by Alice Bello
“We were leaving anyway. As soon as we collect—”
“I’m here!” Elaina rasped as she shouldered her way through the assembled mass of debutants. She stopped to look at the crushed folding table, up to the broken stair railing, and then over to Lucy and her fresh scrapes and torn dress.
And then she sneezed.
And then Paul sneezed.
“Wow,” she wheezed. “What happened here?”
“I’ll tell you in the car,” Lucy said.
“Great,” Elaina said, leading the way, giving Monica a little shoulder check as she passed by her. “But no more slumming it at other rush parties. You’re joining my sorority and that’s final!”
Lucy smiled and shook her head, following the two sneezing werewolves and her new friend at arms.
~*~
A grandfather clock ticked in the distance, the room lit by a single candle and the fireplace burning in the hearth. The woman was petite and elegant, standing up from her comfortable chair when her fire started to flash and flicker—incoming. She moved closer as she spied something forming in the flame, and as it solidified, the fire slowly died, until the object was all that remained lying on the charred logs of the hearth.
A mundane manila envelope.
The woman reached her hand into the hearth, her ruby red nails plucking the envelope from its resting place. The huge sapphire ring on her hand glimmered in the faint candlelight. She tore the envelope open and pulled out a job offer and a photograph of the target. The girl was pretty: long dark hair, dimples when she smiled, and bright eyes. Her mouth was shapely as well.
The offer was terse and to the point, which was fine by her: she didn’t need to be courted. Two hundred thousand to kill a girl named Lucy Hart. Hardly an offer the woman could pass up. She read the inadequate target profile: Eighteen years old; necromancer; engaged to a werewolf from a powerful clan; survived two vampire attacks; considered more than human.
Well, who wasn’t?
~*~
Lucy snarled as her iPhone blared out the Wicked Witch of the West’s theme song from The Wizard of Oz—Vivian Enoch’s personal ringtone. Lucy was only five minutes late for their double feature cake tasting/dress fitting appointment. Luckily, they weren’t in the same place. There would be a short walk and some much needed fresh air between the high end patisserie and the exclusive couture wedding gown boutique.
Lucy was about three blocks away from the cake tasting, but the damned phone wouldn’t stop shrieking Vivian’s theme song. Lucy could practically see her riding a broom over the wedding, smoke billowing noxiously from her tail of straw, sky-writing “Get away from my son you gold digging slut!”
But Vivian would be painted gold, not green… probably a champagne gold too.
Lucy finally gave up and answered her phone. “Hello Vivian. I’m pulling up out front right now.”
“Don’t let us intrude on what is surely a busy day of loafing around with your little witch friend, or charging even more rubbish to the Enoch Industries credit card in your purse.” She had a way of making even the most horrible insults sound royal family polite. The bitch!
“I’m sorry I’m late—”
“No worries. It’s not as if I had anything more pressing lined up for this afternoon. I’m sure the Children’s Hospital will do just fine without the benefit ball I’m chairing.” She took a silky smooth breath and exhaled in an exquisitely derisive chuckle. “And I’m sure your mother has a shift to get to wherever it is she works.”
Okay, now she’s going to die...
“I’ll be there in sixty seconds,” Lucy said, her voice sharp and cold. “I think the sick little children will live long enough for their savior to help pick out some freaking wedding cake.” Lucy could hear a voice inside her telling her not to say anymore. But the next words just tumbled right out. “After all, they’ve been saving them day in and day out without you all year. If you’re that worried, just skip the stupid ball and write them out a check. You’re good at that, right?”
Lucy was out of her car, and about to slam the door when she looked up to see Vivian Enoch standing outside the front door. She had her dainty cell phone in one perfectly manicured hand, the other was on her hip. Her white Gucci purse neatly hung from her elbow.
She flipped her phone shut with a crisp snap and gored Lucy straight through with one long, devastating gaze.
Lucy stood there, stunned by the older woman’s cold, hard stare. She had never had anyone look at her like that. Not even the psychotic vampire that had tried to kill, eat, and then turn Lucy into one of the undead. She felt her knees shake and she dropped her phone on the sidewalk. She forced herself to breathe, and then to look away from Vivian as she picked her iPhone back up off the concrete.
Silent rage came off Vivian in waves, scalding hot, and sharp as daggers.
“I-I was just... ” Lucy’s words just turned to ash in her mouth. She’d intentionally insulted the woman, and now she was face to face with her, and unable to say coherent words to save her life.
The fact that her future mother-in-law could turn furry, sprout four-inch claws and a mouth of fangs that would make the shark in Jaws think twice didn’t help. Vivian smiled, a pleasant baring of teeth, but a baring of teeth all the same. “I’m sorry dear; I think your phone cut out back there. What was it you were saying?”
Dear god, she was just going to let me sweep it under the rug. That or she wanted to see if have had the courage to say it to her face.
Lucy looked down and squeezed her eyes shut. She needed to soothe the waters, pave the way for peace... whatever it was one did when they were trying to prevent a war. Because she knew it would hurt Gabriel if she openly took on his mother. And from the look in Vivian’s eyes, it would certainly hurt Lucy to do so.
She took a deep breath, licked her dry lips and opened her eyes. She was just going to have to act her way out of it. She could do it... she had to do it.
“I was just wondering if you had any advice on which cake we should try first.” She forced a smile to stretch over her face, and waited to see if Vivian would let her slink out of the confrontation.
The elegant werewolf’s eyes drew into slits, and her smile became even more predatory. Lucy felt herself shiver, and she desperately wanted to turn and run away. But she forced herself to look the woman in the eye, and to stand right where she was.
And just like that, Vivian’s face beamed delight, her smile gleefully exultant.
“I’ve always been partial to raspberry and white chocolate. I think you’ll adore it.” She turned on her thousand-dollar cream-colored Dolce and Gabbana heel and sauntered back into the patisserie.
Lucy sighed and leaned against the side of her Mustang. That was freaking close. She’d better be on her best behavior or that old witch was going to tear her head off... literally.
She reached in and grabbed her handbag, then walked shakily through the cake shop’s front door.
~*~
If anything, the pastry chef that was explaining each of the different cake samples seemed to dislike Lucy almost as much as her future mother-in-law did. Every time Lucy said she liked something, the chef glared haughtily. Once Lucy was pretty sure she’d even growled.
Lucy was certain she’d never laid eyes on the woman before—and since she looked like a cross between Dan Rather and Wynona Judd made it impossible that Lucy would have forgotten such a meeting. Her thick, short fingers passed the china cake plates to them without a shake or a twitch.
Of course, Lucy couldn’t imagine why the woman was reacting so sourly to the cakes she’d liked. They were all the woman’s handiwork! So maybe the stout gourmet was just crazy after all—split personality disorder.
Charming...
Lucy had tried the raspberry with white chocolate, but it was so sickly sweet, she could practically feel her teeth rotting. Her favorites so far were a lovely Italian wedding cake—a traditional recipe, the chef had said, and though it had coconut in it, whi
ch Lucy loathed, it tasted like a slice of heaven. That and a citrus confection that reminded Lucy of the cake her Gram had baked for her on her birthday.
Just tasting it made her feel warm inside. She immediately wanted to say that’s it, end the search... but Vivian made a face when she bit into it, and the chef nodded in agreement.
As Lucy thought, bat shit crazy.
When the chef brought out a second silver tray the size of a surfboard and deposited another round of cake samples before them, Lucy felt her stomach roll over—she so needed a couple minutes away from her vicious future mother-in-law.
“I need to use the powder room.” Lucy stood up and put her handbag to her chest. She hoped they would just assume she needed to take care of a little womanly business, and just carry on without her.
She hoped there wasn’t a back exit or an unlocked window—because she couldn’t promise herself she wouldn’t cut and run.
The pastry chef glared, obviously disliking that Lucy was leaving the cake tasting for any reason at all. Though Lucy was sure that if she’d been bleeding to death, the chef would’ve been happy to see her go. Go and die somewhere that was away from her, that is.
“Through the swinging door and straight back. It’s at the far wall of the office.”
Lucy tried to dazzle her with a smile, but the ponderous pastry chef was quite immune to Lucy’s charms. Instead she skedaddled, zipping back toward the rear of the shop, and pushed the swinging door a little too hard. She really just wanted to run... that or find something heavy, sharp, and medieval to go back and whack both the cake lady and her harpy of a mother-in-law to-be in the head with.
A cat slid in through the door at the same time, and Lucy felt its shadow soft fur rub against her ankles. It raced into the room and jumped up on a short buffet that held only a Tiffany stained-glass lamp formed of spider webs, and a crystal cookie jar filled to the brim with black and white Oreos.
Lucy Walked past the cat and scratched it behind one ear as she passed. She liked cats…
Just before she reached the door to the powder room, a feral screech erupted from behind her. Lucy jumped and swung around. The cat still stood upon the buffet, but its fur had turned from a dark brown with black stripes, to an ugly burnt orange. And its eyes burned red like coals in a barbeque.
Lucy stepped closer to the cat and held out her hand. The feline swiped her claws at Lucy and drew blood.
Lucy sucked in a pained breath and backed away as the cat spilled lithely from the buffet table to the floor and padded toward her. The hard wood floor started to creak mournfully under the feline’s paws—probably because the cat grew taller and broader with every step it took.
Within ten strides it was roughly the size of a Bengal tiger, and resembled the great cat’s markings. That was if a Bengal tiger was drenched in lighter fluid and set on fire. Every inch of the beast was aflame, its red eyes glowed with hungry hatred, and brimstone yellow smoke seethed from its open maw. The wooden floor smoldered under its giant paws.
Lucy gulped, “Good kitty—” her back hit against the powder room door and she gasped. “Nice kitty... I’m sure I can scrounge up a bowl of milk for you, somehow.”
A nearly human chuckle shook from the burning cat’s jaws. “Wolf prince’s bride must die.” The voice was most certainly female. But as large as the cat was, its sex simply didn’t matter. It slunk a few feet closer. “It’s all in the contract.”
Contract?
Dante had said that the police said that axe boy from Wal-Mart was a hired gun, an assassin. Now here was assassin number two. What the hell was going on... and who the hell had hired psychotic killers to come to kill her?
Kill her…. He, he... Lucy felt a hysterical giggle rise up inside her like a poisonous bubble erupting from a tar pit.
A loud crash came from the closed restroom door behind Lucy. She threw herself from in front of the door just as it shattered inward, and a shaking, shifting Paul stalked out into the room, growling and snapping his quickly elongating fangs at the fiery cat.
Lucy felt so relieved to see Paul. He may not have made it to her rescue in time at the sorority house fiasco, but it seemed her dogged bodyguard had stayed close ever since. She pushed herself back into the corner of the room, keeping well out of the two beasts' ways. The last thing she needed was to get in Paul’s way as he defended her from the pyromaniac tabby.
Lucy felt herself falter as she compared Paul’s wolf form against the hulking bulk and fangs of the monster cat. The cat was way bigger, and it definitely had the maniacal gleam of a killer in its eyes. Paul had the hard glare of a warrior. But he didn’t radiate deranged psychopath like the giant cat did.
They circled each other for maybe ten seconds, snarled in unison and hurled themselves together in a thrashing, crunching blur of fangs and claws. Lucy couldn’t keep track of their streaking forms, as they threw each other across the room, crashing into furniture, and bashing in the white plaster walls.
There was a wet sucking sound, and a high pitched yip. Then the werewolf’s limp body slid across the scarred wood floor and came to rest at her feet. Lucy bent down, hand pressed down on the sucking chest wound in Paul’s heaving, fur clad chest.
No, no, no... this can’t be happening. Paul was a good guy. Good guys didn’t get their chest torn open. They didn’t just die.
The cat slunk closer, lowering its huge, agile body closer to the floor, ready to strike, ready to pounce.
Lucy called to the silver dagger sheathed to her forearm by a magically concealed faerie scabbard. She didn’t know if the enchanted silver would kill whatever the flaming beast before her was, but she was going to try her damndest to cut its heart out anyway.
“Any last words, human?” The flaming feline bared its teeth and hunched down further, enjoying its hunt.
Lucy met the beast’s eyes. “You’re going to die.”
It hissed out a laugh, the muscles in its legs tightening in preparation. The dagger was just suddenly in Lucy’s hand. It was hungry, and had its own ideas as to where to sink itself in the great cat’s furry flesh.
“She’s right,” a cultured, ludicrously polite voice said from the other side of the room.
The cat spun around, its great jaws opening wide as it hissed, its jaws snapping at the air.
Vivian Enoch stood about three steps into the room, not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in her flawless silk suit. A haughty expression illuminated the stunning features of her face, her eyes dark and emotionless. That damned Louis Vuitton purse still perfectly clutched in the crook of her elbow.
“You are going to die,” she finished.
Lucy gripped the dagger tightly in her fist. She would need to strike quickly. She had to hit the beast’s heart. She just hoped she could force the blade and her hand through the flaming mess of the cat’s fur.
“Vivian... run!” She started to move forward, but Vivian’s cold glare stopped her in her tracks. It practically crackled with authority. Lucy froze in place.
“Run?” Vivian scoffed. “Run from an overgrown alley cat?”
The flaming feline roared. Vivian gave it that smile... that infuriating smile that said loud and clear, You are not good enough!
The cat lunged at her, flying through the air, jaws open wide, claws spread and ready to rip flesh to ribbons.
But Vivian stood perfectly still, tall and blonde and solid as a rock. Effortlessly she caught the cat by the neck, one-handed, and held it up in the air as if it weighed nothing. It struggled, one claw coming down at Vivian to strike. But she caught, and snapped the cat's arm back like a twig.
The beast cried out in agony. Fear sharpened its strangled cries into screeches.
Vivian looked deep into the cat’s eyes. “You really should have known better.” With a sharp twist of her wrist Vivian snapped its neck, studied its limp form for a few beats as the flames extinguished with the animal’s life force, and then dropped it to the floor like discarded rubbish.
Paul was suddenly naked and bleeding on the floor. Vivian brushed off her hands and plucked her cell phone from her bag. She speed dialed Dante to send help—to clean up the mess, and to take Paul to the hospital wing of Enoch Industries.
“He’ll heal,” Vivian said, holding out her hand to help Lucy up from where she knelt by Paul. “Hell cat wounds are just a little harder to heal than your typical wound. But I’ll protect you until Dante sends a suitable replacement.”
“Where’s my mother?”
“I sent her ahead to the dress shop when I heard a commotion back here. She’s fine.”
Lucy felt a flood of deep relief hearing that her mother was safe. “Thanks.”
“We can’t have her seeing anything otherworldly. And since my son loves you as plain as the nose on his face, then no one is going to harm a hair on your head either… not on my watch.”
Lucy gulped; both because of Vivian suddenly protecting her, and even though she was just one rich matriarch, Lucy suddenly felt perfectly safe. She couldn’t imagine what could be any more badass than her future mother-in-law. The woman didn’t have a mark on her, and her hair, makeup, and dress were as flawless as a magazine cover.
Vivian called her driver to come look after Paul as she ushered Lucy out of the shop and off to the dress store.
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Chapter 8
Lucy staggered out of the cake store. She couldn’t get her mind to wrap around everything that had just happened. A huge freaking cat, literally from hell, had tried to kill her... and the only thing that had saved her had been her future mother-in-law.
It sounded ridiculous, even in her head. Vivian Enoch despised her. She’d said and done all sorts of passive aggressive things to scare her off and insult her. But that hadn’t mattered at all. When Lucy literally needed her most—at a do or die moment—she’d not only had her back, she broken the would-be assassin’s neck.