by Rita Webb
head and clamps her mouth shut. That dark cloud
squeezes her tighter, and I notice a tear make its
way down her cheek.
“He forced you.”
“I was tutoring him late at night in his dorm
room … We were alone and …”
“Did you tell him ‘no’?”
Biting down on her knuckle, she nods, but all
that comes out is a half squeak, half sob. “But I
should have fought harder. He was just so strong.”
“It’s still rape, Bri.” I step closer, but I don’t
touch her. Something inside me warns me that
she’d bolt if I did.
“He says I was playing games—” Her voice
cracks, and it’s another moment before she can
continue. “He says it’s my fault because I’m a
tease.”
“That’s what sexual predators do. They put the
blame on the victim. Set you up so they can
continue to abuse you.” I learned about this in my
psychology class, but I don’t need to read it. Seeing
people’s auras, I’ve watched it all my life. Some
people suck other people dry — like Cyndi.
She rubs a hand across her belly. “I don’t want
to go to hell for killing my baby, but I don’t see any
other choice.”
I put a hand on her shoulder. She shivers at my
touch, like a wild horse afraid of cages, but she
doesn’t move away. I make my voice soft. “Brianna,
your priest can’t make this decision for you either.
Look inside your own heart. What do you want?”
Another color breaks through that dark cloud—
a sparkling red ball like a fiery comet circles her.
Wherever it passes, the black cloud begins to
dissipate.
Her voice is little more than a whisper. “I want
to believe there is hope for me.”
“No matter what horrible thing happened, hope
is waiting for you. And this choice is yours. Nobody
can make you do anything.”
“All right. I’ll take my time and think it through.
Maybe look at some adoption possibilities or
something. Whatever I do, I’ll make the right choice
for me and my baby.”
“Then that’s what you should do.”
The gray cloud explodes in a burst of light. She
turns to me with a small smile and grabs my hand—
still keeping her body at arm’s length. “Thank you,
Angelina.”
“Sure, no problem.” My face burns, and I smile
shyly. “Let’s get you that breakfast. A growing baby
needs food.”
She picks up the phone and starts chatting with
the help desk. While she’s giving an order for
scrambled eggs and bagels with cream cheese, I
search through my suitcase for my bag of toiletries,
my travel first aid kit, a clean pair of jeans, and a
baby-doll T.
Alone in the bathroom, I clean my knee with
peroxide. That car almost killed me. I need to figure
out how to keep from sleepwalking again.
And where did that hallucination of a blue fae
half-dragon come from? Maybe it’s symbolic of
repressed anger issues.
I pull the nightie over my head and reach into
the shower to turn on the water. Looking down, I
notice scratch marks along my arm, some of them
deep and scabbed over. There’s got to be some
other explanation than my hallucination scratching
me up.
Maybe I got them when I jumped out of the way
of the car.
Except they’re already scabbed over.
I step into the shower, the heat stinging my
wounds. With the hot water streaming over my
skin, I close my eyes and imagine the stress and
pain washing off me.
The blackout, the blue lady, the overwhelming
emotions at the game, the voices trying to kill me—
it’s all over. I’ll recover from the concussion, and
everything will return to normal. At least, normal
for me.
The winter term of my freshman year starts next
week, and I’ve got to screw my head on straight,
stay focused, get good grades.
I’m going to be the best nursing student.
Or die trying.
Chapter 4
~ HUNTER ~
I fire up the internet and connect a talisman for
the meet with Spyder, my informant, the master of
paranoia. When I plug it into my USB port, it works
like a modem, allowing me access to the GhostNet.
Set up to act as a repository for information
about the otherworldly community and magical
artifacts, the GhostNet is a magical backdoor to the
internet created by the Spyder. The only way to
access it is to connect to the internet while
activating the talisman keyed to me.
“Ryne Ashverdi, the notorious Hunter, how was
your visit to the Pacific Isles?” The voice, an icy,
raspy whisper, emerges from the shadows of my
room.
How he knows my real name, I have no idea.
I’ve abandoned every connection with my previous
identity.
I spin on my chair and inhale his scent, but as
usual, nothing gets past his cloak made from living,
crawling black widows. No longer an icon on the
GhostNet, he stands across the room from me. I’ve
spoken to a few others who have met with the
Spyder; no two of them describe the same
creature.
“Unpleasant,” I answer.
He chuckles, the sound like rocks grating against
each other. “But, I hear Jezebarra is very—” A
pause. “—accommodating of her guests.”
“Ugh, I suppose. If you’re into centuries-old
skank, with a side of psycho.” I study the shadowy
figure. I don’t know how to read him. No smell, no
discernible inflection in his voice, no body language
to indicate he’s joking or deadly serious.
Spyder is a tricky individual to track down.
Cryptic notices on encrypted servers, all on the
hidden, super-secure GhostNet. Paranoid doesn’t
even begin to describe him. I’ve known him for
sixteen years, and I still haven’t met him face to
face. Appearing to me in shadows or hidden in
illusions, he always says, “You can’t give away
information you don’t have.”
Supposedly, he is a member of the resistance
against the Usurper, but thank the Creator, he’s
never tried to recruit me. Nobody can take down
the Usurper, and I’m not wasting my life on a lost
cause.
“Jezebarra is known for having interesting …
appetites. She is also known for backstabbing and
double-dealing. I hope you got paid in advance.
What does she want you to do?”
“Retrieval. Some magical item. What can you
tell me about a sorcerer by the name of Alistrad
Karamond Zavisto? He calls himself Magellan and
runs a circus.”
His eyes spark a brilliant white, and then a flash
drive materializes in his open hand. “Here are the
schematics for
his base—entry points, the layout,
where his office is, what his powers are, his
strengths and weaknesses. Memorize it and then
destroy it. And Hunter, be careful. Even the
Usurper would be kinder. If he catches you, your
torment will last into eternity.”
“How did you—?”
He shrugs.
“That’s not an answer.” Sniffing the air, I study
him, but I can’t get anything. “Thanks.”
“Our usual fee applies.”
I nod. “Ten percent. Of course.”
“Be careful. Accepting gifts from a sorceress can
be hazardous to one’s health.” And with a
shimmering light, Spyder is gone.
I stare at the empty space a long time before
picking up a burner cell phone. “Jasper, how’s the
analysis going?”
“All finished. That golden dagger is really
impressive. And one sweet mother of a nasty
surprise. Whoever designed this thing must be an
evil genius—”
“Jasper—” I say to remind him to get back on
track, but he continues, ignoring me.
“Even with all of my safeguards up, it nearly
ended me, but don’t worry—it only works against
magic users. Disguises itself as a magical reservoir
and power booster, but as soon as a wizard or
sorcerer touches skin to metal, the dagger forces
their muscles to contract so they can’t even drop it.
Then it gulps down their magic and rips into their
mind. Even if it doesn’t kill the sorcerer outright, it
will keep him occupied for a few moments. As I
said, a sweet mother fu—”
“Jasper—”
“I was a little more cautious with the two-sided
quarter. But it seems to be what she said—a one-
shot teleporter with a fixed destination. Rather
lame really.”
“So, what do you have that might be of help in a
hostile pocket dimension?”
“Oh, oh, I got this spell shield from a new
supplier …”
“You tested it yet?”
“Yes, kinda. It still has a few kinks to work out in
the lab. But I haven’t had a real combat situation to
effectively challenge it. I’ll let you have it for half
our normal fee if you bring it back in one piece, full
refund if it craps out on you.”
“The answer is no.”
“Come on, man; I’ve gotta test it somehow.”
“All right, fine. Throw in one of your lock picking
kits, and you’ve got a deal.”
“Sweet. You know where to find me.”
When he’s done, I hang up and crush the phone
in my hand and then sweep all the broken pieces
into a paper bag. I’ll drop it into a fire pit on a
street corner.
Paranoid? Maybe the Spyder is rubbing off on
me, but I’ve heard rumors about how the Usurper
is expanding his territory into this world.
Better safe than sorry.
January in Brazil, ninety-two degrees and
climbing, humidity ninety-five percent. Two hours
before the portal arrives. I spend it in the hotel
where the AC fights a losing battle against the
assaulting heat.
I miss Alaska.
The tools I’ll need for the job—my throwing
knives, my short sword, two pistols and a rifle,
some magical items Jasper gave me, and the
teleportation coin and magical dagger—are laid out
on the bed. I clean my blades, sharpening them and
lacing poison on the edges before strapping them
on to my thighs and at my waist, and the sword
across my back.
In my head, I go over the intel Spyder gave me
about this sorcerer and his cattle. The circus is just
a front for his feeding supply. Not that he needs to
hide what he does. The Usurper doesn’t care about
the victims as long as their families don’t complain,
and Alistrad is careful to only take creatures from
the Wylds or the few penniless, unwanted
members of the Allied races from Drakon.
The portal connecting to the pocket dimension
where the circus is will be in an old abandoned
theater in one of the less reputable parts of Rio de
Janeiro. I smile, remembering the last time I was
here—I chased a pickpocket through the city
market. Filthy street rat, full of lice and covered in
sores, he thought he’d given me the slip in the back
alleys when he ducked into one of the buildings.
I made him apologize.
Then I gave him a job. I needed someone who
could guide me through the city and then get me
into the governor’s mansion. A street rat was a
perfect choice for the job.
The extra money I gave him at the end was a
retainer. If he could use the money to get some
extra bread, it means there’s a better chance he’ll
survive long enough for me to use his services again
in case I came back here. You never know when
you might need a petty thief to do a small job.
Tonight, I won’t need anyone’s help. I don’t
want anyone’s help. Attracting the attention of
Alistrad is dangerous enough without bringing
some human into the snake’s nest.
The plan is simple: get in, locate the item, get
out. Don’t get caught. The dagger Jezebarra gave
me is always a good back up plan.
Besides, since the price of the ticket included a
limo ride, there’s no need to sneak in or out. They’ll
drive me up to the front door, and I’ll walk right in.
The organizers obviously didn’t want any extra
attention from curious taxi drivers.
Even in this heat, I cover the weapons with my
trench coat, put my Stetson on my head, and feel
the glamour tighten over my skin, squeezing across
my chest, making it hard to breathe. Even my
senses fade, as if a part of me dies. I hate not being
able to smell the details about the people around
me.
All I have is a slightly heightened sense of smell
and hearing … and a magical twinge in the pit of my
stomach directing me toward my target. This is
what makes me the best at what I do. I can find
anything, anywhere. In Drakon or on Earth.
Last, I grab the dagger and coin the sorceress
Jezebarra gave me and weigh them in my hand
before tucking them in my pocket. I have no
intention of using either—I’d rather get in and out
without her magic.
Before I leave, I pause in the doorway of my
hotel room and look back at the room. I traveled
light—just me and my weapons and the clothes on
my back. But I still look back over the room to make
sure I left no personal effects behind as a trail for
my target to follow.
But there’s nothing. I already cleaned up the
few strands of wolf fur and a feather or two off the
carpet.
Then I stalk out the door, leaving it unlocked
behind me, and head down to the waiting limo.
Sweltering heat and the stench o
f orc greet me as I
step out of the hotel air conditioning and into the
scorching sunlight.
I scan the area as I search for the source of the
odor, and my gaze settles on the limo driver.
My lip curls. Chimera and orc live on bordering
lands, and the orcs found hunting my people to be
great sport.
Muscles bulge beneath his black t-shirt. Tall with
broad shoulders, he stands on the balls of his feet
as if ready to attack rather than open the door and
usher me into the limo. His nose is wide and flat
and his eyes set close together, but rather than the
green skin and large ears I would expect from his
kind, his skin is the color of milk chocolate with
normal human ears.
He inhales, taking in my scent, and flashes me
his teeth—the threat of a predator rather than a
smile—but the square human teeth aren’t nearly as
intimidating as his real ones with the sharp sabers.
I keep my hands loose at my side, ready to grab
a knife if need be. “I paid for my ticket like
everyone else. I doubt your master wants you
attacking his customers.”
“Just keep your animal stink to yourself.” The
orc shrugs and opens the door.
I slide into the leather seat, my bulk filling up
two spaces, and the door slams behind me.
Trapped.
Instinct says to jump out and run—go home, get
a drink of whiskey, and forget this whole mess.
Finish the job first.
Chapter 5
~ ANGELINA ~
I stare at the grade on my paper, a red smear,
the words bleeding.
A big fat, ugly C.
C is for mediocre.
Ordinary.
Imperfect.
Wiping a tear from my eye, I force a smile on my
face. I studied hard, but next time, I’ll do better. I’ll
keep my scholarship. Everything will be fine.
I’ve only been back to school for two weeks.
This was our first quiz, and I have plenty of time to
make up the grade.
The world is full of glitters and stars; rainbows
hide in every corner. You just have to be willing to
find the treasure in the midst of the junk.
No matter what terrible things happen to me,
that’s what I tell myself when I climb out of bed
every morning.
“Angelina, Sarah says we’re going downtown to
this sweet little shop. Soup and sandwiches. Want
to join us?” Katie has the most beautiful nutmeg
