by K. F. Breene
Daisy wrapped her hand around the hilt of the knife in her bra. Before the woman could stop her, she yanked the blade out, slicing her would-be strangler’s arm as it passed by.
The woman jerked back and turned, immediately going into defensive mode. It was too late. Daisy was already moving, thankful for the proximity, since she had to use her nondominant hand. She surged forward and rammed the blade into the woman’s gut. Before the woman could fully pull her hands away from Daisy’s neck, Daisy pulled her blade out and slammed it in again, this time slipping it between the ribs. Lucky shot. One more for the kidney, which she missed, slicing the woman’s side instead. She really needed to work on this hand.
The woman grunted, unreally quiet despite the onslaught, and staggered forward. Daisy tried to get out of the way, but she got twisted up with the chair and went down. Her bad wrist hit first and she cried out.
The chair tumbled out of the way. The woman, blood running onto the floor, grabbed for Daisy. Daisy rolled away, the room spinning.
She forced herself through it, knowing this was life or death, and scrambled up, her wrist held down at her side. It would feel better if she cradled it against her body, but it was out of the way in case the woman surprised her with a body kick or punch.
The woman rolled onto her side, trying to get up, giving Daisy an opportunity to kick her in the stomach, right in her wound. The woman screamed, curling in on herself. Daisy dropped and stabbed the knife through the woman’s throat.
“You don’t fuck with my family and get to live,” Daisy said, straightening up. She wiped the drool from her mouth and stepped back slowly, watching, waiting. If the enemy was good, she’d feign a mortal wound to bring the attacker closer, greedy for a kill.
One must never be greedy for a kill.
If the enemy was good, she would see the attacker backing off, assured of victory, and become the attacker herself.
One must never let down her guard, even when the enemy is on the very brink of death.
So when did one finish things up, or was Daisy supposed to wait here all day for the woman to bleed out? She wished she’d known to ask during Zorn’s instruction.
Daisy waited for the remorse to come, for the cacophony of emotion following a kill, especially her first personal kill. Zorn had warned her to be ready for it. To be ready to talk herself around it if there was no one there to help her.
None came.
She felt no remorse whatsoever. Not for this woman, who had intended to kill her. Not for her partner in crime, who had killed Mordecai…
The sorrow nearly stole her breath.
Okay, fine, she did feel pain for Jack. Clawing betrayal. She wasn’t dead inside, after all. She’d need help dealing with Jack. But not this woman. Not this asshole, who’d tried to kill a kid in cold blood, whispering lullabies and calling the situation a mess.
“Look who’s the mess now, motherfucker,” she whispered. “And you better bleed out before you can tell Alexis I swore.”
Amos
Amos parked along the street in the plain brown Dodge he’d stolen from his hotel parking lot. The afternoon sun beat down on the corner lot, the weathered and beaten building hunkering among the newer condos and buzzing office buildings. He could barely see the red car sitting idle in the parking lot.
Aaron’s staffer was still there.
Amos let his lungs slowly deflate. That was a relief. Demigod Magnus didn’t tolerate failure. Amos wasn’t the only Possessor in the world, and he wasn’t even the best—he didn’t want the boss to think about replacing him.
He grabbed his bag from the front seat. The various items within tinkled as they fell against one another. He strung the strap over his shoulder and stepped out of the car, dressed in business casual with his hair slicked to one side. There was less of a chance people would notice him if he fit into the surroundings.
A soft breeze carrying the salt from the distant sea floated through the trees, waving the branches. He made his way down the sidewalk, not used to doing this in person. Usually his body was stored away in a safe place, always available if things went wrong. Always welcoming.
His shoulders bunched against his ears and then relaxed, a nervous tic. He felt completely exposed. Absolutely vulnerable. A knife in the ribs could only hurt him, not kill or even wound him, if he was in someone else’s body. But here, in the flesh, that knife could be the end of him.
Had that been Magnus’s plan? You could never know with that Demigod. Magnus was tricky. He laid plans sometimes years out, working each little thread like a spider until his desired outcome came to pass. It was better to go into service to the less political Demigods, the ones without such rich and influential territories. You wouldn’t get paid as much, but on average you lasted longer.
Given Amos’s magic, he hadn’t thought it would be a problem. With his body safe, he usually didn’t have to worry about lasting. Following orders and, when he couldn’t, doing a good job had always been enough.
It was fine. He’d just hop into the body of Aaron’s staffer, take out the girl, arrange everything, kill the host, and be back out, lickety-split. The girl was tied up with a broken wrist. She had no weapons—Amos had checked her himself. He could just slit her throat and move on.
Down the way, a car sped around the corner and pulled up across from the dingy building. It then swung into the parking lot and parked at a diagonal, close to the red car. Three people hurriedly stepped out, walking around the front to convene. Two well-built men and a woman, from the look of it. Amos was too far away to see their faces. They were dressed well, which bespoke the area, but they moved differently than Chesters. Non-magical folk had a tendency toward jerky, bumbling movements, but these three moved like they were prowling, sleek and graceful. And they were moving quickly. Nearly jogging.
Amos slowed.
The taller, dark-haired one put out an arm to keep the woman back while he took the place in. The other man, standing in a way that reminded Amos of death incarnate, scanned the area. Though Amos couldn’t make out the man’s features, he knew those eyes were sussing him out, analyzing him as he continued to amble along.
Thank mighty Hades that Amos had chosen to fit in.
The man in the lead started forward, the woman hurrying to follow. Amos continued toward the building, watching them from afar. As he got a little closer, excitement coursed through him.
The Demigod! The Soul Stealer! And one of the Six, Amos was sure.
With a grin, Amos about-faced and stalked right back to his car. He slid into the passenger seat, locked the doors, and leaned his seat all the way back. Once there, he pulled his bag closer.
From the distance, he couldn’t be sure which of the Six that had been. Or, he should say, which of the five. He’d already shaved down one of their number. This Demigod would soon learn why all the other Demigods had such large staffs.
He pulled out the little charms the spirit thief had nicked, nasty little cretin. That plain fellow gave the Hades lineage a bad name. Any Chester could basically do what he did, after all. Still, he’d been useful. The tokens all glittered in Amos’s hands: a pen with the writing worn off from heavy use, a cuff link that had lost its shine, a button from a favorite jacket—all stuff that had been around the owner for a good length of time. All easily nabbed from desks or office floors.
Amos wiggled to get comfortable and settled in. He’d studied up on the Six. As soon as he found the right body, he’d know which magic lay at his fingertips. He’d let everyone else deal with the crying girl and Aaron’s staffer. The chaos would prove excellent cover to take out the Demigod.
29
Bria
Bria turned and stared down a filthy man in raggedy clothes with an open plastic bag full of cans. A few cans had broken free and were now rattling around his feet.
Boman checked his watch, standing beside Thane and Donovan near the door at the other end of the car. “Twelve minutes.”
Red nodded tersely. She
stood next to Bria beside the car’s second exit, close to Can Man.
“Hey, bud,” Bria said to the man. All the other patrons on the train had been cleared. Every single one…except this stubborn asshole. He’d refused to budge, insisting it wasn’t constitutional. “Mind picking up your cans? They’re driving me crazy.”
“I gotta right to be here,” the man yelled. “This is the U-S-of-A, damnit. I have a right to be here, and I have a right to these cans. You can’t stop me.”
Bria checked her phone, the desire for action pumping through her. “Donovan, do something about those cans, would ya?”
“Anything yet?” Boman asked her.
She didn’t respond. Zorn had called when they hit the shore. They were going to grab a car and head to the building. That had been seven minutes ago. Zorn had reckoned it was a six-minute trip.
“Donovan!” she barked.
The fallen cans lifted into the air, three of them tucking into the plastic bag. The fourth fell back to the ground.
“The devil!” the man shouted, ducking from some unseen force. “Witches!” He straightened up and pointed at Bria. “Witch!”
“Sexist,” she said. The train went around a bend in the track. The can rattled across the floor and bumped up against the side. “Donovan.”
“What?”
She turned at him, annoyed. “What do you mean wh…”
His eyebrows were raised. His shoulders twitched upward.
“What do we call Daisy?” she asked him, butterflies swarming her stomach.
Everyone else froze, a terribly obvious reaction to what was happening.
Donovan wiggled his finger in his ear and then stopped moving. He blinked, took his hand down, and stared blankly at his finger.
“Donovan, what do we call Daisy?” Bria repeated, then held up her hand as an oh shit expression crossed his face. “Wait, never mind. I remember now…”
Thane jerked and then reached for the bar next to him to stabilize himself.
Thane liked challenging his balance. Always. He was no longer himself. The Possessor was moving through heads, looking for someone. Probably Lexi.
Would Lexi be able to resist him? Was that possible with her magic?
“I heard a joke the other day.” Bria walked over and picked up the can.
“Filthy witch,” the homeless man shouted at her.
Thane swung his head around to look at the homeless man, clearly confused.
She resumed her position, holding the can in her outstretched hand.
“Knock, knock,” Bria said. “Boman, knock, knock.”
Boman was staring at the back of Thane’s head. He started buttoning his pockets. He was preparing in case he was next. He wanted to make it harder for the Possessor to get to his weapons, easier for the others to take him down. He was prepared to die to keep someone from using him to kill one of the others.
“Who’s there?” Boman replied.
Thane leaned back, shaking his head, then stepped away from the pole. Bria thought she heard him swear—not usual for him.
“Banana.”
“Banana who?” Boman asked, backing up into the corner and putting his hands on the walls. Donovan tucked his hands into his pockets.
“Knock, knock,” Bria said, starting over, still holding that can, wondering who would be next. If they would be in the train.
The train jerked on the track, then curved right. Henry staggered backward and fell between the threadbare cushioned seats.
“Uh-oh.” Thane turned to help him.
“Who’s there?” Boman asked, his palms still on the walls.
“You okay, buddy?” Thane was standing in Henry’s way, making it awkward for him to climb out of the seats to standing.
“Banana.”
“Banana…” Boman took his hands away from the walls before he jerkily put them back on. “Uhm…”
“He’s not being subtle,” Red murmured, ignoring the shouting from the homeless man and looking out through the window. “He’s not after someone in this train.”
“I know.”
“He thinks the job will be done by the time we reach the others.”
“I know.”
“What’s the job?”
“Whatever it is, we have”—she checked her phone—“ten minutes to save the day.”
30
Alexis
The peeling wood door of the small office building felt warm under my hand. One soul pulsed inside, big and bright. Tears clouded my vision and I wondered if I’d ever stop crying.
“Just her.” I tried the handle. It was locked. “It’s just Daisy in there.”
Jack slipped through the door, and Kieran nearly took a step back. Jack, thankfully, didn’t notice. A moment later, he was back.
“Daisy took that chick out.” Jack said it so exuberantly that he would have sprayed spit had he been alive. “She took her out! How the hell…”
Zorn gently moved me to the side and proceeded to ram his shoulder into the door. Wood on the frame broke. The door swung inward.
“Where?” Zorn asked, stopping in a sort of seventies lobby area.
I jogged down the hall, pointing toward the small office on the left. The black letters on the door were peeling off and illegible, but there was a plaque bearing the number 101 beside it. Zorn busted into that room, too, the door breaking free from one of the hinges and swinging.
The sparse area I’d seen in the spirit world greeted us. To the side, the door leading to the supply closet in which Daisy had been held captive stood open. Daisy’s soul gleamed in there, and I jogged to the door quickly, gasping when I stood at the mouth of it.
The woman I’d seen earlier lay on her stomach with her face to the side, blood pooling around her on the floor. Her spirit had already taken off.
Daisy stood against the wall, a bloody knife in her left hand, and her badly bruised right wrist tucked up against her middle. Her face was paler than I’d ever seen it.
Zorn stepped in front of her and turned so the carnage was at his back. So he was blocking it. He lowered his head to her. “You okay?”
Her luminous eyes had been dulled, and I couldn’t tell if it was because of the pain or what she’d done. She blinked a few times and her pupils constricted. Tears filled her eyes when she saw me.
“You came.”
“Of course we came.” I rushed to her, hugging her tightly. Her cry made me step back and look down at her hurt wrist. “Sorry! I’m sorry.” I smoothed her hair, tears dripping down my face. Guilt consumed me. We wouldn’t have been in time. She’d had to save herself. “I’m so sorry,” I said again, and not because of her wrist this time.
“You okay?” Zorn asked again, scanning her face.
She seemed to know what he was asking. “Not about Jack.” More tears dripped down. “I’m not okay about Jack. He did this. He k-kill—” Daisy shook her head, unable to say the words.
“Tell her, Lexi, please.” Jack squeezed in. “Please tell her I’d never hurt her. Not if I was in my right mind. Please.”
“Zorn, give them a second,” Kieran said, his voice a whip crack of command. “Alexis, go ahead and act as the bridge between Jack and Daisy. They both need closure.”
Zorn stiffened, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to leave his charge, or because Jack was in the room, before stepping aside.
“She’s okay, but our work isn’t done,” Kieran murmured to him. “Find out who owns this place. How long it has been here. Let’s make sure we have all our eggs in the basket. Call the others to tell them she’s safe. Then we need to find out more about that Possessor.”
They moved into the larger room as I explained the whole Possessor situation to Daisy, telling her that both Jack and the woman who’d kidnapped her had been possessed.
“But Mordie made it,” I finished, tears in my eyes. “He’ll be okay.”
“Wait.” She grabbed my upper arm with her good hand. “Is…” She swallowed. �
�He’s…?”
I nodded at her, smiling with the relief I’d felt. “He’s okay. He’ll be fine. He just needs to heal now.”
She stared at me, taking it in, her eyes going glassy.
The feeling of spirit being manipulated tore my focus away. This wasn’t the same feeling as a spirit moving through the space, however. No, this was the feeling of something entering, like the other night at the house.
I turned, brow furrowed, stepping away a little. Daisy and I could hug it out later. We weren’t out of the woods yet.
“What is it?” Daisy asked, sagging against the wall.
“Something’s…” Another soul blipped onto my radar, faint at first, as though it was manifesting. It seemed to be overlaying Zorn’s, sharing the same space.
Dawning understanding made my stomach drop. Before I could turn, the door closed with a soft thump, and the lock clicked over.
“Kieran!” I rushed to the door and turned the handle. “Kieran!”
“What’s happening?” Daisy asked, pushing off the wall.
I banged my shoulder into the door to bust it open. It didn’t budge. This was well made, from an era that hadn’t tried to skimp on such things, and I didn’t have Zorn’s physique.
“Zorn’s compromised,” I shouted as Kieran approached the door.
“Alexis?” His voice was badly muffled. I almost couldn’t make out my name.
“Zorn is compromised!” I yelled as loudly as I could, magically digging into Zorn’s chest so I could boot out the Possessor’s soul. But it overlaid Zorn’s soul perfectly, as if the two had been fused. I couldn’t rip out one without ripping out the other.
“Not without seeing,” I muttered to myself, feeling around the edges of the soul box, trying to find any differences in how they were rooted. How they connected. “I can’t work on feeling the first time. I need to see—”
“I got it,” Jack said, dashing for the wall. “I can tell him.”