Phoenyx in Flames

by Daisy St. James

  Phoenyx looked up upon hearing the support beams creak and groan. The building was about to collapse, and she'd already overstayed her welcome. She'd have to come back the next morning to search for her necklace, amongst the rubble. Besides, she had to get downtown as quickly as possible. She and Cortez needed to have a little chat.

  The Order wouldn't be happy to know that their top-secret organization wasn't much of a secret anymore, and whoever this Armani-wearing, masked, ancient vampire was, someone had to put him out of commission, as of yesterday.

  The thought of a blind threat hiding in the shadows, a threat that seemed to know too much about things he shouldn’t, was enough to leave Phoenyx’s blood cold. It was going to be a very long night, and she needed to find Cortez before she hit up The Order. That way, she could get the skinny on the extra-curricular activities of the Supernaturals in town.

  Somebody knew something, and Cortez was going to spill all the beans, whether he liked it or not.

  TWO

  Phoenyx stood casually in the open doorway of El Muerto Lindo. Cortez owned the place and thought he’d been pretty clever for coming up with the name, which translated to, The Pretty Dead. Yeah, that Cortez thought he was a real clever guy, or Sand Demon––depending on who was asking.

  Anybody who was anybody in the vampire underworld found their way through these doors at one time or another. It was one of the handful of Crystal Haven’s clubs for the other-worldly to come and play, away from curious human eyes. Sure, a couple of Hotbloods found themselves in the mix, but unless they had something very special to offer the clientele, like a favorite among the vamps, Type O-blood, they never made it out to tell the tale. They were either sold into slavery or murdered. Sad really.

  Most of the fresh, flushed faces that she’d seen pass through the doors, all had Hollywood ideals of what vampires were like. The sweetness of Edward Cullen and the romanticism of Lestat––to name two. Well, neither of those characters existed, and the Hotbloods learned really quickly that vampires didn’t fucking sparkle.

  Some obscure, indie band was playing loudly through the speakers, when suddenly, every pair of eyes in the place scanned the darkened barroom for the source of the smell that was making their noses twitch with so much bloodlust. Though you’d get the occasional Demon among the bunch, mostly flesh-eaters, the clientele was predominantly Nosferatu, depending on the moon of course. Every now and then a shifter would find their way in and then would just as quickly be escorted out.

  Behind the bar, the barmaid Kassandra smiled. Her blindingly white teeth contrasted brightly against her crimson lips, and her skin was nearly as pale, like an ocean pearl.

  "Well, well, well," Kassandra murmured, her Russian accent thick. "Look what the cat dragged in…where you been, mishka?"

  "Where's Cortez?" Phoenyx snapped, not wasting any time.

  Kassandra's red lips pulled into a pretty pout, her pale blue eyes an electric shock, nearly like ice. "You wound me, honey! Aren't you even glad to see me?" she asked in feigned hurt.

  Leaning up against the bar, Phoenyx took a handful of mixed nuts and popped some into her mouth. Once, when she’d first met Cortez, she’d commented on how he couldn’t have a bar without any goddamn bar nuts. Ever since, he’d always made sure they were there, even though they usually went stale before they got eaten.

  "I need to speak with Cortez. Now.” Phoenyx murmured. “You can flirt later."

  The barmaid's lips pursed indignantly. "Cortez isn't here."

  Phoenyx sighed. "You're lying… mishka."

  Kassandra arched a thin, black brow, her sass starting to show. "He's in back, but don't tell him I sent you in there! I'm on strike two, and he's about ready to fire my sweet ass."

  Phoenyx smiled. "It is indeed sweet.”

  "Dinner?"

  "Not a chance in hell," Phoenyx called over her shoulder as she retreated past the billiards, and into the back room. Quickly grabbing a pool stick along the way, she drummed it on her thigh.

  By club standards, Cortez ran a pretty tight ship. He had found Kassandra in Russia, right after her sire, Grigori Rasputin, had been murdered in 1916. He’d saved her life from the very same mob that killed Rasputin, and she felt indebted to him. Following him to The Americas, they stuck side-by-side, through thick and thin. Truth is, Kassandra could have been on her one thousandth strike and Cortez would always turn a blind eye.

  ***

  The hallway was dark, but short, and it didn't take her very long to find the door marked, 'LOCAL CELEBRITY.'

  Subtle, she thought dryly, before kicking the door in effortlessly, pinning a very panicked, and surprised, Cortez to the wall with the pool stick.

  He was a head taller than her and double the width, but he shrank slowly by the second as she leaned in closer. "Where do you think you're going?" She asked quietly.

  Cortez swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing uncomfortably against the hardwood at his throat. "Phoenyx! Baby! I wasn't expecting you!"

  "And why would that be?"

  His cognac colored eyes darted uncomfortably. "I thought you'd be out taking care of business!"

  "I was," she said smoothly. "Something interesting happened, though. Can you guess what?"

  "Interesting, huh?" Cortez said slowly, sweat beading his upper lip, collecting between the dark stubble there. "The nest wasn't where I said it would be? Because it was third party information, beautiful! I––"

  "It was a hit." She snapped, pressing the pool stick harder into his throat.

  Cortez looked confused, genuinely confused––and alarmed.

  Phoenyx narrowed her eyes at him. "You really don't know anything about it, do you?" She asked in sudden realization.

  He shook his head vehemently, dark hair falling into his eyes. "You're my bread and butter, baby. I don't bite the hand that feeds me."

  Phoenyx cursed under her breath, jerking the weapon away from his throat. "What the fuck, Cortez!"

  It was never in her job description to get close to her informants, but when she thought that Cortez had turned, and given her up to this ancient vampire everyone kept bragging about, it had stung a little. She and Cortez went way back, and the betrayal left a bad taste in her mouth. As far as demons went, he was harmless, and she hated to admit it, but kind of fucking likeable.

  Cortez rubbed his throat gingerly and grimaced. Leaning forward, he asked, "What happened?"

  "What happened?" She bit out irritably. "I walked into Warehouse B thinking I was going to have a blast––and BAM! I get jumped by three vamps. Two, of which, were named Curt and Bob?"

  "Curt and Bob?" Cortez couldn't hide his distaste. "Were Skip and Marvin there too?"

  "So not funny." She huffed.

  Cortez held his hands up in surrender, but couldn't control the small chuckle that escaped him. After gaining some decorum, he cleared his throat gruffly. "I'm sorry, but how do you know it was a hit?"

  Phoenyx sighed. "Bob didn't die right away. He was hiding. I found him, threatened him. He confessed."

  "Confessed? To what exactly?"

  Cortez was like a big puppy, all eyes and exuberance. He wanted to help––he always wanted to help, and it had taken years for Phoenyx to accept that he wasn’t one hundred percent monster. In time, they’d developed a kind of camaraderie, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Cortez had helped her more times than she could count––on both hands. In a lot of ways, he was her only friend.

  "What do you know about some Armani-wearing, British motherfucker who may, or may not, have come into town about two to three months ago?" She asked.

  Cortez shook his head, frowning. "Haven't heard anything. Well, at least nothing like that. Vampire?"

  Oh, Cortez. Just because he was helpful, didn’t mean he was brilliant.

  "No. Circus monkey with really expensive taste in clothing."

  "Right," he mumbled, not missing the sarcasm. "Little bird, I would tell you if I knew, I swear it. I ain't heard nothing about
no Beatles-loving vampire."

  Phoenyx pushed her hair away from her face and let her hand drop to her side with a snap. "Listen, if you hear anything, and I mean anything, call me right away, C. These assholes meant business."

  “You’re my girl, fresa. I got your back.” Cortez said with a wide, toothy smile.

  She didn’t bother to tell him off for the pet name.

  He leaned closer. “Those vamps are stupid. They obviously don’t know who they’re fucking with.”

  "That's what worries me," she hissed. "These vamps were suicide bombers. They went in there with no intention of coming out, and every intention of taking me down. Whoever this ancient vampire is, and I use that word very loosely, because I’m starting to doubt its validity, he has a beef with me."

  "I'll do some digging, yo prometo."

  Flipping the pool stick like a baton, she put the ass end in Cortez's hand. "Sorry I almost killed you."

  Cortez gestured to her with the stick, and smiled. "Ain't no thang. I knew you wouldn't!"

  A dark shadow passed over her face. He may have been certain, but Phoenyx wasn’t. She stumbled on her words. "Just keep your ears open."

  "S-sure," Cortez stuttered.

  As Phoenyx strode purposefully out of El Muerto Lindo, the night enfolding her like an old friend, her cell phone buzzed against her hip. Without breaking stride, she lifted it to check the Caller ID. It was Hutton.

  Her mouth pressed into a grim line as she answered. "H…we need to talk. Now."

  THREE

  An uncomfortable silence hung in the air of the musty and dimly lit library. Across from Phoenyx, Hutton Grimshaw looked decidedly disheveled. Quite frankly, Phoenyx was perplexed by his reaction when she’d burst into his private office with the news. It hardly should have surprised him that she would barge in uninvited. That was pretty much her M.O. her entire life. Rushing in head first, with hardly any warning for what lay beyond those first few steps was how she got it done. Still, Hutton sat with his fingers folded together and pressed against his lips, a look of dismay played clearly across his distinguished features.

  "You're absolutely certain?" He asked pointedly.

  "Yes," Phoenyx said impatiently, her thumbnail clacking against the underside of her front tooth out of nervous habit. "For a secret society…you guys suck at keeping it that way."

  For all the years she’d known him, Hutton had always been prideful in the fact that The Order had kept itself under the radar. As far as the Supernaturals were concerned, Phoenyx was a rogue agent, who just so happened to appear one day, at the ripe old age of sixteen, to kick all their asses. They had no idea The Order of the Flame even existed––until now.

  Hutton couldn’t have been pleased. His eyes were on her like blue lasers. He'd given her that look before, and the result was always the same. As her mentor, trainer, friend and the man who raised her, she knew him better than most.

  Thank God for body language and steely-eyed stares because even as well as she knew him, he was still the only human on the face of the planet she couldn’t read.

  "I don't know why you're so upset at me, H. It's not like I asked for this." She blurted out.

  ***

  Hutton eyed her thoughtfully. Twenty years had gone by now, and there she stood, a woman––and one of the deadliest assassins to have ever walked the Earth. Still, he couldn’t help but see the terrified little girl from so long ago, staring back at him, all eyes and silent suffering.

  Where had the time gone? What I wouldn’t give to go back and do it all differently. Rebecca would be so damn proud. Quelling the softness of the memory that threatened to turn him to pudding in her presence, he scowled.

  "You've been careless and sloppy," he said quietly, running a thoughtful hand over his neatly trimmed beard, long since peppered with the grey that only came with wisdom.

  Phoenyx rolled her eyes and Hutton fought the urge to snap at her. The eye-rolling was a nasty habit he’d never been able to break her of in all their years of training. Yet, for all her exasperation, she’d learned enough that she could fire a crossbow at eighty yards, without so much as batting an eyelash, never missing her target.

  He watched her jaw working as her teeth gnawed like angry beavers at the inside of her lips. She trained her eyes on him, waiting.

  "Aren't you going to say something?" She pressed.

  He knew how much she hated to displease him, but most of all, he knew how much she hated that she hated it. For an empath, Phoenyx was decidedly against her emotions in every capacity. In her line of work, caring was not supposed to be a part of her repertoire of feelings. She wasn’t supposed to have any. However, Hutton could see the inner workings of her mind more clearly than anyone else ever could. In that moment, her mind was doubled over in agony, as she cursed herself inwardly for having such a tough time taming her emotions.

  "But that's what makes you different, isn't it?" Hutton asked tenderly.

  He didn’t flinch when Phoenyx brought her fist down on the solid mahogany desk. There was an audible cracking sound. "Get out of my head, H! You said you would never do that to me."

  The green of her eyes sizzled and ignited, and for a moment, Hutton was almost sure he’d imagined it, until it happened again. He could see a storm brewing in the emerald of her irises and his stomach dropped.

  Behind their depth, he could see the evidence of his secret and frowned. This wasn’t a good sign. He cleared his throat lightly.

  "I needed to know where your head was, Jane…" The moment the name left his lips, Hutton cursed himself silently.

  "Don't call me that," she hissed, the green of her eyes brightening to a soft glow.

  Hutton raised his hands and shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry. I forgot how much that displeases you."

  "No, you didn't," she snapped. "You're not capable of forgetfulness. Now quit trying to remind me of my human nature and focus on the issue at hand."

  Beautiful, complicated Jane, he thought, an outpouring of sympathy drawing his eyebrows together. Hutton reached across the desk and covered her fist with his warm hand. "This has nothing to do with your human nature."

  She bristled slightly at his touch, but was quick to dismiss him. "Have you contacted The Order?"

  She was tough as nails, his little Phoenyx. Who could have known that when they had first met all those years ago, that he would grow so fond of the girl. He’d never once entertained the thought of having children. No, his line of work left no room for family, but she reminded him so very much of Rebecca.

  He swallowed down the lump in his throat and gave a tight chuckle. “Not yet. I thought that perhaps you and I could do a little more research first, a little more digging, before we brought it to them.”

  Phoenyx eyed him suspiciously. "That's not like you, H. You’re not telling me something."

  He knew she could tell he was lying, his brilliant girl, but now wasn’t the time, or place, to reveal hidden things. He would have to approach the subject more delicately from thereon in. If she found out the truth before it was time, all hell would break loose, probably literally.

  "No," he assured her. "I simply feel that before we alarm them, for no reason, perhaps we should learn more, before we bring the issue before them."

  "They tried to kill me," she said quietly.

  His heart lurched. Indeed, they had. The threat to him did not go unnoticed, and he was prepared to answer––when the time was right. Until then, all he could do was convince her that nothing in her world was changing.

  "But they didn't," he said reassuringly. "You're still here."

  Yes, his darling Jane was still here, and that was all that mattered. She was still present behind those big, beautiful eyes of hers––so unlike her mother’s, and so much more like her father’s. Seductive and magnetic. They were calm for now––thankfully.

  For now.

  ***

  Phoenyx sighed, her thoughts distant enough that she hoped Hutton could not read them. Som
ething wasn't right, but she had to agree to this lunacy to get to the truth.

  She pushed away the feelings of distress that came with the notion that he was keeping something from her. Hutton, in all their years together, had never once lied to her, and she needed to know why he was starting now, but she had to go about it delicately. And she was about as delicate as a bull in a China shop.

  "Fine," she said. "I won't breathe a word, but I need to know where to start. I'm just the muscle."

  She watched a slow smile spread over his face, and a warmth enveloped her. The father she’d known as a child, couldn’t hold a candle to the father Hutton had been to her. Which is why the deception hurt so much.

  Hutton patted her knee tenderly. "You're much more than 'just the muscle,' my dear. Don't sell yourself short."

  It was always hard for her to take a compliment and run with it. It wasn’t that she didn’t entirely believe the compliment, but rather that she found herself far too practical to engage in the flattery. She also wasn’t the greatest with words. For all her sharp wit, ‘thank you’ was one of the most difficult things for her to express.

  "So, where do we start?" She asked, ignoring the pride in Hutton’s voice.

  He smiled, understanding her awkwardness. "You approached your source, and he knew nothing?"

  Phoenyx nodded. "Cortez said he hadn't heard anything."

  Hutton leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, nodding. "Very well, tell him to keep his ear to the ground and contact you the very moment he hears something that could benefit us."

  "I will." She said, turning to leave, only to be stopped by Hutton clearing his throat.

  "Phoenyx," he said slowly. "Why are you so concerned over these bumbling idiots? This isn’t like you."

  She frowned. "The only reason I'm alive right now is because Mr. Armani wants me to be. He sent the Three Stooges because he knew they would fail. Which means, I'm more valuable to him alive than I am dead. He wants me to find him."