Past Life Strife (Rise of the Discordant Book 1)

by McMullen, Christina

  “As you so eloquently put it, I’m an emo freak. For over one hundred fifty years, I’ve been bombarded by the emotions of countless souls, lost or otherwise disturbed. Do you know what it’s like to feel this much? No, of course you don’t. You are selfish, Amara. You’ve never felt anything for anyone other than yourself. But I do. I know pain, I know suffering, and I know that if oblivion is the key to ending both the constant bombardment and your life, I most certainly have the balls.”

  The microwave beeped and I pulled out the steaming dish, inhaling deeply as Amara backed away, flinching in disgust. I smiled as I took a huge forkful and waved it at her. “Want some?” I asked with a wide, if not entirely fake smile. Garlic may not kill her, but it would give her one hell of a nasty headache.

  “Very funny, Seth,” she croaked, trying to hide the fact that the smell was making her eyes water and her throat close up. “I’m going to make this easy for you,” she said as she stood. “I can give you what Order can’t. I have the power to take away the pain, Seth. Join me and live a pain free eternity, unencumbered by the chains of Order.”

  “Hm.” I paused with my fork midway to my mouth. I hadn’t expected her to try to recruit me. It might have worked, had I not seen firsthand what a ‘promise’ by a Discordant entailed. “Renounce everything I stand for and break free from my bondage in order to become your lapdog. Well, when you put it like that…”

  “I’ll make you my equal,” she added hastily. With that, I knew she was becoming desperate. The only way she could have made me her ‘equal’ would involve a ritual that would have both Chaos and Order after her soul.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said dryly. All I wanted was to get her out of my office so that I could go back to not thinking about her until I had a chance to talk to Desmond, but she didn’t seem to be in any hurry. I looked down at the plastic fork full of noodles and smirked as a rather childish idea popped into my head. Pretending to sneeze, I flicked my wrist forward. Bits of sticky pasta flew everywhere.

  “Oopsie daisy!”

  It was a cheap tactic, but it worked. Amara hissed as she tried to wipe the now smoking noodles from her cheek.

  “You can think about my offer,” she snarled, “or you can keep playing games and watch as I destroy everything around you. Push me, and I will personally destroy every soul within a fifty mile radius.” She slammed the door as she left.

  True, inciting a one sided food fight was cheap, and incredibly immature, but it did get her out of my office. I noticed that there was a sticky note on the lid that I hadn’t seen earlier. Bogie had drawn a stick figure that bore a striking resemblance to Amara being choked by a rope of garlic. I chuckled and stuck it to the edge of my monitor, adding a small check mark. Bogie one, Amara, zero.

  Unfortunately, the move was only a temporary dismissal and one that angered her. I knew that wasn’t going to be the last I saw of Amara. She not only called my bluff, but made it clear that she was not bluffing. Last night I thought I was brave enough to end my soul’s existence if it meant the end of Amara as well. Today, I wasn’t as certain. My involuntary reaction to seeing her disgusted me. That my heart still ached while my mind knew there was no redemption for her soul made me question whether or not I was fit to continue as an agent of Order.

  *

  Fortunately, the rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of appointments and meetings. By the time six o’clock rolled around, I had calmed down enough that I was ready to deal with whatever the Five Penny had to throw at me. We still hadn’t heard anything from admin as to what was delaying our Guardian, but at least with Bogie tending bar, Desmond would be free to take care of any Discordant who gave us trouble.

  I had just sent off my end of day reports and was about to do a quick internet search for anything of note that might have happened in Seattle recently, when Louise sauntered into my office and leaned over the desk. I’d be a liar if I said that the view from where I sat wasn’t lovely, but I knew Louise too well. She wasn’t casually flirting; she wanted something.

  “Pack it up, hot stuff. The time is now six thirty and you’re taking me to Red Lobster.”

  “I’ve already had my share of pushy women today Louise,” I said with a note of warning.

  “I know. You need a distraction, so you’re taking me out to dinner. Isn’t that nice of you?”

  “Mm hm,” I muttered as I shut down my computer. I knew that Louise honestly did care about my well-being, but I also knew that her reasons for wanting me to take her to dinner had more to do with the fact that she was currently broke than my mental state.

  “Why Red Lobster? Aren’t you vegetarian?” Earth witches could not eat the flesh of an animal unless they were able to look it in the eye and pay it respect before slaughtering it themselves. Because of this, both Louise and Betty chose to adhere to a plant based diet. Well, Betty did. Louise seemed to live entirely on junk food.

  “Cheddar biscuits, Seth, cheddar biscuits. Come on, we have to hurry if we’re going to beat the dinner rush.”

  “Uh huh,” I grumbled while giving her the stink eye. “As long as that’s all. You aren’t the only one with financial woes.”

  We drove over to the north side, a newer area where most of Blackbird’s shopping and chain restaurants were located. I didn’t spend much time in this area because the Discordant generally left it alone. Yes, I realize that everyone thinks of retail as being the worst kind of work, but the vibe I got from this area seemed to suggest that even the woes of retail weren’t so bad compared to the rest of life in Blackbird. It seemed that just being around businesses that existed elsewhere was enough of a reminder that there was a whole world out there to give people a brief lift in their spirits. I’m not exaggerating. When the Starbucks opened a few years earlier, Abbey had joked that she was in jeopardy of being replaced by overpriced coffee.

  But as we pulled into the already crowded parking lot, I felt the darkness that the neon signs usually kept at bay. The feeling grew stronger as we approached the restaurant and when I opened the door, I knew why. Seated in a booth in the far corner was a young man. I couldn’t see who he was, but I didn’t need to. Seated across from him was Amara. In the few hours since I had last seen her, she had already found her first victim. At least, I hoped it was the first.

  Without a Guardian, there wasn’t much I could do against succubus magic. Any warning I tried to give would be construed as jealousy, but by doing nothing, I might as well kill him myself. Within days at most, he would become hopelessly addicted to the lies that Amara fed him. It was only a matter of time before he willingly gave up his soul to her and I couldn’t let that happen.

  “Have you heard a thing I’ve said?”

  “I’m sorry, what?” I looked over to meet Louise’s glare with an apologetic smile. She huffed and turned to where I had been looking with a frown. “Oh my goddess, really Seth? A bit on the gothy side, don’t you think?” she criticized, but after a quick pause, put two and two together. “Wait, is that the slut that took your soul?”

  “Shush,” I admonished as a few other patrons turned to see what the ruckus was about. “Yes, that’s Amara. She’s already making good on her threat.”

  “Well, better him than you,” she said, taking a possessive step closer to me. “That’s Jim Parker, one of Betty’s loser exes.

  “Oh, I remember him.”

  Jim was one of those people who tried to game the system. He had first come to my office a few years ago when he lost his job. When his unemployment benefits ran out, he managed to find a job in construction. Within a week, he had injured himself and filed for worker’s comp. Jim was lazy, and had preyed on Betty’s generous nature, making him a jerk, for sure, but that didn’t mean he deserved to have his soul enslaved by a succubus.

  “Come on. We should leave.” I motioned to Louise to go first, but she held her ground.

  “What? Why should she drive us off? If anything, they should leave.”

  “Louise, if you make
a scene they aren’t going to let you in here again,” I reasoned, hoping her addiction to cheese filled carbohydrates was stronger than her hardheadedness. “I need to talk to Desmond. Amara is going to go after everyone in town unless I join her or die.”

  “Or I kill her with my bare hands,” Louise growled. The waves of jealousy coming off of her were staggering. I might have been flattered, but I was more concerned with the fact that the witch was no match for the succubus and there wasn’t much I could do if Louise initiated a confrontation.

  “Slumming with trailer trash? I know I broke your heart, Seth, but this is a little low even for you.”

  Likewise, there was nothing I could do if Amara initiated a confrontation. I had been so concerned with trying to get Louise to leave the situation alone that I hadn’t noticed that Amara and her date had gotten up to leave.

  “At least I don’t have to steal a man’s soul to get a date,” Louise shot back with a sneer. “Though if I did, I’d at least be smart enough to pick one who wasn’t a deadbeat.”

  “Cheddar biscuits, Louise,” I muttered, noting that we were drawing the attention of not only the patrons who waited for a clear table, but the staff as well. The last thing I needed was a magical fight to break out with witnesses present. Especially not without a Guardian around to clean up the aftermath. “I really don’t think this is the time or the pl-” I began, but Amara pushed past me to stand nose to nose with Louise.

  “You’re next, earth witch,” she hissed, poking Louise in the chest. “When I’m done with Jimmy, I’m going to drain you of every drop of magic you have. Granted, it ain’t much…”

  Smack!

  Time seemed to come to a complete standstill. A silence fell over the restaurant as the sound of Louise’s slap echoed in the air. Amara stood with her hand over her cheek and murder in her eyes.

  “Next time, I’ll make sure to wear my silver rings,” Louise sneered.

  “Okay, show’s over,” came a booming voice from somewhere behind the crowd that had gathered. A moment later, a large man wearing the necktie that designated him as the manager emerged from the crowd, glaring at both women with his hands on his hips. “Ladies, take it outside and off the property or I’m calling the police.”

  “Come on,” I growled, grabbing Louise by the arm and dragging her back out into the parking lot. Whether the manager was bluffing or not, I didn’t want to be the one to have to explain to the police how a catfight brought down half the building. I only hoped that Amara hadn’t followed.

  “This is far from over, bitch.”

  She had. Of course she had, dragging her date, who seemed oblivious to the Chaos around him, behind her.

  “What did you call me?” Louise shrugged off my hold on her and dove for Amara. “I’m going to kill you, you-oof!”

  Instead of connecting with the side of Amara’s head, Louise’s fist swung wildly through the fading mist that hung where Amara had stood only moments before. I turned around to see Desmond standing at the edge of the parking lot with a silver dagger in one hand and an overstuffed HomeGoods bag in the other.

  Chapter 8

  Splintered Souls

  By the time I awoke later the same morning, Seth had already gone to work and Bogie had passed out on the couch, leaving the kitchen in a state I can only describe as fitting for an agent of Chaos. If there was a clean dish in the entire apartment, I would have been shocked. I was hungry, but I didn’t have time to deal with the mess or the demon that made it. Instead, I headed down to Louie’s Diner, thankful that it was the kind of place that served breakfast all day because I was still in the mood for blueberry pancakes. After that, I found the nearest hardware store and picked up two cans of beige paint because I was not about to spend another night staring at seizure inducing pink walls.

  When I got back to the apartment, Bogie was finally awake, but still lounging on the couch and watching daytime television.

  “That stuff will rot your brain, Bogie, and you ain’t got much to start with.”

  “Real funny, Des,” he said with a smirk. “It ain’t like I got much of anythin’ else goin’ on, what with you bindin’ me here.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you bored? Do you need something to keep you occupied? Why don’t you start by cleaning up the mess you made in the kitchen?” I suggested, gritting my teeth to keep my blood pressure from skyrocketing. Bogie knew exactly how to push my buttons and I think the little runt enjoyed seeing just how far he could push his luck.

  “See, the thing is, Des, cleanin’ would take me hours. Hours that I don’t got if you plan on makin’ me work the bar tonight. I got a better idea. Hows about you chill on the big tough Warrior routine and let me, you know.” He wiggled his fingers, indicating magic. I didn’t appreciate the manipulation and I considered showing him exactly how much I didn’t appreciate it by blasting his butt into the next century. But as much as I didn’t like it, I didn’t like looking at a dirty kitchen more. Using my own magic to clean up was considered frivolous and therefore against Order rules.

  “Fine,” I growled, loosening the binds slightly. “When you’re done cleaning the kitchen, you can tackle the bedroom.” I thrust the paint cans at him.

  “Ah gee, thanks, Des,” he said with more sarcasm than was prudent.

  “I could change my mind,” I warned, strengthening the binding spell until Bogie found himself trapped in the kitchen with no powers.

  “Ah geez, Des! I was kiddin’! Don’t be such a stick in the mud!”

  “I’m not in the mood for jokes, Bogie.” Still, I brought the binding spell back down. I’m not a neat freak, but the state of the kitchen was really grating on me.

  “Thanks, Des,” he said with a sheepish smile and cracked his knuckles before conducting the dishes into the dishwasher like a modern day sorcerer’s apprentice. “I know you don’t mean nothing by it. I’m worried about Seth too. He really is a standup guy. But ya know what?” He stopped moving his hand and dishes hovered, halfway from the sink to the dishwasher. “There’s something that ain’t right about this whole situation. You sure this gal’s a succubus?”

  “You heard Seth. She enticed him, accused him of rape, and then she ate his heart, taking a piece of his soul in a classic rebirthing ritual. Am I missing something?”

  “Yeah, no, I think that sounds about right, but here’s the thing. There’s somethin’ off about her.” Bogie shivered and the dishes slipped several inches. He caught them with a mumbled apology. “I mean, yeah, she’s a vamp. I felt that. But I’ve known more than a few succubae and by known, I mean I made some poor choices in my youth. If this gal’s a succubus, I’ll eat my hat and wear flowers on my horns.”

  As much as I would have loved to see that, I had to admit, Bogie had a point. Succubae were rare, but I’d dealt with enough to know that the energy coming off of Amara was different. Still though, the fact remained that she was dangerous and not just to Seth. This town was already vampire bait and for a vampire who could also deliver with mind-blowing sex and false promises of happiness, there was little to nothing that would stop her from having her way with most of the residents.

  “You may be onto something. Keep your eyes and ears open,” I said and checked the time. I was to meet Donna in just a few minutes. “I should be back early, but if you see anything out of the ordinary tonight, call me.” I slid a phone across the counter.

  “Aw, Des, you shouldn’t have.”

  “Don’t get too excited. The monthly fee is coming out of your pay, so keep that in mind,” I warned. “I just figured a line of communication might be helpful.”

  I’d assumed that as an earth witch, Donna might drive something like a Prius, or perhaps even an electric scooter. I certainly was not expecting her to pull up to the curb in a muffler-less relic of Detroit’s glory days. The mid-seventies Buick was more rust than steel and belched enough black smoke to make me question the legitimacy of the inspection sticker on the windshield. If she got more than eight miles to the g
allon, I would be impressed.

  “Hop in, she doesn’t bite.”

  I hadn’t realized I was just standing there, staring at the car until Donna rolled down the window. The old-fashioned push button door handle stuck a bit, but I got it open and climbed inside, grateful at least for the legroom the beast provided.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Donna said before I could even nod hello. “But don’t let the smoke fool you. This old girl’s had a lot of modifications. Some mechanical, some magical.” She patted the dashboard as if it were a favorite pet.

  “I wasn’t going to say anything at all,” I assured her, but I did notice that the rumbling and backfiring engine noises disappeared as soon as I shut the door. I quickly became grateful for the installation of modern seatbelts, but I still found myself gripping the dashboard as we merged into traffic. Before we even hit the highway, I came to the conclusion that Donna had been a Kamikaze pilot in a previous life. Once we were on the highway, I changed my mind and decided she had to have been a NASCAR driver.

  After our talk the other night, I had decided to tentatively trust Donna, but that did not mean I was ready to trust all mystics equally. As we approached the artfully rundown cottage, I went on full alert. The magic was strong, yet in a neutral state, which was typical of psychic energies. I was wary of psychics, even more so than witches. A psychic’s moral ambiguity is what makes them vulnerable to Discord and I was accompanied by the living proof that Madame Myrna had already fallen prey to the Discordant once before. I’ve yet to meet a psychic who wasn’t influenced by Chaos in some way.

  Chances are, if you’ve ever had a palm or tarot card reading, you were ripped off. Ninety-nine percent of psychics who advertise in the yellow pages are charlatans. Likewise for the folks who set up card tables in the French Quarter, sideshow fortune tellers at the county fair, and any hotline that requires a credit card to initiate a call. True psychics do not advertise. They will not tell you who you are going to marry or how you are going to get rich. Most of their visions have nothing to do with the future as much as the past and it was the past that we were most interested in at that moment.