by Louisa Lo
“So the Council is covering this up while blaming the tricksters, the whole lot of us, privately?”
“Yes,” Esme confirmed. “But only privately.”
“Good enough.” That’s probably the best we could’ve hoped for.
***
Early that evening, I walked along the sandy beach with my dad. It was our last day at the resort, and I must admit, it had turned out to be a much nicer time than I’d imagined, thanks to my not being obligated to stay out under the sun the whole time. Maybe I just wasn’t meant to be the idle type. We never quite got around to the murder mystery game kit that Mom brought along, but perhaps we’d had enough of whodunit for now.
In the distance, I could see our hut on fire. Well, not really on fire. Fir had enchanted the straw roof to light up like a Christmas tree, and had invited all our neighbors for a traditional Day of Shenanigans bonfire.
I had never even heard of such a tradition.
I was pretty sure that my half-brothers were up to no good, but considering they’d behaved exceptionally well at the resort up to this point, it was already more than one could expect from a bunch of tricksters who, by all rights, should’ve been onto their fifteenth trick by now. If they wanted to end the trip with a bang, I was just glad to have a little distance from them.
“Great choice with the midnight checkout, Dad,” I told him. “Considering Toronto is five hours ahead of Hawaii, we can take full advantage of our last day here when it’s really Tuesday morning already in our own city.”
“Your mother has always liked Hawaii.” Dad shrugged.
“You know, talking about time differences,” I said nonchalantly, “Syria is seven hours ahead of Toronto.”
Dad stopped in his tracks, but didn’t say anything, so I continued talking. “When Mom called me on Saturday morning, four-thirty Toronto time, she said you were on your way to pick up Fir and the rest of them. That would be eleven-thirty in Syria—almost noon, right? And that would be, what, eleven-thirty at night in Hawaii? Yet you and the boys didn’t show up at the resort until a little after six in the morning. In fact, you didn’t pick them up until just a little before then, because six in the morning in Hawaii is six in the evening in Syria. And both memories I viewed were of you picking them up at sunset. You’d had hours that were unaccounted for.”
“You knew,” Dad breathed.
“The teddy bear video wasn’t recorded at night as most assumed—Snakebite was taking an afternoon nap when he snuggled up with Mr. Bear. That’s why he didn’t even bother to change his shirt. And Esme had only ever said that supernatural power was involved, but it could’ve been vengeance magic, couldn’t it?”
“Magic is magic. If the intent is to trick, a vengeance demon’s magic could feel like a trickster’s, too,” Dad confirmed. “I did, however, mask my own individual energy signature for the video production. Even your mother couldn’t tell it was me.”
“Why? Why did you do it?” I asked. “Not just the masking, but the whole thing.”
Dad took a long time to reply. He turned and stared at Mom, who looked like she was having the time of her life as she helped her trickster sons conjure a giant water slide, then waved at our fellow vacationers and convinced them to give it a try. I just knew she had a trick up her sleeve. I could feel her gleeful delight all the way from here. “Maybe one of the reasons why I was drawn to your mother from the very beginning was because there was a part of me that envied her freedom. She’s not bound by the same rules as I am. Or any rules at all, except her own conscience and loving nature. I’m an arch vengeance demon, Megan. I’m supposed to specialize in mass murders and war crimes. All war crimes. Not only the ones the Council feels are easy to fight.”
“What happened?” I whispered.
“I was on my way to your half-brothers, and for some reason—maybe because we were coming upon that time of the year again for reflection—instead of a direct teleport, I decided to take a walk through scenes of violence and hardship I’d been instructed to pass right by throughout my career. As I did that, I realized that I couldn’t go through another Day of Contemplation without taking some direct action. So I did. I couldn’t explain it, but every instinct was telling me that the video would be a game changer, and it had to be created and released.”
I thought back to what the seer had told Mom. How ironic, that the very act of getting her kids out of the Prank of the Century was what made her husband do it. Mumbo jumbo indeed.
“My only regret is dragging you and your siblings into this.” Dad’s voice was soft with remorse. “And ruining your vacation.”
“But we’re cleared, and I liked my vacation just fine. As for the big picture, the chips will fall where they may.” I hugged my dad around his middle as we watched our fellow vacationers, including the young reaper family and a couple of Ares’ henchmen, slide down the giant water slide at Mom’s urging. I couldn’t even imagine what Dad had had to do all these years, turning his back on suffering because he was trying to abide by the Council’s rules. I would’ve lost it a long time ago. So who was I to judge?
It was something that I might have to face when I got my vengeance license one day. Something to think about.
With a burping sound, the water slide collapsed onto itself and turned into a transparent, wiggly donut shape. It trapped the adult vacationers like fruits inside a mold of Jell-O, while allowing the kids to gleefully bounce on top of it like an inflatable castle. The laughter from Mom and my half-brothers filled the night.
“Happy Day of Shenanigans!”
THE END
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A GOOD
VENGEANCE
VENGEANCE DEMONS
BOOK 3
Louisa Lo
Megan is entering her second co-op work term at University of Demonic Studies, but her bid to become a licensed vengeance demon might just have to take a back seat to an impending war.
Vengeance demon and trickster hybrid Megan Aequitas always knew she wasn’t the only outcast in the vengeance society. Her friend, Serafina, was kidnapped at birth by the changelings and served as a shameful reminder of her own people’s failings.
Now Eldon, the changeling prince Serafina grew up with, is banished to the vengeance plane. Suddenly, Megan finds herself hiding him and Serafina from every supernatural who was ever wronged by the changelings, from goblins and elves, to even the Three Fates.
Soon the Vengeance Council wages war against the changelings, at the risk of destroying the Cosmic Balance. As the chess pieces are set for a deadly conflict, Megan races against time to find a peaceful solution, even if it means teaming up with Gregory, the sexy vengeance mercenary she can’t decide whether to kiss or kick in the nuts.
After playing by the vengeance rules all her life, Megan realizes when it comes to politics and ulterior motives, there’s no such thing as a good vengeance.
Copyright © 2016, Louisa Lo
Published by Tin Can Press
All Rights Reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without expressed written permission in writing from the author.
Cover Design: Jacqueline Sweet
Cover Photo: Sara Eirew
Beta Reading: Melissa Bleie
r
Concept, Line and Copy Editing: Help Me Edit
Interior Design: Tina Moss
A Good Vengeance/Louisa Lo—1st edition
ISBN: 978-0-9952302-4-8
Dedication
To Al,
For being so wonderful to my sister all those years. You are missed.
Acknowledgment
To Dr. S. Raheb and Dr. D. Costello, thanks for taking care of my baby so I could find the mental strength to keep on editing.
PART ONE
A VENGEANCE FREE-FOR-ALL
Chapter One
Prince Who?
I MUST HAVE HAD an old people theme going when it came to vengeance assignments.
“Hi, I’m Megan. I’m here to see Sandra Hogan, room one twelve.” I pasted on a sad smile, hoping for some sympathy to get me in, and leaned over the oversized reception booth. With my hair pulled back in a ponytail and my face sprinkled with a dash of de-aging fairy dust, I looked about sixteen. A regular human girl here to see a sick loved one, not a vengeance-demon-in-training dishing out comeuppance to dying wrongdoers in order to earn good grades.
The receptionist smiled back. “And Ms. Hogan is your…?”
“Aunt. I’m late because I had softball practice. You know, I should’ve just skipped it.” I bit my lip, my voice caught with regret I wasn’t actually feeling. The visiting hours ended at four thirty today, and it was already four twenty-eight. I needed to see Ms. Hogan today if I could, as my work schedule was rather packed this week.
The receptionist looked around as if checking if her boss or other visitors were within hearing range, then she winked at me and tilted her head toward the hall. “Go on in, hon. Visiting hours are pretty much over now, but I don’t see why you can’t go in and see your auntie real quick. Don’t tell anyone I let you in, though, or I’ll be in trouble.”
“Thank you so much.” My gratitude was heartfelt, but not in the way the receptionist might think. I could’ve waltzed right through the reception during all hours of the day using a bit of compulsion, but I was on conservation mode having just exchanged most of my magical credits into human currency for this month’s rent. Living on the human plane while going to university on the demon side carried some additional expenses compared to other students.
Independence was expensive, but acting was cheap. This way I could save my magic for direct interaction with the target only.
I walked down the hall to find room one twelve, excited to get started. Now that I wasn’t so green anymore, the prospect of cracking open a fresh case of vengeance and seeing bad people getting theirs filled me with a sense of happy anticipation.
For the first vengeance assignment of my second co-op work term at University of Demonic Studies, Faculty of Arts and Vengeance, I found myself with yet another senior citizen on my work order. I certainly hoped this new assignment would go smoother. Considering I almost got fried alive the last time I tried performing vengeance at a retirement home, that shouldn’t be too hard.
But this wasn’t a retirement home; it was a hospice, hence the lax security. It was a place for the terminally ill. A place for making peace with one’s life and family members before moving on to the next world.
Or, a place for wrongdoers to get served some overdue vengeance, and in addressing the injustice they caused in this lifetime, give their victims the peace and balance that had long eluded them.
The prospect of facilitating this healing process was what made me want to become a licensed vengeance demon in the first place. Anyone could be born a vengeance demon, but being licensed as one was a deliberate choice. It was like the difference between being born a native English speaker and getting a master in English Literature. Beyond social acceptance and prestige of the vengeance license, I really wanted to help bring forth that kind of peace for the victims.
Well, getting paid doing it wasn’t so bad, either.
I found the room stated on my work order with no problem at all. My new mentor for the co-op program, who happened to be my grandmother, had provided me with a detailed layout of the building, along with the target’s profile.
Sandra Hogan, retired nurse at the triage desk of a local ER. Petty. Power-tripping. Purposefully unhelpful.
A classic case of minor bureaucrat syndrome. I’d seen those types before.
I walked into the room and closed the door behind me, making sure to place a muting spell over the immediate area. My target’s pension must have been pretty good, if having a private room and nurses making rounds at the top of every hour was anything to go by. A small-framed woman lay in the bed, facing away from me and looking toward the window. Outside, the ground was covered in snow; a Toronto streetcar could be heard but not seen.
“Finally. Give me more of those damn shots.” She turned to me. Either she didn’t notice I wasn’t dressed as a nurse, or she didn’t care.
“Hello, I’m Megan Aequitas,” I began. Not everything I’d told the receptionist was a lie. My name was Megan. “Are you Sandra Marlena Elizabeth Hogan, of Hamilton, Ontario, born to Ann and Michael Hogan?” I asked as I walked over to the window and drew the heavy blinds.
“What about it?” Seventy-seven years’ worth of spite showed as she snapped at me. Her eyes were clouded with pain, but nevertheless shrewd. No age, discomfort, or late-stage cancer was going to soften this old gal up. “You people know perfectly well who I am. I pay good money to make sure you do. Now get me that morphine or your supervisor will hear about this.”
I tightened my jaw. I didn’t understand how people, supernatural or otherwise, could do bad things and simply assume that what goes around would never come around. “Don’t you think it’s ironic to demand excellent medical care, when you devoted your entire life to being crappy in attending other people’s needs?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” In contrary to her harsh denial, the faintest hint of fear crossed her face.
I took out her file, enchanted to be small enough to fit in the pocket of my jacket. I expanded and opened it, and started reading aloud. “Samuel Robertson. Visited the ER on July 2, 1974 with an inflamed appendix. He was six years old. You didn’t like the way his mother talked to you. She was worried about her little boy so she kept asking you if he was next. To retaliate, you moved him all the way to the back of the queue when he should have been next to see the doctor. His appendix burst while he was waiting for help, infecting the abdominal cavity’s lining. The boy lived, but you caused him a great deal of pain.”
Sandra sat up from her bed. “What the hell?”
“Jenny Weston. Middle-aged.” I tried to keep the anger from my voice, my fingers bunching up the file from my effort. Vengeance demons were supposed to be the instrument of justice, but unaffected by the grievances themselves. I guess being a half-blood meant I might never be aloof like the rest of them. “May 5, 1991. Mrs. Weston came in because she was experiencing the symptoms that her eye specialist had told her to go straight to the ER if they ever appeared. You informed her—without consulting the eye resident—that she was just fine and had imagined the whole thing. You sent her home without care. She ended up with a detached retina and vision loss.”
“This is crazy talk.” Sandra’s face told me she knew exactly what I was talking about. She might not remember the specific names and faces of the people she’d hurt through the years, but the modus operandi should sound very familiar to her.
As I read out a selection of her crimes spanning over four decades, I had to will my hands to un-clutch the file, longing as I was to wrap them around my target’s neck. Her negligence had resulted in everything from unnecessary agony to three preventable deaths. What a witch. And I’d met some real ones in my day.
She had always been super clever about making sure there wasn’t any hard evidence that could later link back to her. She never got caught—hence the cushy retirement with a full pension. After all this time, she probably thought she’d gotten away with murder, or murders, in this case.
“Sandra Hogan, it is time to pay for your sins.” I closed the file after I finished reading ten cases out of it at random. I’d be here all night if I was to read out all of her crimes. “By the power vested in me by the Concord Council, you’re hereby sentenced to Vengeance. May you endure it with grace and contemplation.”
Now that the proper wordings had been recited, the real work could begin.
Just then a nurse came in, so I quickly activated an invisibility spell over myself with a snap of my fingers.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Hogan. It’s snack time. How are you doing?” The nurse put a tray of food on the table over Sandra’s bed. There was a bowl of Jell-O, a cup of fruit, and a glass of orange juice on the tray. Sandra stared at the space in the room where I had been visible to her just seconds ago; her mouth opened and then closed. I was still physically there—she just couldn’t see me anymore.
Sandra pointed toward where I stood with a mixture of horror, relief, and puzzlement on her face. Horror of having seen me, relief that I was no longer there, and puzzlement as to whether or not I was merely a fragment of her imagination.
“What is it?” The nurse frowned, glanced at my direction, seeing nothing but an empty room. “What are you looking at?”
“Noth…nothing.” Sandra shook her head and seemed to come to a conclusion. “My mind must be playing tricks on me.”
Probably unsure how to respond to that, the nurse asked instead, “How’s your pain been?”
“The pain. Right. Of course,” Sandra murmured. Self-centered to the bone, having her pain mentioned seemed to have snapped her out of the shock she’d been experiencing from her interaction with me. She set her jaw firm and reverted back to her good old charming self. “About that. Give me the morphine, girl. I know people on the board who can make your life miserable if you don’t take good care of me.”