Mortal Blow: An Urban Fantasy Series (Succubus Hitwoman Book 1)

by Eliza Hendrix

  “She’s Lucius’s new lover,” Kyle continues. “Seems she’s changing the game… Making new rules. Building a huge following. She’s pushing for feebles and shadow dwellers to work together. At least that’s what rumors say. Lucius denies the whole ordeal. Some people have even said she’s after”—he lowers his voice to a faint whisper—“Asmodeus.”

  “So that’s why Lucius is back…” I say, more to myself than Kyle. Then, I scoff. “Well, she’s a delusional bitch if she thinks she can take out Asmodeus. The guy’s been around for millennia. He’s been in charge for as long as anyone can remember.”

  Kyle shrugs, his arms scratching his sides. “I’m a messenger, nothing more.”

  “Keep going.”

  “The two have been working together as a power couple. Tyler Lorsan hasn’t been seen in three days, and rumor has it they’ve gotten rid of him.”

  I swallow hard.

  What the fuck did I get myself into? And why does Jamieson want her taken out? Why is she such a threat to him? If I were to guess, I’d say it’s because she’s getting feebles to work for her when everyone knows that feebles are Jamieson’s territory.

  “It isn’t my business to ask why you’re inquiring about her,” Kyle says, “but if you’re planning something, I suggest you consider long and hard about how much you value your life before doing anything stupid.”

  Chapter 15

  ──────────

  Refastening my leather cuffs around my wrists, I peer into the darkness of the alley.

  “What’re you doing?” Drax says, his voice a sharp whisper. “You heard Kyle. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Relax,” I cut him off before his eyes balloon out of his head. “I’m not going after her.”

  His chest puffs out like he’s about to sigh in relief, when I add, “Not yet, anyway. Right now, I need to get rid of my other problem so I can focus on finishing my job.”

  “Alex—” he tries, but I don’t stick around long enough to hear his speech.

  Instead, I jump high up, expand my wings, and throw myself toward the night sky.

  * * *

  The old tube television flickers behind him, casting a blue light across his dust-covered blinds and the living room’s shaggy carpet.

  “It’s all here,” Ouru says.

  He collects the paperwork together and straightens it out on his kitchen bar counter. Scraping his claws along the hard surface, he slides it over to me.

  “You sure you want to do this again, Rebel?”

  “How many times do we have to go through this?” I ask, staring at him.

  He smirks, flashing a set of crooked yellow teeth that protrude far over his lower jaw. His skin, a leathery brown, is so loose that he pulls it back from his face and ties it up at the top of his head like a ponytail, which makes his overbite look even more pronounced. “I’m just lookin’ out for you, kid.”

  Ouru always means well, and every time I come to him for an identity change, he asks me the same question: “Are you sure you want to do this again?”

  I’m never sure, but it’s always a must.

  He ashes his cigarette in a glass bowl in front of me.

  “They killed him, Ouru,” I say. “So I slaughtered the whole family… All of them. One by one. There’s no going back from that.”

  Suddenly, the dry blood on my arms and neck feels hot against my skin. My clothes, too, are so stained you’d think I jumped inside a giant tub of red and black paint.

  He nods, then reaches for my hand.

  I pull away, wipe my cheeks, and glance down at the paperwork in front of me.

  Passport.

  Driver’s license.

  Birth certificate.

  “Alexis Rayne?” I ask.

  He nods and reaches for my hand again. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  I want to cry—I want to fall to my knees and tear my chest open. You’d think after losing so many people you care about, you’d become accustomed to it or you’d learn to cope better than the first time around.

  The truth is, it doesn’t get any easier.

  If anything, it eats away at you more and more as the list keeps growing.

  I took Jamal off the streets when he was nine years old—a kid born and raised in a neighborhood in the slums with dead parents and no chance at life. I gave him the chance he never had; I took him in and turned his life around.

  I loved that kid more than anything. Although I thought of him as my own, he looked up to me as a big sister. So that’s what I became—his sister.

  He knew I was involved in something but didn’t know what. And since he was a feeble, I wanted to protect him from it all. So the guns, the swords, and the knives in our apartment weren’t to be touched or talked about.

  Everything was going great.

  That is, until I got jumped by a vampire in my own neighborhood. Killing him was easy, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was his pack. They found me… found out where I lived… and did to me what I did to him; they took away the one person I cared about.

  I found Jamal’s decapitated body when I came home after a job one evening. His lunch box was torn open, and the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I’d made him for school sat on his chest as if meant to signify something. Next to his body was my favorite sword—something I’ve held onto since the sixth century—covered in his blood.

  They even shoved his head into his schoolbag—a painful reminder of his young age.

  I swallow hard at the memory and focus my attention on my new documentation.

  “Hopefully, I’ll have better luck building a new life in San Halos.”

  Ouru smacks his colorless lips. “If you don’t… You know where to find me.”

  * * *

  “I’m not repeating history and starting fresh after only three years,” I mutter under my breath.

  The air around me is hot and humid—the kind of night that makes you wish walking around naked in public were legal. Using my elbow, I smash what’s left of Adam Shaw’s bedroom window—the one I dove through the other night—and climb inside. For the most part, everything looks as it did the night I was here. The only difference is his watches are gone and Clock Dragon isn’t standing in front of me with a gun pointed at my face.

  On the hardwood floor are circles drawn out in chalk. What are they circling? My footprints? The ones I left behind before jumping out the window? The cops are likely looking for fingerprints, though they’ll never find them.

  Pacing his room, I search every inch of space I can think of—under his mattress, in his closet, and even under his carpet. There has got to be something tying him back to Lucius. Why else would Clock Dragon have entered his home?

  I’m a detective at heart, which means I need answers.

  I don’t find anything in his bedroom, so I make my way downstairs, where more lines are drawn on the floor. This time, it’s in the shape of Adam’s body.

  I don’t step too far out into the living room. Police cruisers are parked outside, guarding the perimeter of the home. If they see me creeping around inside, the cops will come in with guns in the air and backup on the way.

  Adam Shaw’s death isn’t being taken lightly—that much is clear. There are many people connected to him in one way or another, and no one will be satisfied until the police blame someone for what happened.

  For the police to immediately assume that foul play is involved means Adam already had a target on his back. Otherwise, my well-thought-out setup would have been enough to call it an overdose and close the case. Maybe I should’ve dumped his body in the river. Or maybe this is because I let the girl live. She may not remember who I am, or what I look like, but I suppose there’s a slight possibility that she remembers that someone was with them that night.

  Goddamn it. I should have killed her. What’s wrong with me? I’ve never been one to hesitate when it comes to tying up loose ends, but ever since losing Jamal, I try to be a better person… for him�
� for his memory.

  Clenching my teeth, I rummage through Adam’s kitchen cupboards, his massive pantry that’s meticulously organized, and through any door I can find.

  Nothing.

  I bow my head and sigh.

  I’m wasting my time. He may have been a dirty piece of shit, but he wasn’t an idiot. Whatever he was involved with, he knew how to keep it a secret from everyone. I’m about to head back upstairs and leave through the broken window when a sound captures my attention.

  At first, it’s a screech—like glass sliding across a concrete floor—but it turns into an inconsistent knocking. The sound gets louder, causing the floor to vibrate under my feet. Where is it coming from? The basement?

  I head for the basement door and rest a hand on its handle. The sound continues, and this time, it tickles my palm. Bit by bit, I crack the door open and peer into the dark basement stairwell.

  It’s pitch black, but every few seconds, a flash of green and purple light illuminates the bottom steps.

  What the fuck is going on down there? Careful not to make any noise, I extract my blades from my cuffs and quietly make my way down one step at a time.

  The flashes of light continue, which means whoever is down here doesn’t hear me coming. With a hand resting against the staircase wall, I peek around the corner.

  In the middle of Adam’s basement—in front of a fully stocked bar, white leather couches, and an oversized jacuzzi hot tub—is a Serifus demon no taller than my waist with pointed ears, gray hair fastened in a bun, and raggedy clothing that looks like it was sewn together using material found in a mechanic’s toolbox.

  He hops up and down, holding what appears to be a wand. Whether he’s dancing or performing some ritual is impossible to determine. He slams his wand toward the ground and all of a sudden, blinding balls of green light explode throughout Adam’s entire basement.

  “Bag sagaris!” he shouts.

  Another flash of light.

  What the fuck is this? The last time I saw a Serifus demon was over three hundred years ago. While they might be numerous, they’re rarely seen by anyone in the Underworld. They’re private people who tend to live underground.

  Is this where this Serifus demon lives? In Adam’s basement?

  Out of nowhere, he stops swinging his wand around, bends forward, and glares at the shiny epoxy floor under his overgrown toenails. From here, I can see his face in the reflection—big yellow eyes, a long pointed nose, and a small mouth likely full of sharp piranha-like teeth.

  If I can see his reflection, that means…

  He swings around so fast his ears wiggle on either side of his head.

  Shit.

  “Traaa!” he shouts, pointing a clawed finger at me.

  With his wand, he carves a large oval shape into the air, standing on his tippy toes to reach as high as he can. The air in front of Adam’s bar crackles with flashes of electricity, twirling and distorting into what I can only assume is a portal.

  Shit.

  The little monster glances back at me, bares his incisors, and shouts “Bagu!” before running toward the portal.

  Without thinking, I charge after him.

  He dives headfirst into the portal and I do the same, squinting as I prepare myself to crash right into Adam’s fancy wooden bar.

  But there is no crash.

  And everything disappears.

  Chapter 16

  ──────────

  “Riskus!”

  The young girl raises a hand by her face, prepared to smack the Serifus demon in the head but stops herself when she catches me watching her. Her scowl quickly transforms into a forced smile.

  How old is she, anyway? Sixteen? Her skin, a cool white, looks transparent compared to her port-red hair. Around her neck is a choker necklace with little silver crosses dangling all around. Although she’s alabaster pale and has the whole goth look down pat, she doesn’t smell like a vampire.

  All right, that was a bit prejudiced.

  Not all vampires look Gothic.

  Her eyes, two bright green circles under dark, average-shaped eyebrows, shift between me and her demon pet.

  “I’m sorry about Riskus,” she says. “I have no idea how he managed to bring you here.”

  While I appreciate how considerate she’s being of my presence, I’m not exactly fond of the shackles around my wrists.

  She catches me eyeballing them. “A precaution,” she says. “I’m sorry about Riskus—”

  She glares at her little minion and he cowers behind a bookshelf.

  Where am I, anyway? I’m tied to what I assume is her bed—a double mattress with no frame and a black comforter full of long gray hairs. I take it the little monster sleeps on here. Beside me is a nightstand with an old wax candle that looks like it’s never been used, a collection of witchcraft books, amulets, and multicolored crystals that probably came from the dollar store.

  An amateur witch.

  “Where am I?” I ask.

  “New York City,” she says matter-of-factly.

  I roll my eyes. “I need to get back to San Halos.”

  Her jaw drops, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I pulled you all the way from San Halos?”

  She did this? And why is she so stunned? Is it because I’m right, and she’s a total amateur? If there’s one thing I hate as much as vampires, it’s beginner witches—and yes, there are both male and female witches. Back in the day, the word wicche (that’s middle English) wasn’t gender-specific.

  That’s my lesson of the day.

  Where was I? Oh yeah, the annoying beginner witches. They go around experimenting with magic without a care in the world.

  What the fuck was she thinking? I’m lucky to have made it through her stupid portal in one piece.

  She hops onto her bed and slaps her knees. “Are you really from San Halos?”

  She leans in, her bubblegum breath bouncing off my face, and I’m about ready to bite her nose off. She’s chipper—way too chipper—to be a witch.

  “I mean, I didn’t think it would work,” she says. “I’ve been practicing for days. I can’t believe I actually sent Riskus to the amulet’s location. Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been working on this—” She waves her hands energetically, and if her eyes were any wider, they’d likely dry to a crisp. “I had to find an infected toenail, rotten onions, damp garlic—”

  “I get it,” I say, rubbing at my wrists. “Can you take these things off me?”

  I could easily snap them off with my super strength, but this kid looks too naïve. Chances are, she’s never met a real-life demon, and I may end up giving her a heart attack.

  With a smile still plastered to her face, she laughs awkwardly. “There’s a little clasp—”

  Of course there is.

  I unclip the toy handcuffs and toss them across her comforter.

  “They were on sale,” she mumbles.

  I don’t say anything. If I do, it won’t be nice.

  “Listen, sorry about the whole transportation thing—”

  “I don’t give a shit about that,” I say, and she winces as if I spat in her face. “You need to send me back.”

  “Rachel, honey, supper’s ready!” comes a woman’s voice.

  Her mom? Seriously? I’m about to snap at her for being so goddamn juvenile.

  “Are you f—” but I stop myself.

  She didn’t mean any harm, Alexis. Cut her a break.

  “What were you thinking? Playing with magic like this? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? Do your parents even know what you’ve been up to in here?”

  She gives me a sour look. “Um, duh. Of course, they know.”

  Her acting skills suck.

  “My mom’s the one who got me Riskus.”

  The elfin demon smiles up at me, his pointed chin resting in his little hands.

  “All right,” I say, sliding off her bed. “Well, since your mom already knows, maybe she has more experience
and she can help us out.”

  I’m about to turn her bedroom door handle when she shouts out, “No!”

  “Rachel!” her mother shouts back. “You get down here right—”

  “Sorry, Mom! Not you. Um… Someone online.”

  Her mom doesn’t respond, undoubtedly having bought into her daughter’s bullshit.

  “Your mom doesn’t know anything about this, does she?”

  Rachel shakes her head.

  “And you have no fucking clue how to send me back, do you?”

  Avoiding eye contact, she mumbles, “No.”

  I’m about ready to punch a hole through her door and give her an entire speech about how young witches need to do their homework before trying to cast powerful spells—especially spells that involve traveling through time or space.

  “Do you have any idea how much shit you’ve caused?” I say through clenched teeth. “San Halos is miles from here. How the hell am I supposed to get back now?”

  She shrugs and raises her pierced eyebrow. “Um, I don’t know. You could fly.”

  I laugh out loud and slap a hand on my forehead. “Fly? You want me to fly 500 miles? Are you insane? I’d never make it.”

  She pulls her face back and seems confused by what I meant.

  “Would you keep it down? And what do you mean, you wouldn’t make it? The airport isn’t far from here. You could, like, walk.”

  “Oh, so you want me to buy a plane ticket because you’re too inexperienced to send me back?”

  “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m still learning.”

  I exhale hard through flared nostrils and point a finger in her face. “Listen here, you little witch. You used magic and somehow brought me here. So it’s up to you to figure out how to send me home.”

  She crinkles her nose. “Home? That wasn’t your house.”

  How does she know this? I pull away and tilt my head. She must sense my confusion and starts blabbering a bunch of stuff that doesn’t make any sense, which leads me to believe she’s trying to backpedal.

  I cross my arms so tight that my jacket makes a squeaking noise. “I’m the adult, here, Rachel. I don’t have to explain myself to you. You, on the other hand, sent your pet on someone else’s property. So not only have you been recklessly using magic, but you’re also breaking and entering.”