Evening Storm (Midnight Chronicles Book 2)

by Andrea Pearson

  I stepped inside, skipping the small talk and going straight to what I needed. “I’m going to be hiding out in Lizzie’s house today while she’s gone. Once she’s asleep tonight, I’ll be placing protection charms and spells on her similar to the ones I put up in your basement.”

  “And they have to be done while she’s sleeping?”

  I knew she’d catch on quickly. “I’d rather keep my specific abilities private for now.”

  Mrs. Russell nodded. This woman was pretty great. She knew all about keeping secrets.

  For some reason, those who had power over me—like my previous slave owners and the Shadow Prophet—could know about the tattoos without it affecting their functionality. But when regular people—peers or normal humans—found out, the tattoos didn’t function the way they were supposed to.

  I’d had to kill everyone who’d learned about them. Luckily, only a couple of individuals had ever known they existed.

  Because the Russells weren’t in positions of power over me, I decided not to bring them in on my special abilities.

  “Knowing that you’ll be doing this makes me feel much more at ease,” she said. “Did you pack enough food? I don’t know how long she’ll be gone, but I’d hate for you to get hungry while waiting.”

  I told her what I had in my car—a couple of sandwiches, beef jerky, and string cheese—and she tsked.

  “That’s hardly enough. What if she’s gone for several hours? A guy like you can’t possibly be kept full on that little food.”

  She had a point. I’d really just hoped I wouldn’t have to wait long.

  Mrs. Russell had me follow her into the kitchen, where she proceeded to pack up several things for me to take, including a thermos of leftover stew. I thanked her, gathered up the food, then headed to my car to get the rest of my stash.

  It took me a few minutes to decide where to park my car. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by leaving it in the same place every time. After parking, I set out on foot toward Lizzie’s house, then let myself in and locked the door behind me.

  Once inside, I verified that the place was empty before choosing a hiding spot. The only place where I could actually hide was the closet in the guest bedroom. Her house was tiny—a two-bedroom home with just one bathroom, a small living room, and a little kitchen—and it didn’t give me a lot of options. But the winter clothes she had stored in that closet would help keep me comfortable, and I knew she wouldn’t think to check there.

  Satisfied I’d chosen the best place, I pulled out a can of WD-40 and sprayed pretty much all of the hinges in her house so the doors wouldn’t squeak when I opened them. Then I put up my protection spells, knowing by this point they’d hide my Arete print from Lizzie.

  And then, with a bunch of food, water, and a full battery on my phone to keep me company, I settled in for what could possibly be a long wait.

  31

  Luckily for my bladder, the wait only ended up being a couple of hours. Of course, half of that was Lizzie doing email on the computer in the guest room, getting ready for bed, and talking on the phone to someone I assumed was her mom. But finally, she ended the call and headed to bed.

  I waited an additional hour, reading a crime novel on my phone in the meantime.

  When I was sure she was asleep, I stepped from the closet, carefully shutting the door behind me, glad I’d thought about the WD-40.

  And then I approached Lizzie’s door, unsurprised to find it shut. I rested my head against it, preparing myself for the onslaught of emotions that would probably hit me the moment I stepped through it.

  Something inside me had flipped. With the decision I’d made not to kill her, regardless of what it did to my mom, I’d felt the angry emotions—the angst, the heartache, the frustrations—gradually slip away. I’d felt relief and peace and calm.

  I’d made the correct choice.

  I felt like slapping myself. Of course I’d made the correct choice. Not murdering an innocent person usually was the right decision.

  Pushing aside my thoughts, knowing I had work that needed to be done, I gripped the handle. Being alone with her, in her bedroom, at night, was a bad idea. Even if she was asleep.

  Despite my decision not to kill her, I couldn’t afford to grow emotionally attached to her. Not until everything with the Shadow Prophet was resolved. Before that happened, I really didn’t know if he’d destroy her or not.

  Finally ready, I turned the handle and nudged the door open an inch. I took a deep breath, releasing it as quietly as I could. And then, with one finger on the solid wood, I slowly pushed the door until it was fully open.

  Lizzie was sound asleep, her back toward me, wearing an oversized T-shirt. She was breathing deeply, her shoulder lifting and falling gently. Her cat was sleeping on the bed. The animal raised its head, staring at me, but didn’t freak out when I stepped into the room. That surprised me. Maybe she didn’t perceive me as a threat?

  I prepared myself, knowing I had to come in contact with Lizzie in order to make the protection tattoo work. How would I do that without her feeling it, though? Was she a heavy or a light sleeper? What would I do if she woke up while I was in her room?

  That would be so freaking awkward.

  Knowing that the skin on her upper arm would be less sensitive than the skin on her hand, face, or neck, I chose that area. And then I pressed my tattoo.

  Protect her.

  With the tattoo still pressed, I hovered my finger over her arm, lowering slowly until I very, very gently brushed the skin there.

  Warmth tickled up my arm as my tattoo confirmed my wishes.

  Quick as a flash, I backed out of the room, pulling the door shut quietly. I grabbed my stuff and booked it to my car. It wasn’t until I sat behind my wheel that I breathed a sigh of relief. Task done.

  I pulled into the Russells’ driveway and returned the thermos before heading to my apartment to get some sleep.

  ***

  The next day, Lizzie sent me a text, asking me to meet her at a friend’s house. Apparently, her friend had a lot of connections in the magical world, and she wanted to make sure Lizzie had the help she needed when it came to fighting these hounds.

  I could understand that. I hoped that simply seeing me would calm the woman’s mind. Usually, it did.

  And so, I entered the address into the map application on my phone, and followed the directions.

  The GPS led me to a house way up the mountain between Salt Lake Valley and Utah Valley. Many of the houses I passed on the way were monstrosities—the types of houses I’d daydreamed about living in as a child, but which would only make me constantly stress about money if I owned them now.

  Based on what I saw as I drove, I expected another mansion, but the woman—Eleanora—lived in a modest rambler. That predisposed me to like her.

  I pulled into the driveway, noting with curiosity that she didn’t have a garage. Weird. Maybe she really wanted to lower the value of her home?

  Before I had the chance to ring the bell, Lizzie pulled the door open. The way she held her shoulders showed me she was slightly nervous. Not enough for her to recognize it herself, but it made me wonder. What was making her feel apprehensive? Having me meet Eleanora?

  She had nothing to worry about.

  But after I’d followed her into the kitchen and my eyes landed on the stooped elderly woman a moment later, my stomach dropped.

  Lizzie had everything to worry about.

  Eleanora was my seventh target.

  32

  She’d tracked me down. The woman had somehow tracked me down.

  Was that why Lizzie was nervous?

  Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.

  Eleanora had spilled the news. Lizzie knew what was going on.

  She’s going to hate me.

  Crap.

  Through my panic, I recognized reason. Lizzie couldn’t possibly know. She carried herself in a way that was far too trusting of me. She would have been screaming at me, yelling, sweari
ng, or at least completely distancing herself, and yet, her arm brushed against mine as we stopped in front of Eleanora.

  Why was Lizzie apprehensive, then?

  Because of who Eleanora was. I’d recognized it myself days earlier—this woman was a powerful figure in the local community. Lizzie really wanted her to like and approve of me.

  There was no way on earth Eleanora would.

  I could tell by the expression on her face when she met my eyes. She knows who I am. She knew what I’d done. Who I’d murdered. Where I was headed next.

  I was dead. So very, very dead.

  Lizzie introduced me to the older woman.

  Eleanora’s gaze didn’t leave mine. She extended a hand, asking, “You feel like you can help her?”

  I contained my surprise. I’d expected bullets to the chest, not a handshake. She was going along with my façade of protecting Lizzie. Why?

  Of course, it really wasn’t a façade—especially not now—but this woman couldn’t possibly know that.

  “Yes. I do.”

  Eleanora surprised me by grinning, a slightly flirtatious expression on her face. “You’re a handsome one.” She folded her arms. “What sort of things do you specialize in, Abel? Maybe I’ll have a job for you someday.”

  Was she serious? Was it possible she wasn’t aware of my role where my previous targets were concerned? Or maybe she was putting on a show. Maybe she didn’t know how much I knew.

  I tucked my hands in my pockets. “This and that. Mostly dealing with pests and handling jobs other people can’t do.”

  Eleanora chuckled. “Pretty nondescript. Do you have a business card? I’d like to keep something on hand if I end up having . . . problems with pests.” She winked. “You’re not talking about bugs, right?”

  I shook my head, totally and completely baffled. I needed more information. I had to continue playing along until I knew what she was playing at.

  “No, ma’am. The pests I’m referring to are demons—the big, ugly guys who don’t leave you alone until they’re dealt with.”

  Something else struck me just then. Eleanora was a Silver—I finally got past my panic enough to sense the powers swirling around her. No wonder she was so respected in the community.

  I pulled my wallet out of a back pocket and handed her a faded and worn business card. I really should have updated those years ago. “That’s my last one. Haven’t had to give out a business card in a long time. Most people don’t use them these days.”

  Eleanora invited me to take a seat, and then she turned the third degree on me.

  33

  “How many people have you killed?”

  My blood ran cold, my heart practically freezing in my chest. “Are we talking about demons? The hounds that Lizzie’s hunting?”

  Please say yes. Please say yes.

  “Let’s start with hounds.”

  “I’ve offed a few of them. But not permanently. Only Lizzie kills them permanently.”

  “Good point. What about other demons?”

  I leaned back in my chair, desperately trying to appear casual as I put my hands behind my head. “Well, that requires a bit of history.” I glanced at Lizzie. How much should I tell? I hadn’t talked about my past hardly at all. I didn’t want it to scare her away, but I needed her to understand me, to know where I’d come from.

  “I was raised on earth, but around the time I turned eighteen, my magical print caught the attention of an ancient race as they passed by. Apparently, my pulse was impossible to ignore. They kidnapped me and sold me into slavery in a different dimension. Made them quite the profit, from what I heard.

  “It was in that dimension where Lizzie and Nicole found me. In the beginning, I was stronger than most, and pretty healthy. My sole purpose was to protect my owners’ compound and their rare, powerful items. I got very good at it. Seems I had a knack for killing, as it came naturally and easily. It didn’t bother me—my experiences had jaded me.”

  “Slavery does that,” Eleanora said. “I can’t imagine the horrors you experienced.”

  I shook my head, forgetting for the moment who I was with. I still felt sick about what I’d seen—the people who’d been tortured and brutally murdered. The people I’d assassinated for my masters. My life in slavery had been an ugly one.

  “Unfortunately, my owners expected my magic to develop while under their control, giving them access to it. When my Restart didn’t happen, they practically went crazy trying to trigger it. Ultimately, they decided to starve me—either to death or to Restarting.

  “By the time Lizzie and Nicole found me, I was nearly dead. I was twenty-six or twenty-seven, and my owners had long since given up on me. If I’d Restarted before I’d been found, they would’ve fought harder to get me back.” I glanced at Lizzie. “My master didn’t know it, but if it had happened while I was under his control, it would have killed me. Lizzie saved me. She’s saved me more than once now.”

  I met her gaze, trying to convey in one glance just how much I cared for her. How much I appreciated her for giving me hope and peace and calm. For giving me a purpose.

  Lizzie must have sensed something because she put her hand on mine.

  “You’ve returned the favor several times.”

  The warmth in her expression made my heart—still frozen from the events of the past several minutes—thaw just a little bit.

  I didn’t miss the expression of skepticism on Eleanora’s face, though. She stared at us, her eyebrow raised. “What happened after they rescued you?”

  “I didn’t know how much longer I had to live—I knew my Restart would eventually kill me. Instead of focusing on a regular career, I used skills I’d already developed.”

  “Assassination?”

  So she did know. Her tone of voice carried so much judgment, so much hatred. But if she’d been forced to live the way I had, she would have chosen the same path. I was sure of it.

  “Yes. And of more than just demons.”

  Lizzie stilled next to me, and my heart dropped. I kept my gaze on Eleanora, but a large part of me wanted to turn to her, to see her expression, to know what she was thinking. The other part wanted to run and never return. To hide in the Amazon jungle. To forget everyone I loved so I couldn’t possibly disappoint another person I cared for.

  “I didn’t know what else to do,” I found myself rushing to say. “And I only killed when I absolutely had to.”

  “How many have you assassinated so far?”

  I hesitated, watching Eleanora closely. She wasn’t asking casually—she was far too serious for that. This was a very important question. It was the question. How many of the Shadow Prophet’s targets had I murdered? “Five.”

  She grunted. “Well, that’s good to know.”

  Why was that good to know? Did she not know the order I was supposed to murder in? Did she not realize she and Lizzie were the last two? Or maybe she didn’t know the total number of targets. Maybe she thought it was a high number, and five wasn’t close to the end.

  Eleanora surprised me by moving away from the assassination topic. “How have your powers been doing since Restarting?”

  “Not well.”

  “Explain.”

  I shook my head impatiently. “Any time I try to do anything, I pass out. In fact, just sensing the pulses coming from you and Lizzie makes me struggle.”

  “Everything you’ve tried is big scale, right?”

  I snorted. “If you consider creating a raindrop big scale, then yes.”

  Eleanora rubbed her chin. “Be careful. Don’t use your magic unless you absolutely have to.” She looked at Lizzie, then back at me. “If you’re here to help and protect her, you can’t let anything get in the way of doing your job.”

  How did she know about my contract to protect Lizzie? Those had been her words, not Lizzie’s. And I hadn’t ever told Lizzie I was there not just to help her, but to protect her too.

  “I know. I haven’t forgotten.”

  Lizzie
tapped my hand. “Restarting gave you access to every element, but you haven’t worked through the process regular Aretes have to work through.”

  I looked at her. “Go on.”

  “The rest of us have to practice, even with our natural element. We have to start slow, figure out what that natural ability is, and then move on from there. It’s hard, exhausting work. The brain, especially in the beginning, is weak and unable to focus for very long. And even small tasks are enough to render us useless. Trust me, I know. It’s why I became a Fire Impeder. I never was able to branch into other subsets of magic. Instead, I focused inwardly.”

  Eleanora nodded. “That’s not uncommon for Fire Impeders. And Lizzie has a point. You must start small. Grow and develop, line upon line. Until you are able to grasp it all.”

  I thanked her, then glanced over at Lizzie. “We have a party to get ready for, don’t we?”

  She nodded, and relief flooded my system. We could leave. I needed time to compute what I’d learned. That Lizzie was friends with Eleanora, my seventh target.

  Lizzie got to her feet and gave the older woman a hug. “If anything else comes up, let me know.”

  “I will.”

  She made sure we had enough cookies, then Lizzie and I thanked her and left.

  On the way to our cars, I said, “After you grab what you’ll be wearing this weekend, meet me at my place. I’ll text you the address.”

  She agreed, and I sent her the address for my warehouse before hopping in the car and leaving. Only two minutes after I’d pulled away from Eleanora’s house, my phone rang. It was from a number I didn’t have saved, but since I wasn’t on a job at the moment, I answered.

  “Abel? It’s Eleanora. You and I have a lot of talking to do.”

  34

  My palms immediately got sweaty, and I had to readjust my grip on the steering wheel.

  “Oh?”

  “I know who you are and what you’re doing.”

  I was afraid of as much. But still . . . “You’re going to have to give me more to go off of than that.”

  “Am I? Fine. Rachel. Lizzie. Me. Stanley. Darby. Scott. Mike.”