Destined to Reap (Reaping Fate Book 3)

by Kinsley Burke

  My breath held until Maude was safely tucked away inside her office, behind closed doors. I then let out a whoosh and staggered to my desk, collapsing into my chair. Miss Prim poofed to my side.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “Is everything jake with you?”

  “Jake?” I leaned over to stare at HG, who only shrugged, before I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out a notepad and pen. “No, nothing’s all right at all.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making a list.”

  “Why?”

  “Because lists are calming,” I said.

  “How?”

  My eyes shot up to glare at the vexing ghost with ten million questions. “They’re organized.”

  Something my life never seemed to be.

  HG popped up on the other side of Miss Prim. “What’s a Reagan?”

  I glanced down at the name written next to the number one on the paper. “Not a what, a who. She’s Wilcox—Ty’s younger sister.”

  “Ty?” Miss Prim squealed. “You’re on a first-name basis?”

  HG cleared his throat.

  The flushed ghost with a beaming face abruptly became somber. “This is one of those Now’s not the time, isn’t it?”

  HG nodded.

  “I need to make a list of every female twenty-something in the city who is either Irish or of Irish descent,” I said. “I thought about Reagan on my way here, but I don’t think Ty’s considered her yet.”

  “Why?” HG asked. “What’s important about these women?”

  “A demon-possessed human is on a killing spree, and I need to figure out who the next intended victim is and save her.”

  “We can do this.” Miss Prim squared her shoulders. “Tell me who you’ve got and I’ll check on them.”

  After a brief glance at my list, I looked up to the face of the determined dead woman. “Reagan. She’s all I got. What’s the best way to track down this information? Where do I begin?”

  “Why are these woman being murdered and how?” HG asked.

  “It’s staged as suicides,” I said. “Ty and Andrew think it’s actually murder, and the killer is really after me.”

  “Damon,” Miss Prim said.

  “What about Damon?” I asked. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “He threw a stink when you never showed,” HG said. “Then he asked Maude a question, looked grim, and left.”

  “What question?”

  “Don’t know.” HG glanced to his side. “Someone prevented me from hearing the end of the conversation.”

  The female ghost in the room turned as pink as her deathly pale skin allowed. I decided there were some questions I didn’t want answered.

  “Should we follow Damon again?” Miss Prim asked.

  My head shook. “No, we’re not certain it’s my death he wants. I already have someone looking into him.”

  “What’s next on the list?”

  “Figuring out the next victim is a priority, but we also need to find a safe deposit box.”

  “What’s in it?” HG asked.

  “Not certain.” I shrugged. “Maybe nothing? Todd Ashford had a key to a box, and it might contain something important.”

  “You have no clue where to start with this one either, do you?”

  “Well, crap.” I rubbed my temples.

  “I’ll have you the name of every bank with safe boxes by the end of the day.” HG poofed.

  My eyes darted in the direction of Miss Prim. “He realizes this city has a lot of banks, right?”

  She shrugged. “You could try the phone book to look up anyone with an Irish sounding last name.”

  “Yeah, well, I think there needs to be a more productive and less time-consuming method.”

  “How about—”

  The door to Fated Match opened, and a stylish woman entered. I could tell the cut of her clothing was tailored and expensive. The makeup she wore was immaculate. Her dark skin glowed, and I had to wonder at the woman’s moisturizer regimen and where I could purchase some so my own skin could look even half that good. Not that I could afford anything above the price of nil. She no doubt could. Another rich, spoiled client for Maude… except this one seemed different. She approached me with a pleasant smile. A good majority of the clientele Maude drew in weren’t friendly to the receptionist.

  “Hello, Kiara,” she greeted. “I’m Trashae Johnson. I’ll be the event coordinator for the Bennett wedding.”

  My brows rose, knowing the real reason for this woman’s presence. “Welcome. Soooo…” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Are you really a wedding planner?”

  “I am whatever you need for me to be.”

  “What does that mean?” Miss Prim hissed.

  Trashae’s eyes lifted, and she appeared to be staring at the ghost.

  “Can you see her?” I asked.

  My new I’m-not-certain-how-she’ll-pull-this-off protector glanced back to me. “No, I can only sense where the ripple of her crossing planes exists. A friend of yours?”

  “We’re best friends, actually,” Miss Prim said. “So if you’re an evil demon planning to kill her, know that I’ll make your life a living hell for all eternity.”

  Miss Prim actually said the word hell. The ghost meant serious business. I tried holding back my smile as I said, “She can’t hear you, and she’s not a demon.”

  “Oh.” The ghost paused a moment in thought. “It’s best you relay my message anyway, just in case she decides to ever become evil.”

  “Where do we go from here?” I asked, turning back to Trashae.

  “Let’s begin by introducing me to Maude.”

  “Remember, it’s always Ms. Taggart.” I picked up the phone receiver and dialed Maude’s extension. Never was I to appear in Maude’s office unless invited. “Ms. Taggart, the event planner I told you about this morning has arrived.”

  A moment later Maude appeared in her doorway looking a combination of bored and irritated from being disturbed. Her eyes flecked over Trashae before she drew up to full height and asked, “Your credentials?”

  That was what I wanted to know. How did Andrew think this was going to work? Quietly reaching for my computer mouse, I did a quick Internet search and brought up… nothing. Absolutely nothing. As far as cyberspace was concerned, this Trashae Johnson didn’t exist. The weights Tristen often made me press during training sessions settled into the pit of my stomach. Resume needed a dusting off for sure. It didn’t have to be anything more than a temp job that I scored next considering some seriously bad guys were trying to get their way. Their way being my death.

  “Ms. Taggart,” Trashae said, extending her hand and waiting for Maude to reciprocate before continuing. “I’m here as a favor to a dear friend, but if you would like to see my work, simply pull up the biggest celebrity weddings over the past five years.”

  Yup, I was screwed. This would not end well. For me. Never for me.

  “Ms. Bennett is a very important client of mine,” Maude said. “The wedding needs to be spectacular. A press covered event.”

  “Not a problem, Ms. Taggart. Dylan Andrews, who starred in last summer’s blockbuster and has made this year’s World’s Top Ten Most Gorgeous Men list, hired me to oversee his wedding last month.”

  “The one on the South Carolina plantation?”

  Trashae nodded a confident affirmation.

  The only problem? According to the online celebrity blogs my continuous Internet searching pulled up, the wedding planner had been a woman named Tracey Jankes.

  Expressions on Maude’s botoxed face were often hard to determine, but this particular one appeared to be skeptical. A well-manicured hand planted itself on a trim hip as she said, “No, you won’t do. I’ve never heard of you before, and if you’re as big as you say, I would already know your name.”

  “Are you certain you don’t?” Trashae’s eyes widened. Their color appearing almost gold. “My name is Trashae Johnson.”

  Ma
ude’s eyelids fluttered shut for a brief moment. Opening them, my sour, too-demanding boss broke free of her collagen-induced prison and smiled. “Trashae Johnson. Welcome, I’m so honored to have you here. Yes, yes, of course, I recall the wedding you did for Dylan Andrews and the one last year for Sasha Ryan.”

  What the… Okay, weird. All it would take was for Maude to return to her office and do a quick Google to determine Trashae had fabricated this entire tale. I refreshed the web page I’d been browsing and watched as the letters forming the name Tracy Jankes transformed into Trashae Johnson.

  Eyes blinked back the cloudy confusion that’d overtaken them. Except when I refocused on the computer screen… it still said Trashae Johnson. Weird. Still… rubbing at my outer lids, I felt certain there was something stuck on my eyeballs causing hallucinations.

  Nope. Regardless of my actions, the change in text remained. According to the top celebrity blog, Trashae was now who she claimed to be. Turning to catch Miss Prim’s eye, I about rolled off my chair from the look of adoration radiating from the ghost’s oval face.

  Miss Prim leaned toward me and whispered, “I read all about Trashae Johnson in last month’s celebrity magazines. She’s a big deal.”

  Holy crap. It was as if reality had shifted or something. Trashae glanced at me and gave a knowing wink.

  Well, Wilcox had said this woman was special. Because it was either that, or I now met the criteria to be admitted into a mental institution.

  And straitjackets weren’t my thing.

  The day shot all of my practical, organized lists to Hell, and it was only eleven o’clock in the morning. And speaking of the fiery pits, I was past due for a new mark to hunt down and stab into a ball of glowing flames. Never before had an assignment to my front doormat been late.

  Thoughts of Psycho Praedator’s claim that I was receiving elite marks invaded, which made me recall that Red-Eyed Ghost—The Original—was sending me personalized messages via martyrs, which made me ask What. The. Hell?

  Life. Mine was never getting back to any resemblance of normal. Suck it up, Ghost Hunter. Slayer? Perhaps that was the more appropriate word choice? Certainly not of demons—I might be forced to hunt myself, otherwise. No Buffy in the job description. Tristan was the only vampire I knew anyway. Regardless, this existence of mine was turning out to have received the short end of the stick.

  Trashae emerged from an hour-long wedding discussion behind closed doors with Maude. Finally. New on the list: Determine what type of magical creature this woman was. Pronto. Because the Internet that had been previously void of anything so much as a Twitter or Facebook account, was now flooded with hundreds of Trashae accolades.

  “Kiara.” Maude stepped into the room. “You are to work with Ms. Johnson and help her with anything she needs. Anything.” That anything translated into don’t screw this up, or I’ll have your head. There was only one other person Maude expected me to jump through hoops for. Apparently, our thoughts had hit the same stride when she asked, “Where are we with Desiree’s date with James Hogan?”

  Nowhere. I smiled. “Working on it.”

  “Work faster.” She disappeared from view, and that was much how I preferred to see Maude Taggart.

  Trashae took a seat in Miss Prim’s vacated chair. “Your friend left?”

  “She’s out ensuring that every dead person within the county limits is aware that she met the Trashae Johnson.” I set my jaw and placed both hands on top of the desk. “How the hell did you do that?”

  “First, you need to understand there must always be a balance,” Trashae said. “When negative energy is turned into—”

  “I’m sorry,” I interrupted. “But I don’t care about balance. I care about understanding how suddenly Maude thinks you’re some sort of wedding planner when seconds before she’d never heard your name.”

  “Balance is first before I can explain anything else.” My cell phone chirped a text message. Trashae glanced at it and said, “I think you need to answer that.”

  It was a text from Lacey Briggs.

  Are you here yet?

  Where was here? Before I could contemplate the question, my phone rang. The number showing was my mother’s.

  “Hi, darling. Let Lacey know we’re running a little behind. But don’t worry, we’ll be there soon. This is the best part of wedding planning, don’t you think?”

  “I’m sorry… what?”

  “Kiara, are you feeling all right?”

  “I’m fine. Where are you going?”

  “To the cake tasting, of course,” my mother said. “Please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”

  “I thought I was no longer allowed to participate in the planning?” I’d even treated myself to a halfway nice dinner at the news stemming from the ceremony venue fiasco a couple of weeks before.

  “Darling, why would you not be allowed to participate in your best friend’s wedding?”

  “Do what?”

  “The bakery’s on the corner of Marsh and Seventh. Please hurry.”

  “But—” I spoke to dead air since my mother had already hung up. Looking over at Miss-Better-Start-Talking-Fast, I asked, “What did you do?”

  Maude stepped back out of her office, and I was seconds away from screaming at her to go back inside. Answers were needed, and her presence was disrupting the conversation I wished to have. Fortunately, Mouth was much more rational than Emotions. That damn paycheck and all. Money sucked.

  “Maude,” Trashae said before I could speak. “I’m going out to make pre-bakery selections for the cake tasting. Kiara will accompany me.”

  “You have an appointment scheduled in an hour,” I said to Maude, knowing I wouldn’t be allowed anywhere until she was finished with clients for the day.

  Except… whatever was right suddenly became wrong, and vice versa. Damn.

  “I can handle the client,” Maude said. “Go find the most perfect bakery within a hundred miles for the Bennett wedding. No one forgets a cake.”

  “Do you doubt my ability to locate the best?” Trashae asked.

  “Never.” Maude graced a rare smile before turning and reentering her office.

  No answers were forthcoming from my new sidekick during the trek to the pastry shop. Upon entering the establishment, Lacey lunged herself at me. A tight hug to disguise the choking me to death part, I was certain.

  Stepping back, she squealed. “I was so worried you wouldn’t make it. Who’s this?” Her eyes widened as she studied Trashae. “Oh-my-gosh-you’re-Trashae-Johnson!”

  “I’m consulting on a wedding with Ms. Taggart. Would you care for any suggestions with your own?”

  “Would I?” Lacey whipped around to face me. “This is so exciting.”

  “What’s exciting, dear?”

  My mother stepped into the cramped waiting area of the bakery, and she wasn’t alone. It wasn’t Lacey’s mother she stood with, either.

  “Sean?” I asked. “What are you doing here?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be here?” he asked. “It’s my wedding.” Sean’s voice lowered to a teasing tone. “Kiara, don’t tell me you’ve hit the hard stuff in the middle of the day?”

  “Sean, stop harassing your sister.” My mother winked before pulling an exasperated face.

  Who were these people?

  “Welcome.” A short, balding man stepped out from a back room in the shop. “Is this the Briggs-Blake wedding?”

  “It is,” Lacey said. “Except Ms. Johnson is here with us today.”

  The baker’s jaw dropped. “Trashae Johnson? What an honor it is to have you in my store.”

  “The honor is all mine.”

  “Come.” The baker gestured. “Everything is ready.”

  We were seated at a small table. Plates were set in front of us, each containing four small cupcakes. The baker scurried around, and if he’d given his name in introduction, I’d never heard it. But he looked like a Mr. Dumpling, so that’s what I went with.

  “Now tel
l me, bride-to-be.” Mr. Dumpling beamed down at Lacey. “Have you thought about the design concept and number of layers in the cake you want made?”

  Lacey pulled out clippings from her purse and a quick discussion that I had zero interest in partaking ensued.

  “Kiara, have you done something new with your hair?” my mother asked.

  I reached up to touch my dark locks. “No.”

  “Well, it looks lovely.”

  A compliment from my mother? I had relocated to the Twilight Zone, and there was no memory of packing.

  “… and this is our chocolate almond cake with raspberry mousse filling covered in a chocolate ganache,” the baker said. “And last we have a pink champagne with rum infused custard and whipped cream frosting.”

  Apparently, I’d missed hearing about the first two selections. With the turbulence inside my stomach bordering on the I’m gonna throw-up, I really didn’t care.

  The other seated patrons didn’t share my concern. Cupcakes were eaten. Discussions held. There was some laughter. Even a bit of bubbly.

  “The champagne flavored one most definitely,” Lacey said, swiping Sean’s remaining portion of that particular flavor off his plate.

  “Hazelnut with peanut butter,” my brother announced. “The only reason you want the champagne is because you love to drink the stuff.”

  “Too true.” Lacey lifted her flute to her lips for another sip. “What about you, Kiara? Are you not eating?”

  “I don’t feel well.” Flipping out over everyone’s odd behavior was the more elaborate explanation for my ailment, but I wasn’t up to speaking long enough to explain. Instead, I issued side glares to the woman who, somehow, was responsible for this psychedelic trip into Wonderland. Trashae faked oblivion as she enjoyed her cupcakes. Knowing her to be a fraud in the event planning department, therefore cake tasting not being a routine occurrence in her life, she honestly appeared to be enjoying the time spent stuffing her belly amongst the doppelgängers masquerading as my family. But then, who didn’t like cake? Except me at that precise moment.

  “I know it’s still early,” Lacey said, leaning toward me with voice lowered, “but have you started planning the bachelorette party?”