Whatever for Hire

by RJ Blain

  “Good. I’m not sure I can compete with an incubus.”

  With a little work, I bet I could list a hundred reasons why Bubba Eugene might want his cousin to disappear. “Are you trying to get me to kill you, too? If so, it might be working.”

  Malcolm laughed. “I’m trying to distract you from what I’m doing, actually.”

  He got full points; he was distracting me from the pain. Unfortunately, he was doing a stellar job of making me aware of his fingers stroking my neck and back as he applied the ointment. I needed a distraction from the distraction before I did something I regretted, like toss my few remaining morals to the four winds for a chance to drag him to bed, burns be damned. “Why aren’t you in jail for killing that pyro? Everyone knows you did it. You confessed in front of a bunch of cops.”

  “I’m a licensed firefighter, that’s why. My license includes the right to use lethal force on any pyro endangering public safety. It applies to all sentients, too, not just humans. The general rule is, if the victim is a species capable of learning a human language, I can go after the culprit however I feel necessary. Your burns and his flare-out confirmed I’d killed a pyro, and no one doubts the lethality of his attack. You’re only alive because you’re a shapeshifter. I might need to show up in court to confirm I knew he was a pyro before I pulled the trigger, but it’ll be a five-minute session. The body smoldered fast, and I can verify under oath he intended to kill you.”

  I’d never realized there was more to being a firefighter than putting out fires. “And all firefighters have this license?”

  “No. Most are volunteers or paid by the state to deal with emergencies. Usually, an on-duty cop patrol handles pyro incidents, but stations have one licensed person on all evening shifts, as most pyros work at night. I’m the one who keeps the pyro busy until the police arrive. It’s only happened a few times while I was on shift. One was apprehended, the others were killed. Fortunately, there aren’t a lot of firebugs out to kill people.”

  I snorted a laugh. “Firebugs?”

  “Seems appropriate to me. They’re pests, and once they turn their magic on others, they deserve to be splattered beneath my heel.”

  The suppressor heated against my skin, and the strength of Malcolm’s hatred shocked me almost as much as the cool neutrality of his tone. Had I not felt the echo of his emotions through the bracelet, I wouldn’t have guessed his true feelings. Unless I wanted to find out what happened if his loathing grew any more intense, I needed to change the subject and fast. “Riddle me this. From what I can tell, your cousin wants your turf—or you’ve taken over part of his. How far do you think he’ll go to get rid of you?”

  “He’d sell his soul to the devil if he had one.”

  If Bubba Eugene had sold his soul to the devil, it certainly would’ve explained a lot. “Why?”

  “So many reasons, so little time.” Malcolm hesitated, his fingertips resting against my shoulder. “I’m sorry he dragged you into this.”

  “You have it backwards again. I kidnapped you, not the other way around. You’re supposed to be indignant over your capture. That’s how these things usually work.”

  Chuckling softly, he resumed applying the ointment, working his way along my spine. “I’m not bored, and it isn’t every day I get to run my hands all over a pretty woman.”

  “You’re into bald, blistered chicks? That is not what your cousin told me you were into.”

  “And here I thought we’d already established that my cousin is an idiot. Blisters heal and hair grows back. I’m a patient man.”

  I definitely needed to turn the conversation in another direction—any other direction. “Humor me. Why might your cousin want to get rid of you?”

  “When I was five, I tied his shoelaces to Dad’s boat while we were on the pier. It was my turn to go water skiing. That started it, I think.”

  Just what I needed, men with old schoolyard grudges complicating my life. “You’ve been harassing him all your life, haven’t you?”

  “He retaliated with itching powder in my shoes.”

  “How mature.”

  “Since I couldn’t let him have the last say, I stole his clothes whenever he went skinny dipping. I thought I was doing him a favor, giving him a chance to show off for the girls. It’s not my fault the girls didn’t appreciate his physique.”

  Despite fearing the answer, I asked, “What else did you do?”

  “I pixie dusted his graduation; he was the valedictorian. He giggled through his whole speech and took his gown off. Apparently, he wasn’t aware those gowns weren’t to be treated like kilts.”

  Had I been Bubba Eugene that day, Malcolm would’ve died before the sun set. “I didn’t expect your cousin to be smarter than you.”

  “I graduated two years before him. Skipped grades to do it. I was the valedictorian for my year, and I dodged all of his pranks. I also made sure to wear clothes under my gown.”

  “There has to be more to it than a few harmless pranks.”

  “Well, one time I gave him a basket of rabid raccoons. We both ended up needing treatment after that one. That prank backfired on me just a little.”

  With the invention of neutralizer, rabies faced extinction. “How the hell did you find rabid raccoons?”

  “It wasn’t easy. He should appreciate how much work, effort, and money I’ve put into tormenting him. I could’ve just used healthy coons instead. No, I went all in and found rabid ones.”

  “Please tell me the rabid raccoons are the worst of your pranks.”

  “I’d be lying if I told you that. Last year for his birthday, I gave him a new pair of cowboy boots. I creatively wrapped them.”

  Did I want to know? Probably not. I sighed. “How?”

  “I asked a practitioner friend of mine to reinforce a steel box. I put the boots in the box, put the box in his car, and took his car to the junkyard to be crushed. Then I wrapped it in pretty paper and gave it to him. The boots weren’t even scuffed. His car had seen better days.”

  “You’re a sociopath, aren’t you?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I have only one thing to say to you: if this whole kidnapping incident is part of a prank war, no one will find your bodies for a long time.”

  Malcolm laughed so hard he hiccupped and couldn’t continue applying the ointment. I twisted, hissed at the pain, and snatched the jar. No matter what, I wouldn’t kill anyone today. I would control my temper. It would test my patience, but I wouldn’t murder Malcolm, no matter how satisfying I believed it would be. “Please go away. Do us both a favor and order breakfast or something. I’m going to finish dealing with my burns, and no, I do not need your help.”

  “But you want my help. Be honest, Kanika. You want me for my body.”

  I screamed my frustration and pointed at the bathroom door. “In your dreams. Get out!”

  Chapter Ten

  Ignoring the doctor’s orders, I bandaged the worst of my burns and otherwise let nature take its course. Malcolm’s help would’ve simplified the task, but I refused to ask. Giving him extra ammunition was almost as bad as striking a deal with the devil.

  I had to be running out of luck. The crash alone could’ve killed me, but if there hadn’t been a pyromaniac out for my blood, I might’ve walked away with nothing more than a few bumps, bruises, and a limp.

  It would batter my already damaged pride, but I’d try to be grateful for Malcolm’s help. Like it or not, I owed him, which complicated matters for me. With a job to do, how could I balance my gratitude with necessity? No matter what I did, something would give. I’d either sacrifice my reputation and side with Malcolm, or I’d ruin my reputation and repay my life debt to him.

  Except for the moment I had kidnapped Malcolm, my plan had been a complete and total failure. Until my burns healed, I needed to rely on him for the little things, including driving. In a dire situation, I could probably drive, but my feet would hate me. Walking hurt. The constant pressure on the gas p
edal would do me in—and forget it if I needed to slam the brakes for any reason.

  I shook my head, grumbled a few curses, and went to work. By the time I finished with the bandages and got dressed, room service had arrived. Four covered platters waited on the small table. “Isn’t that a bit excessive?”

  “Hardly. You need to eat a lot so you can heal. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a bit of everything.”

  Too tired and sore to argue with him, I mumbled my thanks, grabbed one of the platters, and retreated to the couch. Sitting with him would’ve been polite, but I couldn’t bring myself to share such close quarters with him quite yet.

  In a few hours, we’d be stuck in a car together.

  I peeked under the platter’s lid to discover a massive portion of bacon and eggs. Bacon made everything seem a little better, and I took my time savoring each bite. The eggs didn’t impress me, but they rarely did. I ate them anyway. Malcolm was right about the food; healing would take a lot out of me, and if I didn’t stuff myself silly, I’d lose weight, a complication I didn’t need.

  Aware of Malcolm watching me, I returned the empty platter to the table and grabbed a second one.

  He chuckled and pointed at the chair I stood beside. “You don’t have to eat on the couch. I’m not going to bite.”

  Damn it. It was one thing to retreat but another to deliberately scorn him. I sat and kept most of my attention on my second breakfast, a stack of waffles covered in fresh fruit.

  “You’re not wearing your bandages.”

  “Really? I never would have guessed.” Abandoning all pretenses of being polite, I went to work on making the rest of my breakfast disappear, refusing to stop until I scraped every last bit of maple syrup from my plate.

  I felt Malcolm watching me, but I refused to meet his gaze. The silence persisted, and I fought the urge to fidget. When it became too much to bear, I growled, “What is it?”

  “You’re going to impair your healing if you don’t use the bandages.”

  “I refuse to go out looking like a mummy again.”

  “You’re going the zombie route, then? You’d make a good extra in a film. You really should wear the bandages. Without them, you’ll hurt more, and you might get an infection.”

  “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  Malcolm sighed and shook his head. “Did you at least cover the burns on your back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re a pain the ass?” Malcolm muttered.

  “Not really.” Most of the time, I limited my interactions with my clients to the necessities, and since I didn’t tend to stick around in any one place for long, I had more enemies than I had friends. It didn’t bother me much, except when someone like Malcolm came along and started asking questions.

  Malcolm snagged the last covered platter and revealed a plate loaded with bacon. Taking a piece, he pointed it at me. “I have a proposition for you.”

  While tempted to steal his bacon, I took a piece of my own, chewed on it, and let him stew for a few minutes. “What sort of proposition?”

  “One where we pay my cousin a visit and find out if he hired that pyro. If he wasn’t involved, I propose we team up and find the bastard responsible. That’ll let you keep your end of the contract with my cousin, I get to have a few words with him, and everyone’s happy.”

  On the surface, his idea seemed like a good one; Bubba Eugene had told me to kidnap Malcolm and take him away. Nothing in our agreement barred me from bringing him back—or to his cousin—after I completed the first phase of the job. All I needed to do was keep him away from his usual haunts. “And I suppose you’ll want me to remove the bracelet?”

  “No. I’ll ask you to deactivate it long enough for me to have words with my cousin, should I need any magic. While I don’t like it, it’s your insurance policy I’ll behave. I’m willing to swear an oath to cooperate with you, but you’d be right to be wary.” Malcolm smirked. “You might not even need it when I’m finished with him.”

  I shook my head. “There are more than a few problems with this.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll start with the obvious one. I kidnapped you. I’ll get arrested.”

  “Oh, you might get arrested, but it won’t be for kidnapping.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Cops are gossips. Word’ll get around I was in an accident with a girl. They’ll want to meet you, so they’re going to come up with a bogus charge so they can get their hands on you for questioning. If you’re really unlucky, they’ll introduce you to my parents. Aren’t you excited?” With his smirk still in place, he took another piece of bacon and pointed it at me. “You’ve made a big mistake.”

  Kidnapping Malcolm had been only one of many mistakes, and not even the first of them. “Specify. I can think of a few.”

  I had let him get away with pointing bacon at me once, but it wasn’t happening twice. I snapped my teeth and snatched it out of his hand, chomping on it before he could try to take it back.

  Laughing, he got a new piece. “You captured my attention. I warned you I like a challenge. Make no mistake, Kanika. I’m used to getting exactly what I want.”

  I snorted. “Too bad. I’m not a trophy, and you’re just part of a bad job. Get used to disappointment, because that’s all you’re getting from me.”

  “We’ll see.”

  After we finished breakfast and checked out of the hotel, Malcolm called his cousin. The discussion only took a few minutes, and the pair declared a temporary truce and picked a neutral meeting ground in Memphis, Tennessee. The location worked well for me; Bubba Eugene couldn’t accuse me of breaking our contract.

  I hoped I was released from the job and paid my base fee. Between Malcolm driving me crazy and my failure to pull the job off despite my preparations, I wanted to be done with the whole thing. If Bubba Eugene had anything to do with the pyro, there’d be hell to pay, too—and I’d incorrectly invoke the devil’s names as many times as necessary to force him to make an appearance.

  I’d turn it into a game. How many times could I get away with it before he showed up and fried my ass? Did I want to find out? Not really, but I couldn’t help but wonder.

  The cat in me always wanted to test the limits, and the devil was the ultimate challenge.

  Malcolm drove, an arrangement I liked since I still couldn’t walk without limping. I doubted I could have handled the two-hour drive even if I wanted to, which I didn’t.

  I appreciated the quiet; Malcolm focused on the road while my thoughts wandered. If I got out of my contract with Bubba Eugene, where would I go next? I’d leave Tennessee. Tennessee was bad for my health. I’d also avoid Georgia, since wise women limited their interactions with the devil as much as possible.

  Maybe I’d head to Europe and find a priest to perform an exorcism. Maybe I could get an audience with the Pope. Wasn’t the Catholic Church all about protecting the innocent from the devil’s treachery? Then again, I’d met the devil’s brothers, and both archangels seemed to like him. Go figure.

  In any case, with my tentative plans ruined, release from my contract would be the best thing for me. I could regroup, move on, and look for new work—safer work. With the devil’s money lining my pockets, I could take a few weeks to settle down somewhere and heal without worry.

  When we reached the hotel in Memphis, I throbbed. I had no hope of hiding my limp, and I wanted the strongest painkillers money could buy along with a nap. I could take the painkillers after I got something to eat, but the nap would have to wait.

  Malcolm parked the car and killed the engine. “All right. I’m going to need my magic for this.”

  I spoke the word Hagnar had taught me and reached over to unclasp the bracelet. “I haven’t had a chance to experiment with it, so it’s best if you’re not wearing it.”

  “That wasn’t our agreement.”

  “I’m not going to risk it. I don’t know if that limits how muc
h you can use or not. If you need your magic, I’d feel better if you could access all of it.” I spoke the truth, too. If Malcolm made his escape, I could write the entire job off and get out of the contract that way, too. My reputation would nosedive, but I could deal with that. Time and effort would undo the damage eventually. “I’ll feel better if you’re not wearing it for this meeting. If you want to wear it after you talk with your cousin, that’s your choice.”

  “Why?”

  “I already told you. I haven’t had a chance to experiment with the bracelet myself yet. I don’t know what’ll happen when you use your magic while wearing it.” I shrugged and got out of the car. “Consider the scales balanced.”

  “I helped you, so you’re helping me?”

  “Close enough. Why don’t you introduce me to your cousin? I can’t promise I’ll be polite, though.”

  “He wouldn’t know how to be polite if you beat him with an etiquette book, so don’t worry about it. Just try not to break his face. Faces are off limits.”

  “Fine. No faces.”

  Malcolm led me into the hotel’s bar, and I had no trouble identifying Bubba Eugene. The pair were cut from the same cloth, looking more like brothers—or twins—than cousins. I hoped I never had to tell them apart if they both decided to wear the same clothes.

  Bubba Eugene slid off his stool at the bar and strode to us. “Mal. You’re late.”

  “Wasn’t risking an accident speeding to get here. The lady has had her fair share of trouble already thanks to you, Robert.”

  Bubba Eugene’s first name was Robert? I bit back my laughter and smiled. Why would anyone choose to go by Bubba when he had a perfectly nice first name like Robert?

  My client’s gaze slid to me. “You’re Kanika?”

  “Yes.”

  “I expected more… hair.”

  If I murdered my client, how badly would my reputation suffer? I clenched my teeth and barely avoided balling my hands into fists. However satisfying it would be to snarl profanities at my client, I’d take the high road and keep my mouth shut.