by Louisa Lo
I had contacted the faculty counselor after seeing Esme off and expressed my wish to withdraw from Demon U and by extension, the co-op program. I had no idea how much of the details they’d shared with the TA standing in front of me, but I was getting a strong mix of feelings from her. There was relief—likely by the fact that the university would once again be trickster-free, and anger. She was pissed that the likes of me would dare to quit the school before the school was able to quit me.
The TA still would not take the case file. “Please give me a verbal confirmation that you are indeed forsaking the full right to administer and benefit from this vengeance.”
I didn’t bother to point out that I’d already done almost half the work, and I’d softened up the target further by making her sweat over the remaining punishment. Didn’t matter. The TA would take over the file and get the full credit for it. She probably considered it a just reward for being called here in the dead of the night, and she wasn’t entirely wrong.
“Yes. It’s all yours,” I replied.
Without further ado, the TA yanked the file out of my hands and walked into the hospice without as much as a backward glance.
“Are you sure about this?” Gregory repeated his question from earlier, revealing himself next to me.
I laughed. It sounded shrill even to my own ears. “No. But it’s too late now, and I won’t change it even if I can. All I know is that I can never go back to before. I can’t pretend that the last few days didn’t happen.”
Up until then I had been the perfect student—never mind what they said about my trickster heritage. I was completely willing to do my assignments, play by the rules, and pay my dues, so that one day I would be recognized as a professional in my field. Now, knowing what I knew about the people at the very top of the vengeance food chain, I couldn’t go back to being a part of the rat race anymore.
What was the point of courting a universally recognized qualification when the universe itself was hanging on such a precarious balance?
The world had earned nothing but a reprieve. I had no delusion about that. The Greys would no doubt try to get their next scheme to bring forth their master in motion. It might be a few weeks, or a few months or years, but they would strike again before I knew it. Just willing myself to calm down, or even making the ultimate sacrifice, would not be enough. They would find a new way to get to me. The “how” didn’t matter, only that they would not stop. An organization that had spent centuries infiltrating the very core of the vengeance power structure would not be stopped by a few minor setbacks.
I had to actively seek a way to defeat the Greys. And I had to get creative with it.
Fir had now partnered up with the Off-Blacks, and together they planned to quietly rally the tricksters and the other lesser supernaturals—those who had the most to lose in the event of an all-out racial cleansing.
Esme, upon her return from the Internet and the search for Grandma, would work her upper class contacts, while Sui-Ling had agreed to do the same with her network of secret societies.
It would take time, patience, and stealth, as we might not be believed. It was, after all, our word against the deeply esteemed Council. And we would definitely be monitored, hence the aforementioned stealth. Fir had a few ideas about beating the traces that they would no doubt set on us, and I trusted his skills in giving us the privacy that we needed.
I would have to call a big family meeting. I considered distancing myself from my family for their own good, but then my other trickster half-brothers would have gotten the whole story from Fir anyway, and I would end up hurting my parents more in the long run if I allowed them to think the worst by dropping out without explanation and cutting them off.
Not that I wanted them involved in the whole mess, but keeping them in the dark just wasn’t the grown up thing to do.
I had no idea how my parents would feel about the new direction in my career. Especially Dad. After all, I followed his footsteps by attending Demon U. But then maybe he would understand. I thought back to last fall, and the little unclaimed vengeance involving a certain terrorist that was our father-daughter secret, and smiled.
“So,” I asked Gregory as we left the hospice ground, “what’s our first assignment?”
“I heard there’s a major jail break in Hell.” Gregory smiled. “They were missing a few fugitives at the last count.”
That was right—I’d partnered up with Gregory in the trade of mercenary. Part of me almost couldn’t believe it, either. It was the best way for me to make new contacts and keep my ears to the ground, to fight another day against the Council. Or at the very least, stay the heck away from its clutches.
Just twenty-four hours ago I would say this was a crazy idea, that the life of a mercenary was something I would never consider. Little did I know that I had far, far less to fear from the darker side of vengeance. I knew now where the real temptation for bending to the Greys’ will would come from.
My true enemy lay in my deep-seated craving for security, which was instinctive after a lifetime of fighting my trickster tendencies. I couldn’t afford to get cushy and convince myself that all was fine, that continuing to be a good little vengeance girl would shield me from the Council’s attention. I had to push myself out of my comfort zone and get used to having less. Fewer conveniences. Less creature comfort. Less straightforward black and white.
“This job, the money is good?” I asked Gregory.
“It’s good,” he assured me, though both of us were fully aware that he wasn’t getting back to work this fast for the money, as the financial payoff from all the kidnapped children’s families would be enough for him to buy a private dimension of his own.
“That’s good then.” Should I thank him for taking me on as a partner? For everything else that he’d done? Should I suggest that we go grab some shawarmas like the Avengers after the Battle of New York? Would that be, like, a dinner date? For Hades’s sake, I really sucked at this male and female communication thing.
Then I felt Gregory’s lips on mine, his arms wrapping themselves around me. His fresh scent filled my senses, saving me from overthinking the lot of it.
Okay, I could work with that.
THE END
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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.
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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)
VENGEANCE
FOR HIRE
VENGEANCE DEMONS
BOOK 4
EXCERPT
Louisa Lo
Who would’ve thought the dangerous life of a mercenary could be so…normal?
It’s been a month since Megan Aequitas started her new life in the mercenary world of vengeance demons and shared a heart-pounding kiss with her infuriatingly sexy business partner, Gregory.
When Megan takes control of the 24/7 hotline for their business, she and Gregory are in for a hell
of a day. The exciting stuff— kidnapped faes, secretive satyrs, and the punishment of magical creature traffickers—lasts less than an hour in total. The rest of the time is spent dealing with client interviews, service quotes, and worst of all, the relentless little old lady who harasses them with everything from jellybean-stealing neighbors to haunted litter boxes.
Except the old gal’s seemingly trivial demands for justice might not be so trivial, after all…
Note: The events in VENGEANCE FOR HIRE take place between A GOOD VENGEANCE and HELL HATH NO VENGEANCE.
Chapter One
6:03 A.M.
The Business Call
“DÔME ÉPAIS LE JASMINE…”
I opened my eyes, startled out of a nice little dream about chocolate covered strawberries by the shrill sound of opera. I shot up from the bed. What the hell? My alarm was set to Elmer Fudd’s version of Ride of the Valkyries, not this—
Then I remembered. It was the ring tone for the Phone. With a capital P.
I pressed the talk button on the Phone before the chorus was over. Luckily, Rosemary was already up and about. My human roommate had a habit of getting up at five thirty in the morning in order to bake. And they called me the supernatural.
“Hello, this is Clear Vengeance. How may I help you?” I kept my tone professional and non-groggy-like.
It'd been a month since Gregory and I started working together as mercenaries. He’d been the one who handled our business bookings. But last night, I decided that enough was enough and I grabbed the Phone off him. I wasn't stupid—whoever possessed the Phone was the one who truly controlled the business, and I desperately needed some control when it came to Gregory, even if it was only for this one aspect. I’d been feeling off-kilter ever since that kiss we’d shared, on the night I said goodbye to my life as a vengeance demon student.
Although, with the Phone linked to our 24/7 Hire-A-Vengeance-Demon hotline, this little fight for dominance might just bite me in the ass.
An old woman’s raspy voice came through the receiver. “Hello, dear. I have an urgent vengeance matter that I need your help in.”
“That's what we're here for.” I smiled. See, this wasn't so bad.
“Can you come right away?” she asked urgently.
I glanced at my calendar. Our first appointment of the day wasn't until eight thirty, and thanks to teleportation, it wasn't like there was any time lost to commuting. We could totally fit the little old lady in before that. Besides, if I was up already, then why shouldn’t Gregory be?
Geez, I sounded cranky even to myself.
After copying down her information, I hung up and called Gregory. At least there was no awkwardness in waking him up for business purposes. Being in the vengeance business was like working in the ER—people didn’t always have need of us within the nine to five time frame.
“Hey, guess what? I got us some new business,” I said proudly. Yes, I would focus on the positivity of the new job rather than my other, less professional feelings.
“Oh, yeah?” His voice sounded groggy, like he was talking underwater or he was still in bed. And I tried not to let myself wonder what he must look like, or whether or not he slept shirtless. I’d seen his naked chest before, so there was plenty to fuel my imagination. “What's the address?”
“53 Mango Tree Drive. Apartment 503.”
Gregory groaned. “This doesn't happen to be for a Ms. Whitehall, does it?”
I frowned at his tone. “How did you know?”
“I know”—he sighed—“because Ms. Whitehall is a TPC.”
“A what?”
“A TPC. Trivial Pursuit Caller. The lady in question is super paranoid and she has been calling the line every week since I started it. I don’t know how the human managed to get my number, but she did and she never stops calling.”
“Well, maybe she has a legitimate concern this time.” I couldn’t help but feel a little defensive. Ms. Whitehall might be a TPC, but she was my TPC.
“Last Wednesday she called about a neighbor stealing her jellybeans. But only the orange ones. The week before she thought her gluttonous cat gained weight because it was cursed by fairies.”
Damn.
“I gave a code to every caller who’d ever used the line: MVC for Most Valued Customer, ECFP for Extra Charge due to Fringe Plane, etc,” Gregory explained. “The code is right on the display of the Phone. Otherwise how am I supposed to tell who has an actual urgent matter?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I complained.
“I wanted to,” he said dryly, “but you grabbed the Phone and teleported away before I could say a single word.”
Double damn.
“I’ll cancel the appointment then.” I could imagine how uncomfortable that call would be, when I had just promised the old lady that I would look into her problem less than five minutes ago. But I was the one who created this mess, so it was only fair that I was the one to fix it.
“We can't.” Gregory sighed. The sound of springs creaking in the bed, footsteps, and then a running faucet came over the receiver. “By the code of mercenary, we cannot cancel an appointment without just cause once a promise to meet is given. A mercenary’s word is his or her bond. Why do you think I coded the callers to begin with?”
Before I started, I would've never thought in a million years that mercenaries would have a stricter code of conduct than licensed vengeance demons from the Council, but there it was. Gone were the days when I mocked Gregory about the lack of ethics of his profession. Now it was also my profession, and it was nothing like how I’d imagined it.
Chapter Two
7:00 A.M.
Client Interview #1
GREGORY MET ME IN front of Ms. Whitehall’s apartment door. He was dressed in his usual tight black sweatshirt and dark jeans; his hair had grown in the last month, and started to cover his chiseled cheekbones. His power signature was rich and multi-toned, and revealed none of the irritation from being jousted out of bed.
His eyes shifted away as I approached, then looked at me again and nodded. The awkwardness that had been present since that kiss was still there, though it usually subsided once I got a bit of my inner bitch going.
So exactly what happened that night in front of the hospice?
To keep the story short, while we kissed I thought I felt a spark like how they’d described what it would be like with a solus iungere, and I assumed Gregory felt the same way as he pulled me closer and deepened the kiss. But that obviously wasn’t the case because the next thing I knew he ended the kiss rather abruptly, stepping back with an unreadable expression, and that was that.
And oh, for vengeance demons, solus iungere was the word for soul mate.
I rang the doorbell.
“Don’t say a word,” I warned. It was hard to get my inner bitch to come out when it was I who got us into this interview with a TPC.
“I wasn’t going to,” he replied evenly.
I gritted my teeth. It would’ve been better if he’d yelled at me, or mocked me. But he didn’t. He’d be a perfect gentleman today.
As he had been for the past month. Damn him.
The door opened, and the combined smell of birdseed, cat litter, and dog breath assaulted my nose. I resisted the urge to gag. I’d been to the shelter that Rosemary volunteered at, and not even there was the smell of animals so pungent.
“Come on in.” A woman in her sleeping robe and curlers beckoned, and I had no choice but to follow her inside. I glanced at Gregory, who shrugged resignedly.
The dark and tiny one bedroom apartment definitely had too many animals in too tight a space. As my host led me to her living room, I counted five cats, two dogs, one parrot, and a family of free-run hamsters. The gluttonous cat in question could’ve made off with a hamster or two and it would have never been noticed. No wonder the feline was getting fat.
So on top of paranoia, our potential client was also an animal hoarder.
“Good morning, Ms. Whitehall.” Gregory
bowed to her. Gotta hand it to him. His courteous tone betrayed none of his private reservations.
“Hello, Gregory.” Ms. Whitehall huffed, “I haven’t been able to reach you since that one time you came here and I told you about the haunted litter box on the balcony. My Betty still gets quite a fright every time she goes in there. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Gregory pressed his lips together, in an attempt not to talk back, or to laugh, I didn’t know which.
Ms. Whitehall turned to me and her demeanor warmed by several degrees. I was, after all, the one who agreed to meet her. “You must be Megan.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” I nodded toward her.
I was rewarded with a smile.
Ms. Whitehall went to a high armchair and shooed away a napping kitten. “Sorry, Princess Penelope, Mommy has guests.”
Ms. Whitehall patted at the now empty armchair and gestured at me. “Come sit over here, dear.”
She didn’t offer Gregory a seat.
“Can I get you a coffee or tea?” she asked me.
I doubted I wanted anything from her kitchen. From where I was I could see a sink full of dirty plates with stuck-on food. She was even a bigger slob than me. “It’s alright, ma’am.”
As Ms. Whitehall settled herself in a second armchair, Gregory cleared his throat. “What is it you want to see us about?”
“My neighbor,” she said.
“The one you said stole your jellybeans?” Gregory asked.
She shook her head. “No, another one.”
Gregory raised a single eyebrow in my direction in a look that said it all.
“Hey, if you know about the jellybeans, it means you did get my messages.” Ms. Whitehall glared and shook her index finger at Gregory. “Shame on you for not answering an old lady’s call, boy. Anyway, I'm not talking about that neighbor. He's across the hallway. I’m talking about that new girl who just moved next door.”