by K. R. Conway
No deadly gifts, no shadowy killers, and no family history of murder. I held the ball high and just let myself be a teenager.
Eventually I was able to make my way out of the crowd, though Ana and MJ were still in the thick of it. I tucked the cold football under my arm as I walked to the Jeep, rubbing my hands through my gloves in a vain attempt to warm them.
For the life of me I couldn’t figure out how in the heck the football team didn’t freeze to death playing in weather like this. Kansas could be really cold, but the Cape air had a rawness that cut through your body and froze the marrow inside your bones. It was brutal, and I couldn’t wait for the warm weather to come back. It was going to be a long, LONG winter.
I glanced back to Ana and MJ who were talking with some classmates. They were accustomed to the cold air that rolled in off the ocean, but me? Forget it. I wanted to crank the heat in my Jeep and crawl inside the air vents, which was my plan.
Finally reaching the driver’s side of my vehicle, I placed the football on the hood against the windshield. I fished my keys out of the thick parka, but I fumbled with them and they dropped by my feet. I muttered a curse and reached down to get them when I heard a familiar male voice glide over the hood of my vehicle.
“Nice ride.”
I snatched the keys from the frozen ground and popped back up, narrowly missing the side-view mirror.
Leaning against the bumper of my Jeep was Thor, now dressed in jeans and a mariner’s jacket. What. The. Heck.
Why was this guy here? Was he one of the player’s older sibling? He was definitely built for football, including his biceps, which I was fairly certain I couldn’t even get my arm around.
“Thanks,” I replied as I subtly flipped each key on my key ring between my fingers, turning them into little daggers. If Thor decided to flip the crazy switch and turn pervert, my keys would become angry little weapons, although . . . jumping me in front of the BHS football fans, and team, would be unwise. We were, after all, surrounded by people milling around their cars, talking, and cheering. I eased my iron grasp on my keys as I realized I was safe here.
Plus, I wasn’t above stabbing him in places the sun doesn’t shine if he came at me.
“Can I help you?” I finally asked.
Thor didn’t move a muscle as he replied, “I saw that you earned the game ball. That’s quite impressive. Doesn’t the game ball go to the most valuable player of the night?”
“I, uh, couldn’t say. I don’t normally watch football,” I replied, rubbing one sharp key with my thumb.
“But you are here, teeth chattering and all,” he replied, a small smile crawling onto his lips.
“I was invited by the captain.” My confidence was slowly growing. “I never caught your name the other night, Mr . . .”
“Blackwood. Rillin Blackwood,” he replied, tilting his head ever so slightly in a chivalrous salute. “I was on my way to Boston, but then I saw the game. I swung in to watch, but then heard over the speaker that Eila Walker was being given the game ball – as a welcome back gift after the Newport incident. You must be the girl that survived the explosion in Newport. You look amazingly well for such a massive blast.”
“It isn’t that impressive,” I said slowly.
Son of a nugget, was this guy FBI? I was so sick of the Feds and the work involved in keeping them misdirected. If this dude was yet another agent, I might just scream.
My visitor cocked his head ever so slightly and studied me with a strange intensity, making me shift on my feet, uneasy. I felt like he was trying to commit my face to memory, which was downright weird and definitely scumballworthy.
Suddenly his gaze moved past me and he nodded to an area behind me. “You seem to have company headed this way in a hurry.”
I watched Thor, er, Rillin, for a moment more, then dared a glance behind me. As if the night couldn’t get any more screwed up, Teddy Bencourt, number 44 on the football team, was pushing his way through the crowd and waving at me.
I so didn’t want to deal with him right now.
After drunkenly falling on me during the senior beach bonfire in October, he had jettisoned his mind and started manhandling my parts without permission.
Actually, I recalled screaming at him to get off me until Raef grabbed his sorry butt and nearly flung him into the next town. If Jesse hadn’t been there as well, it was entirely possible Raef would have killed the linebacker.
Jesse had apologized to me about his teammate’s stupidity, but Teddy had yet to beg my forgiveness. I had been able to avoid him thus far as I hadn’t been back to school since that night, but I knew he was going to want to talk to me as soon as I set foot on school grounds. He wasted no time, apparently.
I needed to escape.
“Eila!” Teddy yelled as he worked his way through the high-fives and pats-on-the-back.
I quickly turned back to my car and swore under my breath as I tried to fumble my key into the lock.
“Not a fan of Double Digits?” questioned Rillin, amusement in his voice. I was stuck between irritating guys, neither of whom I wanted to friggin’ deal with, but at the moment I’d take the dude glued to my bumper over the baller headed my way.
“Let’s just say our understanding of ‘no’ varied between the two of us,” I muttered, my breath creating clouds of vapor.
I mercifully heard the lock pop and I swung the door open, but I could still hear Teddy calling my name. I glanced at Rillin, but the amusement he had moments ago was gone. His face was dead serious as he watched Teddy approach and I was shocked to recognize a protective anger begin to grace the face of this strange man.
Who the hell WAS this guy?
I cranked the Jeep to life and Rillin pushed off my bumper coming around to my side of the vehicle. I stiffened, unsure of what he was doing. He grabbed the football off my windshield and came around to my door before I could shut it. He leaned down in the open door frame and I got a clear view of his face – deep blue eyes, rugged skin, and another faint scar that flirted with the edge of his brow. His life showed in the lines of his face, giving him the air of hard-won elegance. I slowly took the ball from his offering hand, unable to make heads or tails of this strange man.
“You are not the type to run from what scares you,” said Rillin quietly, his face hard and serious.
Uh, yeah – okay, psycho.
I opened my mouth to reply, but Rillin suddenly strode away toward Teddy and stuck a hand out to shake his. He began talking to Teddy, who was torn between looking at me and at this new man, who was congratulating him on a great game. Rillin then said something that grabbed the footballer’s full attention and Teddy grinned from ear-to-ear.
I sighed, relieved. Teddy had effectively been distracted by Rillin Blackwood, whoever the heck he was. He began to slowly guide Teddy back into the throngs of people and out of my sight.
I looked back down to the football, but nearly jumped clear through the fabric top when Ana pounded on the passenger side window. My heart racing, I reached across to her side and popped the lock for her.
She slid into her side, “I don’t think I ever had so many people talk to me at once. My brain is in melt-down mode!” She turned to me, smiling that sly knowing smile of hers. “And looky-looky who got the game ball from Jesse Vale! Could it be that the mighty captain is crushing on you?”
I rolled my eyes as I dared a glance toward the crowd where Teddy and Rillin had been. “Jesse is just a friend.”
Ana laughed, “Yeah – and that’s what you said about Raef and boy was that a whopper of a lie.”
I shook my head. “That’s different. I tried lying to myself, and you guys about Raef, which was pointless. Jesse though is REALLY just a friend.”
“To you maybe,” replied Ana. “But Jesse may have other ideas.”
I prayed Ana was wrong. I would be back in the halls of BHS tomorrow morning, among my classmates. As it was, I would be dodging Teddy, who I luckily didn’t have any classes with, and Nik
ki, who I was sure daydreamed about running me down with her convertible Mustang.
Jesse, however, wouldn’t be so easy to avoid. He sat across from me in English and behind me in Ecology.
“MJ had to head out, but he wanted to know if you think you will come back and see another game sometime soon?” asked Ana, who was pressing her mittened hands against the dashboard heater.
“Maybe,” I said, as I tossed the ball to Ana and backed out of the parking space, scanning the lot for my strange stalker. Once again, however, Mr. Blackwood had disappeared, taking with him my brief stint as an average teenager.
15 Raef
The part of Boston we were in was not known for its stellar bar scene, but it was quite possible that Kian and I had landed in the worst dive on the planet. While I didn’t dig for details as to how he located a dealer, even Kian seemed to question the logic of where this Mortis hung out. You could probably take your pick of patrons inside and they most likely all deserved to be on the Blacklist. In a place like this, who needed a dealer?
“You know – this would be a heck of a lot easier if we just went on our merry way and simply picked off some random degenerate,” muttered Kian.
I peeled the label on the bottle of beer in front of me. Though neither of us drank, we bought the beers so we looked like we fit in.
At least, that was the intent.
We were surrounded by gangbangers, drug dealers, and a handful of bikers who looked as though they could chew the tires off my Harley. “If we’re going to start doing this, we are making sure who we target deserves what they have coming,” I replied.
Kian gave me a knowing look and gestured to the entire room, as if to say take your pick. I shook my head no and Kian growled, aggravated. “Figures you would have a moralistic psyche.”
He leaned back from the bar and scanned the dark, dingy space of the Lucky Lady. His eyes settled on three pool tables stuffed towards the back. All were occupied by various, suspicious individuals, most likely fresh out of prison or headed there.
Kian leaned closer to me, “Okay – so here’s the deal. We need to take over the last pool table on the right with the chipped leg. Once we do that, we need to drop the seven-ball in the corner pocket near the wall and wait.”
“You’re not serious . . . are you?” I asked, floored that we needed to partake in Cloak and Dagger nonsense to get our hands on some names. Kian nodded and headed for the table. I sighed and followed.
Five minutes later, the table was ours thanks to a hundred dollar bill I offered the two leather-clad players. I dropped the seven-ball in the specified pocket and Kian racked the balls. “You first,” he said, casually scanning the room for our potential dealer.
I pulled a stick from the wall and set up my shot, the smooth rock maple sliding easily through my fingers.
“Think the girls are having a good time at the game?” he asked, no doubt trying to quell his fears that Ana was alone with Eila. Of course, we did contact MJ who had gotten home earlier in the day, and asked that he spy on them.
Eila would shoot me if she found out.
“Hopefully, though Agent Howe showing up did not get the night off to the best start.”
Kian slid his luke-warm beer farther down the edge of the pool table, “Yeah, that wasn’t such a grand development. I bet they were super pleased to see him again. What’s with the gear though?”
“My guess is it’s a remnant from the Lunaterra,” I said. “Maybe something the Rysse clan followers gave Dalca for some reason. I mean, they did entrust her with the ashes of Rysse himself, so maybe the gear was a trophy of sorts – something Rysse had that had belonged to one of the Lunaterra he killed. I guarantee the drawing was so Dalca could identify Eila as Lunaterra.”
Kian shook his head, “Maybe. Either way, it’s not good that the Feds found either. We need Howe getting bored, not more interested. I still vote for making him disappear.” Kian’s pipe dream of killing Sollen and Howe was starting to become mine as well. We could absolutely make them disappear, but doing so would draw attention to all of us. Murdering an FBI agent was not an option . . . unfortunately.
Kian stretched his spine and swung the pool stick around the back of his neck, letting it rest across his shoulders as he hitched his hands over either end, making him look like a scarecrow. “I don’t know about the girls, but football ranks up there with watching paint dry for me. I’m actually glad I didn’t go to that funfest,” he said.
I glanced up at him. “Did MJ text you?”
“Yeah – he had located them before the game had started. They were in the bleachers,” he replied as I called my shot and aimed, sinking the ball as I predicted. Pool was one of the ways I killed time over the years and as such, I could clean the table in a matter of minutes. I had used Christian’s billiard table a few times at Torrent Road, often when I was trying to keep my mind from drifting back to the boiler room in Newport.
I easily took out the next three balls when Kian finally cleared his throat, swinging the pool cue off his back. “Think I can play as well, or am I stuck here watching you all night?”
I smiled, the devil in me thoroughly enjoying watching Kian stand by like a lawn ornament. I finally stepped back and he finished off the game, an obvious pro as well.
We played for several hours and as midnight rolled around, I had just about given up hope on the dealer, but then a hand appeared on the edge of the table.
I traced the muscled arm up to its wall-sized owner. He walked the length of the cherry wood, a black wool coat fitted tightly over his wide shoulders. A navy blue t-shirt underneath revealed faded tattoos that laced his neck. He pulled the seven-ball out of the pocket and tossed it on the table with a resounding thump.
He turned and looked at Kian and me, and Kian gave a small nod, his hand twisting tighter around his cue. It was then that I noticed the dealer had a faint scar that ran down the side of his face. I didn’t know what would leave a scar on our kind – we always healed. He pulled a cue stick from the wall and rubbed the tip with blue chalk.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice rough as he seemed to study my face as if to commit it to memory. He seemed to focus on me more than Kian, and his weird attention made me suspicious.
“If you must,” replied Kian, with a twist to his mouth.
Our new player gave him a knowing smile as he racked the balls again, turning his attention to me. “Where you two from? Originally?” he asked, fishing for details on who he was going to do business with, and I expected the inquisition. He took his shot, the hit nearly cleaving the ball in half.
“Barnstable.” I replied. “What about you?”
The dealer looked surprised I asked him. “Around.”
He knocked another ball in, and then tilted his head towards the back wall and the shadows. Kian and I followed, casually pretending to take a swig of beer. The dealer leaned against the wall, pool stick still in his hand.
“Here’s how it works. However many you buy, you have exclusive rights to those names for one week. You don’t use them in the seven days allowed, the names go back on the list. No refunds. And sloppy work – anything that remotely is questionable by the cops – and our friendly relationship will end. Permanently. Those are the terms.”
I couldn’t believe we were discussing people like drugs. We were going to buy the names of those who deserved to die – people who were proven to be worthless humans and had done some vile things. Rapists. Wife beaters. Drug dealers. Murderers.
Technically we were doing the human world a messed up form of public service, but buying someone’s death sentence climbed up my spine with chilling clarity. But I needed the strength held captive in a human soul to protect Eila . . . and a long time ago, I killed humans with ease.
“Agreed,” I replied. Kian added his consent as well and we got down to the money aspect. While drugs could be bought for a few hundred dollars, a human life was at least ten-grand a hit. Kian and I decided to start with one each
, and the dealer slid two envelopes with the target details inside – where they lived, worked, drove, etc.
Kian had already sorted the money into a tightly rolled wad and handed the dealer our cash. No one in the bar even cared, as they most likely were all there for various forms of illegal activity.
A few of the patrons were listening to the news that played above the bar, but I had ignored it until the word Newport caught my attention. On the screen was a picture of the Breakers, with a female newscaster speaking. Kian saw that I had turned to watch and he did as well. We listened to the blonde reporter as she spoke to the camera,
Authorities have yet to issue a final report on the explosion last month at the historic Breakers mansion in Newport. Billionaire Christian Raines, who federal officials questioned earlier in the month, has been cleared as a suspect. Mr. Raines, whose company North Star was using the mansion for a fundraiser the night of the explosion, has offered his financial heft in repairing the building. Mr. Raines has also been credited with saving the lives of several party-goers the night of the explosion. In other news . . .”
I turned back to the dealer, and was surprised to see that he had also been watching the report. He shook his head slightly, as if disgusted. It was a move that concerned me. None of our names had been released to the press, thanks to the FBI and Eila’s age, but the dealer’s reaction made me uneasy.
“Something amusing?” I asked.
The dealer just shrugged. When he realized I was looking for an actual answer, he offered up his thoughts, “I just think Raines knows what went on that night. I’m sure he does.”
Kian turned to the dealer as well, now on edge like me.
“Why is that?” I asked, trying to act casual.
The dealer eyed me carefully for a moment, obviously debating whether or not to fill us in. Finally he spoke, “He had been drugged prior to the explosion, which tells me someone didn’t want him interfering with whatever was going down.”
