Fate

by Nadine Nightingale

  “Dude’s got some nerve.” Draco, king of assholes, nips on a beer at the bar. “After everything, he’s still defending his witch whore.”

  A rush of adrenalin accelerates my heartbeat. “Wanna say that again?” I bark, muscles stiff, eyes narrowed.

  Draco puts his beer down, slowly turning to face me. A nasty, self-righteous grin plastered across his ugly visage. “I think you heard me, Remington.”

  In my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of Hillbilly Mountain Man aka Daryl. He, too, grins, clearly enjoying himself. I don’t ask myself if I should kill them. All that bothers me is which one I off first.

  Draco jumps from the barstool, moving nearer. “Do you think we’re stupid, Remington? Do you honest to God believe we don’t know whose fault all of this is?” He points at the crowd. Some, like Torres, nod. Others, like Amelia, avert their gazes. “You could have killed that witch.” Disgusted, he shakes his head. “Hell, her own mother came to you, begging you to kill her. But you screwed the little whore some more, didn’t you?”

  Lunging forward, I aim my fist at his crooked nose. Crimson splatters. My elbow thirsts for more, delivering a precise uppercut to the bastard’s left temple.

  Draco’s hip knocks into a table. The skin above his eyebrow is torn. “Witch-fucker,” he yells, attempting to strike back.

  I dodge his right hook, bringing my fist up to his chin. The impact sends him flying to the ground. I could stop. I should stop. I don’t.

  In a flash, I’m on top of him, assaulting his ugly face. The shit of the past few days bursts out of me. I’m a man out of control.

  “Alex!” Jesse catches my arm before I land another hit, demolishing Draco’s nose some more. “Stop.”

  It’s too late to stop the beast. Now that it’s unleashed, it demands blood. Draco’s blood. “Let the fuck go,” I yell, murder running through my system.

  Someone, I think Constantin, chuckles.

  “You’re killing him,” Jesse reasons with me.

  “Let. Go,” I warn, a deadly ring to my voice.

  Somehow, Draco manages to crawl out from under me. “Yeah,” he says, spitting fresh blood on the floor. “Let him go.” He wipes crimson off his face. “Let him show everyone what a failure of a hunter he is. It’s not like we didn’t already know.” He zooms in on the Lacroixs. “Look at him,” he says to the crowd. “Even now he consorts with those abominations.”

  Constantin steps forward. “Careful, dickhead.”

  “Or what?” Torres barks, helping his beat-up friend to his feet.

  Raphael, the calm and reasonable Lacroix brother, smiles. “Or we could show you what those abominations are capable of,” he says, with a calmness that’s both scary and downright impressive.

  Draco sways toward me. Looks like he hasn’t had enough. “You can hide behind your witch friends all you want, Remington. At the end of the day, you know damn well I’m right. This”—he tilts his chin at the other hunters—“is on you. Had you killed that whore when you had the chance, we wouldn’t face the end of days.”

  Whore. There’s that word again. It’s my fucking kill switch, turning me into a machine. My fists come up. I’m seconds away from ending Draco for good. Too bad Legend steps between us. “Enough.” He turns to Draco. “You don’t know what would have happened had he killed her.” Legend faces the bar full of hunters. “None of us does. And shoving the blame around isn’t going to help anyone right now.”

  Everyone, including the witch faction, stares at the Malleus dick, who did a very undickish thing. Hell, even Demon-Boy peeks over Mrs. Lacroix’s shoulder. He’s been hiding behind the mother of all mambas since the second he saw Legend.

  “All right.” Legend scrubs his inked fingers through his hair. “Let’s not waste any more time, okay? We’ve got a war ahead of us. A bloody one at that.”

  “He’s right,” Mrs. Lacroix agrees. “There’s plenty of time to murder each other after we kept hell at bay.”

  Draco laughs. “I ain’t taking orders from a—”

  “Shut your cakehole, Draco.” Amelia rises from her barstool, hand on her gun. “The woman has a point.”

  Draco gawks at Amelia. You could think the old woman is a damn alien or something. “But—”

  “You know how much I hate to repeat myself, don’t you?” She sounds like Berith, only scarier. Her face is like stone, but her trigger finger ready to do some damage.

  Draco—he’s always been petrified of Amelia—swallows. Hard.

  A victorious smile spreads across the huntress’ face. “All right, Alex. Let’s hear what you’ve got for us.”

  I’m in no position to fill everyone in. My thoughts revolve around broken bones, blood, and a very dead Draco. Jesse and B do the honors. To my surprise, the hunters listen to the mamba without cutting her off once. I attribute it to the fact most of them have penises and mamba or not, B is stunningly beautiful and incredibly smart.

  Torres is the first to speak once B and Jesse shared all the intel we have on the impending apocalypse. “What you’re saying is that Knight of Hell—”

  “The First Knight,” B corrects him.

  Torres waves her off. “Anyway, the demon is using the witch to open the gate to hell to let out…what exactly?”

  “Your worst nightmares,” the Princess of Hell answers.

  Chapter 38

  All eyes are on Berith. The Princess of Hell, who still looks like a devoted Sunday school goer, leans against the doorframe, her amber eyes roaming the crowd. Pink Nail Polish is by her side. Unlike her boss, and much like her brother, she’s a nervous wreck.

  The bar is wrapped in utter and complete silence. Berith pushes herself off the wall. “Did you miss me?” she whispers in my ear, her cold breath electrocuting the hair on the back of my neck.

  I ignore her flirtatious act and focus on what’s really important. “Where’s your backup?”

  She smiles like the devil. Then turns to Pink Nail Polish. “Would you?”

  The demon nods. Pushing the double doors open, she exposes a parking lot full of demons. Fuck. That’s…a damn legion. Seriously, there are hundreds of red-eyed mothers staring back at us.

  In the corner of my eye, I see hunters reaching for their guns, pointing them at the demon horde outside. As if bullets can help them.

  For once, the Lacroixs and the hunters share a common enemy. The witches stand taller than a skyscraper, ready to jump those bitches.

  In a dramatic motion, Berith rolls her eyes. “Would you all relax?” She sounds rather bored. “We all have the same goal,” she assures the anxious crowd.

  “I doubt that,” Mrs. Lacroix hisses.

  Amelia is by the mamba’s side, nodding. “Me too.”

  Berith turns her attention to Legend. The Malleus leader and his Hillbilly Mountain Man are calmer than the other hunters. But I recognize the spark in their eyes. It’s the same one I rocked every time I sent a witch to the wasteland. The Princess of Hell must see it, too. She just decides to ignore it. “You know you can’t stop them alone.” She gestures at her army. “But together, we stand a fighting chance.”

  Legend mulls it over. “A truce?”

  “Only until this is over,” she replies, making it clear she doesn’t want permanent peace.

  Daryl, the Mountain Man, nudges Legend. “You’re not buying this, are you?”

  The Malleus leader pays no attention to his protégé. “Make your case, demon. We’re listening.”

  Who the fuck made him boss?

  Berith addresses the crowd. “The First Knight wants to resume the finale battle. By breaking the last of the six locks, with the help of the witch, he will release every god, creature, and demon in hell, thereby forcing the creator’s hand. If they succeed, if the last lock is broken, there is no turning back. We will fight and”—she looks around—“all of you, petty humans, will perish first.”

  Whispers roar through the crowd. Fear, terror, desperation—it stretches like wild fire, poisoning
the already thick air.

  Draco steps up. “And how do you suggest we stop his witch whore and her knight?”

  I swear, by God, if he calls Manda that one more time, I will send him to hell. I have a feeling he’d be a great asset in the infernal regions.

  Mrs. Lacroix draws a deep breath. “We”—she gestures at her kids—“will slow the knight down.”

  “And they”—Berith points at her demon legion—“will take care of his army.”

  Of course, he has an army, too. Life isn’t fucked up enough already.

  “What about Amanda?” Legend sighs. “She’s an untouchable. Their”—he tilts his chin at the Lacroixs—“magic won’t affect her.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” I say, quicker than a bolt of lightning.

  Draco bursts into cruel laughter. “Hate to break it to you, pal, but screwing her ain’t going to solve the problem.”

  I’m all set to punch the bastard again. Too damn bad Jesse is quicker. “You just don’t know when to keep your fucking mouth shut, do you, Draco?”

  Peter presses the heel of his palm against his swelling eye. “Son of a bitch,” he cusses, under his breath. “You’re just like—”

  Berith snaps her fingers, sealing Draco’s mouth shut. “You’re giving me a headache,” she justifies her use of demonic power on a hunter in a bar full of hunters.

  No one—not even his BFF Torres—objects.

  Ignoring his why-the-fuck-aren’t-you-helping-me look, Amelia pushes past Draco. “All of this sounds good,” she says, bringing the conversation back on track. “You just missed one crucial fact. It’s a Knight of Hell we’re talking about; even if the witches can weaken him, he can’t be killed.”

  “Yes, he can.” Daryl’s chest swells with pride. “Killing those mothers is our specialty, ma’am.”

  Legend nods. “We’ll take care of him,” he assures the huntress, more serious but not less confident than Mountain Man.

  “And I’ll help them,” Berith adds.

  “Well then.” Amelia taps the heels of her red cowboy boots against the floor. “What are we waiting for?” She casts the other hunters a look. “Get ready. We’re about to go to war.”

  The crowd breaks into smaller groups. Weapons gathered, guns loaded, and new friendships made. Every now and then, a dirty look shoots my way. I ignore them to the best of my abilities.

  “Alexander?” Berith is beside me. “It’s time.”

  My heart swells, aware she’s about to give me Leandro’s location. But when I catch sight of Draco, joy turns into anguish. “Not here.”

  She walks out of the bar. I’m right behind her. The army of demons stares at us. I don’t give a rat’s ass. “Did you choose your people?”

  “Yes.”

  The princess smirks. “Well, I hope they deserve your trust.”

  JJ, Bay, and Constantin—a huntress, a Malleus member, and a voodoo priest—they couldn’t be more different. Yet they have one thing in common. All of them care about Manda. They won’t let anything happen to her son. “They do.”

  She waves two of her demons over. One, possessing a middle-aged woman. The other, a twenty-something dude with bad hair. “They’ll accompany your friends.” It’s an order, not a request.

  I don’t trust them, but what choice do I have? Besides, Constantin is there. He can send them back to hell if all levees break. “Fine.”

  She hands me a small piece of paper. On it, an address not very far from here. “They better hurry. My sources say the witch’s sister is in pretty bad shape.”

  She’s about to head back inside when I stop her. “Hey.”

  “Yes?”

  I hate to ask demons favors, but beggars can’t be choosers. “We could use a little distraction.” I point at the bar. “You know, to get them out without anyone noticing.”

  “Don’t worry.” Berith’s wicked grin says she has something up her sleeves. “I got you covered.”

  She marches back into the bar, clapping her hands. “Listen up everybody,” she shouts over their heads. “Here’s a little ‘How to survive a demon’ crash course for you. Knowing the First Knight, you’ll need it.”

  The hunters are a bit reluctant. When Legend abandons his—judging by the looks on their faces—not so pleasant conversation with Bay to join the Princess of Hell, the others follow suit.

  Berith teaches them counter attacks and mentions weaknesses. Legend adds a few tricks as well. Me? I nod at the trio about to save my son, signalizing it’s time.

  Slowly withdrawing from the crowd, we meet outside. “Is that it?” JJ asks as I hand her the address.

  “Yeah, that’s what the demon gave me,” I assure her.

  Constantin yanks the paper out of JJ’s hand. He shuts his eyes, doing God knows what. “It’s legit,” he says, after just a few seconds.

  I truly want to know how he can be so sure, but Bay’s sullen expression draws my attention away from B’s brother. An odd sensation courses down my spine. He spoke to Legend and now he looks like it’s the end of the world. Well, it sorta is; the end of the world I mean. Still, I don’t like it. “What did Legend want from you?” I figure it’s best to address the issue head on.

  Bay cocks a brow. “You mean apart from throwing me out of the order?”

  “He did what?” JJ barks.

  Bay rubs his bald scalp. “Yeah, well. He didn’t appreciate that I kept Manda’s whereabouts a secret.”

  Any other day, I’d feel for the hunter. It’s his life and Legend just took it from him. I know how that feels, believe me. But this isn’t any other day and the life of my son is, literally, in his hands. “I need to know,” I say, closing the distance between us. “Will this affect your mission?”

  He smiles. “You want to know if I would harm your little boy to get back on Legend’s good side?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, Alex.” He looks me in the eye, proving his point. “I won’t. I only ever joined them to find the killer of my father. They taught me everything I need to find him by myself.”

  I’m still not relieved, but I do believe him. “Good.” I ball my fists. “Because if anything happens to Leandro, I will kill you.”

  Constantin squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t worry, dickhead.” He flashes me an innocent smile. “I got your boy covered. You better make sure you got my girl.”

  Your girl? “Amanda isn’t—”

  “Hey,” one of the demons who will join the mission barks. “Can we hit it? We ain’t got all day.”

  “Let’s go,” Constantin says, heading to his car.

  I watch as they drive away, hoping, praying, begging I made the right choice.

  “Alex?” Carter peeks out of the door. “Can we talk?”

  I cross my arms. “There’s nothing to talk about.” He betrayed me. It’s that simple.

  “Please,” he begs. “Just hear me out.”

  He won’t stop until he lays his heart out. I gesture for him to get it over with, so I can go back inside to join the others.

  “I had to call them,” he says, sounding as miserable as he looks. “The world’s about to go up in flames. What did you expect me to do?”

  I look him in the eye. “I expected you to trust me, Carter.”

  “I didn’t have a choice, Alex. It’s the fucking end of the world.”

  “You always have a choice, Carter.” Manda taught me that.

  Chapter 39

  Three hours. Three fucking hours. Not a single text or call. The address Berith gave us is about twenty miles south of York. No way in hell it took them three hours to get there. Earlier, when I checked Google maps, I spotted the cottage almost immediately. It’s a bit hidden in the woods, but findable. So where are they? Why don’t they reply to my texts? Better question, why the fuck did I think it was a good idea to send them rather than going myself?

  Fuck! I should be the one out there looking for Leandro. He’s my son, my responsibility. So why am I sitting in a bar full of hunters and de
mons, watching them bitch at each other, while they get ready for a damn war instead?

  Because it’s safer for Leandro. My involvement in all of this made me the center of attention. Hunters would have asked questions had I vanished. And what would I have said? Sorry, guys, I gotta go get my half-hunter, half-witch son out of the First Knight’s claws? I might as well stick a bull’s eye on Leandro’s forehead.

  Draco walks past me, ogling my phone. I shove it in my back pocket, determined to keep it there for longer than two seconds. The mother is suspicious. Has been for a while. Even asked me about JJ. I made up some lame she’s-off-to-buy-herbs-for-the-charms excuse he didn’t buy.

  Distraction is what I need. I could join the rest of them. Maybe help Mrs. Lacroix carve protective charms out of greenwood like Amelia does. Or spar with the demons like all the other hunters do. Unlike me, they get ready to fight and die. The die part sounds fucked up, huh? The thing is we all know some of us, possibly all of us, won’t make it. You’d think there would be fear in the eyes of the hunters. Nope. There’s a spark of determination instead. Becoming a hunter means choosing death. We were aware of that when we signed up for the job. Some rainy day the hunter will become the prey. Manda calls that shit karma. Take enough lives and one day, you’ll pay with your own. But when you’ve lost someone at the hands of the supernatural—most of us have—you’re more than willing to pay the price. It’s why we look at death and see honor rather than fear. Taking your last breaths knowing you had purpose keeps us going. Well, it kept me going. My perception of death is no longer the same. It changed when Berith tossed Manda’s letter at my feet. The prospect of dying comes with guilt and fear. C’mon, where’s the honor in letting your son grow up without a father? Without someone to love and protect him, to teach him how to ride a goddamn bike? So yeah. Death, all of a sudden, seems like the coward’s way out.

  B slams a shot glass onto the sticky counter, pulling me out of my pity-party. “Bourbon?” I ask, ogling the amber liquid.

  She climbs on the barstool and shrugs. “You looked like you could use some.” Her voice lost the I-hate-Alex edge.