by Louisa Lo
Nymph blood? Oh, right.
“Madeleine, did you come here because you heard the nymph’s cry for help?” I knew that many species had their own common psychic channel.
“Day and night,” she spat. “Their moaning and groaning were so loud I couldn’t sleep for days.”
No wonder there were bags under her eyes and her power signature went haywire. She was sleep deprived, and driven half-mad by the reminder of a heritage she tried so hard to deny. Dad once told me that there was no true differentiation of power signatures based on race, but on the nature of the species one was channeling.
Listening to one too many moans of ecstasy, and someone of nymph blood would start tapping into his or her sensual side. Couldn’t be easy for the oh-so-prim-and-proper Miss Lex. Last I checked, she was self-medicating to control that part of her secret nature.
“Is that why you came here? To rescue them?” I asked. Maybe that was why she was able to teleport directly into the apartment—she was following her instincts. No need to listen for the source of moaning in the hallway for her.
“Anything to make them stop making that noise in my head.” She pulled at her messy hair until her eyes watered.
The leprechaun tried to take advantage of our exchange and slip past us. But Gregory, Madeleine, and I caught on and put him under a freezing spell. Three freezing spells at the same time, actually.
Gregory smiled ruefully at Madeleine. “This is quite the dilemma, ma’am. Disputes of first rights for an assignment between my kind and a legit vengeance demon are quite rare.”
I glared at Gregory. “That was how we met, remember?”
“Oh, the fond memory,” Gregory mocked.
“But Madeleine isn’t here in an official vengeance capacity.” I looked at my former classmate, confident I was right.
“No, I’m not,” she confirmed.
“So the question is,” I asked her, “do you want to claim this vengeance?”
From her eyes, I could tell she understood the implication of my question. Technically, Madeleine got to the trader before us. On top of that, she had a right to the vengeance by the virtue of her blood. Yet, she couldn’t claim it without exposing her origin.
Madeleine shuddered. “No, you take it.”
Never did I think I would see the day when Madeleine Abrianna Lex would practically beg me to take a vengeance credit from her. These were strange times.
Chapter Eight
4:28 P.M.
A Call to the Head Office
We decided that the best way to punish the trader would be to give him exactly what he wanted—almost.
Gregory and I casted the Promised Land on him, allowing the leprechaun to see a large pot of gold five feet away from him, but every time he walked toward it, the gold would move away from him by the exact distance. The pot of gold would stay in his vision day and night, so long as he continued in the trader business, distracting him from his daily routine whether it was brushing his teeth or kissing his sweetheart.
Then we called Mel with the information the trader provided regarding the Collector, and waited at a nearby coffee shop. Mel would investigate the mastermind behind the kidnapping, and provided a quote for us to bring to Senator El. Our original agreement with the satyr covered the rescue of the girls and the punishment of the person directly involved in their kidnapping, so the comeuppance for the Collector was considered extra. Senator El was free to hire us, or someone else, to fix the root cause of the nymphs’ suffering.
That was what those in the mercenary world called “gravy.”
Chapter Nine
6:09 P.M.
Client Follow-Up/Exit Interviews
By the time Mel sent us the quote, it was an hour and a half later, and I was on my third chocolate donut. Geez, I was becoming a cop in those human procedural dramas.
And Gregory? He was sipping tea the whole time. No junk food. Wasn’t even tempted by a single cookie. That was so disciplined, it was evil.
We spent the next three hours doing follow-up/exit interviews with Senator El and Ms. Whitehall. Well, mostly with Ms. Whitehall. The meeting at the satyr’s mansion was relatively short. We united the kidnapped girls with their loved ones, made some suggestions for extra security measures, and got Senator El’s consent to go ahead with the vengeance for the Collector. We would commence the work tomorrow morning. That was how my calendar could look virtually empty at the beginning of a week, but fill up quickly as the days went by. You know what they say, one good vengeance led to another.
So it wasn’t the visit to Senator El’s that made me miss dinner—Ms. Whitehall just wouldn’t let us leave. First she wanted a blow-by-blow account of what happened, which of course we couldn’t give her if we were to protect the nymphs’—not to mention Madeleine’s—privacy. So it became a nagging marathon of “why not.” Then Ms. Whitehall launched into a longwinded deductive reasoning that since she was right about her moaning neighbor, all of her previous complaints must have had merits as well. She gave us a long recount of the cases she wanted us to take on, including her missing orange jellybeans and the weight-gaining cat. She occasionally stopped her rant, only to ask if Gregory would agree to do a demonic blessing on her parrot.
I was grateful for the donuts I’d stuffed down, since I didn’t trust the social cookies she offered us. I think there might have been a dog biscuit or two mixed in there.
I had no idea how I could have spent less than an hour on the actual vengeance, and more than three times that amount of time on the business end of things. I thought the end of a licensed vengeance career meant the end of the administrative stuff. Ha, was I wrong.
“Ms. Whitehall, I’m afraid we have to leave now,” Gregory finally said. “Megan and I are late for our dinner date.”
Our client’s eyes lit in excitement. “You guys are together? How cute!”
Couldn’t help myself, I glanced at Gregory to gauge his reaction to the assumption. His face gave absolutely nothing away. Zip.
Well, what did I expect?
Chapter Ten
9:12 P.M.
Late Dinner/Mini Job #2
We went to Sophie’s Cheesecake, a hangout on the witches’ plane for college students that offered all day breakfast, sandwiches, coffees, and baked goods. The witches’ plane had one of the most prestigious magic training programs, and the entire plane was like one big college town. Cafes like Sophie’s Cheesecake were reasonably priced and popular with students.
We sat at a booth tended by a waitress with a nametag that said “Tula.” Food arrived at fast-food speed, but tasted surprisingly homey. We were halfway through our dinner before doing the work necessary to earn it.
No rest for the vengeful.
The waiter who worked the section next to Tula had been spitting into the food of the patrons. We spelled him to choke every time he tried to perform this disgusting act, and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with month-old unwashed socks.
The perfect end to a work day.
Then Gregory and I went back to eating in companionable silence.
“So.” Gregory watched me polish off the last of my second roast beef sandwich. “Can I have the Phone back for a day?”
I raised my eyebrow. “Just a day?”
We both knew by this point I wanted nothing more than to stay the hell away from the Phone for a week. My ear still rang with Ms. Whitehall’s description of the three different shades of orange jellybeans.
“We can alternate,” Gregory suggested with a mischievous glint to his eyes. “I’ll take the annoying ones and you’ll take the crazies.”
“Shut up.” I threw the Phone at him, which he caught and pocketed with uncanny dexterity.
Without a word I grabbed the near-empty salt and pepper bottles on the table, dumped their remaining contents on my plate. Gregory’s jaw sagged as I casted a spell on the now-empty bottles and handed one of them to Gregory. “Here.”
“What is it?” He frowned, looking at the li
ght mist trapped in his bottle, which mirrored mine.
“It’s a trickster spell called Steal A Moment. Just now, we bantered and I threw something at you. And all is well. I want to bottle this moment as a reminder to ourselves. Look, I know things have been weird since that kiss—”
“Megan—” He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.
“Don’t. Whatever. I like the moment captured in these bottles. And I’m sick and tired of going through a full day of awkwardness before getting to this point, only to do it all over again tomorrow. I don’t care why you pulled back, only that you did, and I just want to have no more resets.”
I had to move forward. My life was complicated enough without that kind of hot-and-cold guesswork with Gregory. I had a new life in the mercenary world to discover, and an old one I would no doubt came face to face with sooner than I would like to.
Gregory held his bottle close to his chest, then nodded. “No more resets.”
Chapter Eleven
11:53 P.M.
Bedtime
I would’ve loved to drop on the bed like a brick and be dead to the world, but I dragged my body into the shower to wash away the stink of oversexed pheromones and animal menagerie.
As I patted my hair dry, I quickly checked my online bank account and was happy to see that new magical credits, freshly earned, were already deposited into my account. I took out my cell phone and called my half-sister, Esme.
“Hey, Megan,” Esme answered on the first ring.
“Any news?” I asked her what I’d been asking her every night for a month now.
“No. I’m sorry.” Esme sounded tired and frustrated, and I felt a guilty ping as I knew that I’d put some of that frustration there by continuously bugging her for updates. “I’ll keep trying.”
“I know you will,” I said gently. “Thank you, sis.”
After Esme hung up, I laid down on the bed and thought about the case of today, how Senator El’s face lit up when he saw Luna, Tessa, and Maria, whom he considered his granddaughters, returned home safe and sound.
I might not have my own grandmother back yet, but at least I helped someone else’s family unite today. I think Grandma would be proud of me for that.
Hugging that thought to myself, I drifted to sleep.
THE END
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Did you enjoy VENGEANCE FOR HIRE? If so, I would really appreciate it if you could write a review on either Goodreads and/or your online retailer!
About the Author
Louisa Lo lives in Toronto, Canada with her husband, an aristocratic cat, and more cardboard boxes than she cares to unpack. She decided to write about vigilantes, because it seems like a better life choice than trying to become one and landing herself in jail. She just has that kind of luck.
You can connect with Louisa on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads or visit her website at www.LouisaLo.com
Recommended Reading Sequence
Vengeance Be Mine (Vengeance Demons #1)
Before Vengeance (Vengeance Demons #0)
Vengeance Unclaimed (Vengeance Demons #2)
A Good Vengeance (Vengeance Demons #3)
Vengeance For Hire (Vengeance Demons #4)
Hell Hath No Vengeance (Vengeance Demons #5)
Be a Vengeful Vixen!
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Blurb and Excerpt — Hell Hath No Vengeance
Hell is What a Vengeance Demon Makes It…
Megan Aequitas is adjusting to her new normal, which is anything but in the aftermath of the changeling war. With her beloved grandmother still missing and the whole are-we-or-aren’t-we dance with Gregory, her hot business partner, all she needs is to attract the attention of the Lord of Darkness.
But when the lover of a fugitive they sent back to the Underworld charges them with unwittingly punishing an innocent, they have no choice but to investigate, even when it leads them straight to Hell’s doorstep.
What Megan discovers about Gregory, Lucifer, and the Council will change everything…
Note: The events in HELL HATH NO VENGEANCE take place after A GOOD VENGEANCE and VENGEANCE FOR HIRE.
Chapter One
Uneasy Allies
When a loved one went missing, some people raged in helplessness, while others retreated into themselves. I was fortunate enough to have a third option.
Keeping myself busy by kicking some vengeance butt.
“You know, what he’s doing is just a step up from stealing candies from a baby.” I wrinkled my nose, staying in the shade with Gregory as we watched our target cross the intersection and head toward our hiding spot. The shade also served as relief from a blistering sun. It was unusually hot for what is supposed to be the beginning of summer on the human plane. A good thing, too. Most people had the good sense to stay indoors, leaving the area surrounding the side entrance of a grocery store relatively deserted.
Gregory, clad in his trademark dark jeans and black sweatshirt despite the heat, shrugged. His sensuous lips parted in amusement. “Megan, is there ever a more ethical way to steal?”
I rolled my eyes. “I guess not.”
Today marked the three-month anniversary of my career as a mercenary and my partnership with Gregory. The mercenary life turned out to be a lot like my old life at the co-op program of the University of Demonic Studies. Granted, there were less textbooks and bigger paychecks, but I had to work just as hard to keep up.
The Prince of Darkness could be one demanding customer.
Our latest target was Boyce Armstrong, a mean-looking dwarf-giant thug who adapted a human-sounding last name for his official records.
And what a record. The guy had the rap sheet the length of a person's arms, including grand theft auto, B&E, and to crown it off, the murder of four people. To keep up with the stereotype, the guy looked like he was straight from the villain catalogue of Central Casting. He was all biker jeans, tattooed arms, enormous build, and facial scars. According to the photo attached to our work order, there was one particular scar that went from his forehead to his cheek, missing his left eye by a narrow margin.
I liked it when they made the verification process so easy, helping me get to the capturing part all that faster.
Mr. Armstrong was supposed to be serving time in Hell, but he made an escape two weeks ago during a massive prison break. And now here he was, resorting to stealing from little old human ladies right off the street of downtown Toronto. It was as wrong as it was sad.
We watched as Boyce smiled at an elderly woman carrying five bags of groceries, and offered to hold her stuff for her so she could concentrate on using her walker to cross the street. I barely resisted tapping my foot on the ground, as I hated witnessing anyone in the process of being charmed and conned, knowing in most cases the likes of me weren’t there to prevent the fallout.
We waited until Boyce got onto our side of the road with his would-be victim. Then I grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him into the small alleyway I was hiding in, and banged him against the wall before the old lady could let out a scream—and before the grocery bags could hit the ground. As dwarf-giants were tough SOBs, I relied on the element of surprise to quickly plant a temporary weakening spell on him.
"Get off me!" Boyce spat when I flipped his body so that his back was facing me, and restrained him using a pair of Unbreakable Cuffs.
With well-oiled coordination that we’d perfected in the past few months, the moment I engaged our target Gregory started calming down our innocent human bystander. With a light touch on her shoulder, he made the last few minutes of her memory blurry. Then he gathered the grocery bags, tied them onto her walker, and sent her on her merry way; he even threw in a boost of energy for her to enjoy for the next two hours. The old lady complied, movin
g away with a spring in her step.
Gregory turned his attention back to Boyce just when the latter tried to pull himself free of the Unbreakable Cuffs. It was all to no avail. I purchased the goblin-made cuffs with my first paycheck. They were expensive but impossible to break once they were on, making my job safer as a result.
“What the hell do you want?” Boyce yelled.
“Hell is the right word here,” Gregory said dryly.
Comprehension dawned on Boyce’s face as he took in Gregory’s vengeance wings, fully extended as mine were during a confrontation, from his vantage point. Our target growled.
“Boyce Armstrong, we’re sending you back to Hell,” I informed him, using the dispassionate voice I learned from school. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do may offend the assigned vengeance demon and lead to a more severe punishment—”
Gregory coughed discreetly.
My cheeks heated. Damn, I did it again, giving the guy his Belinda, the vengeance demon version of the Miranda rights. Mercenaries didn’t do that, as we weren’t exactly legal ourselves under the existing vengeance laws. Old habits died hard.
Luckily, our target didn’t seem to care about my present embarrassment whatsoever.
“I can’t go back there,” Boyce howled. “I didn’t do those things they say I did. I mean, I did all the small-time stuff when I was younger, but I’d turned my life around since then. I didn’t kill those four people.”
“Yeah, and I guess taking that old lady’s groceries is really making you believable here.” I snorted.