Fate

by Nadine Nightingale

  Then—

  Wood.

  Wood and pain.

  Was I…was I hit on the head?

  “Alex,” Manda yells. “Why do you have to be such a stubborn jerk? For once…just for once listen to me and wake the fuck up!”

  I want to scold the witch for shouting at me while I’m rocking a Terminator-fist-fight headache. I can’t move my damn lips, though. Every time I try, it feels as if someone is giving me a shave with tweezers.

  Seriously, what the actual fuck is going on?

  I focus on my eyelids. It takes all my energy to open them. Seeing through two thin slits, I scan the murkiness for Manda. My vision is too damn blurred to make out shit.

  Warm liquid curves down my temple, spilling into my left eye. The scent of rusty iron stings my nostrils—blood. My blood. I attempt to wipe it off my face. Only, I can’t move my hands either. Metal bites into my wrists, burning off skin and exposing flesh. Shackles. My hands are cuffed behind my back.

  Shit. This is bad. You’re-going-to-end-up-dead bad.

  I gotta get the hell outta here and find my brother and B. The hunter instinct kicks in. Pushing the heels of my shoes into the ground, I want to lift myself up, but fail miserably. Partly, because I’m dizzy as hell and totally off balance. Mostly, because my damn ankles are in shackles as well.

  “Manda?” I choke out, mouth dry. “Help me.”

  She doesn’t.

  Sadistic thoughts crawl out of the depth of my soul. Did she—could she—what if— I can’t bring myself to finish them. Manda would never intentionally hurt me. Besides, why would she plead for me to open my eyes if she had anything to do with this? It doesn’t make any sense.

  I put a lid on the I-doubt-Manda cup when I hear footsteps. Someone’s coming. Someone who stinks like rotten eggs. A demon. Or two, judging by the different set of steps.

  A bucket of ice water lands in my face. The cold ripples through my skin, causing violent shudders.

  My eyes pop open. A figure approaches me, remaining in the safety of the shadows. “About time, sleeping beauty.” The woman’s voice rings several bells. “I was that close to kissing you awake.” Whoever the woman is, it’s not Manda. Of that I’m one hundred percent certain.

  My heart races like a mother. Struggling to free my wrists, I fight the metal. My only achievement? I tear my skin some more. The cuffs are too tight, the hunter suggests. Only three ways to get out of them. One: cut off a thumb. Not going to happen. Two: pick the damn lock. How? I ain’t got no tools. Three: the key. I don’t think the chick—probably a demon—is going to hand it over without a fight, one I can’t possibly win when I’m cuffed.

  “Don’t bother, hunter.” She laughs, wickedly. “You aren’t my first rodeo.”

  I’m dying to tell the bitch to go back to hell. But remember the shave with the damn tweezers every time I attempt to open my mouth? Well, that might be due to the duct tape, covering my lips.

  “Believe it or not,” she says, her face obscured by darkness. “I am truly sorry we must meet like this. But desperate times…yada, yada, yada. You get the point, don’t you?”

  I, too, am sorry we have to meet like this. I’d rather be able to stand on my own damn feet to put a damn bullet in her brain.

  “You and your brother are quite the legends where I’m from,” she continues. “Would have loved to see if the rumors about the mighty Remington brothers are true. But what is it you humans always say?” She pauses, tapping her foot against the concrete. “You don’t always get what you want, do you?”

  What I want to say is, I’m gonna send you back to hell, bitch. What comes out of my mouth is, “M mm m m m m m, m.”

  “What was that?” Her nasty laughter echoes off the damp walls. “Sorry, I didn’t get you.”

  Fuck you! “M m!”

  “Oh, you enjoy my company?” She sounds so damn innocent I want to puke. “You’re so adorable. A real sweetheart.”

  “M m m m m m.” Translation: I’ll rip your fucking head off.

  “Love your enthusiasm, Alexander. I’m absolutely certain we’re going to have a fabulous time together.” She turns away. “In the meantime, make yourself at home.”

  The bitch and her silent companion walk away.

  The instant I hear a heavy iron door slam shut, I try to free myself again. The problem remains the same; without a bobby pin, or a nail I can’t pick the damn lock.

  I think of my mom. What is it she used to say? There’s always a way out, Alex. Sometimes you just have to think harder, be smarter. In this case, I’m afraid, I’d have to be Harry Houdini.

  C’mon, Remington. Think!

  I scan my surroundings. Old pipes climb up the walls, covering most of the ceiling. I search for rusty nails or anything that could help me escape. But nothing appears. The chick was right. I am not her first hostage. Most likely won’t be her last either.

  I have no clue how much time slips through the hourglass, how long I sit in the dark, desperate to find a way out of this mess. Slowly, though, I begin to lose my fucking mind. My brain conjures up a million horrifying scenarios—Jesse and B hurt, Jesse and B being tortured, Jesse and B dead. The fear of what the bitch did to them, what she might still do to them, drives me insane.

  God, what the hell did we get ourselves into? Who is the bitch? And what does she want from me? She took me hostage. I’m fairly certain she could have killed me, too. Why didn’t she? I’ve been doing this job for so long, how did I end up captured and cuffed in the first place? Questions over questions. Damn shame I ain’t got a single answer.

  My head feels as if Tico Torres—Bon Jovi’s drummer—uses it for a rehearsal. The pounding in my left temple, along with the blood rush in my ears makes me dizzy as fuck.

  Resting against the cold, damp wall, I try my level best to get a grip on the pain. What a pity I haven’t mastered the Shaolin-I-can-send-my-mind-to-Hawaii thing yet.

  Remember, Remington. You gotta remember how you got here.

  Dripping water, boxes, high heels, Jesse dropping to the ground, wood, and pain—the images pop back in my head.

  Think, Remington. What happened before that? Where were you?

  “New York,” I whisper. I was in New York, drowning my sorrows in bourbon at some sports bar. Jesse and Carter showed. I was close to telling them the truth about the deal I’d made, but the power went out. Then, the earth shook.

  Yes, I remember now. There was an earthquake. People got hurt, even killed. Carter went back to Washington, and Jesse and I searched for B. We found Chelsea, the roommate, instead. She led us to the basement, claiming B was hiding there.

  Then what happened?

  We called for the mamba. She didn’t answer. In the far back of the basement, Jesse spotted her heels peeking out from underneath boxes. I heard a snap. My brother dropped to the ground. I spun. That’s when I saw him—Demon-Boy. The guy who broke into the Bishop residence. The demon B was able to command. The demon that escaped because my brother didn’t stir the potion for his shackles long enough. He hit me on the head with a damn baseball bat.

  The heavy iron door creaks.

  Next thing I know Demon-Boy smiles at me. “I hope you have a pleasant stay,” he says, throwing a body at my feet.

  I gawk at the bruised body, hot and cold at the same time. Bonnie! “Mm!” Fuck, she’s barely breathing.

  I fight the metal around my wrists and ankles. “M m m!” Let me go!

  “Relax.” Demon-Boy grins. “She’s fine. For now.”

  Fine? She looks like she had a fistfight with Rocky after she was hit by a damn truck. That’s as far from fine as one can be.

  Glowing amber eyes step out of the shadows and into the dim light. They burn through the darkness like a fucking torch. “I think it’s time we have a little chat,” the Nun, aka Demon Bitch says.

  Damn, I knew that voice rang a bell.

  Chapter 22

  The possessed Nun rips the tape off my mouth. “Sorry, what did you say?�
��

  “I’m going to kill you, bitch!” The instant I get out of these cuffs, I’ll send her sorry-ass back to hell. Never mind I have no fucking clue how.

  Arms crossed, she grins like the Cheshire cat. “You truly are a sweetheart, Alexander.”

  “What the hell do you want?” In all the years on the job, I came across demons twice. When I sold my soul and in Rick’s Cabaret while we were trying to save it. Now, all of a sudden, these bitches are everywhere. Call me crazy, but the whole thing stinks.

  The Nun raises her brows, staring at me in awe. “You have no idea, do you?”

  B convulses on the ground, her chest rising and falling quickly. She’s hyperventilating to cope with the pain. She needs a doctor like yesterday.

  “You’re right.” I straighten as much as the cuffs around my wrists and ankles allow. “I have no clue why a demon wears the meat suit of a preacher’s daughter.” Some would say it’s poetic justice or shit.

  The Nun’s smile never wavers. “Let’s just say believers tend to say ‘yes’ when approached by an angel, and asked for a vessel.”

  “Angel?” I laugh. “Hardly.”

  “Fallen or not, I am still an angel.” She shrugs. “Anyway, I haven’t gone through all this trouble to talk rules of possession with you.”

  “Let me guess,” I spit back, lips twitching into a half-smile. “You needed someone to end your miserable existence?” Yeah, yeah. It’s dumb to be rude to a demon who could wipe me out with a snap of her fingers. But I’ve done dumber things and am still breathing.

  The Nun hunkers down. “I know you spoke to the witch, hunter.”

  I squint. “The Enchantress? Esmeralda? Willow Rosenberg? Which witch?”

  She rolls her eyes. “The one you were willing to die for—Amanda Bishop.”

  “You’re wrong.” Not about the dying part. “I haven’t seen or heard from her in days.”

  She bursts into cruel laughter. “And you want me to believe that?” She shakes her head. “A connection like yours goes beyond rules of heaven and hell. I have a hard time believing she didn’t visit you in your dreams.”

  How the hell does she know about my dreams?

  The Nun traces her blazing hot fingers down my cheek. “You’re going to tell me where she and the boy are”—she sighs—“or your little brother is going to learn the hard way how wretched my kind truly is.”

  “You’re nuts.” Connection or not, I have no clue where Manda is. Or else I’d be there, breaking her out of that damn dungeon.

  Her lips curve up. “No, you are if you don’t tell me what I want to know.” Her amber eyes lock with mine. “Where are the boy and Amanda?”

  “What boy?” I assume she’s referring to Leandro, but I can’t be certain. I mean, why does a demon care about a little witch child?

  She cocks a brow. “Don’t play dumb. You know as well as I do I’m talking about Leandro Alexander Bishop.”

  Wait. What? Did she just say Leandro Alexander Bishop? Impossible. Why would Melinda name her boy like me? That’s—

  “Tell her,” Demon-Boy demands, kicking me.

  “Okay.” My spine turns to steel. “I don’t know where hellish bitches like you get their intel from, but in case you haven’t heard we, too, are looking for Manda and her family.” And even if I knew where they are, you’d be the last I’d tell.

  She sighs like a full-blooded drama queen. “Wrong answer, Alexander.”

  “It’s the only one I have,” I bark, not liking the way B moans every time she moves.

  The possessed Nun gets on her feet. “Don’t lie to me,” she thunders, her voice cracking the wall behind me. “Hell doesn’t appreciate bullshit.”

  A demon accuses me of lying and demands honesty? That’s paradox, at best. Totally fucked up, at worst. “Believe me, or don’t.” I gaze into her glowing eyes. “Doesn’t change a damn thing.”

  She spins. “Well, then…let’s see if your brother is smarter than you, shall we?”

  My heart goes into overdrive. “Leave him alone,” I yell after her and Demon-Boy.

  She keeps moving, completely unimpressed.

  “Hey! I swear if you so much as touch a hair on his head, I’ll—”

  The iron door slams shut. They’re gone.

  “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I need to get us out of here before we all die.

  My gaze darts to B. Unlike me, she isn’t cuffed. Guess they figured the mamba is in no shape to escape.

  I gently push her with my feet. “Bonnie?”

  Nothing.

  “B, open your eyes. Please,” I beg her.

  Nope. No reaction.

  “Hey!” I nudge her again. “You—”

  A blood-curdling scream freezes my soul.

  Jesse!

  “Bonnie!” I push her harder. “Open your fucking eyes.”

  She’s out cold.

  Somewhere, outside, my little brother screams as if someone skins him alive. Here I am, trapped and cuffed. He keeps crying out in pain and there’s absolutely nothing I can do to help him. I am failing him like I failed Natasha. Like I failed Manda.

  Chapter 23

  I have no idea how long I was forced to listen to my brother’s screams. Minutes? Hours? A fucking lifetime is what it felt like. His yelps stabbed through my heart like the barbed stinger of a stingray. Hell, I would have sold my soul all over to trade places with him. Then the screams stopped and I could no longer suppress the fear of losing another sibling to the supernatural.

  They didn’t kill him, I keep telling myself. The possessed Nun is too damn smart. She’s gotta know dead men don’t tell tales, and dead brothers are rotten bargaining chips.

  A faint gasp floats through the dark room. “Bonnie?” Her eyelids flutter. “B, can you hear me?”

  “Alex?” she chokes out, voice barely a whisper. “Is…that…you?”

  “Yes, it’s me.” I shift as close as the shackles let me. “Are you okay?” She’s not. But I wouldn’t mind if she lied.

  She drags her battered body closer. “What”—her face is a mask of pain and terror—“happened?” She breathes like a ninety-year-old chain-smoker.

  “Don’t move.” The last thing I need is for her to pass out again. Or worse, drown in her own damn blood.

  B wouldn’t be Manda’s BFF if she listened to me. Stubbornness must be a witch trait. “I’m okay,” she assures me, digging her sharp, fake nails into my leg.

  She has a dislocated jaw and sounds like Donald Duck. “Easy,” I warn, bending my knee to help her straighten.

  She gathers enough will power to crawl up. “What happened?” she asks again, leaning against my shoulder.

  I wish I knew. One minute, Carter blames the death of over five dozen agents on Manda. The next, an earthquake hits the world and B’s possessed roommate walks us right into a trap, capturing two trained hunters and a damn powerful mamba.

  B looks around. “Jesse…where is Jesse?”

  Averting my gaze, I glare at the old pipes on the ceiling.

  “Alex,” she urges. “Is he…is he—”

  “No.” He can’t be. “He’s okay.” Or so I’m begging every damn god there ever was.

  Demon-Boy and Chelsea walk up to us. The bitch flashes B her brilliant teeth. “Welcome in the land of the living, doll.”

  “Fuck you,” the mamba spits back.

  Demon-Boy kicks B in the shin. “Show some respect.”

  The mamba doesn’t flinch. “Respectfully, fuck you then.” She has more balls than most hunters I know.

  Demon-Boy is all set to assault her some more, but the Nun holds him back. “Enough. We’re on a clock. Pleasure has to wait.” She zooms in on me. “You see, your brother is just as stupid as you are. He’d rather die than betray your witch girlfriend.”

  B’s eyes widen. “What did you do to him? I swear, I’ll—”

  “Relax.” The Nun waves her comment off. “He’s alive. For how long, very much depends on your answers.”


  “What do you want?” B asks, as calmly as possible.

  Demon-Boy crosses his arms. “Tell us where the witch and the boy are and we can all be on our merry way.”

  I face the Nun. “I told you, we have no idea where Manda is.”

  “And we told you, we don’t believe you,” Demon-Boy shoots back.

  I’ve had enough of their games. “Go to hell!”

  Demon-Boy smirks. “At least try to be original, Remington.”

  My gaze drifts over his vessel. “Says the demon who possessed Justin fucking Bieber?”

  He lunges forward, but the Nun seizes hold of his pink Lacoste shirt. One look from her is enough to freeze him. “So”—she faces me—“why don’t we have a civilized conversation before we slaughter all of you?”

  “Civilized?” B laughs. Or tries to. Dislocated jaw and all, remember? “You don’t even know how to spell that, bitch.”

  A lopsided grin plays on the Nun’s lips. “Maybe you should reconsider your attitude toward me, little mamba. I am, after all, the only one who can stop the apocalypse your witch friend started.”

  I laugh. Manda can be blamed for a lot of things, but the goddamn apocalypse? That’s reaching. Sure, Carter mentioned the First Grimoire has the power to bring the end, but Manda would never do that. The end of the world means the end of Amanda Bishop—she’d have to be suicidal to go through with that. Except, last time I saw her, in that dungeon, she was hell-bent on convincing me to off her, wasn’t she?

  Chelsea squats down. “You think this is some kind of joke, hunter?” Damn, the demon sounds pissed. “Your beloved witch already broke the first three locks of the gate to hell. If she breaks the remaining three, the world will end and you pitiful humans will be the first to perish. So let’s try this again. Where is Amanda Bishop and her son?”

  “Her what?” Did she just say Manda’s son? Bullshit.

  Chelsea sighs. “Her son, Alexander. Where is he?”

  “Leandro isn’t her son,” I correct her. “He’s her nephew.” Why would hell get such a crucial detail wrong? They seem to know everything else. Why confuse that? Manda doesn’t have kids. She would have told me.

  Like she told you she’s a witch? That’s hardly the same. Lying about her witch heritage, I get. The truth could have gotten her killed. But why would she have lied about her son? She must have known I’d never hurt a child—witch or not. Besides Leandro is what? Eighteen months old? I suck at math, but I’m pretty sure Manda and I were still together when the little man was created.