Bring Me to Life (Hellions Book 1)

by Nicole Thorn

  I parked a hundred yards away and headed in behind him. It looked a skeevy place—not even a call box to get in. I took advantage.

  The man knew what I looked like, so I couldn’t be seen. When he went up the stairs, I tiptoed behind him.

  This place reeked of depravity. If I kicked open any of these doors, I’d see a buffet of drugs or a gaggle of less than reputable characters.

  But I didn’t come for them. I came for the man who currently opened a door down the hall. He locked the door behind him, but I had other ways in. I went back outside and calculated which window would lead to his room. When I did, I started scaling the rickety fire escape.

  When I reached his apartment, I focused my hearing to try and figure out his location. I heard drawers and cabinets opening, and took a shot in the dark that he was in the kitchen.

  I perched myself on the metal stairs and waited for him to move into a room. If he knew I was here, he’d make himself invisible and I’d lose him again.

  I stared out into the clear blue sky while I waited. I really need to start remembering to bring a book or something. Maybe an iPad. I didn’t much care for things like that. I pushed three hundred, and every time I got around something like that, it reminded me. If someone dropped one of those things in my village, it would have made people’s brains melt. They’d cry that it came from the Devil. And though he owned some Apple shares, he had no hand in making the iPad.

  I think.

  I hoped this man left soon. I didn’t like having free time. It usually ended poorly for me. My mind was a dark, dark place sometimes.

  Finally, I heard him leave. I slid the window open and slipped inside. It looked about as disgusting as I thought it would. The red shag carpet had stains and the walls looked like they’d seen many a bottle smashed against them.

  The rose plant sat on the kitchen counter along with a pile of mail and a tipped over box of Poptarts.

  The smell of death hit my nose. It came from the bathroom. I followed it and pushed the door open. Not at all to my surprise, a woman in a tube top and denim skirt lay motionless in the tub.

  Her arm was covered in track marks, and I couldn’t be sure if that ended her or if my target killed her for a place to stay. Not my problem either way.

  I left the room and made my way to the bedroom. I kicked the door open and pulled my dagger from its sheath. This needed to go quickly if I was going to kill him this time.

  “Hey, Ichy.” I smiled.

  The large man turned, and his cold eyes widened. Then he disappeared. I stood by the door, so he couldn’t leave the room without me knowing.

  He was only mostly invisible. If I looked hard enough, I could see him moving. When he tried going for the window, I grabbed at him. I felt his coat, and held on to it as I yanked him backwards.

  He hit me in the chest, but the angle gave it little force. I slammed Ichabod into the wall and he flashed back to being visible. Most abilities that a demon had require a clear head and some concentration. A knock to the head rendered said powers useless for a little while.

  I held him to the wall by the throat and got ready to sink my dagger into his heart.

  “I-I can pay you,” he said, desperate and reaching. Even if I weren’t a rich man, I wouldn’t have taken his offer. I didn’t like beggars.

  I clicked my tongue. “No thank you.” My dagger went into his chest and within seconds, he turned to dust in my hands.

  I wiped my hand on my pants and put my dagger in its sheath, pulling my shirt over it before I left the room. I didn’t have anything else to take care of, so I was free as a bird.

  “Becky! Keep it down!” Someone pounded on the front door. “I’ve got a client coming soon!” I could only guess what the woman’s ‘client’ wanted.

  No matter. I spotted a motorcycle helmet on the dirty sofa right next to the keys. Hmm, well I didn’t think he’d miss his bike.

  I swiped the keys and went out the way I came in.

  Damn. I still had that car to deal with. Whatever. I used a fake name to rent it. I’d just leave the keys on the hood and report it stolen. It should make some junky’s day.

  The motorcycle was a thing of beauty. Black with just a hint of red. I thought it’d do just fine.

  I hopped on and headed out of this town.

  ***

  My tradition after a kill had become something I almost looked forward to. I’d go find a dodgy burger joint and order the greasiest thing on the menu. I didn’t have to worry about my body’s health, so I could eat all I wanted.

  I found a place off the highway after a couple hours of driving around. I guess Canadians weren’t as keen on junk food as Americans. I found myself in that country for most of my assignments. I guess evil liked America. I admitted I had a certain affinity for it.

  I found Kansas to be more pleasant than I thought it would be. I was there recently for an unofficial mission that the Devil himself asked me to do. It didn’t end with me killing the Made demon that Lucifer sent me after, but I got the utter joy of witnessing a lovely young girl called Shiloh embracing her darkness.

  The Made demon I had been hunting was an especially powerful one. Lorna had been her name. A Made demon was someone who Lucifer turned himself. He did that with the Shiloh girl. A favor for his son, her husband.

  With age came power and Lorna had been old. Older than me. Her power of fire grew with her age. She had been clever and fast and even with over two and a half centuries of me doing this, I couldn’t find her or kill her. The idea of it bothered me.

  But that Shiloh…

  She did it. Lorna threatened her family and Shiloh managed to take her down. A twenty-year-old, brand new Made demon. I just wished I could have seen it.

  I sent her a congratulatory fruit basket when I heard the news. And when the opportunity to help her dead brother-in-law out by sticking a note to her door arose, I took it. Not my normal style, but I liked her. Plus, I owed my friend Caroline a favor. She kicked my ass in poker again and I needed to pony up a favor.

  “What can I get ya, darlin’?” A waitress had materialized next to my booth. She popped her gum and tapped on her order pad with the tip of her pencil.

  “A cheeseburger with everything on the side. Water too, please,” I said.

  She smiled and popped out her hip. “You British? I just love that Doctor Who fella. It gets better every year.”

  I held back a sigh. “I’m from Scotland.” Technically.

  “Neat.” The crinkles in the corners of her eyes became more prominent on her face. “I knew a guy from Russia when I was a teenager.”

  I nodded politely. “Great.” Same place… everyone with an accent different from yours all just mingle together…

  She left to put in my order, and I leaned my head back on the vinyl booth. I needed some sleep.

  I had a room in a hotel. Normally for a job that I thought would take this long, I’d rent a house, but I didn’t foresee this taking a month of my life. After I popped down to Hell to talk to my boss, I decided to go home. It would be night there soon, and I could sleep in relative peace.

  The waitress dropped my food off and told me another story about her Russian friend. I held back a few eye rolls until she left so that I could assemble my food. I used everything but the tomato.

  Tomatoes were disgusting.

  However, ketchup was not. What kind of black magic was that?

  The burger tasted pretty good. If you ignored the dripping cheese. Which I did. The fries however, were a buffet of garbage. They clearly didn’t blanch them.

  Sociopaths.

  When I finished eating, I left a fifty on the table and went to park my new motorcycle somewhere safe for my trip down to Hell.

  I found a nice parking garage at a mall to leave it. I made sure no one was around and focused on Hell.

  The dust filled my nose and I opened my eyes to the desert wasteland. It sat empty. That didn’t happen often. As I saw the double decker bus driving away, I p
ut together that it had just emptied out.

  Good. I didn’t like people, especially dead ones. They just asked questions

  “Ezra,” a familiar English accent called, and I looked to see my boss approaching me.

  He was an antichrist, physically older than me. I was frozen at just barely twenty-three and he looked almost thirty. That didn’t happen often with his kind. They stopped aging when they reached maturity—typically around their mid-twenties. Being immortal, they usually got murdered.

  He was around my height, hovering at six-two, and his hair was a lighter shade of brown than mine. He kept his neatly combed, while I let the towel decide how mine looked. But at only a few inches, it never got too messy.

  “Hello, Rupert.”

  “I was just about to call you. Ichabod Martin arrived and is being dealt with as we speak.”

  “Good.”

  I noticed the black file in his hands. I was surprised to have another assignment so quickly. Normally I got a few days off. I didn’t mind so much since I had no other way to fill the time.

  “How was it? Took you longer than normal.”

  “He was tricky, but I got him.” I shrugged.

  “I’m glad. If my best assassin can’t kill someone, I tend to get a bit worried.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Then thank goodness that doesn’t happen.” I had a perfect record—not counting Lorna.

  “Ah yes, sorry. I forgot who I was dealing with,” Rupert said with sarcasm. He could do that all he wanted but it didn’t change the facts.

  “Clearly,” I smirked.

  A few people popped up at the bus stop behind us and I walked away from them. I didn’t feel like fielding questions. I was hardly staying awake at the moment.

  “You have something for me?” I asked him when we got to a safe distance from the bus stop.

  He glanced down at the file. “I do. Interesting case, this one.” He waved the folder. “Something new.”

  My lips turned up. I liked the sound of something new.

  He gave the file over.

  I opened it and scanned the information.

  A picture, bio, and any information that might’ve been useful.

  “Dammit,” I sighed.

  “What’s wrong?” Rupert asked.

  “A witch. So much for my vacation.”

  Chapter Three: Living-Dead Girl

  Anastasia

  I woke up gasping.

  Breathing.

  It was dark.

  So dark.

  And small.

  I couldn’t see anything. My hands—shaking—moved along the space. It felt soft with something hard under it.

  Satin.

  I know where I am.

  I Couldn’t control my sobs as I scratched desperately at the soft fabric all around me. I needed to get out.

  Please. Please. Please. Please. PLEASE!

  I kicked and clawed at the coffin lid until my hands bled. Is there no way out?

  I had been in Hell and it didn’t feel as scary as this.

  I stopped struggling and laid there for a few seconds while I caught my breath. Something was wrong—more wrong than the obvious.

  I put my hand on my chest.

  Nothing.

  My heart should’ve been pounding, but it laid still. Dead. Because I was dead. I didn’t understand.

  I screamed.

  The lid of the coffin split with a thunderous crack. Earth filled my coffin and buried me. Again. The dirt was heavy on my body and it filled my mouth. I spit out what I could while I dug myself to the surface.

  How? I wanted to know how that happened.

  I needed air.

  My hand burst through the dirt above me and my skin felt cold air. I pulled myself out and coughed up more dirt—mud now.

  I fell to my hands and knees.

  It was dark out. I couldn’t tell the time. It didn’t matter.

  My eyes went up and I saw my name, Anastasia Naomi Amarus, etched into granite. I crawled over, and I let my bloody fingers trace the letters.

  How is this real? I couldn’t think straight enough to fathom what happened. I died. Now I was… alive? Sort of?

  I stared at the letters and numbers, marking the day I had been born and the day I died.

  I stood up, and wobbled on my feet. They put me in heels. Of course. I took one shaky step before my heel got stuck in the grass and broke off—causing me to trip. I sat up and yanked them off.

  I stood again and started walking. But where did I go?

  Home. I can go home.

  I walked down the sidewalk for hours. How long had I been I dead? Days? Years?

  More importantly, why am I not still dead?

  When I saw my house, I started crying again. I was home. I never thought I’d see it again, or my family. But they were so close. The lights had been turned out, but I guessed they were sleeping. It looked late.

  The front door was locked.

  Thankfully, I was a forgetful girl. I stashed a key in the drainpipe. Dad used to get so annoyed when I forgot my key and had to wake him up to come let me in.

  I opened the door.

  Empty. My house was bare.

  I walked across the tile—tracking blood—and stared at the emptiness. Missing pictures made the walls look unnaturally bare, the furniture was gone. It was just a shell that used to be my home.

  They were gone.

  I cried again. What else could I do?

  I felt tired. I hadn’t slept since I died, but I could feel myself drifting off.

  I wanted to at least be in my own room. Even if it was heartbreakingly bare. I dragged myself upstairs and swung my door open.

  My hand went to my mouth.

  Everything I owned had been left behind. All of my books, posters, clothes. My pictures of my friends.

  Why would they leave my stuff and take everything else? Did they not want any part of me with them?

  I stumbled over to my bathroom and flipped the lights on. I gasped when I saw a stranger in the mirror. Her hair was dark with dirt and her blue eyes looked empty. Hollow. She wore a black dress that I’d never seen before. Pale skin speckled with dirt and blood.

  I blinked, and so did the girl. Me. Of course it was me.

  I gripped the counter, and tried to breathe. My eyes wouldn’t stay open any longer. I walked out of the bathroom and collapsed onto my bed. Maybe when I opened my eyes again, I’d be back where I belonged.

  ***

  “ANNIE! OH MY GOD!”

  My eyes shot open and I fell off of the bed, responding to the loud noise.

  I scooted back against the wall, tucked my legs to my chest, and wrapped my arms around them. “Annie,” the voice said, softer. I looked up and saw Poppy. She looked the same as I remembered. Her green eyes looked bloodshot and watery. “You’re alive. We thought it didn’t work.”

  I didn’t speak.

  Oswald and Elisa appeared on the floor in front of me. They looked as overwhelmed as Poppy did. When they touched me, I flinched.

  “She’s real,” Oswald breathed.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” Elisa said softly, inching toward me. “We brought you back. I knew we could do it.” She smiled.

  “Do you understand?” Poppy asked me. “Do you know what happened to you?”

  I nodded.

  “Did something go wrong? Can she not talk? Did we screw something up?” Oswald got worked up, and my breathing got harder.

  “Ossy.” Poppy took his hand. “Stay calm. She’s just in shock. Give her some time.” She turned back to me. “We brought you back. The night you died… the spell worked. We all got our power. Elisa found a spell to bring you back. We did it last night, but nothing happened—nothing we could see. We thought we failed again, but Oswald saw your grave on the news this morning. They think it was desecrated. Your casket was broken open and your body was missing. We knew it worked then, and we came here. We figured you’d come home.”

  Elisa’s eyes ran over my bod
y. She picked up my hand, caked in blood and dirt.

  “Shit… We didn’t see anything happen because she—” Her eyes went to mine. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think to…”

  “What?” Poppy asked.

  “Look at her.” She gestured to my body. “Wanna know why she’s in shock? We made her dig herself out of her grave. We left her six feet under, and that’s precisely where she woke up.”

  “Oh, God.” Oswald stared at me, and I wanted to cringe away from the gaze.

  Poppy held me to her. “Let’s get her cleaned up. Ossy, can you wait in here while we get her in the bath?”

  He nodded and helped me to my feet. We started walking, but I stopped. I pointed to a picture of me and my parents on graduation day.

  “Oh,” Elisa said. “Your parents left for Florida a couple months ago. They couldn’t be here anymore. They didn’t want to take your things with them. Your mom told us we could split it up, but we didn’t want to touch it.”

  Gone. They were really gone.

  The girls brought me to the bathroom and took my clothes off before throwing them away. Poppy drew a bath, and they set me in it. They scrubbed me clean and washed my hair until it became blond again.

  “She isn’t saying anything,” Poppy whispered.

  “Give it time,” Elisa said again.

  They wanted me to talk.

  “You should have left me where I was.” My voice sounded husky and rough from the dirt that I swallowed.

  The girls both paused and stared at me.

  “W-what?” Poppy said.

  “You. Should. Have. Left. Me.”

  She fell back on her knees. “But, we couldn’t. We didn’t know where you went. We wanted you home.”

  “I died. This isn’t my home anymore. You took me from where I belonged. This place is meant for the living.”

  “But, you are living,” Elisa said.

  I took her hand and put it in the center of my bare chest. “What do you feel? What’s missing?”

  Her eyes widened. “It’s not—your heart…”