by Martha Carr
A smirk appeared on Peyton’s face. Shay resisted the urge to throw something at him.
“You got something to say?”
“It’s just interesting. You have limits. Your own version of ethics.”
“Did you really think I was a soulless bitch?” The smile was gone from her face. Her need to protect was still close at hand.
“Not entirely... I mean one minute you’re threatening to blow a hole through my forehead, and the next you’re worried about people not trusting your word.”
“You gave me good reason and business is business.” Shay could feel her armor coming back over her. This was going to take time. “Just because I used to kill people for a living doesn’t mean I have no code, no standards.
“And we’re back at awkward. Truth is we don’t know each other very well. Not yet, but we may, given time.” Peyton risked a smile, hoping to break the tension.
Shay picked up the owl, letting the moment pass. Don’t push it. “We’ll get that delivered to the client’s contact later tonight.”
“You locked this one down quickly. I’m waiting till after delivery to put the word out. When I do, it’ll be really good for our reputation. It shows you’re not afraid of a few curses or dead bodies. List it under specialties.”
Shay cradled the owl to her chest, impressed with its heft. “I can’t tell if that’s really a thing on the site.”
“It is if you know how to post it. What are you going to do when you actually end up cursed on a job? The more high-end stuff you hit, the greater the risk of that sort of thing.”
“Hey, I’ve been shot, stabbed, nearly blown up, strangled, and a lot of other shit in my life.”
“Drowned… Just helping.”
“That Witch almost impaled me with an ice spear. Curses are just another kind of injury, but you’ve got a point, so I’ve got a job for you. Time to build out our roster of contacts.”
“What do we need?”
“Start sniffing around to find a few decent magical contacts that we can turn into regular consultants. People who are reliable but willing to not ask too many questions or probe too deeply. Include someone who could help me out of a jam if I do end up with some weird magical injury. I’m not looking for a field Witch or anything, just someone I can go to on occasion and drop some money in exchange for services.”
Peyton pulled out his phone and typed a note to himself. “Consider it done.”
“I’m going to go park the owl in Warehouse Five… Don’t ask, I’m not helping you find it or what’s stored there and I already figured out your tracking goo and neutralized it.”
“I feel like I’m your Kato. I’m only making you better.”
Shay lowered her chin and gave him a menacing look. “Jump me when I walk in the door and I will be looking for a new associate. I’ll be back in two hours.”
Peyton smiled triumphantly, jumping onto the couch. “You just gave me useful information. I know it’s about an hour to Warehouse Five.”
“It could be a ten-minute drive that I’m making into an hour, so I can run an errand.”
Peyton muttered something under his breath. “Can we at least get stuffed crust pizza tonight?”
“All this time with me, and you’re still not a proper pizza connoisseur?” Shay made a pained face. “I’ll compromise. We’ll hit a place that makes both thin crust and stuffed crust. But I reserve the right to mock you the entire dinner for being a damned philistine.”
“Not like you don’t do that anyway.” Peyton’s voice grew distant.
“Oh, don’t get all your panties in a twist over pizza. I get it, you weren’t raised in a proper pizza-respecting family.”
Peyton stepped off the couch and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open. “I know, old school. I have a photo in my wallet.” He showed the black and white of his mother and father and three young children gathered around a table. “That’s us a million years ago. We were never happy for very long. It was more like moments, but this was one of them. Eating pizza… who knew?”
He flipped the wallet closed and put it back in his pocket, pursing his lips. “I miss their murderous little hearts.”
“That’s gonna have to be something you learn to live with, Peyton. People like us… we all have places that don’t heal entirely. We just get used to the occasional stab of pain and keep going. Be ready when I get back. I don’t like waiting.” And I don’t like talking about feelings. Shay shook out her hands. May have to go punch something after all.
“Already picked up on that,” he said, loudly. Shay was already sliding into the Spider, opening the roll door, even as she secured the owl in a locked compartment she had specially made into the car.
MILF my ass. More like having an annoying little brother.
The pizza didn’t disappoint, and the conversation stuck to the safe topics, but fatigue eventually came over Shay. She dropped Peyton back to his cubicle apartment at Warehouse Two and headed back to her condo.
A quick shower relieved the tension in her muscles and she toweled off, put on a silk nightgown, and slipped underneath the heavy down comforter.
Her phone buzzed the moment she shut her eyes.
“Of course. The universe is not cruel or kind, but annoying and petty.”
Shay leaned over and picked up the phone. There was a text from Greg.
Please respond ASAP. Important opportunity that is time-sensitive.
Shay stared at the phone for a second. No rest for the wicked.
Shay texted back. What opportunity?
He finally wants to meet you.
She knew instantly who Greg meant and sat up on one elbow. Smite-Williams?
Yes.
Where? Is it secure?
I didn’t tell him about the diner, and I’ve only referred to you by your nickname. He suggested a place. There’s an Irish pub called the Leanan Sídhe. He says he wants to meet you there tomorrow night at 7:00.
He wants to meet in person?
He only hires people face-to-face. He’s made it clear that part is non-negotiable.
Shay blinked at her phone, surprised. High-level power players used layers of minions and lackeys between themselves and their hirelings. If Smite-Williams wanted to meet in person that suggested a mixture of paranoia, confidence, and old-fashioned arrogance.
Okay, Shay texted back. Tell him I’ll be there.
Should I come along?
No, she texted back. I don’t need a babysitter, but I’ll make sure you get a finder’s fee.
I’ll let him know right away. I’ll give you more details tomorrow.
Okay. Good night.
Shay put down her phone and pulled up the dark blue comforter. She lay still, wide awake half-expecting another text or phone call.
Peyton’s research backed up everything Greg had told her about Dr. Smite-Williams. He sat at the top of the magical artifacts game and had paid to retrieve some seriously impressive pieces. First red flag. He had a lot more money than the typical university professor and no visible source for it.
Second red flag. He didn’t exactly have a dark reputation. Would the man be happy with someone as ruthless as Shay? She didn’t work on a leash, even a long one.
She turned on her side and pulled the covers up under her chin. Where does all this shit go from here?
25
The next evening, Shay finished a workout at Warehouse One and showered and dressed in narrow black pants and a pale cream-colored silk shirt. She draped a long gold necklace around her neck and looked in a mirror as she put on a deep red lipstick.
She grabbed her keys and headed out the door forty-five minutes early, giving herself the usual cushion of time to take a circuitous route.
Driving a direct route to meet a contact from her warehouse was a good way to die young. One mistake could result in anything from a strike team to a drone bomb. The cautious tomb raider could become an older tomb raider.
The pub where she was meeting Smite-William
s lay surprisingly close to Warehouse One, only fifteen minutes taking a typical route.
Shay did a quick mirror check looking for tails or suspicious drones as she turned a corner, one hand pulling on the wheel.
Is there such as thing as being too paranoid in a world as crazy as this one? Not since magic returned.
She let out a quiet chuckle. Changing careers from professional killer to tomb raider wasn’t earning her fewer enemies. Her own caution developed over a lifetime of violence still served her well.
Even before her first tomb raid, she understood how dangerous her new job would be, but it still struck her as ironic that she was routinely killing more people than she did when she was accepting contracts.
Death never brought her pleasure. It was a necessary part of business, and business was good.
Those Alpha Explorer assholes didn’t have to die. They should have played ball instead of going down.
Shay shook her head. “I didn’t make the rules. I stay alive by them.”
Shay pushed through the dense crowd in the pub, surprised by number of people filling the place. A din of conversation and clinking glasses filled the place with a general level of noise. She arched a brow in surprise as she looked for her contact.
Smite-Williams had picked a well-populated meet. Shay preferred the opposite. More people meant more places for a killer to hide and more variables to account for in a fight.
Security by obscurity might not be perfect, but it was more reliable and less likely to result in unintended casualties.
Shay stepped around a couple hovering near the corner of the bar, waiting for a table. Greg had left her a text that Smite-Williams would be in the back. He was described as a handsome, pudgy man in his mid-fifties.
A balding man in a pale blue sweater and jeans bumped against her as he went the other way, smiling as he said, “Excuse me.”
Shay gave him a curt smile and made a mental note of his face, while checking her pockets to make sure nothing was removed or deposited. The crowds made it hard to know if it was a clumsy man or she was just made. She glanced back and saw him sit down at the bar without looking back. Wait till there’s a pattern. Let it go till then.
A man matching the description of Smite-Williams waved from the back. Two empty beer glasses sat in front of him. He was working on a third, and his ruddy cheeks suggested he was already well on the way to being drunk.
Shay looked him up and down as she got closer. His broad smile and easy-going manner undercut the idea of him being paranoid. The willingness to get drunk while discussing magic artifacts bordered on arrogant, but she didn’t give a shit as long as he could still carry a conversation and remember it later.
“You must be Miss Carson.”
“Dr. Smite-Williams?”
He made a face. “No one calls me that but my dean, and he’s a bit of an ass.” Smite-Williams chuckled. “After a few more beers, you can call me Father O’Banion, but for now The Professor works. That’s what most people call me.”
“Friends?”
“Friends and frenemies.” He smiled showing most of his teeth.
Shay slipped into a seat across from him, slightly uncomfortable with her back to the entrance. She resisted asking him to change seats with her. “Interesting place for a meet.”
“This place? Aye, I all but live here, and the owner is a man that… let’s just say I trust him with my life, and appropriate arrangements have been made. As long as we talk in this booth, it won’t be an issue.”
Shay glanced around, wondering what kind of spell was being used. No obvious signs.
“Like I said, appropriate measures have been taken.”
Shay looked back over her shoulder at the bar. Everyone was minding their own business. No one was casing the place or looking in her direction. She turned back, focusing on The Professor. “I hear you’re in need of a freelance field archaeologist…”
“That I am. There’s a magical artifact that I need you to recover. You’ve come highly recommended from a number of sources that I trust.” His smile slid into a smirk that didn’t suit him. “You’re new on the scene, aren’t you?”
“I get the job done. That’s all that’s important.”
“That you do, Miss Carson. Heard that too, which is why we’re meeting.” He punctuated his sentence with a sip of his beer.
“Glad to…” Shay’s face twitched.
Fuck. Missing small details gets you killed.
“Problem?” asked The Professor.
“You know my name.” Shay kept her tone even. “You shouldn’t know my name.”
The Professor laughed. “Of course, I do. Don’t worry, Mister Abbot didn’t pass it along. He kept your details out of it, per his usual and I respect that. Require it even. Doesn’t mean I don’t do my own research.”
He raised his hand, signaling the waiter to bring another beer. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m very good at collecting information, and I don’t work with people if I don’t know their names and faces. It keeps everyone more honest.”
Shay almost laughed. An older Peyton. “Fair enough. It’s not how I prefer to do business, but you’re the man throwing down the cash.”
“And I wasn’t asking for your permission. Cheers.” He lifted the new glass of beer the waiter put down.
“Bring me one of those.” Shay nodded to the waiter. “No, you weren’t. Do you want to tell me more about what I already know or get down to business?”
The Professor picked up his beer, letting out a sharp laugh. “Not much for small talk, I take it. Tomb raiders rarely like to talk. Too easy to let something slip. Very well, I’ve verified that you already recovered the treasure of Oak Island, the Golden Owl of Paris, and I’m pretty sure you pulled something valuable out of Lake Toplitz. You’ve been scoring some impressive wins.”
Shay blinked, resting her hands on the table. “You’re very well-informed.”
He grinned. “I hope someone writes that on my tombstone. My second choice is, the shell is here but the nut is gone.” He gulped down more beer, set his glass down and clapped his hands together. “Enough about the past. I care more about the future.” He looked up at her, locking eyes. “Well, I care about artifacts from the past, and the particular artifact I need you to collect.”
“Which is what?”
“The Rod of Supay.”
“As in the Incan God of Death and the Underworld? You play hard.”
“Ah, an educated woman, just as I expected. That’s delightful. Aye, the same.”
Shay nodded, taking her beer from the waiter. “And this is a magical artifact?”
“It is a rather nasty little magical artifact that I need to remove from circulation. It creates something that I think the average person would call a zombie.”
Shay winced. “Great.” A cool smile came over her face. “Don’t you think it’s a bad idea to give me all the gory details? You’re a lot more trusting than a lot of clients.”
The red-faced professor scoffed. “A successful job requires the gory details. As I said, I know a lot about you, Miss Carson. I know you get the job done, and I know when a client pays you, you treat him honorably enough. I don’t have time to play little games. I’ll pay you, you’ll bring me the artifact.” He shrugged. “It’s simple, and I imagine we both wouldn’t like what would happen if one of us made a move to screw over the other.”
Tension spread through Shay’s back and shoulders. His demeanor didn’t change, but his casual confidence filled her with unease, as if he didn’t care about death. Professor Smite-Williams, she suspected, was a lot more than an academic with a sideline in artifact dealing.
“Yeah,” Shay said, wrapping her hands around the cold glass. “It’s like you said. I deliver the artifact. I get the money. The terms?”
The Professor took a long drink off his glass, finishing off the beer. He exhaled, giving a hard tap to his chest with the side of his fist. “Five million for the successful return of the art
ifact.”
Her pulse raced at the mention of the huge payday. Real money.
“I have good information on the location of the rod. It’ll be simple in theory. Insertion, recovery, retrieval, payment.”
“If it’s so simple, why don’t you go get it?”
“I stay in my lane. It’s better that way.” He let out a low chuckle. “I need a professional to execute a simple plan because theory and execution are two separate things. First of all, the location of the artifact is under the control of some very unpleasant rebels.” The Professor hesitated… a question hanging in his mind. “It’s my understanding, Miss Carson that you’re good at dealing with angry men holding guns.”
“I can take care of myself in a fight.”
“Good. The second complication is there’s at least one other group interested in the Rod of Supay and they’ll soon be on their way to attempt to collect it.”
Shay nodded, the plan already forming in her head. “No problem. You understand that if necessary, they’ll be removed as contenders.”
“Oh, a foolish man who shoots at a beautiful woman deserves everything he gets, but I don’t think these men will shoot at you.”
She snorted. “Why’s that?”
“Because they prefer to use dark magic as a weapon. I presume you’ve heard of the Brujos Rojos.”
“The asshole Warlocks who kidnapped children from Happy Magic Land Amusement Park in Anaheim?”
“Among other things.”
Shay nodded, sipping her beer. “Yeah, I’ve heard of then, but I thought they were killed off.”
“Roaches can be quite resistant to pesticides.” Smite-Williams shrugged, pressing his lips into a thin line.
“You want me to go after an Incan death rod with a bunch of Warlocks on my ass? And you only pay five million?”
“You won’t be working alone.”
Shay bristled but waited to hear the rest.
“I’m hiring you because you have a combination of skills that fit well with some of my more dangerous desires, including this one. I can give you the most likely location of the Rod of Supay, but you’ll still need to use your skills as a field archaeologist to locate it, on site. I will provide a specialist as backup.”
