Sin & Chocolate (Demigods of San Francisco Book 1)

by K. F. Breene

  A spark of anger lit up his eyes. “Sayin’ that sort of stuff can get you in trouble.”

  “Clearly.” I gestured at the three people pushing up close to his back, eyeing me like a starving man would a steak. “The answer is yes, I can get rid of them. For a price.”

  His shoulders tensed again, and no wonder. His personal poltergeists were practically sitting on them. The rugs I’d given to the kids would’ve bought him some distance from them. But if anyone deserved to be haunted, this guy did.

  “How much?” he asked.

  He had money, he had done a terrible deed a few times over, and he was clearly desperate.

  He could also break my jaw if I pissed him off. As he’d said a moment ago, he didn’t suffer from a guilty conscience.

  “Three hundred, one for each issue.” I stared at him, no facial expression, and no blinking.

  His eyes narrowed. “Two hundred.”

  “Look, buck-o, I’m not the one being tailed by my indiscretions. Pay the price, or live with it, because I assume you had someone else try to sever that attachment, and it didn’t work, right? How else would you know what’s going on? But, I mean, look at ’em. They’re on you good and tight. That’s gotta be draining the energy out of you.”

  He shifted to the other side, and the folding chair groaned mournfully. His jaw tightened.

  Oh yeah, he’d tried to get help. But those poltergeists were clearly not having it. They had a story to tell, and they weren’t leaving until someone heard them out.

  I slumped. Guess who’d have to be the big ears of this operation?

  “Three hundred, and you’re lucky I’m slightly afraid of what you’ll do if I ask for more.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  He leaned forward again, and his personal hell leaned with him. I could almost feel the weight of their horror. Of their memories. Of their extreme anger that justice hadn’t been served.

  I only wished I could do something more for them than send them on. Someday this guy would certainly go to jail for what he’d done. These types of guys always did, one way or another. Visiting Alcatraz would tell you that much. But I knew, to them, it wouldn’t be soon enough.

  “Fine. Three hundred.” He didn’t make a move toward his pocket.

  I didn’t bother getting started.

  His eyes narrowed again. That was clearly his reaction du jour. “You tryin’ to scam me, wanting the money up front? I ain’t payin’ if this don’t work.”

  “Oh yes, you fucking will pay if this doesn’t work,” I said in a sudden flare of anger. I had zero patience and a wicked temper. They were the main reasons why I was absolutely wretched at this type of work. “This is going to truly suck. They are just about to open their big traps and spill all. I’m not going to want to hear it, because you seem like a real piece of work. I’ll probably have nightmares because of this. So if I’m going to subject myself to this horror, you’re going to pay for it. Don’t like those terms, get the fuck out. I have better things to do than getting jerked around by a lowlife piece of trash like you.”

  I’d gone too far, but luckily, I knew exactly how to get myself out of the self-created jam.

  I stood in a rush and eyed each and every one of his followers. “I can see you. I can hear you.” I held up a hand. “I didn’t say I wanted to, just that I could. I can’t help you in the way you want. I’m not a cop, or someone the cops listen to. But you’re weighing on him. You’re having an effect. Go ahead and siphon his energy, and then press yourself into him. Do you know how to do that?”

  The important-looking dude in the white button-up shirt nodded, his expression determined, and I’d bet on my life that he’d been a cop or agent of some kind. The two slight characters looked to the stern-faced dude, but instead of moving closer and following his lead, they cowered where they stood. They were afraid of him.

  So a cop or something similar, and probably a couple of lesser criminals. Basically, I really only needed to feel bad for one of the three. Those were better odds for my overall happiness when I left tonight.

  I grabbed my chair by the back, turned it sideways again, and sat. The bay still sparkled pleasantly as the waves rolled by.

  “Fine. Fine, okay,” the man said, and though his voice was hard, I could hear the traces of unease lining each word.

  Magical and non-magical people alike were discomfited by the thought of the dead walking amongst the living. Hell, even the dead weren’t happy about it, especially when they didn’t know they’d expired and weren’t sure what “crossing over” meant. I was given the side-eye in both societies and from both sides of the “veil”—the line between the living and dead—as though I could help what kind of useless magic I’d been dealt.

  If you weren’t unlucky, you’d have no luck at all, Alexis, my mother used to say.

  She’d been absolutely right. I wasn’t sure what power the stranger thought he’d felt, but when it came right down to it, my magic greatly limited my options in life.

  17

  Alexis

  The client (I didn’t plan to get his name) stood and pulled out a money clip stuffed with green. The guy was loaded, and he was squabbling over three hundred bucks?

  He slapped it onto the TV tray in front of him.

  “Put the crystal ball on it,” I instructed.

  He hesitated with his hand over the cracked orb. “Won’t that…mess with your…thing?”

  “No. It’s just a prop to make me look legit.” I motioned at nothing in particular. “Daisy, count that money.”

  “This is all…very strangely done,” Daisy muttered as her clothes rustled. “Hello, good sir. Thank you for stopping by. I’ll just…” Money crinkled, then paper slid against paper. “Yup.” The bills crinkled again, and I knew she was slipping them into her pocket.

  The folding chair creaked, and the sound of water lapping against the pillars of the pier filled the following silence.

  “Do I have to do something else?” the man asked, impatience ringing in his voice.

  “Nope,” I said, not moving. “I was just giving your friends there a chance to get in one last shot at you.”

  “It’s like she doesn’t want repeat business,” Daisy said softly.

  “I don’t.” Truth was, I had to gear myself up for the worst part of these gigs. A quick glance at the client’s followers told me they were all alert and eager to be heard. My heart sank. “Go ahead. I’m all ears.” I brought up the timer on my phone. “You each have five minutes.”

  “Who…me?” the client said as the important dude behind him opened his mouth.

  “Of course not you. When you talk, you have a whole host of people who have no choice but to hear you. Those people behind you only have me. And whatever other poor schmucks like me they happen across. I’m about to shove them across the Line whether they want to go or not. The least I can do is hear them out before they go.”

  The man licked his lips nervously. Oh yeah, he was a real piece of work. He probably had a whole lot of secrets I shouldn’t hear.

  I hoped I wouldn’t.

  I reset the timer. “Go.” I gestured to the important-looking guy.

  “I headed up the department’s investigation of Mr. Romano for some three months on suspicion of drug trafficking,” the dude began, cementing my earlier assessment. “We got a tip regarding a shipment…”

  I let his voice ebb and flow around me. His words mixed together and became nothing but sound, rising and falling. I didn’t want to know the gory details of how he’d been kicked out of the land of the living, because they were probably grisly. I had a good imagination—I didn’t need help putting disturbing images into my mind’s eye.

  “Did you hear me?” the important-looking dude asked, and it was clear that even in death, he thought he was the bee’s knees.

  “Yep.” Technically, my answer was true. He hadn’t asked if I was listening. I glanced at the timer. “You’ve got one more minute. Anything else?”

 
; “Roger McLaughlin. He works in the Central Park precinct in New York City. Tell him that Jim Miller told you to tell him eight-seven-seven in terminal three. He’ll know what that means. Can you remember that?”

  I kept every muscle in my body loose and my face perfectly devoid of expression. If Mr. Criminal knew I’d just gotten that information, whatever it was, I had a feeling ol’ Jim and I would have something in common.

  “Can you remember that?” Jim repeated.

  “Look, guy, I told you, I don’t deliver messages,” I said with the right shade of annoyance. Mr. Criminal (I still hoped to forget his name after this) leaned forward, his eyes gleaming dangerously. “I’m sure your mother knows you love her.”

  Mr. Criminal’s eyes remained alert, but his shoulders relaxed slightly. I’d been down this road a time or two. I was excellent at surviving.

  “Will you deliver it?” the Jim asked. “Touch your hair if yes.”

  Smart guy, this important dude. He could read people well.

  Not well enough, of course, since Mr. Criminal had gotten one over on him.

  “All right, that’s time.” I brushed the hair out of my face, because what could I do, not pass his message on? Roger McLaughlin would think I was just some nutter, so it wouldn’t matter, but I wasn’t in the habit of ignoring last requests. It was another reason I tried to avoid using my magic. Each and every spirit seemed to have a last request, and I didn’t have the time or resources to comply with all of them. “Nope, that’s time,” I said into the silence, shaking my head. “I don’t care. You’re done.”

  The dead usually only stopped talking once they got their point across. I doubted Mr. Criminal knew that, but I didn’t want to barter with my life.

  “Next?” I called.

  Time couldn’t go quickly enough for the grueling stories of violence the other two spouted off. They’d each been tortured for information, and they’d been killed after spilling their guts. I couldn’t seem to shut their voices out. They were too hysterical and graphic.

  I should’ve asked for more money.

  “Stop. I got it all. Please stop.” I pinched the bridge of my nose as Small-Time Criminal Number Two begged me to look after Muffy. “I’m sure your dog is in good hands. I really do. People like dogs. I’m sure Muffy is liked more than you, despite that stupid name.”

  “Oh shit…” The words rode a slow exhale from Mr. Criminal. “You really can hear them. You’re not just yanking my chain.”

  “Sadly, no.” I didn’t want to know how he knew the dog’s name. “Now shut it. I need to send them across.” I closed my eyes and bowed my head, focusing.

  I’d heard other people needed to chime a bell, or light a candle, or say a chant to send spirits across the Line (what some people called the beyond). Some had to do all of the above. I just thought really hard about pushing them across. Had it required any real work on my part, I wouldn’t have been there. These jobs were unpleasant enough without putting in an effort.

  “Eight-seven-seven,” Jim said, his voice strangely echoing. I opened my eyes, but I wasn’t in the trance a human needed to be in to see the Line or the spiritual plane. I could only see him cross into it. His body somewhat dissolved, turning translucent. “Terminal three,” he said again, before fading away.

  “Johnny Sanderson. He’s the runner. He sold me out.” Small-Time Criminal Number One followed Jim’s lead. “He needs to pay.”

  “Muffy was a really good dog. She likes a cuddle in the evenings.” Small-Time Criminal Number Two turned to a wisp and then blinked out.

  “See ya.” I gave a last shove before yanking down the divide. I glanced at Mr. Criminal. “You should feel lighter now.”

  Mr. Criminal rolled his shoulders. Then his neck.

  “No, no.” I waved my finger at him. “Don’t do that here. You paid, they’re gone, now get out.”

  His eyes took on a lethal edge. “I’m not in the habit of allowing people to speak to me like that.”

  I rubbed my temples. “I can bring them back, if you’d prefer?”

  “Don’t mind her,” Daisy piped up. “She’s terrible at customer service. She’s always this cranky. Have a blessed day!”

  I was still rubbing my temples with my eyes closed when the client chair squeaked then groaned. Clothes rustled.

  “See that you keep this to yourself,” Mr. Criminal said. “I’ll be watching.”

  I barely kept from huffing out a laugh as he shuffled off. He didn’t know my name, hadn’t known when I’d show up here, and didn’t know where to find me otherwise. But suddenly he’d be keeping an eye on me?

  Get in line.

  “Blessed day?” Mordecai asked Daisy.

  “I don’t know, he was scary. I figured he’d be less likely to kill religious people. So…” She let the word linger, and I knew they’d both shifted their attention to me.

  “So…” I heard shifting on the rug. “You…listen to ghosts and then push them out of this world?” Mordecai asked. “That’s it?”

  “I’d thought there was more to it, for some reason,” Daisy whispered.

  “It’s plenty, trust me.” I stared out over the water again as the daylight continued to wane.

  “Where do they go?” Daisy asked, and I could hear the shiver of unease in her voice.

  While the kids did know my magical type, we’d never really discussed it, and they’d certainly never seen me do it. Part of that was because ghosts creeped Daisy out and she shushed me soon after I started talking about them, and another part was that the freak show was no place for a self-respecting teenager, magical or otherwise. It was hard to get a good understanding of my work without actually seeing it.

  “Some say it’s a place that is infinitely better. Some rant and rave about how annoying it is. But what exactly that place is, I’m not sure. I’ve never been there. The furthest I’ve gone is to the Line—the gate to the spiritual plane, basically.”

  “Could you…” Daisy’s swallow was so loud, I could hear it from a few feet away. “Could you go there if you tried?”

  I furrowed my brow in thought, watching that relaxing movement of the water. “I honestly don’t know. Sometimes, when I send a particularly strong and stubborn spirit across, I have to put so much effort into it that I hear a subtle calling from beyond the veil. And when I bring someone back, it’s the same way. My spirit kinda…jumps at it. But I don’t know if I could go over, or what would happen to me if I did. Would I get trapped? Would my body die without my soul? Would my body go with my soul?” I shook my head slowly, curiosity and fear mingling at the great unknown. “When I’m old and senile and wetting the bed, I’ll probably try it. Couldn’t hurt at that point, know what I mean?”

  One of the kids let out a breath. No comment came for a few moments.

  “But…these spirits aren’t still people, right?” Daisy asked. “I mean, if they were, we’d all see them… They’re…almost a figment of your imagination?”

  She sure hoped they were, at any rate.

  “They were people, and now they’re…wandering souls?” I shook my head, not used to explaining this. “You guys, I honestly don’t know. They look like living, breathing people to me. They look as real as you two, except I can see past them if I need to. Like Superman’s x-ray vision.”

  “Then how do you know they’re ghosts?” Mordecai asked.

  “I just…know. When I’m tired, I overlook it half the time, but normally…” I shrugged. “I just know, that’s all.”

  “I feel like you should get a firmer handle on your magic. I mean…you just made three hundred dollars!” I could hear the excitement in Daisy’s voice, despite the way I’d made that dirty money. “If you had a better idea of all your…abilities, maybe you could make even more. Because that man definitely seemed happy with your service. The personality behind the service could use some work, but the actual service seemed to leave him satisfied. That says to me that he felt he received value for his money.”

 
; “Well put,” Mordecai said. “That junior CEO class taught you something. I should’ve taken it.”

  “You guys, I know this one seemed great and all, but I don’t usually make that much money. Besides, it isn’t fun. The stories I was told—”

  “Stocking shelves isn’t fun,” Daisy said. “Cleaning up dog poop isn’t fun. Do you know what the difference is? Those pay badly.”

  “Just tune them out like you always tune us out,” Mordecai said.

  “I don’t tune you out—I ignore you. Which is easy because you yammer about nothing. People who have been tortured to death are a lot harder to block out. And this usually pays badly.” I rubbed my face. “That guy was an exception. And obviously dangerous. You’re forgetting that I was told sensitive information that could get me in big trouble.”

  “By ghosts,” Daisy said. “That doesn’t count in a house of law.” I frowned at the odd term, momentarily derailed. “That guy is proof that word of mouth works. Am I right, Gandalf?” I could hear Daisy rubbing her hands together. “I would kill for my clipboard right now.”

  “Just be patient,” I said, resuming my stare out over the water. “You’ll see what this job is really all about. And then you’ll understand why I only reserve my party tricks for desperate times.”

  18

  Kieran

  “And you said this chick can also reach into your chest?” Jack asked Kieran as they sat inside the flowing tent they’d set up. The billboard outside advertised a mystical soap that wasn’t on display.

  The second he’d gotten word that Alexis was on the move, Kieran had had Jack follow her and relay info back to him. He hadn’t been thrilled she’d turned up here, in a place ten times worse than the disgusting half-world in which she lived. She was subjecting herself to ridicule and humiliation by small-minded fools. This market, for lack of a better word, was degrading for magical people as a whole, and it had to be damaging to a person’s self-worth to participate in it.