Frostbite (Modern Knights Book 1)

by Joshua Bader

  I didn’t want to strike her as a complete idiot, and she had dodged my question, so I fudged. “Well, I’m a little on edge after having my old car totaled last night.”

  She nodded. “You’re learning quick. You’ve got to be a little paranoid to make it in this company.”

  I laughed, which bothered me. I shouldn’t have been able to laugh at anything right then. “I should’ve known there was a catch when I saw the size of the paycheck.” Pause. “So what do you do for Lucien?”

  She pulled the car to a stop on the shoulder of the road, then turned to face me. “You really don’t know? Duchess just said to call me and you called?”

  I sized her up. She was all of five-one and looked younger than me by a couple of years. She didn’t have the raw beauty of Miss Deluce, but there was a certain sexual energy about her. Her choice of clothing, and the bright red bang, confirmed my opinion that she was of my cohort: yet another rebellious twenty-something that didn’t quite know where she fit into 21st century America. She was either the world’s best shot or she had repeatedly risked my life back at the Old Ways compound. I pondered the pieces and didn’t come up with much of anything that resembled a job title. I shook my head. “Nope. All I’ve met so far from the company is Lucien and Duchess. Haven’t had the welcome to the company orientation yet.”

  “I’m Lucien’s personal assassin.” Her look dared me to laugh.

  I didn’t laugh.

  “Hubba hubba. I think I’m in love.”

  “You pick the weirdest times to come to the surface.”

  “Hey, I’m still tired from last night, but I’m not dead. I mean, she’s sexy.”

  “She’s also a professional killer, which likely implies lots of psychological problems, if not outright psychopathy.”

  “Like I said, sexy.”

  7

  If eating with Duchess at McDonald’s had been surreal, the dinner at Burger King with Veruca was just downright bizarre. I would to have to expand my dining tastes if I was going to be hanging with this crowd. To an outsider, we undoubtedly looked like we belonged here. We wore the right clothes (leather jackets, t-shirts, jeans for me, electric blue leggings for her), appeared the right age (early to mid-twenties), and ate normal food (double cheeseburgers, fries, and shakes). But there was nothing, absolutely nothing, normal about the wizard and the assassin that were eating at our table.

  Veruca dropped a trio of French fries past her bubblegum pink lips. Unlike Duchess, she had no trouble being awkward in public and spoke while chewing. “So how did you kill a wendigo if you don’t have any cool combat spells?”

  My tongue was getting me in all kinds of trouble with Veruca already. She was really attractive, highly flirtatious, and utterly disarming in person, unlike her deranged hermit act on the phone. I had just witnessed her job qualifications firsthand and as alarming as they were, I was still taken in by her bubbly, valley girl public persona. I had thanked her for the rescue back there, but my mouth kept on moving with all sorts of things I had no business telling her. This time I tried to restrain myself and kept my answer short, the better to make me sound cool. “Dagger. Exploding candles. Finished it with a katana.”

  Her eyes lit up. I would describe their color, but it wasn’t possible. They changed like a mood ring on an acid trip. “Cool. I know a little Aikido myself. I may have to get you on the mat some time and see what you’ve got. But no magic?”

  “The candles.” Brooding quiet just wasn’t my style. “I had setup the area as a magical sanctuary ahead of time. Gave me home field advantage and the ability to do some things I normally couldn’t.”

  “Wicked cool. Most of Lucien’s wizards have been totally lame. They wouldn’t know how to set up home court, let alone use it to kill a werewolf.”

  “Werewolf? Not exactly. It’s more of a spirit thing. It just takes the form of either a wolf or a blizzard.”

  “Oh.” She took a big bite of her burger. “When you said wendigo, I figured you meant like from that werewolf game. Still…wicked cool.”

  “You’re pretty wicked cool yourself,” I said casually, mentally editing out any additions such as “for a stone cold killer”.

  “Stone cold fox, you mean.”

  I ignored him, a feat made possible by Veruca asking me a question. “So how did you get into the wizarding business? I mean, you’re not born that way, right?”

  I eyed her over my shake. “You were born into the assassin business?”

  She switched to speaking in French. “Not so loud, sweetie. Your profession may not be a crime anymore, but mine still is. And, no, not exactly born into it. The Army made me a killer. Birth just gave me the tools to be the best.”

  I tried to keep a straight face, having picked up that she really disliked being laughed at. “You were in the Army?”

  “Yeah. I made it into Cell Thirteen, but they decided I wasn’t military material: I don’t take orders well.” She finished off her burger. “Protocol said they were supposed to kill me, but the guy they sent to do the job thought I was cute and hesitated a half-second too long. I knew about Valente from Cell Thirteen’s file on him and applied for a job the next day. Not even the government is eager to tangle with him, not over one measly little assassin. And you...” She jabbed a fry at me for emphasis. “Dodged my question. How did you become a wizard?”

  “A book,” I said quietly. “A very special, very evil book.”

  She started to laugh, but stopped when she realized I was being serious. “A book?”

  I nodded. I had never said it out loud before, but I wanted to with her, for reasons that went beyond sheer animal magnetism, though that was probably part of it. I confessed. “The Necronomicon. It ate my fiancée, I think. Afterwards, after she disappeared, I was changed.”

  “And we’re not just talking grief, either. You mean something changed who you were, what you were capable of.” Oddly enough, she sounded as if she understood.

  “No, it wasn’t grief. I knew things. Most of it was little stuff: good intuition, improved memory recall…but some of it…I had been studying Latin at school, but suddenly I could read it fluently. Then I discovered I could read anything; Every language ever known to man and a few that aren’t, like the tongue that old woman was using.”

  She switched the conversation to Portuguese. “Weird, ain’t it? I couldn’t even follow that one, but I was born with a gift for languages…I can’t imagine suddenly having all that thrust on to you.”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t stop there. I just…I knew magic. When I read a spell book, I know what parts the author intentionally left out to thwart unworthy students. Heck, nine times out of ten I can come up with a better formulation than what they’re advocating. Most of what I’ve picked up since then has just been my conscious mind catching up with what my subconscious already knows. Not a bad trade, right? The love of your life for phenomenal cosmic powers.”

  I should’ve stopped talking several sentences back, but I didn’t. Veruca got up, then slid in next to me, her arms wrapping me up as best she could. “I am so sorry.”

  Taking comfort from a trained assassin didn’t seem right, but I had trouble remembering just how dangerous she was. I tried to think of her as Veruca, rave girl, and found her embrace much more to my liking. “No need to be sorry, Veruca. You didn’t do anything.”

  When she spoke again, it was in Cantonese. “No, but I can imagine what it’s like. My great-great grandfather made a pact, too. That’s where I get my demon’s blood from.”

  “You know things, too, huh? From a demon’s pact?”

  “Some. Not as much as you. I didn’t make the pact myself, but it lingers in the seed for a long time. It’s never as strong in the children as in the first generation, though. I just learn languages really, really easily and have reflexes to make a cat jealous. Well, and a neat trick I can do with my hair.”

  She had switched to Italian and I answered in kind. “I didn’t make a pact, at least, not on purpose.
It was an accident: I said the wrong words at the wrong time.” I could almost taste Sarai’s blood on my lips again from our last kiss. “And I don’t think it was with a demon.”

  “No, not demon. I can usually recognize my distant cousins on sight.” Her Hebrew was spot on, complete with guttural stops.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” She cut me off with a pair of fingers to my lips.

  “I know you didn’t. Look, you probably shouldn’t tell any of this to anybody else at the company.”

  “Why?” We were speaking in Russian now. “I mean, it’s not like I advertise. You’re the first person I’ve ever told any of that to.”

  “Because it bothers you. I can tell you think of yourself as a basically good person and it drives you nuts to think you might have hurt someone, even accidentally, just to gain power. It’s a weakness. A nice weakness, sure, but the rest of them will use it against you…the Inner Circle of Lucien Valente isn’t about being a good person. Heck, I’d probably use it against you, except I think you’re kind of cute. You’ll have to tell Duchess, though. She has ways of digging it out of your head.”

  “Not mine. I kicked her out.”

  Veruca hugged me tighter. “Perfect. Can you teach me? I’ve been wanting to get that bitch for months, but how do you screw over someone that can read your thoughts? Wait, later on that.” She looked up at me with eyes that were shifting from magenta to emerald. “Look, I like you, Colin. If you’ll let me, I’d like to see that you survive as personal wizard. But I need you to help me by pretending to be as tough as you can be. Play up your magical prowess and act like as much of a bastard as the rest of them whenever anyone is watching. Can you do that for me?”

  “I can.” I stared down at her and ran my hand through her black hair, playing it lose from the elastic holding her ponytail. It was soft as silk and cool to the touch. “But why? Why do you want to help me?”

  She nuzzled against me and answered in Greek. I doubted I had ever heard a sexier tongue. “Because I told you I’m demon’s blood and you didn’t pull away from me. Didn’t even flinch. If you can handle my inner monster, maybe I can handle yours.”

  “Handle me, baby, handle me.”

  “I can live with that.” I scratched the back of her neck through her hair and she purred. “So before I get too worked up, are you seeing anyone?”

  “Yeah,” she confessed, and my heart sank. “Just started about five minutes ago. He’s kind of a dork, but I’ve got a good feeling about him.”

  I pinched her. “Drama queen. Could you have made that pause any longer?”

  “Maybe I was distracted,” she replied in German.

  “By what?”

  “Well, I’ve got swearing down in every Indo-European language and I find it wholly satisfying.”

  “But?” I queried.

  “I’m wondering how good I’ll be at pillow talk with no language barrier. I may need you to teach me the right words.”

  “Cha-ching.”

  I looked down at her and felt all kinds of things I thought I had forgotten how to feel. One of them stuck out above the rest and nearly forced me to tears as the knowing, the terrible knowing, washed over me.

  “What is it?” Concern spread across her face.

  “Nothing. Just memories,” I lied.

  I held Veruca against my chest. I had flirted plenty, but I didn’t let anyone close. It was natural, given how Sarai had ended, to be a little paranoid. Veruca could kick my ass all day, any day, every day. And yet, when I had looked at her just then, I knew with the absolute certainty of the Eye of Winter that someday I would kill her.

  8

  Veruca stood in the bathroom doorway, her cellphone cradled next to her head. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to follow half a conversation between her and our mutual boss. She had tried to convince me that her phone wouldn’t blow up if I touched it, but I wasn’t one to chance fate. From what I heard, she had updated him on the death of the curse woman, without saying anything she wouldn’t want the FBI or NSA to hear. I suppose all assassins must have their own “clean” jargon, but it was still odd to hear. The way she spoke, I would have thought she was Valente’s art buyer rather than his hitman, err, hit-woman.

  “No, sir. The only statue I wanted would have forced me to buy the whole lot. I just bought the one painting and put bids in on two others.”

  Pause. I didn’t get the whole statue part, but I supposed the painting stuff meant she had killed one and injured two more. Either that, or she really was his art buyer, too.

  “They’ll have to be shipped ground. The gallery was off-grid, regular hippie types. We may have tax problems. I doubt the gallery will file receipts with the IRS.”

  The Old Ways people didn’t seem like the type to call the cops? If that’s what she meant, I’d have to agree. At least a quarter of them looked like they might be illegal immigrants. Still, didn’t everybody call the cops after a murder? This was Oklahoma, not South Central, or Bogotá. Then again, I didn’t even see any lightbulbs out there, let alone telephone lines.

  “Yeah, I had to have help finding the place. The cab driver was a real wiz.”

  Me?

  “I’d have to check…Fisher Cabs, I think.”

  Definitely about me.

  “I don’t have to. He’s still sitting out front waiting. It’s hard to find a good cabbie in this state.”

  Veruca walked over to me, her hand outstretched to offer me the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

  I shook my head. “I really don’t do cell...”

  “This time you do. You don’t say no to him.” She held it up against my ear.

  “Hello?” I grabbed the phone and Veruca draped her arm across my chest as she dropped down on the bed behind me.

  ”Mr. Fisher, I must say this is a surprise. Miss Wakefield is treating you well, I presume?” Lucien Valente’s voice came through crystal clear.

  “Yes, sir. Umm…but I don’t know much about art.”

  He grunted. “Ignore all that. I keep trying to tell her that these phones can’t be tapped, but old habits die hard. You can speak freely.”

  “Can’t be tapped? Could they intercept the signal?”

  “Only if they knew what they were listening for. I’m not an R&D guy any more than I am a magic guy, but the designer assures me nobody else on the planet is using this type. You can say whatever you want. How did you meet up with Miss Wakefield? Last I talked to her, she was taking a few days vacation time.”

  I tugged at my collar and tried to ignore Veruca purring over my shoulder. “Miss Deluce bet me I couldn’t conjure up her phone number. I called Miss Wakefield up and we hit it off, once I got past all the death threats.”

  “Called her? I wasn’t aware she was carrying a regular phone. Let me talk to her again.”

  I slid the phone behind me. “Yes, sir.” Pause. “Yes, this line.” Pause. “No clue. Aren’t you glad I’m still just your art buyer?”

  She handed the phone back. Valente sounded both puzzled and irritated. “Fisher? How the hell did you pull that off? These things can only call each other, not regular phones.”

  My voice cracked as I responded. “Magic. I used a gremlin-built cellphone and told it I needed to talk to Veruca Wakefield, Inner Circle of Valente International. The fairies took care of the rest.” Veruca nibbling on my neck was not making conversation easy.

  The silence that followed was long enough to convince me my anti-cellular juju had caught up to me. But eventually Lucien said, “My compliments, Mr. Fisher. You used magic to find the woman who cursed me? Fairies help you with that as well?”

  “No, sir. A basic tracking spell. Probability magic, actually. A lake spirit clued me in as to where to start looking, but the spell took over from there. Do you want the details?”

  “No, Mr. Fisher. That won’t be necessary. Do we owe the fae anything for the phone call or the tip?”

  “No, sir. I don’t get in debt with them. I pay as I go.
”

  He sounded genuinely impressed. “Finally, a little competence. You wouldn’t believe what the Seelies tried to charge me for a deal one of my past wizards made with them.”

  “Kids?” I guessed.

  More silence. “Maybe you would believe.” He paused. “So where are we on the curse? Is it over?”

  “No, sir. I killed one of the wendigoes, but it’s a family: mother, father, and child. I took out the adult male.”

  “Are you sure it’s dead? From what I know of most supernatural beasts, they are remarkably resilient.”

  I had to stifle a laugh as Veruca’s fingers probed my ticklish vulnerabilities. “Yes, I’m sure. I took its head, if you’d like it mounted for a souvenir.”

  He did laugh. “I think I would. Tell Miss Wakefield to send it to me. She’ll know where and how without attracting unwanted attention.”

  I relayed that to her. She huffed, but obediently hopped off the bed to find it. Valente continued. “Tell me how it died, Mr. Fisher, and what plans you have for the other two.”

  I did, though I was selective about what I said regarding Tia or the Eye of Winter. “That’s about it, Mr. Valente. Duchess is setting up the company picnic for Tuesday night. I’m sure the wendigoes will want to eat, but they’ll give my sanctuary a wide berth. I’ll work out something else, though.”

  “No, you won’t, Mr. Fisher. I think your role in this particular adventure is at an end.”

  I choked on that. “I’m fired?”

  He chuckled. “No, quite to the contrary. You’ve proven too valuable an asset to risk in combat. Will any fire and steel suffice or is magical ground also a prerequisite to killing them?”

  “Any fire and steel. You have to burn off the ice cloud that surrounds them. That makes them about as dangerous as any large wolf. But, sir…they’re fast and they’re good at sneaking up on people. They like to retreat if things aren’t going their way. I wouldn’t want to see Veruca try to take them alone.”