Fate

by Nadine Nightingale

  Jesse searches the herb cabinet. “There’s no Devil’s whatever.”

  “Devil’s Dung,” B says, forehead covered with sweat. “And, yes, there is. Melinda always keeps some Asafoetida powder in the house.”

  “Asa-what?” Jesse is at his wits’ end. I don’t blame him. You need a PhD to understand those names, let alone pronounce them.

  B frowns. “Check the lower cabinet. Should be next to the Angelica Root which, by the way, you’ll need, too.”

  Yup. Step four: burn some Angelica Root once the demon is secured.

  He searches through the herb jars. “Got it,” he proclaims, holding the thing up.

  “Good,” B murmurs, her body shaking violently. “Now, if you could soak those damn ropes before I faint, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

  My little brother rushes back to the stove—stirring, adding, soaking. He presents the dripping ropes to Queen B. “I think they’re ready.”

  She ogles them suspiciously. “We’ll see.” The mamba doesn’t have much confidence in our performance. I wouldn’t either. We’re hunters, not warlocks.

  B flexes her fingers. “Chita la sou chèz la.”

  Reluctantly, Demon-Boy sits his ass down on the chair. He murders us with his glowing red eyes, and I have a feeling he’d call us every name in the book had B not ordered him to keep his mouth shut earlier.

  B looks at Jesse. “Tie him up.”

  She doesn’t have to tell my brother twice. He’s happy to put all those boy scout years to good use. Tying perfect two half hitch knots, he makes sure the demon can’t get away. “What’s next?”

  I reach for my zippo, setting an Angelica root on fire. A woody, peppery scent wafts through what’s left of the Bishop kitchen. Doesn’t smell as unpleasant as I expected. “We’re good.”

  B drops her hand. A sigh of relief escapes her when the demon remains calmly on the chair. “About time,” she mutters, struggling to stand straight.

  I give her a moment before I throw my million questions at her. “So, we trapped him. And now we do what?” According to B, she can’t force him to tell us where Manda and the rest of the Bishops are. I don’t see how any of this is going to help us figure out what the hell happened here.

  B sways like a flag in the wind. My brother steadies her, his concern evident. “Why don’t you take a seat?” He pulls out another chair, not really giving her a choice in the matter. “Can I get you anything?” he asks, once she’s seated.

  “Water,” she chokes out, voice raw and husky.

  I move to the tap, filling one of the glasses that survived the ordeal. “Here.” I hand it to her. “Anything else?”

  Brows furrowed, she stares at me. “Are you sick?” She doesn’t trust me when I’m nice to her. Maybe I should keep up the asshole act.

  “Drink up,” I murmur, pointing to the cold water.

  For once, she doesn’t argue. The mamba gulps down the whole thing at once.

  Jesse hunkers down, wrapping a towel around her wounded palm. “Better?”

  “Much.” She gets on her feet. “Thanks.”

  Her gaze darts to Demon-Boy. “Alex?”

  “Yes?”

  B doesn’t take her eyes off the creature. “Would you kindly pass me some vinegar, pepper, and garlic?”

  “Why, you gonna make salad or something?” Stranger things have happened when witches are involved.

  She laughs. “More like something.”

  Rummaging through the cupboards, I gather the stuff and display it on the kitchen counter. “That’s all?”

  She grabs an empty jar, emptying the whole vinegar bottle in it. “Yup.” She adds the pepper and the garlic. “That should do.”

  Do what is the question.

  She faces the red-eyed bitch. “Ou ka pale.”

  He cusses like a sailor. I assume she gave him permission to talk.

  The atrocities leaving his mouth don’t bother B. “You know what that is, right?” It’s less of a question and more of a statement. Demon-Boy swallows hard. B takes that as a yes. “Good. Then you know what it’ll do to you if I pour it on your ugly face.”

  The creature spits on the pentagram. “You’re dead, mamba.” He squints. “I’m gonna cut you head to toe, feeding your fucking insides to the hellhounds.”

  “Great,” she cheers. “But first, you’re going to tell us where Amanda and her family are. Or so help me Ayida, I’ll throw that stuff in your face, watching it burn off your damn skin. Understood?”

  I can’t believe it. Fear creeps into Demon-Boy’s blazing eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me,” she shoots back, inching closer.

  The creature realizes she’s not fucking around. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.” His gaze drafts over the chaos. “I didn’t do this.”

  “Right.” I laugh. “And we’re supposed to take your word for it because demons are known for their honesty?” C’mon, mother. Give us some credit.

  Demon-Boy eyeballs me. “I don’t care if you believe me or not. But I”—he tilts his chin at the shattered porcelain—“am not responsible for this.” He casts B a sidelong glance. “And just for the record, I have no idea where the Bishops are.”

  Jesse grabs the jar from B. “Let’s just melt the fucker.”

  He’s seconds away from making good on his threat when Demon-Boy screams, “No. Don’t. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” Leave it to Queen B to put the fear of God in a demon with everyday household items. Way to go, mamba!

  B’s patience wears thinner and thinner. “Where’s Amanda?”

  “I don’t know,” he replies.

  I get the feeling he’s not selling bullshit.

  Jesse isn’t convinced. He pretends to throw the mixture.

  “Wait,” Demon-Boy begs. “I’m looking for her, too.”

  My interest is piqued. “Why?”

  His gaze stays glued to the jar. “Because the world you know is about to go to shit and she’s the key to—” He cuts himself off.

  “The key to what?” I half scream.

  He shakes his head, clearly debating whether to spill the beans or not. Or not is his preferred choice. “Look, I don’t know where she is. When I got here, the place was a fucking mess. That’s the truth and if you don’t believe me go ahead and melt me. Still won’t change a damn thing.”

  I want to know what the fuck he meant by the world’s about to go to shit, but B is quicker. “What about Melinda and Leandro?”

  The demon looks at me of all people. “Do I speak Mandarin? No one was here when I came by.”

  “Why did you come by?” Jesse inquires.

  His lips are sealed.

  “Have it your way.” My little bro sprinkles some of the VPG (short for vinegar, pepper, garlic) mixture onto Demon-Boy’s arm, burning off his skin.

  He screams in agony. “So, let’s try this again. Why are you here?”

  Struggling with excruciating pain, the creature draws several deep breaths. “I was supposed to find the Bishop witches.”

  I move toward him. “Why?”

  He says nothing.

  I turn to Jesse. “Guess he wants some more.”

  My brother shrugs, ready to empty the jar on the demon’s head. “His wish is my—”

  “I can’t tell you,” he yells, yanking his head sideways.

  B cocks a brow. “Why’s that?”

  “I have orders,” he shoots back. “And if I fail—” He shakes his head. “Go on, pour it on my face. It’ll be nothing compared to what’ll happen if I return to hell as a snitch.” Looking in his eyes, I realize how lucky I was not to be deported to the pit. Whatever awaits down there makes a demon act like a scared five-year-old.

  Torturing him with VPG won’t make him talk. We need to change tactics. Trying to think of something that will break him, I pace the kitchen when the bell rings.

  Jesse stiffens. “Shit. That can’t be good.”

  Someone ringing the bell in the middle of the nigh
t never is.

  Whoever is outside bangs against the front door like a lunatic. I highly doubt he’ll just go away. “Stay here with him,” I order B. “You”—I nod at Jesse—“come with me.”

  Guns drawn, we move into the hallway. Jesse gazes out the small window, next to the front door. “Fuck,” he hisses, shoving his gun back in the holster. “Cops.”

  Awesome. Someone must have called them after I shot Demon-Boy.

  I, too, secure my gun under my jacket. “Do you have your badge?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Just follow my lead,” I say, hoping the sight of FBI keeps them from checking our fugitive status and marching into the kitchen.

  “Police,” they call out. “Open the door.”

  Inhaling sharply, I follow the order. Two dudes—one rookie, one senior—glare at us. “Mr. Bishop?” The older one asks suspiciously.

  I hold my badge up. “No, I’m Agent Remington.”

  Senior cop scans my badge thoroughly. “May I ask what the FBI is doing here?”

  “We’re checking on an old friend,” Jesse says, quickly.

  “The neighbors reported gun shots,” Rookie explains. “We’re here to check on the Bishops.”

  “That’s commendable.” Stroking their egos can’t hurt. “But what they heard was my car backfiring.” I tilt my head at my Mustang. “You know how it is with old beauties.”

  Rookie cop’s eyes almost pop from his head. “Is that a ’65?”

  “Yup.” I smile. “Original paint and all.”

  “She’s beautiful,” he says with an appreciation that makes me dislike him a little less.

  “She is.”

  Senior cop doesn’t care about the love of my life. “Can we talk to the Bishops?” He’s all business and no fun. “You know how it is. Got to make sure they’re okay.”

  Jesse throws him the famous Remington smile. “We understand, sir. But Melinda just put her baby to sleep. We wouldn’t want to wake them, would we?”

  Rookie shakes his head. “Of course not.” He nudges his partner. “Right?”

  Senior cop sighs. “I suppose not.”

  “Thanks for dropping by. We appreciate it,” Jesse lies, slowly closing the door.

  Rookie is halfway down the porch when Senior’s gaze darts over my shoulder into the vandalized hallway. “What the hell?” he yells, pulling his gun.

  So much for almost getting rid of them.

  “Easy,” I say, hands up. “It’s not what you think.”

  He kicks the door open. “Really? Because right now I’m thinking you broke in here and shot someone.”

  I did break in. I also shot someone. I can hardly admit that.

  He crosses the threshold, his partner now behind him. “Move back. Hands where I can see them.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” Jesse assures them as they make us walk toward the kitchen. “We’re—”

  “Shut up!” Senior cop isn’t fucking around. He’s going to pull the trigger, that’s for sure. I recognize the look in his eyes. Have had it myself every time I sent some mother back to hell.

  I’m trying to come up with a damn good excuse as to why we have a teenage boy with garnet eyes tied to a chair in the kitchen when B appears out of nowhere. “What’s going on here?”

  “Don’t move,” Rookie yells, trigger finger trembling.

  Fuck, he’s going to shoot her.

  B’s lips curl into a mesmerizing smile. “Why don’t you lower those guns, guys?” Her voice is pure sex. I swear I’ve never heard anything like it.

  Jesse obviously has. He winks at me, grinning like a bitch. “Watch and learn.” Is that pride in his voice? Not sure if it’s annoying as fuck or impressive.

  B closes the gap between her and the cops. “I know you want to,” she says, eyes white like snow.

  What comes next is even creepier than B commanding a full-blooded demon. Both—Rookie and Senior—lower their guns.

  “That’s better, isn’t it?”

  In a trance-like state, they both nod.

  “Now”—she runs her index finger over Senior’s jawline—“it’s been a long night and the two of you must be exhausted. Why don’t you go back to your car, radio in a false alarm, and grab some coffee at the diner across town?”

  “It was a long night.” Rookie sounds like a robot. “We should get some coffee.”

  Senior holsters his gun. “Yes, and radio in a false alarm.”

  “That a boy,” B whispers in his ear. “Now, go and don’t forget to make your wife happy when you get home.”

  Moments later, the door slams shut. The cops walk away as if nothing ever happened.

  “Damn. That was…awesome.” In a creepy, witch way. But still fucking awesome.

  B turns, blood spilling from her nose. “I—”

  Her knees give in. She’s fainting.

  Jesse barely catches her before she hits the floor. “B.” Worried doesn’t do his voice justice. “B, open your eyes.”

  “I’m okay,” she whispers. “I just need a moment.”

  I’m glad she’s talking. Hell, I truly am. She just saved our asses. “Let’s take her to the kitchen and get her some water.” I eye her pale face. “Maybe something to eat, as well.”

  Jesse swoops her up in his arms, carrying her through the swinging door.

  His whole attention belongs to the mamba. He doesn’t see what I see. “Fuck,” I bark, gazing at the empty chair. Our only…witness? Suspect? Both. Gone.

  “How the hell did he get out?”

  Good question, brother.

  B’s chest rises and falls quickly. “The rope,” she says. “You didn’t stir long enough.”

  Is she for real? “It matters how long you stir?”

  “Everything matters in the craft,” she murmurs, resting her head against Jesse’s chest.

  I officially hate witchcraft.

  Jesse places B on the counter, handing her soda and leftover chicken from the fridge. “So what’s the plan?”

  “We’ll find Manda,” I announce.

  B drops the crispy meat. “What?”

  “We have to find Manda,” I repeat.

  She doesn’t trust my sudden change of mind. “But you said—”

  “Look around,” I say, pointing at the mess. “She’s obviously in trouble.” And lying, runaway witch or not, I owe her. She saved my little brother remember?

  B sighs. “I thought she could rot in hell for all you care.”

  Jesse cups B’s face. “He didn’t mean it, B.”

  I’m all set to assure them I did when the mamba zooms in on me. “Okay, so how are we going to find her?”

  I manage a half-hearted smile. “We’re hunters, B. We make a living tracking down witches.”

  Jesse pulls out his phone. “I’ll call JJ. See if she heard anything from Manda.”

  “Yup.” I dial Bay. “I’m gonna check with Bay.” In case the Malleus dicks have something to do with this, he’s our best shot.

  B picks up the chicken in one hand, pulls out her phone with the other. “I’ll see if my mom can help.”

  Won’t be long ’til we find Manda, her sister, and her nephew. I mean, how hard can it be for four hunters and two mambas to track down a witch family, right?

  Chapter 6

  The scent of coffee predominates the smell of bourbon, beer, and old peanuts. JJ is brewing the tenth pot. We’re downing the shit as if it’s water. Can you blame us? I can’t remember the last time I got some shut eye. None of us can. B insisted we had to get out of Salem ASAP. According to the mamba, there was a possibility whatever mind-mojo she used on the cops could fade. Then they’d be back with backup and we’d spent God knows how long in a prison cell in Witch City. We can hardly put together a search and possible rescue mission from behind bars, can we? Anyway, after we spoke to JJ and Bay, we decided to regroup in Winter Harbor. That’s where we are now. Inside JJ’s dad’s bar, figuring out how to find Manda, her sister, and her nephew. Dead
or alive? Nobody knows.

  Alive, something inside me roars. They have to be alive. No one kills Manda. I should know. I tried a few times, failing miserably. So, did Walter, Francoise, and Isobelle. The girl is like a cat. Has nine lives or something.

  What about the boy, though? The blood on his sheets and plush tiger are bad signs. There were just a few drops of crimson, though. Not nearly enough to suggest death.

  “There you go.” JJ tops our mugs, flinging herself in the chair across from me.

  B wraps her hands around the hot drink. “Thanks.” I’ve never seen her like this. As if someone shattered her world and took away the glue to put the pieces back together.

  “Nah, don’t thank me,” JJ says, forcing a half-hearted smile. “I hear my coffee tastes like crap.”

  We sip our drinks, silently. The air is thick. Overloaded with all sorts of nasty emotions—guilty being my poison. It crushes my heart to a point where it misses several beats. Despite everything Manda did for me—going against a bokor, saving my brother’s life, taking a damn bullet, and walking away from her new life to get my ass out of hell—I prejudged her. I was so fucking hurt when she told me I was just another guy she screwed, I didn’t even consider the possibility something was wrong. God, if it wasn’t for B, I would have never driven to Salem to check on her. Funny, huh? I treated Manda like shit most of the time. Yet the chick I call selfish came running the second I needed help. When the tables turned, the great Alexander Remington safeguarded his heart rather than giving her the benefit of the doubt.

  What a fine hero I am, huh? Manda is the second girl to vanish under my watch. The second girl I failed to protect out of selfish reasons. Natasha, my little sister, being the first.

  ****

  I had one simple task. “Watch your sister ’til we get back from your grandmother’s,” my parents had said. Any other day, I would have been okay with that. Natasha was an easy-going kid. She sat in the garden for hours, talking to birds, spiders, and any other animal she encountered. But that Sunday afternoon I had plans.

  Jeremy Kooks—my best friend back then—and the boys had invited me to a game of GTA, short for Grand Theft Auto. I can’t tell you why I was so desperate to go. Maybe because Samantha Hanson, my major crush, was supposed to be there. Or maybe I was just a selfish brat. Either way, I went.