by S. M. Reine
“No. Drop it.”
But he didn’t relent. “Are you going after him today? Are you going to—?”
“Anthony,” she interrupted. “Shut the hell up.”
His mouth clapped shut. “You would take James along. Wouldn’t you?”
She went back to abusing the punching bag.
Elise shut him out, shut the room out, shut out all her unpleasant thoughts of empty bank accounts and terminated contracts and burned buildings. All she felt was fury. Retribution. The impact of knuckles against leather.
After a minute of silent watching, Anthony left.
Her cell phone rang. It vibrated on the table by the mirrors hard enough to travel toward the edge. She patted the sweat from her chest with a towel as she picked it up. The phone didn’t display a number, but she wasn’t surprised when David Nicholas was on the other end.
“Your first job’s tonight,” he said.
She waited to catch her breath before responding. “Don’t tell me I have to work with you.”
“Ha. The Night Hag says I’m not allowed near you. She thinks one of us will die.”
“She’s sharp.”
“As a fucking tack,” David Nicholas said. “I’m on babysitting duty tonight anyway. Watching every step your witchy friend takes, keeping assassins away, you know how it is. His girlfriend is hot. Perfect tits. Bet you’d like to know what they were doing last night.”
Elise didn’t take the bait. “What’s the plan?”
“Hell if I know. Thom’s getting you from your charming new apartment at six.”
David Nicholas knew she wasn’t living at the old duplex anymore. It wasn’t surprising, since they had to be watching closely to project James, but it was unsettling to realize she hadn’t detected anyone watching them. Somehow, that still didn’t unsettle her much as the thought of working with Thom.
“Tell me what you know about the Night Hag’s witch,” Elise said.
The nightmare snorted. “Sometimes it’s better not to know things, and let me tell you, it’s better not to know anything about that guy. Word of advice? Don’t pull your spunky bullshit with him. He’s the only person I know who is more unhinged than you are.”
He hung up.
A black sports utility vehicle pulled into the parking lot the instant Elise’s cell phone clock turned to six. She met Thom downstairs.
If she thought the stuffy heat inside the apartment was bad, it was nothing compared to the scalding heat outside. The sun only touched the top of the mountains, but even approaching sunset didn’t cool the desert. The pavement rippled.
Thom stepped out of the car, and she got her first good look at him in the sunlight. He was dressed elegantly in a black silk shirt and slacks with a snug leather choker. His skin was copper-brown—darker than she recalled—and his silken black hair was knotted in a ponytail that almost reached his hips.
The witch was so beautiful that she caught herself staring. She never stared at hot guys. That was Betty’s job.
He ambled toward her, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. As he drew closer, she saw the slacks were made of leather. He didn’t seem affected by the heat. “Where are we going?” Elise asked, moving for the SUV. He stepped in her way. She frowned. “What are you doing? Let’s go.”
“I want to see the studio.” But he was looking at her, not the building.
She didn’t waver. Elise was all too aware that her uncomfortable alliance with the Night Hag didn’t change the fact they were inherently enemies—nor did she harbor the illusion that Thom was under anyone’s control but his own.
“You can’t get inside. Wards.”
“I sense that.” Thom circled her. His gaze was not sexual, but analytical. “That outfit will not suffice. Put on a dress.” Elise arched an eyebrow. “We are visiting one of the overlord’s contacts to gather intelligence about Mr. Black. She’s having a formal event tonight. Your current clothing is insufficient.”
“I don’t fight in dresses,” she said. “Or formal shoes, for that matter.”
“Then you cannot go to this event.”
“Fine. Intelligence won’t help us against Mr. Black anyway. It would be much faster if the Night Hag gave me a small army and let me kill him.”
Thom folded his arms. “I’m sure it would, but this is what she has ordered us to do.”
The fresh brand on her shoulder itched as though to remind her of the agreement. Scratching it only made the pain worse. She sighed. “Fine. We can do it her way.”
“Then you must change your outfit.”
The idea of playing by the Night Hag’s rules grated at her, but she had already made her decision when she let herself be branded. “Two minutes,” she finally said.
Thom nodded.
Even before the fire, Elise didn’t have formal clothing (much to Betty’s dismay). She never had a reason to wear the quintessential “little black dress.” She did, however, have a new red sundress, which she had purchased from a drugstore with one of her last ten dollar bills. It was the only way to survive the summer heat in Nevada. She borrowed a few pieces of Betty’s jewelry that had survived the fire and twisted her hair into a loose bun to make it fancier. There was nothing to be done about her plain black gloves, or her exposed scars.
The witch sneered at her feet when she came downstairs. “Sandals.”
“My house was burned down. This is what I have.”
He dropped the subject, which was as close to acceptance as she expected to get.
The interior of Thom’s SUV was plush leather, and it scorched the back of her knees when she sat down. She turned on his air conditioning. He had been driving with the windows rolled up and the fan turned off.
Thom drove like traffic laws didn’t exist. He sliced between lanes and blew past every car on the road. Elise studied his profile while his attention was on driving. Something about the curve of his lips and chin reminded her of ancient statues.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“Before this, I was in New York City.”
“That’s not what I meant. Where are you from originally?”
“Originally.” Thom rolled the word over his tongue. “I was born in a place currently known as Myanmar.”
He didn’t look very Asian. In fact, she couldn’t have pinned a single ethnicity upon him if she tried. Elise had been all over the world and never seen anyone with his strange mix of features: full lips, sloped nose, wide eyes, chiseled jaw. It was as though each part of his face had been deliberately selected to be as ambiguous as possible.
“Tell me why a witch from Myanmar is working for the Night Hag.”
Thom gave an elegant shrug. “It’s something to do.”
The air grew thick with tension after his seemingly casual response. He watched her from the corner of his eye. It only grew worse as they drove farther from the studio. He hadn’t done anything to indicate aggression, but the way he looked at her without looking made her skin crawl. And he resonated in her skull like a cracked bell struck by a steel mallet.
She wished the Night Hag had sent David Nicholas instead.
Her hand traveled to the knife she had concealed high on her thigh. She wondered if she could draw it faster than Thom could move.
“You are familiar with prophecies,” he said, breaking the silence.
“I don’t believe in them.”
“Elaborate.”
They entered the twisting roads in the foothills, and he accelerated instead of slowing down. Elise put on her seatbelt. “By the Treaty of Dis, only humans have the gift of prophecy. They also only see what happens on this earthen plane. That makes them uselessly incomplete.”
“True. But you would believe them if a prophet could see more.”
“That’s not possible.”
“A man named Benjamin Flynn has foretold the end of the world,” Thom said, as mildly as though he was sharing a weather report with her.
“That’s far from the first time that’s bee
n seen.” She stared out the window at the passing trees. “A kopis will take care of it. One of us always does.”
“So far.”
Her fingers twitched at the knife. “Why are you telling me?”
“Benjamin Flynn’s prophesies are being logged. There are three volumes to date. I have read them.” She caught a glimpse of his gaze reflected in the mirror. His irises were almost black. “The end of the world will be willfully brought about by a kopis. A kopis with magic.”
“He’s lying.”
“Perhaps.”
His voice curled around her as though it had substance. She suppressed a shudder.
Elise waited for him to say more, but he didn’t speak again until they reached a gated neighborhood at the base of the mountain. He stopped in front of a manor sheltered by so many pine trees that they cast twilight over the property.
She scanned the grounds as Thom rolled down his window. Dozens of cars were parked in front, and she thought she could see valets. There were any number of places armed guards could hide. The ridge would be perfect for snipers, too. But the people she feared wouldn’t attack like that. She was much more concerned about magical traps. If only James had been there to sense them.
Thom pushed the intercom button. A woman’s voice responded. “Yes?”
His expression didn’t change, but his voice became lively and friendly. Almost flirtatious. “Hello! This is Thomas Norrel. I’m here for the party with Ms. Redmond.”
“A moment, please.”
It fell silent and he sat back.
“Multiple personality disorder?” Elise asked.
The gate opened. Thom pulled forward. “I behave as is prudent for the situation at hand.”
She tensed as they rolled onto Portia Redmond’s property. People could have been hiding anywhere, watching her unseen. She hated being unable to detect wards. She wished for James again—working without him was like missing one of her hands.
“What do you feel, Thom?” she asked. He gave her a curious look. “This place. Are there any traps? Charms? Spells?”
“That’s irrelevant.”
Thom stopped at the end of the circular driveway. He got out, handed the keys to an attractive teenage boy with long hair, and then opened the door for Elise. He offered a pale hand to her. Revulsion knotted in her gut.
“Come,” he said when she didn’t move.
Elise got out on her own and straightened her dress so it fell naturally over the concealed knife. She studied the entrance to the house as they approached. Tiny markings were carved over the doorway. There were crystals in a ceramic bowl at the corner of her porch. A decorative arrangement of flowers was mixed with sprigs of herbs. Portia definitely had a witch on staff. Her skin tingled as she crossed the threshold.
The sounds of laughter drifted through the entryway. Everything was furnished with dark wood and gold, and offset by velvet drapes the color of pine. A haze hung over the room, like dinner had burned in the oven.
“This way, sweetheart,” Thom said. He led her to the den.
A man in a black suit played an antique piano in the corner. A double staircase swept around either side of the room, plush red couches had been placed underneath, and hookahs were set on low tables surrounded by pillows so people could lounge on the floor while smoking. They passed what looked like sparkling sugar cubes between them.
She edged around the room, trying to watch everyone at once. The hookah didn’t concern her, but the cubes did. Elise had seen lethe parties before. It was a powerful drug designed to give a high to creatures whose bodies ignored most intoxicants—a huge rush for demons, and often fatal for humans.
And everyone on the floor was human. Judging by their dress, they were businessmen and politicians. Older people. Beautiful people. People who might die if they dropped one too many lethe.
“Drink?”
Elise jerked away from the waitress she hadn’t seen approach. She shook her head.
The waitress offered it to Thom instead, who plucked a glass off the tray. Each of them was filled with an unidentifiable green liquid. “Thank you. Tell me, where is the hostess?”
She pointed.
Portia Redmond sat stiffly on one of the red couches with a drink, a polite smile, and a man with a half-unbuttoned shirt hanging off her shoulder. She saw Thom approach and blanched. “I didn’t invite you.”
“Who’s this, honey?” slurred the man at her side.
“Let’s go somewhere private, Portia,” Thom said in a suave and husky voice. He winked. Elise’s jaw clenched. “Let me assure you, I’ll only steal this beautiful creature for a few moments.”
“I suppose I don’t have a choice,” Portia said.
She disentangled herself from the couch and smoothed shaking hands down her blouse. Elise kept an eye on the other alcoves, but nobody was sober enough to move, much less attack.
Portia led them upstairs to an office with a claw-footed desk and turned on a single lamp.
Elise gave the room a quick sweep. There were more enchanted stones by the window, more engravings, and more herbs disguised as floral arrangements. Passive defenses. She positioned herself in the corner so she could watch the door and window simultaneously.
“What do you want this time?” Portia asked, lowering herself into the chair behind the desk. Her hands were in constant motion—adjusting her hair, tugging on the neck of her shirt to hide her considerable cleavage, smoothing down her slacks. “And who are you supposed to be?”
It took Elise a moment to realize Portia was speaking to her.
“This is Elise Kavanagh,” Thom said. He wasn’t flirty anymore. His changes in mood were fast enough to give her whiplash. “She was once the greatest kopis, but now she is a lapdog of the Night Hag like the rest of us.”
Elise bristled. “Excuse me?”
“Greatest? What made you the greatest?” Portia asked.
Elise opened her mouth, but Thom spoke again before she could get anything out. “They say she’s killed a dozen angels.”
Portia’s face went slack, and she sagged against the back of her chair as if all the strength had suddenly drained from her. “Oh thank God ,” she whispered. Elise flinched. “Then you must have been hired to kill Mr. Black, haven’t you? You have to be fast. He’s got an army, and he’s moving as we speak.”
“Indeed. We need your information to take action.”
“But I’m the only one who knows anything. If you stop the shipment, he’ll know who betrayed him.”
“A shipment of what, exactly?” Thom asked.
She fidgeted. “How should I know? Guns? I’ve given him a truck and a man to drive it. That’s it. I’m not privy to his plans.”
“Where is this truck going?”
“Thom—the Night Hag—”
He loomed over the desk. He wasn’t much taller than Elise, but he suddenly seemed to fill the room. “Tell me.”
Portia’s lips trembled as she opened a desk drawer, pulled out a map, and began drawing lines. “Here. They’re coming from a port in Long Beach and going to a temporary depot. It’s been set up in a lake bed... there.” Her fingers clutched the map tight. “Giving this to you could mean my death.”
“Life is a fleeting illusion. Regardless, Mr. Black is not your only danger.”
She whispered a prayer as she let go of the map.
At a glance from Thom, Elise stepped forward to take it. She couldn’t find any pity within herself. A woman who knowingly dealt with rogue kopides and demonic overlords was no victim.
“Be fast,” Portia whispered. “Please. For everyone’s sake.”
Elise stepped back. Thom opened the door.
“Enjoy your party,” he said.
Portia didn’t follow them onto the balcony overlooking the lethe party. As soon as the door swung shut, Elise turned on him. “What was the point of that? You didn’t need me to help collect information. She’s scared shitless. You could have—”
“Silence. Tell me
what you see.”
She frowned. “Rich people on drugs.”
“And?”
Elise gave the room a second look. It was hard to make anything out through the haze of tobacco and lethe beside the occasional flash of a glowing cube, like the flare of a firework. Then a glint of metal caught her eye, and she realized one of the men on the arm of a wealthy socialite was wearing a shackle. It was a bewitched shackle, with no visible chains, but a shackle nonetheless. There was a glimmer in the corner of her eye, a tugging at the back of her neck.
“Magic,” she murmured. “That’s magic, isn’t it?”
Thom leaned over her shoulder, cheek brushing hers. His body was warm at her back. “Why would a kopis sense magic?”
She didn’t think he expected an answer, so she didn’t try to give one. Once Elise saw the magic around the shackle, she saw it elsewhere, too—twinkling on a woman’s earring, haloed around the head of a gray-haired man, on several other wrists. They weren’t all in the form of bracelets. Some were necklaces. One was an anklet.
The bound ones weren’t smiling, as the others were. All of them had pale blue eyes that were almost silver. And the resemblance didn’t end there. Though none had hair or skin of quite the same shade, they all looked similar to the degree that cousins looked similar. Smooth-faced, androgynous, ageless.
None of them were human.
Elise gripped the railing. “Angels,” she said, her voice so soft she thought Thom wouldn’t hear.
Fingers grazed the back of her neck. “Look closer.”
It was like a fog lifted from her mind. She could suddenly sense them the same way she sensed demons, and what was more, she could see them. Ghostly stubs glowed at their scapulas. Their wings had been severed, and someone was hiding it. They were enslaved.
“Now you know why I brought you to this party. You had to see—and be seen. Mr. Black will know the sword has come into play.”
Adrenaline thrilled through her. “He’s not the only one who will know. Damn it, Thom, you never should have brought me here.”
Even though she whispered, her voice caught the attention of an angel. Recognition sparked between them.
One by one, the slaves fell silent, and a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on her.