by Sadie Moss
Well, fuck. Guess I’m gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way.
Ignoring the aches in my body, I sprinted after Gerald, catching up with him as he rounded a bend in the river. Pulling up alongside him, I aimed a vicious kick at the back of his knee. His stride broke, his leg crumpling beneath him like a piece of straw. He went down with a yowl of pain.
I didn’t let him get up.
Cocking my fist, I threw a punch at the back of his head, dropping all my weight into it.
Gerald collapsed with a grunt, his big body going limp.
Crouching next to him, I tried to get my breath back. I had to take tiny sips of air or pain shot through my ribs.
Bruised, I was pretty sure. Not broken.
“Shouldn’t have blasted my damn cuffs into the river, Gerald,” I muttered to his prone form. “You could be high as a kite right now instead of out cold.”
The cuffs had a small dial on them I could use to adjust the level of sedation they imparted to the person wearing them. That came in very handy on collection jobs, especially when my target was a giant man like Gerald. Instead of having to haul an unconscious body around, I could just dope him up to the point of extreme docility and he’d walk—well, stumble—wherever I directed him.
A rabbit punch wasn’t my preferred way of taking down a mark. Not because I felt bad for hitting him, but because it made the rest of my job so much harder.
Case in point: my car was at least a mile away, and Gerald’s body in front of me resembled a miniature beached whale. Or at least, what I assumed one would look like. I’d never seen the ocean, although visiting it was at the top of my bucket list.
I stood up slowly, glancing around to make sure no late night strollers were passing by. The river walk was deserted, light pooling in warm halos around the streetlamps in between darker stretches. We weren’t directly under a lamppost, so that was good.
I toed Gerald’s body, and he rolled slightly before collapsing back into a limp mound of flesh.
Shit.
He had to have almost a hundred pounds on me. There was no way I could carry him all the way to my car. Not without drawing attention.
Heaving a sigh—then wincing in pain—I slipped a glass cylinder from my front pocket. It was just a bit smaller than a lipstick tube and was filled with a swirling purple smoke. I set it upright on the ground beside me, then bent to lift Gerald under the arms. Once I got him semi-upright, I stomped my foot down hard on the glass vial beside us. The smoke billowed out in a cloud, encompassing us both.
A moment later, it cleared, revealing a dark side street and my beat-up green Honda Accord. The car was an absolute piece of shit, and it looked even worse compared to the fancy vehicles around it. The paint was sun-bleached and blistered, the front passenger door was dented so badly it barely opened anymore, and the plastic over the back brake lights had been replaced with red tape.
I unlocked it and hefted Gerald into the back seat, grunting as I shoved his large body inside.
This job had turned into a shit show. No two ways about it.
That transport spell had been for emergencies only, and even though this did kind of count as an emergency, I never liked to use my charms and spelled gadgets if I could help it. That shit wasn’t cheap.
So far tonight, I was out one pair of magical handcuffs and one transport spell. The bounty for Gerald wouldn’t even cover replacing those.
I finally wrestled the Gifted man’s feet into the car and slammed the door, leaving his body awkwardly bunched up on my back seat. I hopped in behind the wheel and drove away, careful to stick to the speed limit. My shitty car was like a magnet for the Peacekeepers. They could always find some reason to give me a ticket.
Navigating my way through the Capital, I made sure to avoid River North, where the younger Gifted set would be partying until the sun rose. I kept to less busy streets, passing through neighborhoods filled with beautiful, ornate mansions. The People’s Palace rose up to my right, its white walls lit with a magical glow even at this hour.
When I reached the wall that separated the Capital from the Outskirts, I breathed a sigh of relief as I passed through. The contrast between the two sides of the wall was stark. Here, rundown houses and apartment complexes lined the potholed, neglected streets. It was hard to tell sometimes which buildings were occupied and which weren’t. Everything was dirty and dingy, and there were so few working streetlights left that the road was mostly cast in darkness.
But it was home.
I was also less likely to get pulled over or harassed by Peacekeepers here. The Gifted didn’t bother trying to police the Outskirts, beyond going after any Blighted rabble-rousers who caused trouble for the elite. But crime among the Blighted population? The Gifted couldn’t care less.
Adjusting my rearview mirror, I checked to make sure Gerald was still sleeping as I pulled my car into a large abandoned warehouse to the north of the city.
The warehouse was pitch black, so I left my headlights on, my body making the beams flicker as I crossed to the other side to haul Gerald out by his feet. After he was situated on the dirty floor of the warehouse, I yanked off my gloves and cap and tossed them on the seat, letting my red hair spill down over my shoulders.
My headlights flickered again, and I tensed, looking toward the back of the warehouse.
“Rat?” I called into the darkness, my hands curling into loose fists.
“Yeah, doll, it’s me.” The scrawny young man crossed back into the beam of my headlights as he walked toward me, squinting against the glare of the beams. “You got him?”
“Yup, he’s right here. You got the money?”
“Sure I do, sweetheart. You know I always do.”
I rolled my eyes. Rat liked to pretend he was the hero in some noir detective novel, not just a down-on-his-luck kid who’d fallen into a job as a liaison between unsavory types like me and the even less savory types who wanted to hire us. He couldn’t have been older than eighteen, with a bulbous nose, big ears, and beady eyes. It was easy to see where his nickname came from.
Coming around the side of the car, Rat popped the collar of his trench coat as he peered at me through the darkness. “Rough night? You look like shit.”
“It’s rude to tell a lady she looks like shit, Rat.” I cocked an eyebrow at him.
He chortled, the sound swallowed immediately by the huge empty space. “If I see any ladies, I’ll be sure to remember that.”
“All right, wise guy. Come on, pay up.” I held out my hand, and he slapped a stack of bills into it. I made him wait while I counted it. He’d never shorted me before, but I knew better than to trust anybody I dealt with.
When I was satisfied the full payment was there, I shoved the money in my pocket and jerked my head toward Gerald’s body. He moaned slightly, which meant he’d probably wake up soon. I wanted to get out of here before that became my problem.
I started to circle around to the driver’s side of my car, when Rat called out to me. “Hey! You free tomorrow?”
Pausing with my hand on the door, I looked over the hood at him suspiciously. “Maybe. Why?”
“Relax, I’m not looking for a date. I got a job for you, is all. Good pay.”
I pursed my lips. My ribs felt a bit better, but as that pain faded, the throbbing in my knee increased. I’d slammed my kneecap into the ground hard enough to leave a massive bruise. I didn’t really want to do another job tomorrow night, especially if it went as badly as this one. Which, if I went in injured, it very well could. Besides…
“Yeah, I don’t think so, Rat. Tomorrow’s my birthday. I was planning on taking the day off—you know, to pamper myself.”
Rat laughed again. “I don’t even want to ask what a lady like you considers pampering.” He exaggerated the word “lady,” and I considered throwing something at his head. He clucked his tongue. “No worries if you don’t want it. Just thought I’d give you first crack at it, since it pays so well.”
I blew
out a breath. I knew exactly what he was doing, but I still couldn’t stop myself from asking, “How much?”
“Five grand.”
I almost choked. The job I’d just done had paid me five hundred. With five grand, I might finally have enough money in the little nest egg I was building to get out of this city.
Trying to keep my tone disinterested, I tilted my head. “What’s the job?”
“Assassination. An incubus named Akio Sun. You ever heard of him?”
I shook my head. “No. Should I have?”
“Eh, probably not. If you were a lonely Gifted housewife, maybe. He’s apparently been making his way through that crowd, doing what incubi do best.”
“Ah. Right.”
I tapped my fingers on the hood of my car thoughtfully. The assassination request made sense then. Probably some angry husband who’d caught his wife in bed with the incubus. Demons were part of the Touched class, like shifters, fairies, and pixies; they were magical beings, but couldn’t wield magic like the Gifted could. They were treated better than the Blighted were, given voting rights and allowed to live and work in the Capital.
An assassination, though. Could I do that?
It was probably hypocritical to have an attack of conscience about killing someone, when I was pretty sure a lot of the targets I brought in ended up meeting that same fate. But I wasn’t the one doing the killing in those cases, and somehow that made a difference.
I bit my lip. Did the Touched really deserve my mercy? A lot of them treated us worse than the Gifted did, as if keeping us down somehow raised them up.
With a decisive nod, I turned to Rat. “Yeah. I’ll do it.”
“Perfect!” The gangly teen clapped his hands together and scurried around the front of the car. When he reached my side, he dug into the pocket of his trench coat and withdrew a small slip of paper. “All I have for you is the address. You’ll have to do all the other legwork yourself. If you can make it look like an accident, that’s ideal, but if you can’t, just make it look like a robbery gone wrong or something.”
Rat slapped the paper into my palm. His bony fingers were ice cold, sending a shiver racing up my arm. He probably hadn’t had a full meal in weeks. A lot of people in the Outskirts were malnourished.
I squinted at the writing but couldn’t make it out in the dark. I’d look up the address later. “Got it. Midnight deadline again?”
“Yep. Call me when it’s done and I’ll meet you with the money.”
“All right. Take care of yourself, Rat.”
“Yeah, you too, doll.” He saluted me with two thin fingers as I slid into my car.
I cranked the key, and the engine turned over for a few seconds before rumbling to life. As I backed out of the warehouse, the headlights illuminated Rat struggling to lift Gerald. When he’d gotten the large man into a seated position, he stepped on the transport spell next to them. Purple smoke billowed out, and they vanished.
Pulling out onto the desolate road, I stuffed the piece of paper into the empty cup holder beside me.
Five. Thousand. Dollars.
“Happy birthday to me.”
Chapter 3
By the time I got back to my apartment, I was exhausted.
My head was pounding, my knee ached, and my ribs still hurt when I drew a deep breath. I just wanted to take a long bath with a good book and then sleep until noon.
I parked my car between two abandoned vehicles, tapping their bumpers none-too-gently as I maneuvered into the tight spot. At least half the cars littering the streets of the Outskirts no longer had owners, and many had been broken into and scavenged for parts.
My tiny apartment was in a three-story building that was once identical to its neighbors, though they were now easily distinguished by the graffiti covering their facades. The building I lived in was graced by a thirty-foot-tall painting of a red-nosed clown doing magic. He grinned maniacally down at me as blue flames burst from his fingertips.
Sliding the key in the lock, I grimaced. Thank the gods I couldn’t see that creepy mural from inside the building or I’d never sleep.
I’d lived here for the past eight years, ever since I arrived in Denver. A Gifted man named Edgar had blackmailed me into coming here and working for him to pay off a debt I owed. I’d been under his thumb for five years, until he ended up on the wrong side of the wrong person and got himself killed. Ironically, whoever wanted him dead probably hired someone a lot like me to do the job.
With Edgar out of my life, I could’ve left Denver… but I wasn’t sure where to go. I doubted I’d be welcome anymore in the place I once called home.
The rickety stairs creaked as I made my way up to the top floor. I unlocked the door and was immediately assaulted by the sound of a reality show blaring from the TV.
“Oh my gods, Ivy,” I groaned, chucking my keys toward the little table in the corner. I missed, and they slid under the table, but I didn’t bother to retrieve them. “Please turn that down.”
Ivy turned her heart-shaped face toward me, her shining brown eyes taking in my bedraggled appearance. “Lana! You’re home late.”
“Ivy. TV. Please,” I repeated, stripping off my black jacket and draping it over the back of the couch where she sat.
“Sorry, sorry!” She leaned toward the remote on the coffee table, her finger poised over the volume button. She pressed downward, but her hand passed right through the remote. “Darn. Can you?”
Ivy turned her big doe eyes on me again, and I sighed. Grabbing the remote, I held the volume button down until my ears were no longer ringing. “There.”
“Now it’s too quiet,” she protested in a small voice, kneeling on the couch so she could peer over the back of it at me. Through her ghostly form, I could see a Gifted woman on the screen being held back by two friends as she threatened to put a hex on a third girl.
I rolled my eyes but bumped the sound up two notches. I had lowered it to nearly silent, because Ivy did this every time. No matter where the volume was set, she always wanted it just a little louder.
“This stuff will rot your brain, you know,” I warned her, watching the drama play out on the TV.
“What else am I supposed to do all day?” Ivy turned back around, smoothing her lacy flapper dress down as she did. “I don’t know what ghosts did before television was invented. I really don’t. I feel sorry for them.”
“Trash TV to the rescue.”
“Exactly!”
Sinking down onto the couch next to her, I let my eyes slide shut for a minute.
Ivy had come with the apartment, and she hadn’t been eager to leave just because a new tenant moved in. For the first year I lived here, she stuck to more traditional haunting, banging cabinets and drawers in the middle of the night, moving my keys around so I could never find them, that kind of thing. But once she realized she wasn’t getting rid of me that easily, she came out of hiding and started hanging around more. Eight years in, she was my de facto roommate, although—thank the gods—she couldn’t raid the fridge and eat my food.
I peered over at her. If I looked closely, I could see that she wasn’t actually sitting on the couch, but hovering a fraction of an inch over it. She had to focus intensely to make physical contact with corporeal objects, and she could only maintain it for a few seconds.
The ghostly girl noticed my look and tore her gaze away from the TV. “Did you have a bad night? You don’t look very good.”
Didn’t I just have this conversation?
If two people in a row looked at you and immediately asked if you had a rough night, the answer was likely a resounding “yes.”
I twisted my hair up into a knot on top of my head, letting cool air hit the back of my neck. “It wasn’t the best. A job went sideways, and I won’t even break even on it.”
“That’s too bad. I know you’re saving up.” Though she continued to talk to me, Ivy’s eyes were fixed on the screen again. In a few minutes, I’d lose her entirely.
“Yea
h. But I’ve got another job tomorrow that should make up for it. Hopefully.”
“Mm-hm,” she murmured absently. “You wanna watch the Witches versus Warlocks marathon with me? I’m a few episodes in, but I can catch you up.”
“No thanks. I just want to take a hot bath, read for a while, and pass the fuck out.”
I hauled my reluctant body up from the couch. Ivy tucked a strand of her short blonde bob behind her ear as she giggled at something on the screen. She probably didn’t even realize I’d left. Living with a ghost was a lot like living with a cat. They were pretty low maintenance, but sometimes the relationship felt a little one-sided.
Stifling a yawn, I crossed to the wall opposite the television and perused the large bookshelf.
My apartment was small and dingy, worn down by years of abuse and sporadic repairs. The paint was peeling, the couch was lumpy and full of springs—it was probably a good thing Ivy couldn’t actually sit on it—and the table near the kitchen had a two-by-four as one of the legs. The only nice things in the place were the dark oak bookshelf and the treasure trove of books carefully arranged on it. My little library was my pride and joy. I’d read every book at least twice, some more than a dozen times.
Margie, the woman who’d been like a mother to me before Edgar snatched me away from my home in Wyoming, had a penchant for quoting old literature. Thanks to her, I knew most of the famous passages by heart. When I came to Denver, I missed her so much I tracked down copies of her favorite books so I could feel closer to her. Reading became my solace in this strange new city, and I still picked up a book before bed almost every night.
Brushing my fingers over the spines of the volumes lined up neatly on the shelf, I skimmed the titles. I had eighteen of Shakespeare’s plays and hoped to complete my collection one day. Books weren’t easy to come by for the Blighted though. Most people in the Outskirts were too busy trying to survive to have much interest in reading, and although there were beautiful bookstores inside the Capital, the Gifted proprietors were suspicious of any Blighted person attempting to buy one.
