by E. A. Copen
My hold on reality wavered as desire overtook me, my brain filling with all kinds of possibilities, despite the deadly weapon leveled at my head. But it wasn’t just physical desire. Whatever magic she’d thrown at me shut down my will to resist, leaving behind only the need to please and obey her. The gun was a distant memory, barely registering even as I heard the distinct click of a hammer being thumbed back on the gun.
“Let’s chat.”
Chapter Six
In the back of my mind, or whatever part of my thinking brain she hadn’t put her come-hither whammy on, I knew something was wrong. The rest of me just didn’t give a damn.
I couldn’t see her since turning my head meant moving against the barrel of the gun, and I was certain she wouldn’t like it if I did that. The sound of her voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and sent waves of even stronger desire through me. She’d said we should talk. That meant she was going to say more words. If I was quiet, she’d keep talking and maybe more than that.
At least, that’s what my primitive Neanderthal brain was thinking. Of course, the Neanderthal brain is only interested in three things: food, sleep, and sex. Basic human drives. Lucky for me, I’m an evolved primate with a cerebral cortex to override my stupid caveman brain, even when I don’t want it to. The downside to my highly evolved brain is that its default mode is sarcasm and smartassery, especially when I feel threatened.
“I usually insist on two dates before we do the kinky stuff, sweetheart,” I said. “And I count guns as kinky.”
She chuckled, but the laugh was dark and had a sharp edge to it. “Oh, I bet.” She moved the gun, indicating for me to step forward. “Go on, Lazarus. Have a seat.”
My body carried me across the kitchen to a chair without any further instruction from me. There was one major benefit to sitting down. I got to see my captor.
Growing up as the ward of Pony Dee, habitual womanizer and connoisseur of gorgeous women of all shapes and sizes, I’d seen my fair share of beautiful women. Most had to work at it. Hair, makeup, the walk, the talk. Very few could pull it off without trying. This woman could.
Tall, even without the boots with the two-inch heels. Straight black hair with a bluish sheen and eyes that said she could eat me alive in more ways than one. The long, black coat with the high collar hid most of her curves beneath a zippered leather catsuit, but it was easy to imagine them being just right. She wore a belt with several glass vials full of multi-colored liquids and powders. I suppose the plethora of weapons strapped to her person should’ve discouraged me from the appreciative look, but I was still in the grip of whatever spell she’d used to gain control over me. That and caveman brain was in full effect.
“Look at me.” She put the gun under my chin and used it as leverage to lift my eyes back to her face. “See anything familiar?”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t owe you money,” I said. “And I don’t know you from high school, so you’re not here to invite me to a reunion.”
“Maybe this will help.” She lowered the gun and drew a dagger of pitch black steel, holding it against my neck.
Something about the movement triggered a memory. A month ago, I’d had the pleasure of fighting alongside the Shadow Knight, and he’d carried several blades just like that. I studied her face again, the shape of her eyes, the sharp angles of her chin, the slight nose, and pouty lips.
I squinted. “Okay, I’ve had a long day, but I’m still reasonably sure Osric the Shadow Knight was a dude and not a smoking hot chick.”
“He was my brother, you ass. And you killed him.”
“Wait just a damn minute—”
She spun the dagger and drove it down. I shrieked as the blade dug into the wood of the chair between my legs. I stared at the hilt and swallowed. A fraction of an inch and I’d be missing some very important parts I intended to use in the future.
She glared at me. “He said you’d deny it.”
“Listen, lady, I don’t know who told you what, but what happened to your brother was sort of a side effect of a mess he dragged me into. Trust me when I say he wasn’t unhappy about it.”
“He said you’d say that too.” She pointed the gun at me, her lips drawn back to expose clenched teeth.
“Why don’t we start from the beginning? My name’s Lazarus Kerrigan.” I started to stand.
“I said sit down!”
At her command, my ass found the chair again and no amount of effort on my part could will myself out of it. Whatever spell she’d cast, I couldn’t disobey, and if I didn’t concentrate really hard, I didn’t want to.
The cloud of desire threatened to overtake my mind again. I shook it away and forced myself to concentrate on what she’d said, closing my eyes. “Okay, first of all, whoever told you all of that should’ve told you that I really hate it when witches and fae use magic on me, especially mind control.”
“It’s not mind control. And I’m not a witch or fae. I’m human like you. Like Osric was.” There was genuine hurt in her voice whenever she said his name, as if just speaking about him was unbearably difficult. Poor girl. She sounded like she’d lost the only person she cared about in the world. Made it hard to think about her as my enemy, even if she was pointing a gun at me.
I still had to verify her words, so when I opened my eyes, I activated my Soul Vision. Her soul gleamed a bright silver, striped with crimson and black, which didn’t seem right. It certainly didn’t match what I’d seen when I looked at Osric’s soul. His had been the brilliant viridian green of the fae streaked with the black I’d come to associate with the Shadow Court.
“I hate to break it to you, but Osric was fae. He was the knight of the Shadow Court.”
She shifted her grip on the gun and shook her head. “No. I mean, he had become the Shadow Knight for that bitch, but he wasn’t always. Not at the beginning. I’m glad she’s dead. That you killed her is the only reason I haven’t killed you yet.”
“Nyx, a bitch?” I nodded. “On that, we agree. But I didn’t kill your brother.”
Her jawline hardened. “Why am I telling you all this? Stop messing with me.”
“I’m not.” I raised my hands, and she went on high alert, muscles tensing like a spring. “I’m not going to hurt you. Not unless you don’t give me a choice. Right now, we’re just talking. You said you wanted to talk, so let’s talk. Was that you at Mrs. Lawrence’s place taking pot shots at me?”
She lifted her chin. “Twenty-two caliber tactical air rifle. Lucky you ducked, or we would’ve never met face to face.”
“My shoe was untied.”
Her eyes narrowed as she evaluated my statement, probably thinking I was either stupid or poking fun at her.
“So, Osric. Can I tell you what happened or are you going to shoot me? ’Cause my arms are getting tired holding ’em up like this and fighting that come-hither spell of yours is making my head hurt.”
She smirked and looked me up and down, one eyebrow quirked. “Which one?”
“Funny. Now, shut it down so we can talk like adults.”
She left the gun leveled at my head, bottom lip sticking out. “How do I know you won’t hurt me? That spell is the only thing right now that guarantees you’ll do whatever I say.”
“I don’t hit girls,” I said, lowering my arms. “Not unless they hit me first. Then you’re fair game.”
After a moment of consideration, she lowered the gun but didn’t put it away. Her left hand felt along her belt, moving over the tops of several vials before she pulled one full of clear liquid. Thumbing off the cap, she lifted the vial and then upended it into her mouth.
Relief came a few seconds later as the spell lifted and left me feeling more tired than anything. Not that I didn’t still appreciate the shape of the woman in front of me—she was still hot as hell, and it was a bit of a relief to know she hadn’t used any kind of glamor—but now I could think through that realization and shut down the caveman brain.
“Mind if I remove the knife?” I
pointed to the blade sticking out of the chair in front of me.
She shrugged so I pulled it free and placed it on the table behind me where it’d be more difficult for her to get hold of again.
“So you’re a master of potions,” I said, crossing my arms. “You got a name to go with that talent?”
Her dark eyes crawled over my skin. She mimicked my movements, crossing her arms and leaning back to appear more casual. I didn’t miss the fact that she kept the gun drawn. Whatever. If it made her feel better, she could keep it for now. I had the distinct feeling that if she really wanted to kill me, she’d have done it already.
“Khaleda,” she said at length.
“Okay then, Khaleda, I propose a two-hour truce so we can talk. If you still want to kill me after that, you’re free to try. But until then, we both agree to put away our weapons and abide by the standard rules of a wizard’s truce.”
A wizard’s truce wasn’t anything official, but it was something with a long-standing tradition inside the magical community. If it didn’t exist, you’d have wizards slinging spells at each other every time two of them crossed paths. Everybody had a grudge against somebody else. The truce ensured that, for an agreed-upon period, two people who might otherwise kill each other could exist in peace. Khaleda could, of course, break the truce and kill me anyway, and there’d be nothing I could do about it, but she’d get hit with a serious rash of bad luck afterward thanks to the magic involved. Plus, she’d lose a degree of street cred with other supernaturals which would make it a lot harder for her to exist inside the community.
She passed the gun to her left hand and extended her right in a stiff gesture. “Agreed.”
We shook on it. As soon as we had, the familiar tingle of magic power crawled up my arm, over my shoulder, and slid down my spine, sealing the deal. That done, I got up from my chair and went to start a pot of coffee.
“So you’re Osric’s sister. He didn’t mention you. Then again, we weren’t exactly pals.” I looked over my shoulder at her, but she hadn’t moved from where she’d been standing. “Who is it that told you I killed him?”
She pressed her lips together and looked away.
I sighed. “This will all be easier if you’re honest with me.”
Khaleda still didn’t answer.
I turned back to the coffee cup in front of me and started spooning sugar into it. “Your brother was indebted to the Shadow Queen. I don’t know how long he’d been working for her, but I was made to understand that it was a position for life. When she died, he just sort of unraveled.”
I closed my eyes and watched it happen again. Nyx, running burning and screaming down the steps of the pyramid. Osric stepping aside to let her die. The black miasma that had followed him everywhere lifting, pulling him apart. The tears of joy he wept at the end along with the words of thanks. The memory made me shiver. It hadn’t been pleasant to watch, but I’d never gotten the impression that he was unhappy with the outcome. If anything, he’d seemed relieved.
“He wasn’t in any pain,” I said. “At the end, he seemed thankful.”
“No,” she said, her voice strained. “No, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t leave me.”
I lowered the spoon and turned my back to the coffee pot. My heart went out to her as she stood there, grappling with the truth. I knew how it felt to be abandoned by someone you’d been close to. There’s no pain in the world like the pain of abandonment. Experience it enough times, and you start to think the worst of people, expecting them to leave you. You spend your whole life waiting for it, even if it never comes.
I did my best to make my voice gentle as I said, “I don’t think he had a choice, Khaleda. The way things went down, the only way out was to kill Nyx. It was kill or be killed. I chose to survive.”
“Why?” Her head snapped up. “What makes you more deserving than him?”
“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “He got the shaft. There’s no denying that. Working for Nyx, his days were numbered from the beginning. I think he knew that. I respected him though. He was loyal. And a damn good fighter. He pulled my ass from the fire more than once. If I could’ve saved him, I would have. I never intended for anything to happen to him.”
“Liar!” Rage flashed in her eyes, and she clenched her fists so hard, it left her shaking. “You think I don’t know who and what you are? You’re Death. The Pale Horseman. Death follows you.”
“Osric knew, and yet he helped me anyway.”
She stared hard at the floor. There was nothing I could say to convince her. I knew that. She’d come to New Orleans to kill me, to avenge her brother’s death. An admirable goal, I supposed, as far as killing went. But I hadn’t killed Osric, no matter how much she wanted it to be so, and if I was going to die for someone’s revenge, I hoped it’d at least be for something I’d actually done.
Khaleda’s shoulders slumped. She turned and plopped down on the chair with her back to me. “Dammit.”
“Hey, don’t be hard on yourself. We all make mistakes.”
“No, you don’t understand.” She rubbed her forehead. “I hadn’t seen Osric in years. Decades. He forbade me to go to Faerie with him, saying it was too dangerous. It was my fault. All of it.”
It suddenly struck me what she was saying. Osric had sold his soul to the Shadow Queen, though he’d never told me why. Not directly. For most of the time I’d known him, I assumed it was the same reason most people would sell their soul. He wanted something, and it must’ve been a hell of a thing to give up his entire life for. But at the end, he’d hinted that he’d done it for someone else. Khaleda was that someone else.
“Decades?” I frowned. “I know it’s rude to ask, but you don’t look more than two decades old. Osric didn’t seem that old either.”
She stood. “I should go.”
I pushed away from the counter. “Wait a minute. You can’t just charge in here, threaten me, and walk away. How do I know you won’t keep coming after me? And who told you I killed your brother?”
“I did.”
Fear crawled up between my shoulder blades, the icy feeling of panic settling into my chest just before I turned around to see a dark-haired man of unremarkable height and average looks in a silk suit standing in my bedroom doorway.
Morningstar.
Crap.
Chapter Seven
“I need to put up better wards,” I said, eying the newcomer. Not that I thought it’d do any good. I didn’t know precisely what Morningstar was, but he wasn’t human, and he was pretty high up the supernatural bad guy totem pole. I also owed him three days of service, though I wasn’t due to report for that for a few months yet.
Even if I didn’t know exactly what flavor of monster Morningstar was, I knew he was bad news, and I knew what he wanted me to think he was. The name Morningstar was a dead giveaway. Lucky for me, I didn’t believe in the devil.
Morningstar paced into my kitchen with his hands in his pockets, an air of casual uncaring about him. “Ward all you like. There’s little you can do that cannot be undone. For a price, of course.”
“Why’d you tell her I killed her brother?”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s true, in a manner of speaking. If not for your involvement, Osric would still be very much alive.”
Morningstar was splitting hairs with that declaration, but I guessed he was right. Anyone else might’ve let Nyx live, and it was because I had assassinated the Faerie Queen that Osric had been freed from his bonds.
“Yeah, but I didn’t kill him.” I turned my head to address Khaleda. “What are you doing with this creep?”
Khaleda opened her mouth to answer but her eyes traveled beyond me to Morningstar, and she quickly snapped her jaw closed.
I turned to glare at him.
“Mr. Kerrigan, I think you’re asking all the wrong questions,” said Morningstar with a smirk.
He was right. With two apex predators in the room, I had to deal with the most dangerous one firs
t. “You set her up to kill me. Why? You know if I’m dead, I can’t make good on my debt to you.”
He turned, stopping to peer at his reflection in the window to adjust his tie. “I think you’ll find death won’t release you from all debts. In the end, all souls must pay their debts, and yours is no exception.”
I shuddered at the implications. As a necromancer, I knew all too well that death wasn’t the end for everyone, which meant he had a point. If Khaleda had succeeded in killing me, he might’ve even been able to cash in his chips early.
“Nevertheless,” he said, turning away from the window, “your death was never my intent. It was a possibility I was prepared to take advantage of should it occur, but not the ultimate goal.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Then what exactly is it you’re after, Morningstar?”
His smile told me everything I needed to know. Nothing good.
“Khaleda, tell me you don’t owe this asshole.”
“I owe him everything,” she said, her voice small.
“Her debt is none of your concern,” Morningstar said, his upper lip twitching. “I’m here to repay one of mine.”
I blinked. Morningstar didn’t owe me anything, at least not that I was aware of. Which meant he wasn’t there to repay a debt to me. He owed someone else. But who?
“Khaleda, dear.” Morningstar crooked his finger and gestured for her to come. She rose and swayed on her feet, moving as if compelled to stand in front of him. With a cruel smile, he turned her around to face me, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Baron Samedi once loaned one of my associates the services of one of his…servants, and so I return the favor by loaning the use of one of mine to you.”
“What?” I looked from Morningstar to Khaleda. “I don’t get it.”
“You don’t have to,” Morningstar said. “For your purposes, all you must do is accept Khaleda’s help on your current quest.”
I frowned at the woman under Morningstar’s hands, still swaying like a drunk. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but how exactly is she going to be useful to me? I don’t need any potions made. Not that a smoking hot woman armed to the teeth is never not useful when hunting a serial killer, but you understand what I’m saying, right?”
