Death Wish (Reaper Reborn Book 1)

by Harper A. Brooks

  “If anyone has it in this state, it’s Marla. People travel all around to visit her shop. She’s made quite a living for herself.”

  “And that’s where I come in I’m guessing? If she hates you, I have to be the one to get the herb.”

  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “You’re quick.”

  I shrugged. “It’s common sense. She hates you, so that leaves me.” I took another bite of my food. I couldn’t help but notice that Cole hadn’t touched his since his phone call. Too preoccupied now? “Do you have money for this herb? It must be expensive if it’s so rare—if she even has it, that is.”

  His right eyebrow arched. “Oh, don’t worry about that. We won’t be paying.”

  “Stealing?” My voice rose, and I quickly dropped it when a couple nearby glanced our way. “You want me to steal this thing? Are you out of your mind?”

  “If I know Marla, she’s not going to just hand it over willingly.”

  “What if we pay for it?” I asked.

  “How much money do you have in your bank accounts?” When I didn’t respond, only blinked at him dumbfounded, he said smugly, “That’s what I thought.”

  “Hey now. I’ve only been breathing again for a couple of hours. What’s your excuse? Does the mercenary business not pay well these days?”

  He crossed his arms and met my stare head-on. “It pays. But I haven’t been taking cases for a few months.”

  “Nobody to kill?”

  His expression was unamused. “I’ve been busy chasing down Xaver. Took up a lot of my time.” He shook his head and sighed. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Even if I had been keeping up with my current clientele, Marla would claim this powerful herb priceless. I’d be in debt for my entire life. Maybe not just money-wise. Marla also collects favors, and that’s something you just don’t want to get involved in.”

  “So stealing it is our only option, you’re saying,” I replied.

  “Unless you want to sell your soul to the she-devil,” he said.

  My soul was already sold to Styx Corp., pretty much, by no doing of my own. If I ever could get out of my job without being Released—some kind of cosmic loophole I had no idea about—I definitely didn’t want to be in debt to anyone ever again.

  My shoulders slumped. “Stealing it is, I guess.”

  “Good. I’m glad you’re on board.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a wad of money as big as my fist. As he thumbed through the bills, I noticed they were all hundreds. He slapped one on the table and stood. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  A hundred dollars for a twenty-dollar breakfast, at most? When I raised my brows, he smiled broadly.

  “What?” He laughed. “Just because it’s been a slow couple of months doesn’t mean I don’t still have a good savings.”

  Cole parked his beat-up Jeep a few streets away from the Divine Magic shop. It made a terrible puttering sound when he threw it in park. I was about to say something about putting that hefty pocket change of his into something useful, like fixing up his car, but I held back. It took a lot out of me to keep my mouth shut, but I did it. Go me.

  On the way over to the shop, we discussed the plan. I was to go inside, act like a tourist, and browse. I had to somehow get behind the counter to the back room without Marla seeing me and grab the herb. That part would have to be all me, and I was going to have to be creative. Marla would know I wasn’t a witch like her right away since all magic wielders can sense the magic in each other, and I was bone dry in that department. So I couldn’t just ask her about the herb outright. She’d know I was up to something.

  I was going to have to be clever.

  And of course, Cole would be sitting pretty in the getaway car, waiting for me to come out. Lucky bastard.

  The storefront was smaller than Kay’s with a single curtained-off window and door. Anyone could miss it walking by if they hadn’t been looking for it. As I walked up to the entrance, I was surprised to see the sign hanging from the door turned to Sorry, We’re Closed.

  Now what?

  But before I could turn around, movement in the shop behind the sign caught my eye. A short woman with a housewife-type bob and friendly smile opened the door to me. She was a full foot shorter than me and looked more like the president of the PTA with her ruffled pink blouse, jeans, and matching costume jewelry than a powerful level three witch. I don’t know what I had expected Marla to look like… Maybe a Hansel and Gretel type hag? Definitely older than the woman in front of me now. She couldn’t be any older than forty. Thirty-five if I was feeling nice.

  “Hello!” she chirped with a board, straight smile. “You must be my ten o’clock.”

  My eyes widened. I still had to get used to this whole people-being-able-to-see-me thing.

  My first instinct was to say no, but I swallowed it. I needed a way to get in, and this was it. An appointment.

  I nodded.

  “Come in! Come in!” She ushered me inside, like an old friend welcoming me into her home for tea. “I have your order all ready for you.”

  An overwhelming cloud of different scents hung in the shop, coming from the variety of perfumed incenses and displayed candles for sale. The smells were so powerful, the inside of my nostrils burned with every breath in. On tables and shelves, there were neat displays of colored stones claiming to bring good luck and fortune, crocheted scarves and purses, and different types of handmade metal jewelry. Even a designated section full of flavored teas to help with everything you could think of—from curing a hangover, to making one’s hair grow, to even helping with fertility or erectile dysfunction—sat by the front table and register.

  The shop screamed tourist attraction, catering to humans with an innocent interest in Wicca or pagan-based religions. The fact that Divine Magic was actually run by the most powerful type of witch around who sold dangerous and actual magical relics and trinkets to the highest bidder in some kind of magical black market was completely hidden behind this frou-frou façade.

  It was a clever cover-up. I’d give her that.

  Marla walked behind the counter, but before she could step behind the glittery curtain, where I assumed the real magical items were stored, she gave me a pageant-like smile. “I assume Mr. Johnson will be transferring my payment directly, like usual?”

  That took me aback a little, but I kept my surprise off my face. Mr. Johnson had to be an alias, right? Like John Smith or Jane Doe. The name seemed too generic for the circumstance.

  If I were in the dealings of stolen magical artifacts, I wouldn’t use my real name either. It was easier to fly under the radar that way. So whoever this Mr. Johnson was, he had obviously had many transactions before with Marla by the way she spoke about him. If Marla assumed I was one of his associates meant to pick up, I had to play the part. But at the same time, not say too much to reveal myself as an imposter.

  I had to be cool and collected, yet find a way to get on the other side of that curtain without getting my ass blasted by an energy bolt or whatever other spells this witch had up her cardigan’s sleeves.

  “He has everything handled.” I made sure to say it firmly, like I knew what I was talking about. Truly, Mr. Johnson could have been a little old man in need of some medical herbs for his dying wife and paid in pesos. There was no way for me to know really, and I wasn’t planning on sticking around long to find out what Mr. Johnson’s dealings were really about anyway.

  Marla’s grin widened, seeming happy with that answer.

  As she stepped into the back room, I got a glimpse of what lay beyond. A closet-sized space with about half a dozen shelves, all congested with different jars, challises, and rolled-up scrolls. Some dried plants hung from the ceiling, and for a moment I wondered if one of them could be the Breath of Life herb I was looking for, but would someone really store something so rare and desirable out in the open like that? Not if they were smart, and Marla—although far from a stereotypical witch—didn’t strike me as stupid. Especially if she ha
d survived in this business this long.

  Nothing else in the small back room appeared spectacular or alarmingly dangerous. The items stored in there didn’t even seem hard to get to if I wanted them, to be honest. It was all pretty lackluster, like Marla herself. Unexpected. Innocent.

  Deceiving.

  That had to be it. It had to be staged. Or maybe even an enchantment to make it appear ordinary to deter robbers. It was very possible the room was booby-trapped, too. If Marla was really a level three witch, like Cole had claimed, I wouldn’t be surprised if she had pulled out all the stops to protect her hoard.

  As I crept around the corner, a tingle of magic caressed my skin. It froze me dead in my tracks. I wasn’t a witch by any means, so if I was able to detect magic at all, it meant Marla had laid out some powerful stuff to protect her precious back room. Just as I’d predicted.

  So that meant strolling in there, taking Marla off guard enough to knock her out, or grab what I needed and run. Neither was the wisest of plans. But hell, I had known that the moment Cole had thought of it back in the Jeep. Outsmart and out-magic a level three? I should have known better.

  “I’ll be right there!” Marla’s voice echoed from somewhere beyond the curtain. Even though the room had appeared small, she sounded farther away, only confirming my suspicions of magic being involved.

  I hurried back to the safe side of the counter. Had I triggered some kind of invisible trip wire to warn her I was close? Probably. It was time to abort the mission and regroup. I needed to get out of here before raising too much suspicion and let Cole know this wasn’t going to be as easy as he assumed it would be.

  Turning around, I noticed two large shadows moving on the other side of the shop’s door.

  My breath caught. Mr. Johnson’s actual associates? Oh shit. I was about to be found out.

  Just as the door opened and the bell rang to signal a customer, Marla’s trill came from behind him, making me jump.

  “Oh! I’m sorry, but we’re closed today for appointments only.” Nothing in her tone indicated fear or even the slightest bit of concern—the confidence in her abilities coming through. “We will be open at regular time on Saturday, if you boys would like to come back.”

  Boys? The two men filling the doorframe as they took turns stepping into the shop had definitely passed puberty decades ago. Even though they were dressed in black suits, their sizes and muscular builds were obvious. Very intimidating and here for a reason.

  These had to be Mr. Johnson’s real friends, but Marla didn’t seem to think so. She didn’t even blink when they ignored her warning and stepped farther into the store.

  “We have an appointment,” the bald man with a shiny gold tooth said. “At noon.”

  Marla and I glanced at the grandfather clock against the wall, which read ten twenty.

  “We’re early,” the other man said, his voice low and scratchy, like a long-time smoker.

  Marla’s face changed to annoyance. “Appointments are made for a reason.” She sighed, turning to me. “I’m truly sorry about this. There’s a certain way I like to run my business. Organized and professional. But I can’t control if someone decides to be late or early, now, can I?”

  I eyed the men again, who were both staring at me intensely, as if they knew something about my reasons for being here. My heartrate sped up as I wondered if they were going to out me, but I told myself my fears were all in my head. If these two weren’t really from Mr. Johnson’s and had a later appointment, there was no way they could know who I was or what I was here for.

  “It’s okay,” I told Marla. “We’re almost done anyway, aren’t we?”

  Marla held out a purple velvet bag closed with a drawstring. I took it, surprised by how light it was in my hand. I didn’t know what I was expecting exactly, but I’d have to check out what was really in the bag later. Once I was out of here and out of harm’s way.

  “Please tell Mr. Johnson it was a pleasure, as always. And I hope to do business with him again.”

  “Of course.” I offered her my attempt at a polite smile, hoping it didn’t come across as too forced. She didn’t seem to notice though. With the bag in hand, I strode past the two large men, feeling their eyes on me the entire way, and walked out the door. For some reason, the jingle of the bells sounded louder this time. Like a warning.

  All in my head.

  Pushing it from my mind, I rushed down the sidewalk a few blocks, to where I knew Cole was parked. I was relieved to see the Jeep was still there, still running, with Cole sitting in the driver’s seat. His face lit up when he spotted the purple bag in my hand.

  I hopped into the car, and before I could even settle in, he pulled out and sped down the street.

  “You got it.” He laughed. “Damn. I can’t believe it. I admit I didn’t have much faith in you, but I have no shame saying when I’m wrong.”

  That may have stung in another situation, but I hadn’t had much faith in this plan working either.

  “I got something, but it’s not the herb we need.”

  “What?” He slammed on his brakes at a red light, propelling me forward. “What’s in the bag, then?”

  “Not sure.” I set it on my lap, about to tug at the drawstring, but Cole’s hand shot out to stop me.

  “Whoa. Wait a minute. Marla gave you a bag with some kind of magical object, and you have no idea what it is?”

  “Well…yeah. Things didn’t exactly go as you said they would. As I predicted.”

  “Don’t open that,” he snapped. “Not yet at least. We’ll bring it back to the motel and check it out there. That way if things get out of hand, we’ll have some room to defend ourselves.”

  “Defend ourselves?” My brows rose. “What the heck do you think is in this little bag? It barely weighs anything.”

  “You don’t know Marla. A small bag like that can contain thousands of trapped angry souls or some kind of ancient deity imprisoned for centuries and wanting revenge.”

  “Why would Mr. Johnson want an ancient deity?”

  He glanced at me as the light turned green. “Mr. Johnson?”

  “Like I said. Things didn’t go as planned in there.” I proceeded to tell him about my introduction to Marla and what I had witnessed in her store. The magical booby-trapped back room and her noon appointment showing up early. He was quiet until I finished, even driving slower than usual down the downtown streets.

  “I don’t know a Mr. Johnson,” he said finally. “It has to be an alias.”

  “That was my thought.”

  “Well, at least we accomplished something. We know where our herb is and what we’re going into now. A magically protected room we can plan for.”

  “I hope this plan is better than your first,” I said.

  He grinned. “It will be. But nothing will happen until night. We’ll go back then, when Marla is gone and the shop is closed.”

  “We’re breaking and entering now?”

  “Do you want to save your friend?”

  “That’s a stupid question,” I shot back.

  He shrugged. “This is what we need to do to get the herb. The herb is for the cure, and the cure will save her.”

  “I know. I get it. I know what has to be done, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to complain about it the entire way.”

  He laughed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  Cole zigzagged throughout the downtown city streets until we made it to the outskirts again, where a few family-owned motels lined the highway exit. Of course, he pulled into the most rundown-looking one in the area, which was set underneath the underpass.

  He parked in a spot in front of the office. The No Vacancy sign glowed red in the window.

  “A real five-star joint, huh?” I said, getting a big whiff of urine and sewage coming in from the broken Jeep window.

  “It’s not too bad.” Cole grinned. “Once you get over the strolling prostitutes, drug deals, and occasional roach.”

  “Roac
hes! You’re kidding.”

  “I never saw one, but you can only assume,” he said. “But I’m barely here. It works fine for a quick nap and shower while I’m in town, and then I’m off to work again.”

  I wanted to bring up the subject again of why a well-known and well-paid mercenary was staying at a roach motel, but I kept my mouth shut. Not my business, I reminded myself.

  “I’m right here in room two.” He opened the door and climbed out.

  I did the same and followed him to the door.

  “Greg?”

  A stranger’s voice and throat clearing made us both whip around. Leaning out of the office door was an unshaven man wearing a stained guinea tee and an unpleased look on his face. His gaze drifted to me, and it took me a second to remember I could be seen now. And that “Greg” was really Cole.

  “Follow along,” Cole muttered, his lips barely moving at all. Then he gave the man his brightest smile, like they were long-lost friends. “Leonard! What’s goin’ on, man?”

  The man named Leonard glanced at me again but with suspicious eyes.

  I was about to ask him what his problem was, but the sudden arm wrapping around me made the words die in my throat. My first instinct was to grab for it, twist it hard, and elbow the person in the gut, but the moment Cole’s scent—a mixture of the morning’s coffee and worn leather—filled my nose, my heart skipped a beat or two.

  Every muscle tensed as he pulled me to his side and said, “This is my girl, Danielle. Sweetie, this is Leonard. He helps me out whenever I’m in town and need a place to stay. He owns this place.”

  I looked up at him in disbelief. Even though his Follow along echoed back in my head, I couldn’t stop my face from showing my feelings.

  Sweetie? Really?

  Despite Cole’s friendly smile, I could read the warning in his blue eyes. I forced myself to look at Leonard again. He was still staring at me intently, like he didn’t believe Cole’s story one bit.

  “You know the rules, Greg. If you’re bringing a”—he paused, searching for the right words—“a lady friend for a few hours, then you need to pay for the extra occupant for those hours.”