The writing is poor—childlike, even.
Couldn’t find u anywhere. Zerachu weird. Stole the rest of my book and talisman. Drax and I had to evacuate with everyone.
PS: Took ur wallet 4 money 4 motel. Lucky Cheetah. 308.
Rachel.
Fuck. Is she trying to tell me that she’s lost the entire Book of Origin now? First, the vampires sent by Lucius stole some of its pages, and now she’s lost the rest. And on top of that, the Heart of Danu was taken, too. This is why I didn’t want a young fucking witch holding on to something so powerful.
What was I thinking?
Closing my eyes, I inhale the seductive smell of beer while gliding its cool glass lip across mine. I want this more than anything, but I also know that shit just got real. It takes everything in me to put the bottle down, but I do it.
This is the first time I ever hear of the Dark Hall being evacuated, which means things are bad.
Beyond bad.
Now, some evil and powerful witch has the Book of Origin and the Heart of Danu.
We’re all fucked.
Chapter 15
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The Lucky Cheetah looks like someone built it for the sole purpose of allowing underpaid prostitutes to do their jobs. It’s surely owned by a slumlord or a pimp. Everything about it screams dirty, rundown, and cheap. Even the sign hangs on an angle, and from where I’m standing, it looks like a pair of panties are stuck on the giant L.
I go to room number 308 like Rachel’s note instructed and knock on the door. I know I’m at the right place when Mr. Mushroom barks and claws at the front door.
Sometimes, I think he wishes he were a Rottweiler. Either that or he thinks he is.
Several door locks unlatch and Rachel’s face appears in a narrow crack between the doorframe and the door, a rusted chain dangling across her forehead.
I suck on my front teeth and grab my hips as if to say, Well, you gonna let me in, or what?
Quickly, she unlatches the chain and flings the door open.
Barging in, I say, “You steal my wallet and you get a room in a shithole like this?”
“I was trying to save you money,” Rachel says.
I should be thanking her, but I’m filthy rich now. The last thing I want to do is hang out in a place that reminds me of my apartment.
At the other end of the room, Drax sits on the one bed in the room with smoke floating around his head. When he catches me watching him, he slaps the air in front of him and coughs. “It’s about time.”
“About time?” I say. “What the fuck is going on?”
Drax and Rachel exchange a look, which leads me to believe I’m missing something.
“We should be asking you that,” Drax says. “You ditched us for a week and then shit hit the fan at the casino. Where the hell have you been?”
My jaw hangs loose. A week? How is that even possible?
“What’re you talking about, Drax? I was gone for a few hours.”
With bloodshot eyes, Drax stares at me the way he does when he’s trying to figure out if I’m drunk, high, or both.
“It’s been a week, Alex.”
Tucking my thumb inside my jeans, I pull at them.
“Oh, shit,” I say. “That’s why these things feel loose on me. I haven’t eaten in a week.”
“Where were you?” Drax asks.
Shaking my head, I move toward the fridge. The moment I open it, Red bubbles inside of me, begging to be released. Why is it empty? Drax knows better than to not have alcohol available for me.
“You need a clear head,” he says before I can turn around and glare at him.
I squeeze the fridge’s handle so hard it snaps off and Rachel lets out a gasp.
“I will be clear,” I say through clenched teeth, “once I get something in me.”
Rachel points at a pile of junk food next to Drax. “We got chips.”
Mr. Mushroom barks, jumps on the bed, and shoves his head in one of the half-eaten bags. Riskus grabs one of the unopened bags, opens his mouth nearly as wide as his body, and eats the whole thing in one gulp.
“Hey!” I shout.
Riskus freezes with a bag of chips hanging out of his mouth and Mr. Mushroom flattens his ears and cowers next to Drax.
“What the hell are you doing feeding my dog this shit?” I snap.
Rachel shrugs. “I got him kibble,” she says, pointing at an ugly folded bag that looks like it’s been sitting in storage for years. “But he won’t eat it.”
“No shit,” I say. “I only feed him premium.”
“It says premium on the bag,” Rachel says.
“Rachel, half the writing on that bag is in Chinese. I’ve never even heard of the brand. It’s probably full of cat meat or some shit.”
“Whoa,” Rachel says. “What are you, a racist?”
“Racist?” I sneer. “Cut the sensitivity bullshit, kid. Just because it’s a stereotype doesn’t mean it isn’t true or that I mean it as an insult. Do your research and you’ll see that cat meat is a thing in some parts of China.”
She turns to Drax, but he knows better than to get involved in an argument with me.
“I’m heading out for a drink. When I get back, I expect answers.”
“All right, all right,” Drax says, sticking an arm up in the air. “There’s vodka under the bed.”
I glower at him until I feel like my eyes are about to seal themselves shut. “Why are you only telling me this now?”
“Why do you think, Alex? A lot is going on, and all you want to do is get drunk. When are you going to get over what happened? This isn’t healthy. You’re diminishing yourself and putting everyone’s lives at risk by fucking with your powers.” The muscles in his jaw pop out and his eyes go red. I’ve seen Drax’s eyes go red twice—both of which occurred during a life-or-death situation. With his incisor teeth bared at me, he lets out a hissing breath. “I was hoping that maybe for once, you’d realize how serious things were and you’d agree to be sober for a bit.”
Drax’s right about everything, but I don’t want to hear it. Especially not right now.
Scoffing, I reach under the bed and pull out the new bottle of Grey Goose. “At least you didn’t go cheap on this.”
The redness in his eyes shimmers as I crack the bottle open and bring it to my lips. But it isn’t his eyes that cause me to hesitate—it’s Rachel’s. From my peripheral, I can sense her watching me the way she might have her father when he threw fits of rage.
It makes me feel like a complete fuckup.
Sighing, I twist the cap back on and toss the bottle on the bed beside Drax. His face lights up, almost as if he’s witnessed some miraculous event. I may not be a mind reader, but the confused look on his face translates to, Did I seriously talk you out of drinking for the first time in months?
Ignoring him, I dig my fingernails into my palms. “Okay. Spill. What the fuck happened over there? Is this about Zerachu being someone else?”
I’m surprised I remember what Devania told me, seeing as I almost never care enough about other people’s problems to retain information. In any other situation, I may not have given a shit, but Devania specifically told me that Rachel was in danger.
While I might not want to give a shit about the kid, she’s now my responsibility and after everything I put her through, I owe her my protection at the very least.
Rachel pulls out a wooden chair tucked underneath a cheap computer desk and sits down. Leaning the weight of her body on an armrest, she focuses her attention on the carpet, her red brows almost touching over the bridge of her nose.
“Something’s wrong with her, Alexis,” she says. “I thought the Great Witch was supposed to be some powerful witch who protects people.”
“She is,” I say.
“Well, she didn’t protect anyone. She ripped the book right out of my hands and the talisman off my neck.”
Zerachu would never do that. The woman has spent centuries wor
king toward maintaining peace in the Underworld. She may be cold and unapologetic at times, but she isn’t evil.
“She wouldn’t do that,” I say.
Rachel offers me a shrug. “Maybe she was cursed or something.”
It’s almost impossible to believe that Zerachu might be cursed. She’s one of the most—if not the most—powerful witches alive. She might offer fortune-telling for fun, but everyone knows that witch controls the Dark Hall. None of this makes any sense.
Sighing, I sit at the edge of the bed and Mr. Mushroom lunges at me like he hasn’t seen me in months. The second I look at him, his ears go flat and he curls into a ball against my thigh.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I say, scratching his forehead.
In reality, that statement couldn’t be further from the truth.
Nothing is okay.
The Book of Origin—the most powerful book known to shadow dwellers—along with the Heart of Danu—another dangerous item seemingly used to amplify magical abilities—is now in the wrong hands.
In short: we’re all fucked.
Chapter 16
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“Is she okay?” Rachel says in the distance.
Drax responds, but I’m too busy staring at the wall to understand.
There has to be an answer.
“She’s been sitting there for hours,” Rachel says.
Zerachu wouldn’t do anything to put the Underworld at risk, which leads me to believe either one of two things:
1) She was under some sort of spell.
2) It wasn’t her.
Are either of those options even possible? It’s hard to imagine anyone casting a spell over her. That woman would smell an attempt miles away and turn her attacker into fungi.
Which leads me to option two.
But could someone else have impersonated her? I saw her a few hours before Rachel did; she looked fine to me. This isn’t adding up.
“She isn’t even blinking,” Rachel says.
“She’s thinking,” Drax responds.
Riskus goes on to say something, but it sounds like nothing more than high-pitched gibberish.
“Would you guys shut up?” I hiss, and the motel room goes quiet. “I’m trying to think.”
“You’ve been thinking for hours,” Rachel says. “How much longer will this take?”
Finally, I turn my head toward everyone. “As long as it takes.”
“Well, I’m hungry,” Rachel says.
Rolling my eyes, I reach into my pocket, whip out my wallet, and toss it at her. “Then go get some food.”
It bounces a few times off her palms until she finally catches it.
“You guys staying here?” she asks.
Rather than answer her, I go back to staring at the wall. As I disappear into my thoughts, Rachel marches across the motel room with Riskus prancing behind her. The moment she opens the motel’s door, however, a loud bang echoes all around us.
How the fuck am I supposed to concentrate with everyone making so much noise? Gritting my teeth, I scowl up at Rachel, but the horrified look on her face is enough to get me to keep my anger in check.
With her back pressed against the closed door, her chest heaves as she struggles to catch her breath. Her eyes, easily the size of golf balls, dart between me and Drax as if one of us holds the key to calming her down.
“Holy mother of Hades,” Drax says, getting up for the first time.
Cautiously, he moves toward the motel’s grimy window, pulls one of the blind slats down with his claws, and sticks his face against the glass.
Another explosive sound goes off, and the walls around us tremble. Mr. Mushroom lunges off the bed and disappears underneath.
“What the fuck’s going on?” I say, jolting upright.
Shoving Drax aside, I pull at the blinds, tearing them off the wall completely. I didn’t mean to pull that hard, but what’s done is done.
I squint through the window at what appears to be a group of young warlocks swinging wands around. My attention shifts onto the shortest one whose mouth is wide open. He’s shouting something, though I can’t make out what.
Then, he jabs his wand at a red pickup truck parked in the motel’s lot. At once, a stream of green light spits out of the tip of his wand and envelopes the truck, causing its windows to shatter and its tires to explode.
Are you fucking kidding me? Out in broad daylight? They’re acting like the Code of Invisibility doesn’t apply to them. All shadow dwellers are bound by this law. Morons like these are the type who risk pissing off Asmodeus.
And everyone knows what happens when Asmodeus gets pissed off. Vampires start talking about hunting down and eliminating certain races of fae. They’ve done it in the past—leading to the extinction of certain demons—and they’ve made it clear they aren’t afraid to do it again.
“Stuff like this has been happening all week,” Rachel says. “Ever since we were told to evacuate the Dark Hall, people keep talking about the End of the Divide, or something.”
My stomach sinks. This can’t be happening. Shadow dwellers have spoken about the End of the Divide for centuries, but the idea has always been that—an idea.
Drax knows what I’m thinking. With a single glance his way, it’s like we’re reading each other’s minds.
“People say shit to say shit,” he says, almost as if trying to convince himself.
“I get that, Drax, but this is the first time the Dark Hall gets evacuated,” I say.
He remains silent. He knows I’m right. Shadow dwellers are accustomed to running into a few rogues now and then—people who think they can run around casting spells on others, or tearing feebles apart with no fear of consequences.
These shadow dwellers always get caught by the vampires, and no one ever hears about them again.
The End of the Divide isn’t a term that’s thrown around lightly. It originated centuries ago when groups of shadow dwellers banded together, hoping to unite our world as one. But how can shadow dwellers and feebles coexist? People have tried and failed.
The End of the Divide, if it ever occurs, won’t be an amicable union—it’ll be a bloodbath. Feebles will stand up and demand that we be confined behind prison bars to protect their families.
Clenching my fists, I stare at the warlocks outside who are now firing strings of light at overhead birds and turning them into honeybees. This is the kind of behavior that will attract feeble aggression.
“I’ll be back,” I say.
“What’re you gonna do, Alex?” Drax says. “Knock them out?” His flared nostrils look like they’re on the verge of splitting his face in half. He’s as pissed as I am, but I think his anger is coming from a place of hopelessness. “This is bigger than us. I don’t see what you, me, or anyone can do about it. You have to let the Council of Elders deal with it.”
I scoff. “The Council of Elders?” I don’t mean to talk about them like they’re less useful than gum stuck to concrete on a hot summer day, but everyone knows that the council got outnumbered centuries ago. Sure, they might still try to uphold the laws of the Underworld, but when all is said and done, the vampires are the ones truly in charge.
Personally, this has never made sense to me. Why let the undead rule the world when you have people who have magical abilities? I guess that’s politics for you.
“So, what?” I say. “We’re supposed to sit in here and wait for some big hero to save the day? The Book of Origin was stolen, Drax. I doubt the Elders give a shit about anything other than retrieving it.”
“Is that why Zerachu took it?” Rachel asks. “Is she a part of the council?”
Biting my lip, I stare at her. “No, she isn’t. And I’m telling you, something’s up. Zerachu wouldn’t steal it. If anything, she’d want to protect it.”
“Maybe that’s why she took it,” Drax says.
“Yeah,” I say, losing my patience. “And what happened after she took it? Things got bad. You think that would h
ave happened if she were only trying to protect it? Why was everyone asked to evacuate?”
Rachel glances at Drax but remains silent, so I pop my eyebrows. “Well?”
“She started shouting a bunch of stuff,” Rachel says. “There were lights everywhere and machines exploding.”
“Exactly,” I say as if Rachel’s explanation should be enough to shut everyone up. “Now, you can all sit here like a bunch of wusses, or you can help me get control of the situation outside.”
After a moment of silence, Riskus punches his chest and raises his chin like a trained soldier. Rachel, obviously unable to let her minion go out there alone, rolls her eyes and picks up her wand. At my ankles, Mr. Mushroom barks and Drax says, “Fine… Sheesh. I’ll come too.”
“Good,” I say, swinging the door wide open.
I’m about to step out and show these punks what I’m made of when a deafening growl fills the sky above our heads. We all look up, Mr. Mushroom included, his thick tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
“Holy shit,” Rachel breathes.
Overhead, a huge purple-scaled dragon comes soaring through the clouds, its massive leather wings sending a powerful gust of wind into the parking lot. The group of warlocks run away as car alarms go off, bumpers detach, and garbage cans roll across the asphalt. The dragon flies in circles as if searching for something, and every few seconds, lets out a deep roar that makes the hairs on my neck stand up.
It’s jaw, which is easily the size of an entire pickup truck, snaps open as hot red flames come blasting down toward a chained bicycle and an old wooden bench, both of which crumble into a pile of ash.
“Fuck that,” I say, pushing everyone back inside. “Let’s wait for the Council of Elders.”
Chapter 17
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Drax peeks through the window, his neck craned as he searches the clouds. “I don’t see it anymore.”
“Yeah, well, doesn’t mean it’s gone,” I say. “Unless you’re in the mood to be incinerated, I suggest you get away from that window and sit down.”
Lethal Blow: (Succubus Hitwoman Book 2) Page 9