her. “There’s something you should know about your curse.”

  Trinity stopped walking. “What else could there possibly be?” Things were even worse than she’d thought? Hallelujah. Just when she’d thought life was boring, nothing like a little unexpected bomb to juice things up. “What have you not told me?”

  Elijah winced. “When you were a baby—”

  The front door burst open and in walked a wizened man with cinnamon-colored skin. He was wearing faded jeans, a battered T-shirt, and an ancient fedora. His beard was ratty and gray against his dark complexion, and he was so hunched he could barely lift his head enough to make eye contact.

  And he smelled like overripe banana.

  Reina stopped. “Did you catch a whiff of that?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Trinity averted her gaze, praying for him to walk past them into the dining room in search of someone else.

  But he didn’t.

  He lo
oked right at Elijah, and then smiled.

  “This is really bad,” Reina whispered. “Welcome to hell.”

  ***

  On one level, it was kind of cool to meet a man whose trail of dead bodies numbered well into the seven figures. It was the first time Trinity had ever been around someone who made her feel somewhat angelic. And it felt good, so amazingly good, to have a brief “I’m okay” moment.

  But on a more immediate level, having this particular man come in search of you was not a good thing. Really. Even if he was coming for tea, crumpets, and a friendly warning. He wasn’t exactly known as a first-choice dining companion.

  More like your last choice, and your last one. Ever.

  He called himself Augustus.

  To the rest of the world, he was better known as, “Oh, shit, it’s Augustus.”

  He smiled.

  They all flinched.

  He doffed his tattered fedora and bowed low, showing a tear in the seat of his crusted jeans and an unsettling rash on the back of his head. “My name is Augustus.” His voice was the cultured refinement of a blueblood born with a plaid blazer, a penchant for fine cigars, and membership at the most exclusive of golf clubs. “So lovely to meet you.”

  Okay, so his voice made him even creepier. Shouldn’t he sound like a chain-smoking mafia underling who spent his days stalking the fish pier with a baseball bat and an attitude?

  Augustus returned his hat to his head, and then held out his hand. “Elijah Harpswell. It is time.”

  “What?” Before her brain had registered the insanity of her action, Trinity jumped in front of her dad. “You can’t have him!”

  Augustus blinked, as if startled that someone would stand up to him. “No?”

  Trinity noticed her dad was edging back toward the door. You go, Dad! “No.”

  “Very well. Please give me a moment.” Augustus flashed his brown teeth and pulled out an iPhone. He tapped the screen a couple of times, then nodded. “Ah, yes. Did or did not Elijah Harpswell snuff the life from an innocent human with a pair of dinner forks at approximately nine thirty-one tonight?”

  Trinity stared at him. “That’s why you’re here?”

  Augustus nodded. “It is.”

  Okay, that made no sense at all. Augustus was for serial killers, people who tortured fairies and gnomes, and for anyone stupid enough to try to kill a member of the Triumvirate (the ruling body of arrogant, over-sexed men and women who got to make up rules and ruin lives just because they happened to elect themselves to the board in charge of all things Otherworld). When Augustus came to pick someone up, it meant the trial had already occurred, the verdict was guilty, and the execution was less than a week away. No due process for Otherworld nasties who could take down the Triumvirate during an extensive trial process. “But you’re at the top of the assassin food chain. Why would you be sent to deal with the accidental death of one mortal?”

  August smiled again. “Thank you for the kind words. I always appreciate compliments. I take my work very seriously.” He cocked his head. “Not many people appreciate my skills, but you do, don’t you?”

  Oh, she was so not going there. “I’m sure there’s been a mistake. Elijah isn’t a danger to—”

  Augustus reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, pink star with barbed points.

  “Uh, oh.” She stepped back, and Elijah broke for the door.

  Reina leaned forward to peer at it. “Huh. That’s so much smaller than I thought it would be—”

  Augustus chucked the star at Elijah’s face.

  “Don’t catch it!” Trinity yelled.

  But it was too late. Her dad instinctively nabbed the star with his left hand to protect his face. He screamed immediately, and his hand disintegrated into pink dust.

  “Drop it!” Trinity leapt across the floor and tried to pry the star out of his hand… but his hand was already gone.

  His arm turned pink and then disintegrated into dust, and then the rosy assault raced up his shoulder. He looked aghast as he watched himself turn pink. “This really hurts,” he said. “I had no idea.”

  “Dad!” Trinity caught his upper body just as his legs went powdery.

  “Trin.” Elijah turned his head toward her as his torso began to fall apart. “I love you, and I will never regret my choice. Tell your mom I love her.”

  “You tell her yourself when you get out! We’ll come get you—”

  “No one gets out after they’ve been dusted.”

  Trinity’s heart dropped at the words she knew were true, and then her dad’s head turned pink. For a moment, the only things in the air were his eyes, staring at her, and then they poofed into a cloud of pink dust and were gone.

  “Oh, wow.” Reina brushed her hand through the air where Elijah’s head had been. “I’ve never seen that happen in real life before. That’s pretty creepy.”

  Augustus began to sweep up the pink dust strewn across the floor.

  Trinity fought back the urge to tackle Augustus and demand the return of her father. Getting dusted herself would not help her dad. “How can I get him back?”

  Augustus raised his brows. “No one comes back after I take them.”

  Trinity’s legs began to tremble. “Please, there has to be something I can do. We both know he didn’t do anything to warrant being pinked.”

  At that moment, Augustus’s phone broke out into the tune of “If You’re Going Through Hell.” He didn’t even bother to answer it. He simply handed it to Trinity. “For you.”

  “Me?” She grabbed the phone and eyed the pile of her dad while Augustus knelt down with his broom and dustpan. “Hello?”

  Reina pressed her ear up next to Trinity’s so she could listen.

  “Trinity Harpswell?” It was a deep male voice with an edge that sounded like fingernails being scraped over a blackboard.

  Reina winced, and goose bumps popped up over Trinity’s body. “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Press the blue icon, please. We have a deal for you.”

  Was he delusional? There was no way Trinity was going to get tangled up with anything having to do with Augustus or his phone. People died around him. Constantly. “No way—”

  Reina caught her arm. “Your dad is bubble gum right now,” she said. “What have you got to lose?”

  Augustus was sealing her father in a transparent bag. He nodded and tucked her dad in his pocket. “Have a lovely day, ladies.” Then he walked out the door with her dad in a Ziploc.

  Trinity pressed the blue icon.

  Chapter 5

  Blaine slammed the fourth bottle of Sam Adams Boston Lager down in the middle of his dining room table. “For Christian.”

  Nigel and Jarvis raised their beers. “For Christian.”

  Blaine took a long drink of the local brew, but it tasted like sand, and not the good kind. Which aggravated the hell out of him, because he loved that beer. Stolen moments with the boys and Sam A. had been some of the few good memories he had of the Den. And now that he was out? Too pissed off to even enjoy it. He tossed the bottle back onto the table next to Christian’s untouched beer.

  Once the mist had dumped his team in the middle of the Boston Common, they’d spent hours searching for the portal, but it was gone. Just tourists, too many damn Red Sox hats, and a bunch of ducks.

  It was as if the witch’s lair simply didn’t exist, which, of course, was her goal. They’d finally decided to regroup and figure out a plan that actually involved strategy and some likelihood of success, so they’d secured some new digs and holed up. Cash talked, even money stolen from a psychotic witch who had created the stuff out of the ashes of dead test subjects. Blood money took on a whole new meaning with Angelica.

  Blaine’s new place was a top floor condo with a view of the harbor, floor-to-ceiling windows, and an expansive deck. Granite counters, stainless steel appliances, everything the realtor had said was top-of-the-line.

  After a century and a half of deprivation, Blaine was going to settle fo
r nothing but the best, and Nigel and Jarvis had bought places in the same building.

  And it felt desolate without Christian there to share it.

  No one had said it, but they were all thinking it. There was no plan to make, no rescue to attempt. The tentacles were bad shit. Christian was dead.

  Blaine shoved his chair back. “I’m getting some more pizza.”

  He strode across the hardwood floor into the kitchen, but when he got there, he ignored the food. He fisted the back of a chair, leaned on it, and dropped his head. His fingers dug into the black metal, and he felt the material give beneath his grasp. “Fuck,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Christian.”

  “Blaine.” Angelica’s singsong voice danced through the kitchen.

  He spun around, flames exploding from him in violent aggression. Sparks singed the wall and the floors and the cabinets, but there was no witch to kill. There was nothing in the kitchen but what was supposed to be there.

  Jarvis and Nigel tore into the room, both of them fully armed. “Where is she?” Jarvis demanded.

  Blaine shook his head, turning slowly around. “She never leaves the Den.”

  “I heard her too.” Nigel’s blades were out and he was ready.

  “Oh, Blaine, dear.”

  He finally saw that the stainless steel fridge was sparkling. “There!” He hurled a fireball at the appliance and all he got was her amused chuckle.

  “My delightful Blaine, you should know by now you can’t hurt me.”

  Blaine swore and he let his flames subside to a simmer. Nigel and Jarvis had moved up behind him, facing the fridge. She was right. They’d tried hundreds of times to kill her, and they’d never so much as singed one of her artificially blond tresses. Escape had been the second choice.

  The cooling unit shimmered again, and Angelica’s smug visage appeared as a faint shadow in the metal. Blaine’s upper lip curled in disgust and he turned his back and walked out of the kitchen without another word. The overbearing girl-power freak had no control over him anymore.

  Nigel and Jarvis followed him, and they silently sat down at the table.