“And you are?” Lacey asked.
“A friend.”
“No, you’re not.” Lacey adjusted the Kate Spade bag on her shoulder and pursed her mouth into the bitch-look I’d gotten to know quite well back in the days of school dances and calculus. “I’m Kiara’s friend, and you’re nothing more than a…” Lacey’s eyes flicked dismissively over the Praedator. “A goth wannabe. Seriously? That look was out ages ago. Your skin looks sallow. Check out the cosmetics counter over there. It will do you good.”
Pitch-black eyes narrowed. “New Girl, who is this lackey, and why is she speaking to me?”
“Lackey?” Lacey screeched. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
A half-demon who could totally flatten the butt problem I hadn’t realized Lacey had until our visit to the clothing store. But hey, not my problem if they wanted to kill each other…
Wait. Were they going to kill each other? I could only hope.
Psycho Praedator drew up to full height. My money was on her. But then, she had the unfair advantage with being supernatural and all. Perhaps I should root for the underdog?
Eyes slid a glance in the direction of my decade-long nemesis. Nah. Lacey was on her own with this one.
“Leave,” Psychotic Bitch said. “My discussion is with Kiara.”
“The gall, thinking you have the right to tell me what to do.”
The Praedator began unbuttoning her blue pea coat. Yup, Lacey was toast.
Wait a second… The mall and Psycho Praedator mixed like a candy store and a disciplined diabetic. The last time my path had crossed with such evilness wearing Louboutin…
A glance around the rotunda revealed my mark. He stood near a mall kiosk while making several radio-controlled airplanes fly without the use of the controls. Children were delighted as they stood staring upward in slacked-jaw awe as a small A-10 Thunderbolt whizzed up to the glass dome. The teenaged employee tending the cart was busy ripping off his name badge and gathering up his personal belongings. I was pretty certain he left his jacket behind as he fled. The cash register drawer certainly hadn’t been counted out. Still, I was placing bets the clerk wouldn’t return.
Considering my options, I realized the two vexations in my life were still facing off in their arrogant attempts to one-up the other. No flaming sword in sight, much to my dismay. Psycho Praedator had more restraint than I’d previously given her credit for.
Now was the time for me to practice some self-control of my own. Because… the damned demon was still after my marks. My marks. What part of that was hard for Psycho Bitch to understand? Me and mine. Not hers.
There had to be a reason behind the sneaky antics, and one that wasn’t good. For me. Perhaps another visit from Sebastian was my future if the psycho got her way? A disciplinary meeting with the King of Hell himself?
Like hell, there would be.
Marching over to stand beside the unruly spirit, I announced, “Free ice cream in the food court.”
Eight pairs of small legs took off in a run. Five pairs of adult-sized ones scrambled after, yelling at hearing-selective ears to stop right this minute. There was no stopping in free ice cream.
“What will you do when they discover your lie?” my mark asked.
“Not your concern.”
“You’ll break their young hearts.”
“Like you care.”
“Ouch.” The model plane fell from the sky… or, rather, ceiling. It didn’t survive the crash. The ghost didn’t appear to notice. “How would you like to go flying?”
“I think I’ll pass.”
“Who says you have a choice?”
My eyebrows—and that was plural since I still sucked at the singular—raised. “What? Not going to accommodate me by throwing yourself against my sword?”
Cold energy revved and I flew up a couple of feet off the ground.
Guess not.
“A bit of a novice, Praedator?”
“Not really,” I bit out. “Only hopeful you were as accommodating as the last.”
“If there are any last words, speak them…”
He frowned, his gaze losing focus on my struggles. Lot of good that did me. I remained fighting against the pulsing energy, seeking to find grounding with my feet.
Public space was not ideal for a ghostly encounter, despite the fact that we stood off behind a set of escalators, partially out of sight. Well, he stood off. I flung my arms around while suspended in air and out of the two, I was the only visible one. As I said… not ideal.
Right when I’d decided to switch tactics from discovering a way to plant my feet on solid ground, to withdrawing my sword and luring the ghost close enough to reach my blade, I fell. And it hurt.
“You’re the one,” the marked ghost said.
Struggling to my feet, I paused at the sight that had nabbed his unearthly attention. An Imp. A red two-footed hellion with harsh angular features and razor-sharp teeth. It had been stalking me for weeks. A spy, per Miss Prim. Servant to a Warlock household. Which Warlock this particular demon belonged to, I’d yet determined. The only certainty was that it didn’t report back to either Philip or Damon. Okay… somewhat sure. Perhaps not at all?
“Take me.” The mark spread his arms wide. A total 180 from two seconds before.
“No.” I crossed my arms over my chest. This sudden splurge of ghostly compliance when facing final destination was still under the heading of mystifying. I didn’t do befuddlement.
“You’re no good to us in Hell, Praedator. Take me, or it’s you who will be taken.”
I quirked my brows at him.
“Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I’m stupid,” the ghost said.
Where had I heard that one before?
“Now, hunter.”
With a sigh, I pulled my sword. He was right, the consequences were high. Today was day three, and he had to go. But this martyr shit needed an explanation. Marked souls bound for Hell demanding an encouraging send-off was becoming not so black and white. Gray. Many, many shades of gray were occurring. Except not like in that book.
My blade lit.
“Glad to have you on our side.” His departing words.
No, no, no. I stared at the now vacant space. That’s what the last ghost had said. What. The. Hell? I’m not on the evil-ghost side. Looking over to catch a glimpse at the Imp, I realized he’d fled. Probably concerned I’d hold my flame-wielding sword to his neck while demanding answers. Stupid demon… because I totally would have. Explanations were required. Now.
“Kiara? What the hell are you doing with that sword?”
I looked up. Lacey stood in front of me with head cocked. Her hand was protectively drawn up to her chest as her weary gaze remained settled on my blade.
“What sword?”
“That one.” Lacey pointed to the object held in my hand. “Where did you get it?”
“Have you been drinking?”
Lacey’s non-sallow skin flushed into red. Deep red. “I have not. Now tell me what you’re doing with a weapon. Are you planning to stab me?”
Well, crap. Brazening my way out of this was not in my deck of cards. Obviously. Before a Plan B could be conceived, an incoming text on my phone dinged.
Why is Desiree Hurst requesting termination of her contract?
Maude. Shit. Like I’d said… not my day.
Chapter 12
“You’re supposed to say Welcome, we will now begin.”
My glance slid sideways to the seated ghost who was back to dressing in her usual swing skirt and white button-up.
“Nope.” HG tugged down his cap. “Say something like Thanks for coming on such short notice.”
“Hush,” Miss Prim said. “You be quiet. You’re not even supposed to be here.” She faced me. “Make him leave.”
“Are we ready to begin?” Desiree Hurst asked. “I have drinks at ten.”
“What she said.” Miss Prim pointed at the model who was casting not-so-subtle glances at her watch.
“You need to work on how to properly open meetings, Kiara.”
It was eight o’clock on a Sunday night, and five of us sat in the lobby chairs at Fated Match. As far as Desiree was concerned, only three people were in attendance. Herself included. My last-ditch effort to keep Maude’s number two from shoving her contract down the sharp teeth of a shredder was starting off on shaky grounds.
Standing up from my chair, I turned toward my ace card. The celebrity reason why Desiree was willing to show up last-minute on the night after the scheduled event. The person who owed me big—and I mean huge.
“Thank you for coming,” I said. “I’d like to turn this meeting over to tonight’s guest speaker, Ms. Trashae Johnson.”
I took my seat.
“You were supposed to start with some chitchat,” Ms. Prim said. “Remind us of what took place during the last gathering.”
What last gathering?
“Inform us of upcoming events.”
Oh, that’s easy. None.
“Expectations for the direction of this group.”
“Shh…” HG scowled. “Tryin’ to listen here.”
“Thank you, Kiara,” Trashae said. “Tonight, I’m going to discuss the importance of communication in relationships—”
“I thought the name of this group was Off Men,” Desiree interrupted. “How can you have relationship communication if you’re single?”
“What she said.” Miss Prim once again stretched a finger toward the client of the hour.
“Stop with all that pointing,” HG said. “You’ve given up the anti-men nonsense.”
“Hanging around you has made me rethink my decision.”
I jumped back to my feet. Today’s fuse of patience was on the end of short. Teeth were gritted. Hopefully, that gave me a tight, plastered smile, not one of wanting to throttle two dead people.
Trashae, I knew, could only see the disruption the ghostly disturbance created when crossing into the veil. Desiree couldn’t see a dang thing. Which meant that I, of course, was the only non-dead person seated inside the lobby having to deal with aggravated bickering. And considering the only deceased in the office were the two doing the quarreling…
Surely I had a roll of packing tape tucked somewhere inside my desk drawer. Its usefulness with being applied over pale lips was now a requirement in order for this sham of a meeting to proceed.
“Every moment you’ve—”
“Ms. Hurst,” I said, interrupting HG. “If you decide to be Off Men, my—” not so “—expert opinion is that you should study all forms of relationship advice in order to confirm your decision is sound.”
“My decision is sound.”
“Good.” I smiled. “Then tonight’s conversational topic shouldn’t be a threat to your resolve. You’ve already analyzed your past relationships and realized where the breakdowns occurred. You’ve also rationally weighed the pros and cons of developing further unions of this matter with men, and have decided that at this point in your life, it’s in your best interest to establish nothing more.”
HG raised a hand that I ignored. “Does this mean she now likes women?”
“Do you even know what you’re talking about?” Miss Prim asked. I wasn’t certain if the question was directed at the turn-of-the-last-century ghost across from her, or me. If me, Miss Straight-laced had a point. Because, hell no, I didn’t. Know what I was speaking about, that was.
Planting my back firmly toward both ghosts who’d put me smack dab in this mess in the first place, I continued, “But as with any choice, every aspect of the matter must be analyzed. It’s best to have full information prior to making such important life decisions. So, tonight, we will discuss the significance of communication in relationships because the breakdown of understanding your partner’s needs is a cause of frustration. Not for everyone does this mean you’re Off Men, but rather that you’re irritated in your current situation and need to approach things from a different angle. This is something everyone should determine for themselves.”
“Everyone?” Desiree glanced around the room. “Is this it? Am I really the only attendee to the meeting? I’ve already made my decision.”
You haven’t unless that final conclusion is you’re back On Men, allowing me to hook you up with Mr. James Hogan for Friday night…
Of course, Mouth was smart enough to remain zipped shut about the comments sprinting inside my head as if a pack of intoxicated hellhounds were nipping at their non-existent heels. This… the cluing Desiree into what would be—not what she thought it should be—was a moment for carefully calculated words. It was… well, crap. As usual, no plan was in place—calculated or otherwise. I’d have to wing it. My modus operandi needed a serious change of methods.
“She should bring her friends,” Miss Prim suggested. “Then we’d have an actual organization.”
Not helpful. Thankfully, ghostly voices couldn’t be heard by human ears.
“The group has recently formed, and you are our first member,” I said to Desiree before turning back to Trashae. “Please, continue.”
“Thank you,” Trashae said. “Relationships are fundamental to surviving…”
So engrossed was I in the realization that the Reality Warper would have to bullshit her way through the next hour just as hard as I would, it took several seconds to realize the room was dead silent. And when the word deathly could be used as a descriptor…
“What’s going on?” Desiree asked.
Trashae’s brow was furrowed as she stood at attention, staring intently in a direction that was not toward the client she was tasked to speaking with. Miss Prim had her usual something’s-disrupted-my-delicate-sensibilities mouth gape going on. HG… well, he’d remained reclined in his chair, a mimicking dead version of Andrew Ross with his nonchalance. Were the two of them somehow related? If there was a tree floating out in cyberspace with the words ancestors and Detective Andrew Ross attached to it, perhaps it’d be worth a peek.
Gaze settled on the current commotion that held three sets of eyes beholden—or, rather, two actual sets and one suspecting set—and… well, hell. Anna Dunne had apparently decided that despite the presumed bad date from Monday night, she was up for a little relationship advice. Or perhaps her presence was simply to search for ways to wreak havoc on a demon, dressed as a man, who strung her up…
Yeah, thoughts so did not want to go there. But this was an Off Men group, after all. A dead woman with a vengeance against the male species would not be unheard of during the membership drive, I would think. So long as said retribution was against the suspected male demon and not an innocent female reaper suffering under an Irish curse…
“Kiara?”
Wait a second… where was Anna’s book? Seriously, I had not added theft to my resume for nothing. Thoughts flew as I attempted to recall my movements from that day I stepped over to the dark side. Okay… second day. The lunch with Damon was when I was officially converted.
“Kiara?”
Problem: Brain had, for unknown reasons, decided to boycott and all memories prior to the last forty-eight—
“Kiara!”
I looked up to golden eyes colored with irritation. “Yes?”
“Something’s changed,” Trashae said. “The air feels bitter.”
Well, that was one way to describe hostile. “Everything’s fine. Please continue.”
The persistent woman ignoring my hint shook her head. “This is different. I see blackness.”
My head turned back to study the three seated ghosts—two curious faces and one cold stare.
What the hell is wrong with you? I wanted to ask. And by you, I meant Ms. Still-Not-Talking. Except questions to apparitions the normal human eyes couldn’t see weren’t to be asked in front of important clients.
This was not the first murdered ghost I’d come across, yet she was the first one refusing to speak. Take that back, Logan Bradley hadn’t been overly chatty with words on the occasions I’d bumped into him after his depa
rture from his earthly body. Intent had he been on gaining answers about his death, so he’d had no problems with fast-tracking my own demise in order to remain free from my sword.
Was that what this was about? Wait—no. Anna wasn’t attempting to glare me into a ball of shrunken mass in order to save her hide from Hell’s flames. She wasn’t marked. Her photograph had never resided inside my purse. Anna had sought me out, and it wasn’t me searching for her. So back to square one it was. Damn.
“It’s a darkness I don’t often see,” Trashae said. “I can’t see auras, that’s not my gift… except for when a spirit’s emotionally strong enough to impact the planes of existence. There’s a lot of power in that, and it would be concerning should I need an alteration. The disturbance could potentially be influential enough to create a black hole of sorts. Reality may not only be altered then but skewed. The consequences could be dire.”
Seriously… Greek. Words were being said, but I had zero concept to their meaning. I comprehended enough to realize that we were waaaay off track in Operation Get Desiree Hurst Back On Men. “So, you’re saying that when communication goes wrong in a relationship, it’s like a black hole that sucks you into despair? This is why a woman might feel like giving up on male relationships, but really, that’s not the best for her in the long-term. She should realize her feelings are simply because she’s yet to meet the right man?”
“Kiara, you need to take this darkness seriously.” Trashae nodded at the ghostly spirit she technically couldn’t see. I, unfortunately, could. “When an ethereal being has that black of an aura, there is a lot of negative energy involved. An unforgiving that spreads. Perhaps the spirit is holding onto pain suffered in life, or maybe it died a tragic death that it’s continually reliving throughout eternity.”
Or pissed because I’d lost her book.
“We’re still talking about relationships, right?” I asked, pretending the last two minutes of conversation had never occurred. Stay on track… stay on track…
Destined to Reap (Reaping Fate Book 3) Page 14