Sin & Chocolate (Demigods of San Francisco Book 1)

by K. F. Breene

  “Give it back,” Mordecai said without hesitation. “I love turquoise. I’d rather have that blanket, anyway. And you know I hate surprises, so this works out better.”

  “I know you do. That’s why I like giving them to you.” I blew out a breath. “So that’s one vote for giving it back.” I spooned some vegetable glop into my mouth. It wasn’t much to look at, but it actually tasted all right. “I’m for keeping it. I mean, he did ask about the sick kid. Clearly he was making sure his goodwill would go to a worthy cause.”

  “What’ll happen when he finds out I’m not actually a kid?” Mordecai asked.

  I paused in chewing. I hadn’t thought about that.

  “Teen, kid, whatever.” I waved the thought away. “And he won’t find out. I’m never going to see the guy again.” I shrugged, almost completely hoping it was true. Only a very tiny part of me lingered on the image of the stranger’s robust body, his gorgeous face, and intense, turbulent gaze. He spoke to the part of me that liked to chase assholes and fall for bad boys. The part I knifed whenever it reared its ugly head. “Daisy? What’s your vote? We should obviously keep the blanket, right? Mordecai needs it while we wrestle up a few more bucks.”

  “Okay, but…” She stabbed her fork into her mashed potatoes. “Mordecai also needs a guardian, and this guy stalked you, Lexi.”

  “He followed me,” I countered. “And to him, it was for good reason.”

  “Telling someone to watch where they’re going, after nearly being run over, is a good reason to drop everything and stalk the person?” Mordecai asked incredulously.

  My case was collapsing.

  Daisy shook her head. “Stalking is not sexy, Alexis, no matter how hot you think the stalker is. It denotes an unbalanced, possessive personality, the kind of person who will manipulate the object of desire into isolation so that they’ll fall into dependency and subservience. The object loses themselves and becomes property, basically.”

  There was the fifty-year-old side of Daisy. She could sound extremely clinical when she needed to. She’d also seen that particular scenario firsthand in one of her many foster families.

  “I think we all know that I will never fall into dependency and subservience,” I said, eyeing the two of them. They both nodded, however grudgingly. “And besides, this is a different situation. I have nothing he could possibly want. He didn’t even leave a note with which to manipulate me. I can claim ignorance. Seriously, he’s just giving a sick kid a blanket, you guys. There is bound to be one gem among a sea of rich turds.”

  “Rich guys look down on people like us,” Mordecai said, concern in his eyes.

  “She knows that.” Daisy moved the food around her plate. “She’s clearly bullshitting right now. You can see it in her shifty eyes.”

  “No swearing until you’re eighteen. Or…while…” I grasped for what my mother always used to tell me. “Not while you’re under my roof.”

  I earned another eye roll.

  “You have to see that the whole story is very strange, Lexi,” Mordecai said. “I’ve never heard of any magical person acting like this. Are you sure he was? Magical, I mean?”

  “Definitely. No human could’ve moved that fast.”

  “And you think he was definitely important and not some stuffed shirt with an overinflated ego?”

  I paused, running through the facts. “I’m not sure, no. He spoke like a guy with power, and he clearly had a lot of money because he was driving a Ferrari, but I don’t actually know his position in the magical government. Or even if he has one.”

  “He could’ve stolen the car,” Daisy said.

  “Car boosters don’t drive their extremely obvious stolen cars around shopping malls,” Mordecai responded.

  “Are you dense? It was a shopping complex, idiot,” she retorted.

  “Daisy, don’t call your brother an idiot,” I said automatically.

  “He’s not my brother.”

  “Then don’t call your roommate an idiot.” I rubbed my temples. “Regardless of whether he has magical authority or not, what could he possibly want with me?”

  “Well… You had a point earlier with Frank,” Daisy said, eyeing me. “You look like you just rolled out of bed, so it might not be a desire thing. Still, plenty of people have questionable taste. He could be softening you up so you’ll let him get close, then he’ll show you his sadistic side. A side he can’t show to his peers or they’ll think less of him…”

  “He already showed her his sadistic side. By stalking her.” Mordecai gave me a poignant look. “I really don’t think we should take gifts from sadists.”

  “I agree.” Daisy nodded decisively. “I vote no. You need to give the blanket back. Normally I would say you should chuck it at his face and call him a stalking sonuvabitch, but in this case…maybe just place it at his feet and run.”

  “Right. Sure. Except I don’t know who he is, where he lives, or where he hangs out.” I put my hands up and flashed them a winning smile. “So, you see? We have to take it.”

  “Keep it in that bag until you see him again.” Daisy shoveled dairy-free mashed potatoes into her mouth (people didn’t usually give away dairy products), then talked around them. “And you will see him again, because he’s a stalker.”

  “When you see him,” Mordecai added, “tell him I said thank you—”

  “I certainly will not,” I cut in, iron in my voice.

  “Ha!” Daisy pointed her fork at me. “See? You won’t mention Mordecai because you’re trying to protect him. Which means you know this isn’t legit, but you’re prepared to accept the terms anyway.” She shook her head. “Now it’s a definite no. Tell that stalking bastard to shove his luring-type gift where the sun don’t shine. Mama didn’t raise no fool.”

  “I decree that this house is no longer a democracy. It is now a dictatorship.” I scooped up more glop. “I get the only say.”

  “Tell him thank you,” Mordecai amended, “but that you can’t accept such a generous gift. Then ask him how to get it back to him. Or better yet, just get his license plate and we’ll find him the same way he found you.”

  “Not good that he has our address,” Daisy mumbled.

  “Agreed,” Mordecai said.

  I agreed with them but didn’t say so. Nor did I tell them I was a little relieved I wouldn’t be accepting the blanket. I didn’t know what that stranger’s game was, but guys like him didn’t give handouts without an ulterior motive.

  I just wondered what that ulterior motive had to do with me.

  7

  Kieran

  “What have you got for me?” Kieran asked as he stepped out of his car. His shoe splashed down into a small stream of murky brown water running from the side of the alleyway behind several prospering businesses. Large metal trash containers dotted the other side, most with trash nearing the top. Cars sped past on the busy street at the far end, their colors muted in the late evening light.

  He eyed his car, only a few months old. He hated leaving it in such dimly lit, unmonitored areas, like this back alleyway within the busy magical San Francisco downtown, but he didn’t need to attract attention to his whereabouts.

  His Six waited off to the side, standing in a staggered line. Tough warriors all, and each with something powerful and unique to bring to the table, these guys had laid down their lives to enter the service of a Demigod—him. Through the blood oath with which they’d pledged their loyalty, they’d inherited a boost of power and certain additions to their skill sets. They were his eyes and ears when he couldn’t be present.

  Zorn stepped forward; he was a medium-statured man, the most vicious fighter Kieran had ever seen, and as close to a friend as he’d ever been allowed. Zorn had been the first of the Six, and would’ve been by Kieran’s side even without the inherent perks.

  “She’s a nobody, sir,” Zorn said, handing forth a file. “Very little power, next to no talent, and as poor as they come. What you pulled earlier is the extent of it.”

>   Kieran frowned and flipped open the file folder before running a finger down the report within. Sure enough, it was the same information he’d seen in the database, easily pulled up and viewed when he’d searched for her license plate. Not one detail was out of place.

  He checked the picture again, then the name and address, before shaking his head. “Can’t be right.”

  He flipped the file closed and walked the few steps to the nearest trash container. He chucked the report inside. What he was looking for wasn’t contained in that report.

  “She had a lot of power,” he said, comparing his own details to what he’d read. “A high class five.”

  “You’ve never been wrong on the power scale before, sir,” said Jack, a tall, robust man who was happiest navigating deep waters.

  “Even so, the report says she’s a weak class two.” Donovan crossed his arms, his short, dirty blond hair spiked in all directions. “A weak class two is quite a bit different from a strong class five. The assessment for magical people has been known to be wrong from time to time, but never that wrong.”

  “You said she did fit the part she was playing, sir,” Zorn said, clearly remembering their earlier conversation. After leaving her, Kieran had parked behind the row of subpar stores in that tattered shopping complex and just sat there for ten minutes, reflecting. Trying to make sense of all he’d just encountered. Of the feel of the woman’s magic curling through his bloodstream and exciting his senses. It had been the most unique feeling he could remember. The most invigorating. Finally, he’d summoned the will to meet with his men—but he’d asked them to find out more information about her.

  He shook his head to clear it, poring over what he’d observed, and trying to make sense of the report.

  “She’s definitely poor,” he said, remembering the look of her clothes. “A spy or assassin might don ill-fitting, cheap clothes, but the woman’s shoes had been worn to the point of distress. They were molded to her feet. That look couldn’t be duplicated by anything but time.”

  “Something a highly skilled and trained assassin, packing enough power to raise eyebrows, wouldn’t need,” Zorn said. He would know. He was such an assassin, when Kieran needed one.

  “Her house has been registered to her since her mother died, and to her mother nearly since Alexis was born,” Kieran said. “She’s lived there all her life. Or so the records have it.”

  “A person with that much power would never be left to their own devices,” Thane said, scratching his chin through his thick brown beard. “At least not that dual-society zone. Your father would want you to keep tabs on her.”

  “But on paper, she doesn’t have that much power,” Jack said.

  “And there’s the rub,” Kieran said softly.

  “You said she didn’t realize you were following her around the home goods store.” Zorn’s brow furrowed. “Anyone half trained would’ve sensed it.”

  “Easily,” Kieran said, remembering the potent trail of magic she’d left behind, like fairy dust, almost as if she were daring him to follow. He’d sensed a trap, but, knowing he had the resources to combat such an attack, had seen it through to see what she would do. The answer, much to his increased confusion, was absolutely nothing. She’d only noticed him once he stepped out in plain view. “That sort of ignorance can’t be faked. Not from me.”

  “Which means…she hasn’t been trained,” Zorn said with finality.

  “Not a chance,” Kieran replied. “Everything about her checks out, except for her power level…and her magic.”

  “What did you say the magic did again?” Donovan asked.

  Kieran used a finger and drew a line down the center of his chest. Then, with fisted hands, he mimed spreading open each side of the line.

  “It felt like she reached into my middle and grabbed hold of my vitals. I knew one moment of utter, primal vulnerability. But before I could answer in kind, she pulled it away.” He shifted his weight, remembering when she’d done it—then remembering when she’d brought out the mace and done it again. “She didn’t seem to know she was doing it. When she realized the mace didn’t work, she acted like a sitting duck. She was afraid of me; I could sense it.” He shook his head. “A person with that kind of magic should never feel afraid. I don’t know what kind of magic it was, but it was arresting.”

  “Her file says she’s a Ghost Whisperer,” Zorn said.

  Kieran huffed out a laugh and led the way down the middle of the alley. “She’s no Ghost Whisperer. I’ve seen enough of them to know.” And was about to see another one. Anything to help his mother. Loss pierced his gut, driving away his breath. “Even still, I’ll compare her to the woman I’m about to see. This Ghost Whisperer is supposed to be the best in the city. I doubt she’ll give me anything more than anyone else has been able to.” He blew out a breath, trying to regain his composure. “Have we made any headway in my father’s office?”

  A tremor of violence ran through his Six. Kieran could vaguely feel their emotional turbulence and anger through the blood bond. The woman was a sideshow curiosity, but their plan to overturn his father required their utmost focus. Focus…and courage.

  Henry spoke up. “I’ve made contact with Valens’s secondary assistant, and his bed warmer. Both are more than happy to give up his secrets—”

  “As long as they get something in return,” Jack said with a smirk.

  “Naturally,” Henry replied with a smile. He hadn’t met a woman he couldn’t make scream, or so he claimed. No doubt he’d charmed the bed warmer. “Valens is pretty tight-lipped, but I can get a good idea of his movements and plans through them.”

  “I’ve been working through the security staff,” Zorn said. “Most of them are disgruntled. They can be paid off, but we’ll need to go through a third party to use them.”

  “I’ve got third parties all day long.” Donovan chuckled. “All day long. I’ve got a list of organizations Valens consistently uses. Everyone else is fair game. They’re not picky. I’ve also been working my way through the government building, chatting and making friends.”

  Kieran rounded the corner and emerged onto the busy sidewalk. Street lights rained down a yellow glow, barely lighter than the pink- and orange-streaked sky. Magical people strolled along in the heart of the magical half of San Francisco, most hardly discernable from their non-magical cousins, but a few drawing notice with pale green skin or the flutter of their heavily feathered wings. Delicious smells drifted out from ritzy restaurants, and street vendors beckoned tourists over to see their wares.

  “How big is our window?” Kieran asked quietly, his stomach fluttering in anticipation of what was to come.

  “Valens will have people monitoring you in about an hour,” Zorn said, not needing to check a schedule. He made it his job to track Valens’s attempts to keep tabs on his son. Dear old Dad had trust issues. “We’ll need to cut the meeting short if necessary.”

  “And we’re positive this Ghost Whisperer doesn’t have ties to my father in any way?” Kieran saw the sign he was looking for. Clare’s Clairvoyance. In small letters below the name, it said, We see clearly in the beyond.

  “Without question,” Donovan said. “She’s never spoken to the man, or any of the people who directly report to him.”

  Kieran nodded, knowing his father frowned upon many of the traits Hades had passed on to the world, clairvoyance being one of them. As a descendent of Poseidon, his father took the old rivalry of the Olympian brothers to heart.

  Kieran took in the shop face, with its extravagant gilded scrollwork and fresh paint. This corner location on one of magical San Francisco’s busiest tourist streets had to be pricy. This woman obviously charged a lot, and still had the clientele to keep her operational. That alone meant she must be good.

  But he’d been fooled by such things before. Many times.

  Zorn stopped by the door before pulling it wide. Donovan and Jack entered first, and the rest of the Six waited for Kieran to follow.

 
He took a deep breath, feeling the familiar press of loss and pain from his mother’s passing. He knew something of what he was about to hear, and he dreaded it.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he murmured, crossing the threshold into the dimly lit lobby. Soft music drifted through the space and the faint aroma of incense tickled his nose. Silk-draped dark gray walls surrounded a low glass table and surrounding chairs. A plush Oriental rug stretched out across the concrete floor to the cherry wood front desk.

  When the woman behind the front desk saw him, her eyes lit up and an excited smile crossed her face.

  “She didn’t recognize me,” Kieran said, half turning to Zorn. It hadn’t dawned on him at the time. “Alexis. She didn’t show one glimmer of recognition.”

  “Hello, Demigod Kieran,” the woman at the desk said, flicking her hair. Red infused her cheeks. “So great to see you. Clare will be seeing you personally, of course, and she’s ready for you in room three.”

  “She acted and spoke to me like she would anyone else.” Kieran turned away from the woman without a word. Usually he gave everyone a passing moment of politeness, something his mother had expressly requested of him and something his father tolerated, but his brain was churning furiously, fitting this next piece into the puzzle of his new favorite enigma. “Most people have at least heard of me, even if they don’t recognize me.”

  “Did you give her your name?” Donovan asked quietly as they passed through the curtain of hanging glass beads.

  “No…” Kieran spied the door of the room they’d be walking into. Three was a relevant number to the mystics, but it didn’t get his hopes up. Such things never seemed to help them do their job.

  “If she’s as she seems, she doesn’t sound like the kind of person who’d be up on current events,” Donovan said, his voice also hushed. He glanced around with tight eyes. He didn’t much like the thought of spirits lingering in the world of the living. None of the guys did.