Belladonna's Curse

by E. M. Whittaker

  “I assume this cartel caused the chaos inside the Tethered Mistress.”

  “Brilliant deduction.” Wilkerson’s voice mimicked Mye’s condescending tone. “Use those powers more often. Get confident with them. Protect my daughter. Women shouldn’t rely on handguns for their protection.”

  Bullshit. She couldn’t shoot a gun to save her life.

  Parents like him were why women like Mye needed firearms training.

  “Sir, Mye needs firearms training.”

  “No, she doesn’t. She took classes years ago with her renegade husband.”

  “Look, I never asked to work with your daughter.” Or deal with her menagerie of a family. “She’s crazy. The good kind of crazy, though.”

  The older man cocked his head to the side. “Debatable.”

  “Either way, she’s getting a refresher in firearms training.” Travis loosened his tie, revealing a silver collar with an LED screen on it. “She needs it. If she can’t unjam her gun, she has an issue.”

  “Then I have one question for you.” Wilkerson approached him again. “Why let her try to poison Louis Armandi?”

  Shit.

  How did he learn about their botched plan?

  “It was a ballsy move. Ineffective, but ballsy, nonetheless. He’s half-vampire, you know.”

  “Mye acted on her own. I didn’t lie in my report. They fought. She drugged him. We left him behind and caught the killer. Good thing, too. He might have died on the field because of his stubborn behavior.”

  “Christ. He’s a walking human resources violation.”

  “You keep him around, sir.”

  “Not anymore. He’s your problem.”

  This required a shot of Fireball.

  “Listen…” Wilkerson faltered. “About Mye…”

  “I’ll protect her.”

  “No, it’s not that.” The older man played with his phone while he talked. “I left because I thought it would protect her from Sanderson. Her bounty alone ranks higher than anyone we know. But if she’s working for him, then everything I’ve done means nothing. Even abandoning her. Then again, I should have expected this. Her brother is a fuck up.”

  Yeah, okay. At least Dalara protected her.

  Unlike her father.

  The mage might have toked too much, but he protected his younger sister. Like her failed car chase. He whisked her to safety before the automobile blew to smithereens. Despite their petty arguments, they worked well together in life-threatening situations.

  Mye had plenty of practice with her chosen profession.

  Still, if Wilkerson abandoned her for her protection, it wouldn’t matter to her. She’d explode. Diplomacy would go out the window.

  He took a deep breath. He had to play damage control.

  Stat.

  “The cartel you’re chasing never hunted bounties until now. This band of misfits was her brother’s brainchild, not hers. If they’re—”

  “I get it.” A hardened edge came to the agent’s voice. “I’ll distract her while you handle your business with Armandi.”

  “Actually, my business is with her. I should tell her about the protection order. Not you.”

  Yep. An appointment with his favorite drink was in order. This wouldn’t end well.

  At all.

  “I came here for another reason, though.” Wilkerson straightened, but moved like he carried a giant chip on his shoulder. “The three of you have bounties, but you and Mr. Personality lack experience. You can’t afford to keep breaking the rules whenever it suits you. So, straighten up. Otherwise, you’ll all get killed.”

  “I’ll ask Sanderson to reassign her.”

  “What a brilliant idea.” A bitter laugh escaped his boss’s lips. “Because it worked so well for your previous partners, right?”

  Oh, yeah. Sure.

  At least they walked through Heaven’s pearly gates in one piece.

  “Every organization withdraws its agents during personal investigations. Just reassign her until we close this case.”

  “No. Proceed as normal. That’s an order.”

  Ouch.

  Travis was on his own this time.

  “We should get going.” Wilkerson made his way inside. “Armandi hates tardiness.”

  Mr. Underboss could wait.

  Damage control came first.

  Travis strode past him, shielding himself from the remaining patron’s thoughts. He kept his hand on the Desert Eagle while he headed toward Mye. No one should meet their estranged parent this way. Not with a pardon in hand and years of resentment plaguing their soul.

  She suffered enough.

  Miss Treehugger crouched over a woman’s lifeless body with a vial of blood in her hand. Her face scrunched up in concentration.

  He blew out a harsh breath.

  They would talk about the victim later.

  “Mye.” He stood beside her. “Somehow, I’m not surprised you’re here before me.”

  She muttered an unintelligible curse before she rose from her position. “Of course. I met with Armandi this evening.”

  Travis rubbed the back of his neck. “So, you did.”

  “I have to make you a decent bottle of aftershave.” She labeled the vial with her Sharpie. “I forgot about it.”

  “Listen to me.” He blocked the pathway to the entrance. “My boss followed me here.”

  “I recognize his foul stench. He never follows me anywhere.” The corners of her mouth turned into a disapproving frown. “Listen, don’t answer his questions unless it’s vital to our case. All right?”

  “I didn’t know he was related to you.”

  Her tough persona—no, mask—wavered. Crumbled. Stripped her of her hardened edge. Underneath her tough exterior lied a vulnerable little girl.

  Her face turned pale.

  Mye’s face transformed into a myriad of emotions within seconds. Fear, sadness, indifference, and rage all rolled into one.

  Then her mask reformed. Her intelligent eyes turned feline.

  Predatory.

  She was out for blood.

  “Aviere.” He grabbed her arm, hoping her real name would jostle her out of her homicidal rage. “No guns, weapons, or poison attacks. Understand?”

  “I make no promises concerning Da.” She dropped the vials into her handbag. “He’s the only man capable of destroying someone’s spirit in three minutes or less.”

  “I know.” His grip tightened. “I work for him.”

  “You don’t understand.” Her voice would unnerve a rookie cop during their first interrogation. “He’s here for one reason. I assume he explained it to you.”

  “Sort of.” Best to stick with a white lie. “But I’d like to hear your side.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “The last time I checked the dictionary for ‘complicated,’ your picture wasn’t beside it.” His hand lingered on her arm, sending pleasant tingles throughout his body. “You’d make the Guinness Book of World Records for being the world’s craziest family, though.”

  Not just crazy. Eccentric. Weird. Add adorable to the list.

  Well, well. Lyssa snickered. I wondered when you’d get around to--

  Mye gathered her belongings. “What’s your point?”

  “You’re more than complicated. In fact, I’m not sure insanity defines you.”

  “Fine.” A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “I suppose I’ll let him live.”

  “While we’re on the subject of being nice, maybe curb your sharp tongue around Peters, too.”

  She brandished her Sharpie like a knife in her stained, gloved hand. “Don’t push your luck. Only one favor per meeting.”

  Mye shouldered her purse, then stomped over toward Armandi and Wilkerson.

  There would be blood tonight.

  You should stop her. Lyssa made a clicking noise with her tongue. She’ll regret snubbing her father later and confess her feelings to you.

  Remorseful his ass. She pulled out her pistol mid-strid
e.

  Real remorseful there.

  She knocked the Italian bouncer aside, stopped, and rested her hand on her hip. Those short legs locked in place. Darkness spread over her typically forest green aura.

  Travis took out his Blackberry, thumbing to the video application.

  He had to record this.

  He pressed the play button. He’d capture history. No one stood up to the director unless they contemplated career suicide. Well, except Peters, but intelligence grunts didn’t count. Everyone wrote him and his temper tantrums off, anyway.

  An error message flashed on his screen: System Memory Full.

  Damn. This was why he never relied on technology.

  Oh, well. He’d recount Mye’s escapades to his pretentious partner later. For now, he’d play referee for this chaotic family reunion.

  He strolled to the bar, ordered a whiskey on the rocks, and waited. Mye could handle Wilkerson.

  For now.

  4

  For once, Mye wished she could dump Roland Wilkerson’s lifeless corpse into the Chesapeake Bay.

  Fury burned through her veins. What brought that traitorous bastard here? Her well-being? Maybe. She didn’t know. Da’s view of her flip-flopped depending on his mood and her temperament.

  Or Lim. Always Lim.

  He was their elephant in the room.

  No matter. This betrayer couldn’t be trusted after he abandoned them when Ma died. They reconciled before her death, but their fragile relationship crumbled afterward.

  His insults cut through her.

  Even at thirty-two, those remarks still haunted her whenever she saw him. How she looked like her mother. All the money she cost him. How her friends only used her as a sounding board or for her money. She could live with those, but his insults about her illness cut her to the quick. Like she wished this mutation on herself or asked Lim to take care of her.

  Truthfully, she wouldn’t wish this on anybody.

  Except him.

  No, she knew why her father visited her. Da—no, Wilkerson, dammit—came to question her about their case. He’d accuse Lim. Claim he broke parole. Beg her to put her pothead brother back in lockup.

  She held the gun in both hands, lined up her shot, and counted to five.

  He wouldn’t destroy her. Not again.

  She’d put a bullet in his skull first.

  “Aviere.” Her father’s voice echoed from the bar. “Put the gun down, dear.”

  She motioned her gun toward the doors. “Your people aren’t welcome here. Tell them to leave. Now.”

  “Gee, then tell Travis to stop drinking on duty, pumpkin.”

  “He’s fine.” Her finger hovered above the trigger. “He won’t try turning me against my family. Unlike you.”

  “Aviere, listen.” Wilkerson walked toward her. “I have an offer for your brother. It’s in relation to your case.”

  “Unless it’s expunging his record, I’m not interested.”

  “It’s close enough.” He held his hands in the air. “Honest. I got it approved through the higher-ups yesterday afternoon.”

  Mye took a step forward. What was it? Anything good? Something she couldn’t obtain from Lim’s attorney?

  Goddammit. Her curiosity got the better of her.

  Her father won.

  Again.

  “I want proof, Da. I said I wouldn’t talk to you anymore.”

  “You’ll get it.” His tone turned icy. “Now, put the goddamn gun down.”

  Mye motioned to an empty booth. “Sit over there. And don’t think about disarming me.”

  He wiggled a vial in his hand. “Oh, you wouldn’t be hard to disarm, pumpkin. I keep a few of these babies on standby.”

  “Louis.” She turned to the Underboss. “A drink, please. I’ll need something to stomach Da’s bullshit for the next ten minutes.”

  He plopped two drinks on the table and slid her daiquiri away from the shot of bourbon. “I told him this was a bad idea, dear. Thank goodness I had these on standby.”

  Well, shit. The deities blessed her this evening.

  Maybe they could entertain her, too.

  “Make sure you keep Dick Tracy entertained.” She slid into the booth. “Just don’t get him plastered, all right?”

  Armandi held his hand out. “Your guns. Both of you. The good detective will give them back when you’ve concluded your business.”

  “He’ll—”

  “Mye, do it.” Travis slammed his glass against the counter. “If Wilkerson tries anything, I’ll shoot him myself.”

  She dropped the gun into Armandi’s waiting palm.

  Wilkerson followed suit.

  “Thank you. We’ll supervise this meeting from the bar.”

  Armandi returned to the bartop.

  “So.” Mye folded her hands together and rested her elbows on the table. “How do you plan on ruining my life today?”

  Her father downed his shot. “You don’t make my life easy, either. You’re working for bloody criminals. That’s not the child I raised.”

  He set the shot glass down.

  “Raised?” Her voice got heated and she drummed her claws against the table. “No. Retract that statement. You pushed us away from you.”

  His scent deepened.

  Black pepper, cinnamon, and an exotic flower. What a cheap aphrodisiac. Whatever he wore was pungent. Gross. Her father and sensuality—no, sex—shouldn’t exist in the same universe. It sullied his authoritative stance.

  Mye rested her chin in her hand.

  Desperation was an ugly perfume.

  “I ignored the poison and potion making bullshit because your mother made some pretty powerful shit when her business took off. I ignored you marrying a rebel. Even your friends—well, they—”

  “Leave them out of this.” She took a generous drink. “This is between us.”

  “Look, I fought to get your half-wit of a brother parole. For what? So you could work for the asshole who poisoned your mother?”

  She ripped her sleeve until her bracelet shined underneath the lighting. “I don’t know if you noticed, but he ruined my life, too. I didn’t need a bracelet for that one.”

  His face turned red. “Perhaps I should get to the point.”

  “Yeah.” Mye swished the ice in her glass. “You should.”

  “We found weird toxicology results from the victims.” Wilkerson pulled a large manila envelope out of his blazer pocket, then dropped it on the table. “Most of them died from overdoses, but we can’t figure out the exact formula to the drug.”

  Oh, good. A mystery.

  One peek inside his package wouldn’t hurt.

  She opened the envelope with her claw. Four vials and several toxicology reports waited for her. Each one of them contained white specks inside their samples.

  Fantastic. A real challenge.

  She glossed over the reports.

  The bozos in Wilkerson’s forensic department grasped at straws. Their guesses ranged from fentanyl to a new strain of unidentified drug. Another report gave a different hypothesis: a shifter or faerie made substance. The third one declared the blood a product of biological warfare. Half the report was missing.

  Okay. Plausible.

  All in all, these scientists made ridiculous claims. They couldn’t prove their theories with scientific facts. Not a single one of them presented a viable case study or diagram showing their results.

  How did these morons work for the government?

  “Oh, I forgot something.” Wilkerson dropped three pieces of folded paper onto the table. “These should interest you.”

  She skimmed the pages.

  These went to the last report.

  The scientist with the biological warfare theory presented a case study, linked on the second to last page. Their analysis used two subjects: a figure from twenty years ago and one in the last five years. They highlighted the variations in several blood-borne compounds. Some of them reached unreadable portions and the scientist q
uestioned how they lived through their testing.

  Mye grabbed one of her recent reports from her purse, then compared the two.

  Holy shit.

  They matched the components of her mutated blood.

  “How?” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “No one should have these results. If they pulled from two test subjects, then—”

  “Years ago, back when Sanderson poisoned your mother, mind you, we took her to a test facility. She stayed there in secret while we tried to make a cure. You know how that turned out.”

  She scowled. “Yeah.”

  “As for your file? I’m not sure how the scientist obtained it. Maybe Sanderson gave him access to the files.”

  “You should interrogate him. If the wrong—”

  “I yanked these before the feds processed this for evidence.” He leaned closer. “I could face felony charges for this.”

  “Well, well.” Peters’s indignant tone reverberated through her uncomfortable earpiece. “How interesting.”

  Agent Neuro could fuck off.

  “You’re saying you found these.” She took another look at the vial with the white specks. “Where?”

  “I don’t know where the victims were. My agents brought it to my attention yesterday afternoon.”

  Mye sipped on her daiquiri. How? She was the last living specimen of this mutation.

  Her family checked. Her doctor checked.

  This made no sense.

  At all.

  “I have to ask this as a formality, but I already know the answer to this question.” Wilkerson checked his phone, then set it on the table. “I know Lim’s done shady shit, but—”

  “No.” The answer ended on a guttural note. “Never. Not this.”

  “Well, each victim had traces of your blood and a homemade drug in their test results. I didn’t believe it at first, so I had an old colleague of mine check.”

  “I see.”

  “If they find out about you—”

  “How many people know that you have a daughter?” She flicked at her earring. “Because you pretend I don’t exist the majority of the time.”

  A sheepish expression crossed his face. “Most of the office. I… might have reprimanded a few agents for trying to apprehend you all those years ago. You know, when Quentin got involved with his underground gambling bullshit.”