“Yes. Electra and you are third depending on which of you wants the title and position. I’m sure you could even rule together if you desired.”
“Electra can have it,” Isis laughed and shook her head. “I’m not a ruler.”
Passion smiled warmly. “You’d be surprised what you’re capable of.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“You lost it!? How could you have lost it!?” a furious shriek echoed throughout the halls of the manor and even the grotesque gargoyle-type sculptures seemed to shiver in fear at the icy bite of the voice. The few residents all melted into the shadows, hiding from their enraged mistress.
Adara’s yellow eyes flashed in anger. Gia smirked as she filed her nails, enjoying her nemesis being shamed. Onyx merely stood in the hallway, not offering any excuses. Her light brown eyes followed Adara and her face remained emotionless.
“Someone interfered and I didn’t know whether or not it was an agent of our new client. Erring on the side of caution seemed to be the wiser course of action,” Onyx explained. “I have since been assured that the mysterious man is not connected with Grenich and will take care of him should our paths cross again.”
“Please explain to me how you don’t even know when someone’s entered a windowed room,” Adara continued as she paced in front of the woman. “You are supposed to be one of the top assassins, and you don’t even know when someone’s approaching you!?”
“I’ll get that damn flashdrive,” Onyx stated with a nonchalant shrug, a hint of irritation creeping into her tone.
“How?” Adara spat at the assassin, twisting around to look at her. She had hated Onyx before the whole debacle at the museum. She just about loathed her now. I am surrounded by incompetence, Adara thought. They’re worse than humans.
“It won’t undo the feeling of betrayal, Onyx,” Gia taunted. Adara turned around and glared at her daughter, who was even more of a disappointment than Onyx. Gia swallowed and re-focused on filing her perfect nails in the shape of claws, avoiding her mother’s gaze.
“You’re going to help her find it,” Adara snapped, turning her back to her daughter and looking at Onyx. “I don’t want to see either of you again unless you have that flashdrive!”
“There is no way I’m working with her,” Gia whined.
“Did you not learn how useless your daughter is last night? Her only job was to act as a lookout and she still screwed that up. You’re really going to saddle me with her again?” Onyx asked. If there was one thing assassins hated — other than thieves — it was being forced to work with someone else. It was even worse if they had nothing but contempt for the assigned partner.
“Stop!” Adara shouted. “This constant questioning tells me you both need to be reminded whom you work for. So, I’m ordering you to work together, though god knows you’ll probably just continue failing.”
“And what happens when new management takes over this territory?” Onyx asked.
“Don’t test me, Onyx.”
Adara turned and stormed up the main stairs toward her bedroom. Stepping into the large room, Adara realized she wasn’t alone and drew the knife she always carried on her, her eyes traveling around the space. The room was decorated from floor to ceiling in various shades of gold, one of her favorite colors. A large blood red chair sat in the far corner. The satin sheets on her bed were pale gold in color, standing out from the drab color of the floor and walls. Everything was done extravagantly, fit for a queen.
Adara closed the door behind her, creeping further into the room. She turned around and felt her jaw drop open when she saw the man sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, someone whom she hadn’t seen in many years.
He had piercing gray eyes and sharp features. His dark hair was always short, almost in a crew cut. He was wearing a long greenish brown leather trench coat with a dark-colored hoodie beneath it. The man always had an intensely serious look on his face and no one ever really knew what he was thinking. Sitting in the chair, twisting the ring on his pinky finger, he didn’t look up or acknowledge her presence in any way.
“Blackjack,” Adara breathed in surprise. The name was from his years on pirate ships — a moniker he had picked up along the way. He drifted in and out of towns, leaving a path of death and destruction in his wake. After Roan and Draco were out of the picture, Blackjack had taken the title of most accomplished and feared assassin in the world.
“I suppose this is the part where I ask what you’re doing in town,” Adara commented. Blackjack smirked and shook his head as he folded his hands in his lap.
“No, this is where I ask what the hell you’re doing,” he corrected with his trademark coolness. Blackjack was the most unflappable man Adara had ever met. She sheathed her knife and crossed her arms over her chest.
“This is my territory,” Adara stated. “What I do is none of your concern.”
Blackjack clicked his tongue at her, shaking his head as he twisted the ring he wore on his pinky. It was gold with a small glass in the center that contained a single drop of blood. Whose blood it was, nobody knew.
“Actually, that’s not entirely accurate, since I’ve taken on a new client. I believe you know him,” Blackjack replied, his eyes flicking up briefly to Adara’s face. She swallowed, glancing to where she knew he kept a concealed firearm. Blackjack only ever carried three weapons on him: two guns and a military knife. He never formed attachments to weapons, like most assassins did, and changed the weapons he carried based on the times.
“Are you implying you’re going to challenge my position? I really don’t think that would go well for you,” she mentioned. “I didn’t figure you for the type to put down roots anyway.”
“Times change, so do shape shifters,” he responded. “I have no interest in challenging you. If I desire this territory, I’ll just take it.”
Blackjack rose to his feet, moving toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
Blackjack paused. “He got tired of your incompetence, so now I have to do the job that you can’t while making sure you don’t become a nuisance. Stay out of my way and make sure your people do the same, or you’ll have him to answer to.”
Adara watched as he opened the door and left her room. She glanced around, trying to figure out how he got in. The room was strangely colder than it usually was.
*~*~*~*~*
“Hey stranger.”
Isis glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Steve when he stepped around the bench, taking a seat next to her. He was wearing his usual everyday clothes: a regular red and white shirt, torn jeans, and old sneakers.
“Please don’t dress up on my account,” Isis remarked, giving his clothes a pointed look.
“I’m sorry, your majesty. I forgot that you were a fashionista,” Steve laughed as he stretched his arms across the back of the bench. Isis snickered and gazed out across the park. It was a beautiful day. The sun beamed down on the vibrant green grass. The statue of the town’s founder, or “some random guy” as Isis called him, stood watch over the vast open space. They sat on a green bench in front of the path that encircled the small lake, where people enjoyed fishing or racing model boats. There were some people fishing on the other side. Isis watched as two college-age women roller-bladed past them.
“So, where’ve you been?” Steve asked. “I was beginning to get worried when you didn’t call and there wasn’t an APB on you. Then some of the guys started talking about there being a new crime photographer for the paper.”
“Quit my job,” Isis explained. “I’ve decided to take the road less traveled.”
Steve stared at her, but didn’t seem entirely taken by surprise. Isis twisted her body toward him, resting one arm on the back of the bench, waiting for whatever lecture he would try giving her. If he only knew the absolute lunacy my life has become, she thought.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do for money?” Steve asked. “Are you going to leave town again?”
Isis st
ared at him for a moment, suspicious. “Why aren’t you more surprised?”
Steve smiled. “Isis, please. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve had a restless personality. You’re not the type to stay in one place for very long and you were never happy with that job. Hell, I’m surprised you kept it as long as you did.”
“Right,” Isis said skeptically. “I haven’t decided yet what I’m going to do.”
“Shae’s probably going to pitch a fit,” Steve warned, amusement clear in his voice. Isis frowned as she stared at her friend. She was getting a very strange vibe off Steve.
“What’s new on the force?” she asked, deciding to change the subject. Steve shrugged and glanced down the gravel path when a cool breeze swept over them.
“Nothing much,” he responded. “Things have become mercifully boring again. Are we going to lunch or what?”
Isis stared at him. “What’s the rush? Are you on the clock or something?”
“Nah, I’ve just been sitting for too long and I’m getting hungry,” Steve said as he stood up. He put his hands in his pockets and nodded over his shoulder. Isis stood up, following her friend.
“The squad hates the new photographer almost as much as they hated you,” Steve jested. “I never thought that was possible.”
“I’m touched,” Isis quipped. She glanced over her shoulder when she thought she heard a twig snap. There was a brown rabbit a few feet behind them, nibbling on some kind of vegetation. His large round eyes fell on Isis and he briefly stopped chewing the leaf in his mouth. Isis turned her eyes back to the path ahead, trying not to be paranoid. Since finding out about shape shifters, she found she was looking at wildlife in a whole different light.
“What’s wrong?” Steve asked as he glanced behind them.
“Nothing,” Isis replied. “I thought I heard a twig snapping or something.”
“What’s this I hear about you moving out?” Steve inquired.
“Yeah, I’m going on the road for a while. Until I find some place that feels like home,” Isis explained, wishing that she could do that. Jet had been adamant about keeping her friends and family in the dark. She was only to tell them enough to prevent any suspicion or further questioning. For the most part, she was fine with the order but she had fought him about Steve. Isis never lied to Steve and she hated to start.
“Are you working for the CIA?” Steve teased. Isis rolled her eyes over to him, giving him one of her trademark dry looks.
“Yeah, me working for the government,” Isis laughed. “That’ll be the day.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Isis. I always thought you’d make a fantastic covert operative,” Steve remarked. “Kicking the shit out of random bad guys and getting paid for it.”
“And I’m sure my issues with authority wouldn’t be a detriment at all,” Isis pointed out as the two shared a laugh.
Another twig snapped, causing both Steve and Isis to turn around. Isis pulled her baton out of the scabbard clipped to the back of her jeans and flicked it toward the ground, pressing the button to expand it to its full length.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got your gun on you,” Isis murmured under her breath.
“It was an animal, Isis,” he said. “We’re in a park. For godsakes, put the baton away. There are people around.”
Isis quickly hid the weapon behind her back when a group of joggers went by them, smiling politely. The minute the group passed, her smile disappeared. Isis pressed the button and leaned on the baton, collapsing it again. She slid it back in the scabbard, glancing over at Steve, who looked nothing short of exasperated.
“What have I told you about weapons?” he began.
“I don’t know, Steve. Whenever you start lecturing me, it just becomes noise,” Isis replied. She stepped past him to continue down the path. Steve shook his head and followed.
“You’re positive that you’re not working deep undercover for the CIA?” he asked. Isis smiled and playfully pushed him with her shoulder. Steve laughed and shook his head, glancing behind them.
“I really have missed you the past couple months,” he said, sobering. Isis grinned as she looked up at him.
“I know. Me too,” she admitted. Steve stopped and gasped, causing her to go rigid as she looked around. She expected to see a huge tree of a guy or something equally intimidating. Instead she was greeted with the sight of nothing and she looked back to her friend.
“My god, Isis. Did you actually admit to caring about someone?” Steve asked, trying to keep a straight face. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him.
“You are such an asshole sometimes,” she grumbled, but smiled despite herself. He just laughed and continued down the path.
“Where do you want to get lunch?” he asked, nearly groaning when she shrugged. Isis couldn’t help but smile, knowing how much her indecision could get on her friend’s nerves. They finally stepped out of the park and were greeted with the overwhelming sounds of traffic: blaring horns, screeching sirens and alarms, roaring engines. They both cringed; neither one particularly enjoyed the overwhelming noise in cities and towns.
“What else have I missed while I was away?” Isis asked, pulling her sunglasses from the top of her head and slipping them over her eyes. “Anything juicy?”
“No more disappearing bodies if that’s what you’re asking about,” Steve replied. “We do have a couple of bodies, possible work of a serial killer.”
“Really?”
“I don’t need to tell you that bit of information doesn’t leave the two of us.”
“Yes, Steve. I know not to go blabbing about possible serial killers,” Isis said with a shake of her head. Steve was so tightly wound at times and she sometimes wondered how he slept at night.
“It’s Loman’s case, but he wanted a fresh set of eyes on it,” Steve explained. “Same method, but no connection between the victims other than they were both women.”
“Ah, mommy issues,” Isis remarked, her dark sense of humor rearing its head. Her sense of humor was morbid at times and always had been. Steve got it, Shae got it, but most people didn’t.
Steve stopped and gently grabbed Isis’ elbow. “I don’t have to remind you to be careful, do I?”
“Got it, Steve. No taking candy or rides from strangers. Again, queer woman here. I’m well aware of how dangerous the world is, especially when it comes to men with a sense of entitlement,” Isis reminded him. Steve had always been overprotective of her and it did get on her nerves. She glanced down to her right hip when she felt her phone vibrate, groaning when she saw the number. Of course it would be him, she thought, massaging her brow.
“Steve, I’m going to have to take a rain check on lunch,” Isis said. Steve looked at her in surprise, tilting his head.
“I’m sorry, it’s just . . .” Isis paused and tried to think of a lie, but she couldn’t. “I’ll make it up to you, okay? I promise.”
“Sure,” Steve replied, although she could tell he still had questions. So much for not arousing suspicion, Isis thought as she turned around and hurried toward where she had parked. She could feel Steve’s eyes on her back the whole way.
*~*~*~*~*
Jet flipped through a police file that an informant of his, Detective Loman, had faxed over. Loman was a police informant who also had some valuable FBI contacts. He always had reliable information and trusted protectors — Jet in particular — completely. The Loman family was one of the few human families who knew all about shape shifters and guardians. The knowledge was passed down through the generations, parent to child. It had been that way since any shape shifter could remember, and would most likely remain that way for generations to come.
Jet glanced at the photo of a murder victim. Whenever Loman found something that suggested any kind of supernatural interference he would send it to Jet. The victim had been stabbed, nothing new, but what worried Jet was the trademark that was etched in his mind. He hadn’t seen it since he was a boy, but he would remember it for as lon
g as he lived. An ace and king of spades had been rammed into the victim’s eyes. Blackjack was in town. Of all the things I really don’t need right now, he thought as he ran a hand over his face. If anyone could successfully challenge Adara, it would be Blackjack.
The sound of a door shutting drew Jet out of his dark memories and he glanced up. Isis stood in front of the door, looking nothing short of livid. Her hands were on her hips and her body was rigid.
“How am I supposed to avoid suspicion when I’m always running off?” she almost demanded. He leaned back in his chair, amusement dancing across his face despite her angry tone. She would most likely maim me if I told her that she sounds exactly like her mother, he thought. Unlike Passion, there was still a certain amount of deference in Isis’ voice. That was probably on account of her entire life being turned upside down fairly recently.
“Isis, I warned you that you might be called at any time,” Jet replied calmly. “Not just whenever it’s convenient.”
Isis scowled as she flopped down in a chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes traveled around the room before settling on Jet again.
“Where are the other three?” she asked.
“I met with them a little earlier. You were a bit harder to track down,” Jet explained as he stood up from the chair and moved around the desk, holding the file in his hand. “It actually works out better this way, since you’re the newest to this world. I must warn you that what I’m about to show you is very graphic.”
Isis leaned forward and grabbed the folder from him, flipping it open. Jet was rather disturbed when she had no visible reaction to the gruesome pictures. She paged through them as she would a book before looking back to him, expectantly.
“That’s it? So some sicko has a thing for cards,” Isis said, handing the file back to Jet. His felt his mouth drop open as he stared at her, unsure how to respond. She fidgeted a little in her chair and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
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