Vengeance For Hire (Vengeance Demons Book 4 Novelette)

by Louisa Lo

  Our target was Cameron Bell, junior account manager at a large corporation, executive-in-training. He had the habit of making long business calls in the Quiet Zone, often for the duration of the entire train ride, much to the annoyance of his fellow commuters. On top of creating the illusion to his colleagues that he was in the office already when he was still on his way there, he thrived on subjecting the whole train to accounts of his self-proclaimed success with inflated numbers and the latest buzz words, half of which he misused anyway.

  Nobody liked a wannabe.

  The last thing people who had to put up with the bullshit of the business world needed was to listen to more of it in their own spare time. On their way to work, people were fantasizing about time with their family, their weekend at the cottage, and their own retirement. They didn’t need this endless blah, blah, blah in their moment of tranquility.

  So a group of them banded together and hired me and Gregory.

  Mr. Bell had just gotten onto another phone call. An international conference call by the sound of it. High stake. He was just launching into an overview of his achievements this quarter when the earphone of his neighbor’s smart phone came loose, interrupting his speech with the sound of a military-inspired app game: thunderous footsteps, shooting, explosion, curse words, etc.

  When Mr. Bell tried to talk over the noise, there came the sound of a baby wailing, and a dog’s frantic barking like it was the end of the world.

  Mr. Bell looked around, but found that nobody else was hearing what he was hearing, and there were no babies or dogs anywhere on the train. “No, sir. I’m not still at home…of course this presentation is important to me. I’ll call you back when I get to the office…no, I’m not still at home. I swear…”

  I repressed a smile. The whole purpose of the noise was to stop the phone call, but the boss thinking our target was playing hooky while talking shit out of his ass was an unexpected but happy bonus.

  From now on, for a year, every time the guy made such a phone call on the train, noise would ensue, may it be club music, sound of bacon sizzling, or the crying and berating of a jealous girlfriend.

  Ha, try to project a sense of professionalism with that! He wanted to do business in public? Then he had to put up with the downside of it.

  And yes, at the end of the year our clients could renew the contract at the reduced price of 20 percent off. This was, after all, a business.

  Chapter Four

  10:30 A.M.

  Client Interview #2

  Now onto the real interview of the day.

  Gregory was the one who booked it, so I didn't know a lot about the potential client, though I was noticing a pattern today—Ms. Whitehall, Mr. Bell, and this new interviewer were all on the human plane. It wasn't always the case, but from my experience so far, there was never a truly typical day in the mercenary life.

  We arrived at a mansion in L.A. one would expect to find some Hollywood stars in. Out of courtesy for our potential client, we knocked on the white structure instead of teleporting directly inside. A human bodyguard escorted us to the stable at the back and left. Yes, it was the kind of house that had three swimming pools, a tennis court, and a large stable.

  “We’re meeting the client at the stable?” I asked, noticing the feet of a horse peeking under one of the stable doors. “We’re going to talk business with the client surrounded by his horses? Are you kidding me?”

  By this time of day—mid-morning, with a quick coffee from the train station’s Starbucks and a successful small job done—things were no longer as awkward between me and Gregory. Being with him was kind of like acclimatization, and it got easier once we got busy enough.

  Too bad the awkwardness reset itself every morning.

  “No, not surrounded by his horses. In this case the client is one of the horses,” Gregory replied dryly.

  Looked like Gregory was getting his groove back like I was. I liked his old sarcastic self. It beat the infuriating politeness any day.

  The stable door opened, and out stepped a satyr. He was a creature that resembled a tall human basketball player, except with horse-like features such as horse-tail, horse-ears, and horse feet. He grinned, revealing large, yellowed teeth.

  I went bug-eyed. “There’s a satyr living in the human world?”

  “Yep,” the satyr confirmed. “I’ve been living on this plane permanently for over three decades now, young lady.”

  “But…but…how?” I stared at his horse-tail.

  “Illusion spells,” the satyr said as he stretched out his back with a wince. “And some very advanced yoga. I could stay upright for a long time, but my kind has two forms and the true horse form gets stiff if I don’t shapeshift back to it every now and then.”

  “Wow.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m Megan. Nice to meet you.”

  “Senator El.” He stuck out a leg for me to shake with. “That’s the name I used when I raced for the Queen’s Plate in my horse form in my youth. I’m rather attached to it.”

  “So what vengeance can we wreak for you today?” Gregory asked as he leaned against the stable stall. Though not as tall as the satyr, Gregory was no less muscular, his shoulders broad and his eyes alert. He might have a gentleman’s gene from his birth father, but experience made him a fighter.

  And he might be mine.

  Stop it. He obviously didn’t think so. Just be glad you guys have a profitable business together and you found a new life away from the Council.

  Senator El stomped his hooves onto the ground in agitation. “My massage fairies are missing. I hired a whole bunch of them to work exclusively for me because I get a stiff back all the time.”

  Massage fairies might sound far-stretched, but there was a new kind of fae born every minute. As the supernatural society grew more complex, the creatures in it had also become more diversified, just like there were now a zillion types of human specialists, from rheumatologist to otolaryngologist.

  The massage fairies were very much in demand as secret helpers for human physiotherapists and massage therapists. That was why many patients fell asleep during their sessions—they were enchanted to unconsciousness so the fairies could, well, work their magic.

  “Your missing fairies, were they living here?” Gregory asked.

  “Yes. They were staying on the ground floor of the house,” Senator El replied. “And they’re not just missing, they’re snatched. I know it.”

  Alright, missing was one thing, being snatched was quite another. It fitted in much better with the functioning parameter of our mercenary business. Getting the kidnappees back would involve the capture and punishment of the kidnapper, which was right up our alley.

  “Do you have pictures of them?” I asked.

  “Sent them to your phone just before you got here. There’s three of them gone.”

  “How many are left right now, if any?” Gregory asked. He kept his tone even, but I got a feeling he was fishing for some specific information I couldn’t decipher. Yet.

  “Two.” Anger and frustration flashed in the satyr’s eyes. “I don’t know how it could have happened. The security for this place is top-notch. Will you punish the kidnapper and get my girls back?”

  “My girls,” huh? That was just a touch more possessive that one would expect in a client-hired help relationship.

  “We’ll see what we can do,” Gregory replied noncommittally. “We’ll be in touch.”

  He started toward the front of the mansion, and I followed.

  I waited until we were clear of the mansion ground before opening my mouth. “Okay, what’s going on? That meeting took, like, five minutes. You didn’t even ask him a lot of questions. And you didn’t say yes or no to the job, which usually you would give an indication one way or another by the end of the initial meeting.”

  Generally, Gregory was really good at securing a job in the most solid way possible. Getting the client to prepay a good portion of the fee, even. There are other mercenaries out there competing fo
r assignments, after all. The fact that he didn’t try this time was telling.

  Gregory bit his lip. “Did you notice how he used the words ‘my girls’?”

  “Yeah, that was kinda weird. And they’d been living with him and everything.”

  “I want to do a little vetting of our own before talking to him again. Something fishy is going on here,” Gregory replied. “That’s why I always insist on an in-person meeting before taking on a new client. Being face-to-face with him, I could tell that Senator El is not telling the whole truth.”

  Gregory had been doing this a lot longer than I had. He must’ve picked up on something through experience.

  “Can I look at what he sent us?” Gregory asked. “I want to see if a theory of mine could be right.”

  I took out the Phone, and found the pictures that the satyr sent of the three fairies. Gregory leaned closer to me for a better look. I resisted the urge to breathe in his scent.

  Stupid. Solus-iungere-induced hormones.

  Judging from the things they posed in front of in the photos—a mailbox, the mall entrance, etc.—looked like the girls were what they called Larger Fae, their size equivalent to regular human females. They all had doe eyes and waist-length, honey blond hair.

  And they were all drop dead gorgeous.

  Suddenly Gregory realized how close we were positioned and took a step back. I bit back a ping of disappointment as the air around me cooled a degree in the absence of his body heat.

  He cleared his throat and took on the tone he used when in his analytical mode. “A group of beautiful young girls, supposedly masseuses, living with the satyr, a creature well-known for being randy. Then they disappeared together and he wants them back. What kind of picture are you seeing?”

  “Are you suggesting that Senator El has been holding the girls captive? Like, for his own harem or something?” I asked, horrified. I must admit, I was impressed by what he was able to pick up. Those experiences really made a huge difference.

  “Maybe. The girls might not have been taken from the satyr, but rather, escaped from him.” Gregory nodded. “Sometimes potential clients want to go through us, rather than the official channel, for reasons beyond efficiency. We always have to be careful not to become misused as the instrument of injustice. I didn’t want to endanger the remaining girls by grilling Senator El back there, not until we do more homework on our own.”

  “What happens if the satyr turns out to be the wrongdoer?” I thought I knew enough about him by now to know what his reply would be, but I wanted to hear it.

  Gregory’s lips curved. “Then the fact that we didn’t promise to work for him would leave us with no conflict of interest if we were to punish him.”

  I loved that it wasn’t all profit with him, that the pursuit of justice wasn’t lost in favor of the bottom line. It was always good to have the same value as one’s business partner.

  Also, just in case he was indeed mine.

  Chapter Five

  NOON

  Lunch/Vetting of Vengeance Validity

  There’s one place we go when we need in-depth vetting done on potential clients and the legitimacy of their vengeance claim.

  Mel’s.

  “Pete!” Candy exclaimed and ran into Gregory's arms as soon as we walked in the front door. The little girl was calling him by the name he used in his mercenary life and with his adopted family, something I didn’t think I’d ever get used to. The name Gregory kinda got stuck in my head.

  Gregory lifted Candy up in the air and swung her around until she dissolved into laughter. “Hey, my little brat.”

  “So happy you’re here.” Candy grinned. “Mommy just finished making lunch. We’re having beef barley stew with baguettes. There’s also a salad, and then chocolate chip cookies.”

  I have to say, the great thing about going to Mel’s is that his assistant, Sarah, Candy's mom, always served good food. I learned on day one that Mel didn't believe in working while eating, so all of us—Mel, Sarah, Candy, Gregory, and I—gathered around the big table at the back of his office for a sit-down meal. Even Candy's baby brother, George, joined us on a booster seat. I appreciated the easy affection everyone seemed to have for each other. It was very different from the cutthroat, every-vengeance-demon-for-herself-environment at Demon U.

  Yet all through the truly amazing lunch, my thoughts kept straying back to the case and Gregory’s suspicion. Something about it just kept nagging at me.

  After lunch, Mel gestured for me and Gregory to join him in his workroom. To my surprise, Candy got up and joined us. Powerful as the young witch was, she wasn’t usually involved in the vetting process, lest the use of her power for that purpose attract unwanted attention within the Cosmic Balance.

  Mel’s workroom was enchanted to suit whatever mood he was in. The first time I visited, he had the whole place dressed up like a TARDIS just to make a point to me. Today, the theme was Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride—the colorful world with the dead guys, not the stark one of the living. Everything in the workroom, from the desk to the garbage can, was vibrantly macabre.

  Candy sat on a bean bag style chair formed by a skeleton, with its upper body serving as the back of the chair, and legs folded to form the seat. It couldn’t have been that comfortable, but then its jaw promptly spit out Skittles into Candy’s hand when she knocked on the skull, much to her delight. The little girl pulled out a small laptop and seemed lost in it as Gregory and I explained what happened with the Satyr to Mel.

  Mel narrowed his eyes, deep in thoughts. “Have you performed the Ring of Vengeance yet?”

  The Ring of Vengeance was a cursory test based mostly on instinct, to sense whether or not a claim to vengeance was legit. I finally realized what was bothering me about Gregory's suspicion. My senses, at the time of the interview, told me that Senator El was all right. Yet Gregory had good reasons to be skeptical. Alarm bells should’ve been ringing in my head as well, yet the satyr’s claim felt just to me despite the doubt staggering against it.

  Gregory frowned. “Here's the problem. Despite everything, the Ring was there.”

  I was relieved that Gregory felt the same way about the Ring. I thought it was a newbie confusion thing.

  “Let's see what I can read from the Cosmic Balance.” Mel was sensitive to it, exceeding even some of the arch vengeance demons, making him the perfect person to aid field workers such as me and Gregory.

  I remembered once reading that in ancient times all humans had a good understanding of herbs due to sheer necessity, while nowadays you would be lucky to find one who could tell the color of their pills apart. In the same way, modern day vengeance demons had too many things handed to them pre-analyzed, and many lost the ability to tap into the mood of the Cosmic Balance.

  And that was where oracles like Mel came in.

  Mel waved in the air before him until a transparent bubble formed, with light white vapors rising and dispensing in continuous motion. I knew from experience that this was his mental representation of the Cosmic Balance. At the start of a session, he set the level of transparency to “clear.” If the bubble was clear again at the end of the session, it meant the claim had the Ring of Vengeance.

  Mel had Gregory describe the interview again, sparing no details. Mel then “fed” the information into the bubble by tapping its surface with his fingertip. By the end of Gregory’s descriptions, the light vapors had thickened to the color of heavy cream.

  “The satyr’s concern for the women wasn't a lie. That’s not what’s causing the cloudiness,” Mel said thoughtfully, staring at the bubble. “What we’re missing here is context. You said you have pictures of the girls?”

  I handed Mel the Phone.

  Mel flipped through the pictures and pulled them into the air next to the now not-so-transparent bubble. He drew the cloudiness from the bubble and deposited it onto the images of the massage fairies. “Reveal yourself.”

  The images of the girls wavered and reshaped, their faces became more
round, their skin pale while their cheeks rosy, and their bodies gained more meat on the bones. Their clothes changed from modern outfits to some flowing, sheer dresses, and the background of the photo changed from the mailbox and mall entrance to that of a woodland, making the pictures resemble some classic Renaissance paintings.

  “They’re like old paintings of fairies,” I commented.

  “Not just any fairies,” Mel corrected. “Nymphs. The so-called massage fairies are really nymphs.”

  “How could you tell?” I asked curiously.

  “Subtle differences in the color of the scenery their aura produced. Nymphs are more sensual and sultry than regular fairies. Trust me, the missing girls are nymphs. Though I’ve never seen ones this size before.”

  “You know what that means,” Gregory said.

  “Satyr and nymphs,” I breathed. They’re natural enemies. Like cats and mice. “But, Mel, you just said you believe that the satyr cares for the girls. Could it be some kind of crazy obsession?”

  “Who knows.” Mel shook his head.

  “There’s something else,” Candy said, looking up from her computer screen.

  She’d been so quiet I’d almost forgotten she was there. I wondered why Mel allowed her to help us, when monsters could sense her use of magic and come steal her power. Gregory was frowning, too. As if sensing our question, Candy shrugged. “I‘m not using my magic, I swear. I just hacked into the bank record for Senator El and downloaded his transaction history for the last decade.”

  My jaw sagged. “You mean you’re a hacker as well as a witch?”

  Note to self: never underestimate cute-as-a-button little girls.

  Candy shrugged. “E-record is nothing but an illusion. It’s more similar to magic than you might think.”

  “What did you find out?” Mel asked Candy.

  “The satyr didn’t start buying girl’s clothing until two years ago, then suddenly he was buying it in five different sizes. And around when it all began, he made a major purchase at a drugstore, of toothbrushes, mouthwash, maxi-pads, and a whole lot of other stuff.”