Belladonna's Curse

by E. M. Whittaker

  They rounded the corner, sprinted down the block, then turned into an alleyway.

  Her shop exploded.

  Her heartbeat fluttered for a while. Everything she knew—she loved—was desecrated by druggies who had a vendetta against her family.

  Mye set her brother down, then locked her knees in place.

  Vengeance would be hers.

  “Sis.”

  “I know. Everything’s gone.” The last two words almost stayed trapped within her throat as she dabbed tears away from her eyes. “Ma’s stuff—your grimoires—my research—no, our research—all of it.”

  “No.” He pointed to the backpack across his back. “I grabbed what I could.”

  “It’s…” Words left her when her knees buckled. “Everything…”

  Numbness turned into grief.

  She bawled once her brother held her.

  Years of memories—no, decades—became dust in the wind in one explosion, but certain ones gave her comfort. They warded off the depression that threatened to sink its claws into her wounded soul. For a minute, she became the teenage girl who missed Saturday morning cartoons because she followed her mother to her secret shop, learning the tricks of the trade for when she became an adult.

  For a fleeting minute, Ma was alive again.

  Then Peter’s high-pitched voice broke through her wishful daydream.

  “It’s a building, Mye.” His exasperated tone added to her grief. “Get over yourself, already. No one died, right?”

  Insensitive bastard.

  She’d remember this whenever he lost someone close.

  “Whatever they said, don’t listen to them.” Lim wiped away a tear with his thumb. “They couldn’t understand the sentimental value this place held. It’s like Ma’s gone. Again.”

  Good. Someone understood.

  “You fool.” She hugged him tighter. “I thought I lost you, too.”

  “I admit, I thought I was a goner.” Lim rubbed her back. “Someone blocked magic inside the shop. I didn’t know how to escape from the basement.”

  “Stop relying on magic.” She meant it as a joke, but her words became terse. “Are you okay?”

  “For the most part.”

  Mye rose, then brushed away her tears. She’d grieve later.

  Vengeance waited for no one.

  “Find out which one of Chelsea’s men are responsible for this stunt.” Her voice turned cold. “Use Reese and Cel. Hell, use that bloody vampire of yours, too. Everyone can help out this time.”

  “Fine.” He patted her large purse. “But I got something to tell you.”

  She crossed her arms. “Go on.”

  “I saw what Pop gave you. You know … those reports. You kept the blood vials. Good thing you did, too.”

  Mye nodded.

  “Well, people are ugly. They want to create ways to kill people. Our crew—well, before I disbanded the cartel—there was a discussion about manufacturing a new drug. One we could sell to the army to create super-soldiers for the war. It was gonna make us millions. You’d think I became delusional or something.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What’s your point?”

  “One day, someone’s gonna make a drug with your blood and sell it to the black market. In fact, someone already tried.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “It’s partially why Donahue and I fell out. I wouldn’t let him manufacture it.”

  Her claws came out. “And how did he learn about—”

  “Someone else.” He put his hand over hers. “I swear. But it’s the most logical reason they’d destroy this place. They knew I had blood samples here.”

  Footsteps came from behind her.

  She didn’t bother turning around.

  “I suppose I’ll forgive you.” Her tone deflated. “But keep that knowledge about Da’s reports to yourself. We wouldn’t want certain busybodies to obtain prime blackmail against me.”

  “You got Sanderson for that.” Travis tugged on her arm. “I’ll take her from here.”

  Goddammit. She didn’t need a babysitter.

  She saved herself this time.

  “Look, I’ll call you later.” Lim kissed her forehead. “Stay safe, okay?”

  She hugged him tight. “You too. Love you.”

  He backed away, then disappeared.

  “I won’t ask about your secret.” Travis put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll find out later, anyway. However, because you’ve lost your Fortress of Solitude, Sanderson called an emergency meeting.”

  “He’s right, you know.” Mye held her necklace. “I thought… Well, I suppose I never properly grieved over Ma’s death. This place? She lingered here. There was always something tangible to remember her by.” We’d come here on the weekends. Ma worked whenever Sanderson gave her the weekends off. She still wanted to heal the sick. No, me really. And her. So, we’d come here with her. Me and Lim, I mean.”

  “Your mom sounds like a dangerous woman.”

  “Not really.” Her voice dipped lower. “She just did what she loved.”

  “Making poisons—”

  “No, not that.” She held up a finger. “Ma, she sheltered us. We were upstairs while she worked until we were teenagers. Then she spent time teaching us her trade.”

  “There’s other ways to show your love.” Travis’s face scrunched up in disapproval. “Normal parents take their children to the movies or ice skating.”

  “Ma wasn’t conventional.”

  “No shit.”

  “She hated when I took up racing.” She laughed at how Ma’s patronizing voice filled her ears. “She abhorred it, really. So, I took up this trade instead. We both did. He gravitated to it better while I did it out of obligation. Someone had to remember her for her, not for their perceived notions of her.”

  Travis grabbed her arm and pulled her close. “Well, you wear that identity well. It becomes you. Now, chin up. Sanderson will tear you to shreds once you become sentimental.”

  (Two lines; end scene here)

  Mye swallowed bile once they entered the hallway leading toward Lowell Sanderson’s office.

  The dark hallway suited her hopeless mood. Her supposed boss—well, de-facto—added to her trepidation. The man would rub her failure in her face the moment they arrived inside his office. Also, their beloved specialist wouldn’t help matters. He’d egg Sanderson on while sipping on his goddamn vanilla Frappuccino and wear a shit-eating grin on his smug face.

  She stopped, reached into her bag, and patted her hard-cased poison kit.

  His death couldn’t come soon enough.

  Of course, she’d have to stay cordial at this emergency meeting. She always did. She’d just don her hardass persona and not let Sanderson’s or Peters’s remarks break her facade. That’s what they counted on. That’s why they made those gut-wrenching jabs at her.

  Still, her failures were painful enough.

  And yet, her family would remind her of them later.

  “Mye, your face.” Travis’s voice turned to concern. “You’re sick again.”

  Mye pointed to the door, then covered her mouth with a hand. “Yeah. I hate magic.”

  “You said you had pills for motion sickness.”

  “You…” She swallowed another round of bile. “You said one line and—”

  “What am I supposed to do?” His tone didn’t chastise her like she expected. “Because this is the second time you’ll puke in Sanderson’s office. He’ll insult you. He won’t let this go. He never does with you.”

  Oh, she knew that much. Neither would Peters.

  Damn her insight.

  “Well, I’ve swallowed down most of…” She headed toward the door, but the nausea returned. “Shit.” She fought a cold chill. “I’m not gonna make it.”

  Travis opened the door. “Hurry up.”

  She hurried inside, held her smelly hands over her mouth, and vomited inside the trash can.

  The downside to magical vulnerability was—well, this. Lim handl
ed her sickness well enough. He never patronized her, but he stirred the pot whenever she forgot her pills. But he helped her. He pulled her long hair back whenever she had a moment of weakness. His soothing words never made her feel ashamed for being different.

  The last time this happened, Travis watched, but he didn’t help her.

  This time, he became the trench coated knight in shining armor. He dispelled everyone else’s comments and held a cool hand against her forehead.

  She heard everything while she wretched in Sanderson’s dinky trash can. Peters’s snide chuckles reverberated through the room. Sanderson clapped at a harsh pitch. The only person who didn’t piss her off was her partner—the one who should’ve patronized her because she became a vulnerability at the wrong time.

  Damn it all. She didn’t need this shit today.

  Luckily, her nausea ended as abruptly as it came. Once she finished, she pushed herself up with shaky arms and wiped off her mouth.

  “For God’s sake.” Travis handed her a buttery napkin. “It’s used, but there weren’t trash cans at Bob Evans. Sorry for the buttermilk biscuit smell.”

  No matter.

  The napkin would do.

  “It’s okay.” She wiped her mouth. “Next time, give me a five-minute warning.”

  Sanderson snickered. “Perhaps you should arrive on time, Mye. Then you’d have time to settle your problems in private or not become embarrassed every time you arrived late.”

  Fuck him. He always goaded her.

  She’d ignore him for now.

  Mye slipped into the cushioned chair beside Peters, ignored his snooty glare, and rummaged through her bag. She hadn’t taken her medicine yet. All the excitement at the shop prevented her from injecting herself before work.

  “Travis.” She pulled out a tourniquet, then rolled up her sleeve. “Wrap this around my bicep, please. I forgot to take my medicine this morning.”

  He grimaced. “Can’t it wait?”

  “Let her have her blasted medication.” Sanderson’s voice rumbled in an ominous warning. “Otherwise, we’ll have other issues to contend with. I don’t need Mye in Azazel’s laboratory this morning.”

  She shivered. She forgot Azazel Mordechai worked inside this compound.

  As if she needed to meet her mother’s previous partner.

  He detested her. He tried to kill her. He asked her mother to let her die whenever she got sick. Of course, Ma never entertained the idea, but Azazel tried anyway. But she knew of his sneaky tactics. He’d try them again.

  She’d be ready this time.

  Travis wrapped the tourniquet around her arm. “I swear, it’s not even nine yet.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Save the lover’s quarrel for later.” Sanderson drummed his fingers along the desk. “The human said you lost your workshop.”

  “Yeah.” Mye kept her voice neutral. “Someone planted a bomb and a magical force field around the place. Of course, they destroyed the first floor, too. Everything we had is gone.”

  “Pity.” Sanderson’s expression turned morose. “There were quite a few unique logs inside that building. A shame Myra didn’t preserve them here. We could have benefited from her expertise.”

  Mye snorted. As if Ma would allow a slime ball like Sanderson access to her confidential files or favorite potions.

  She shoved the syringe of medicine into her vein. It burned—a normal reaction—but her body echoed her loss. Her vengeful despair.

  She’d capture whoever bombed her goddamn shop.

  “But enough of that.” Her boss set his hands into his classic steeple—the one she detested because it meant he planned something devious. “You can’t work like this. There’s another facility available. It’s not ideal, but—”

  “I’d rather have my own lab.” She pulled out the syringe, then fought off the dizzy spell that attacked her. “Azazel and I—we have some professional differences. Ones that cannot be settled amicably.”

  “Oh, I’m aware.” A dangerous smile lit Sanderson’s face. “But these are extenuating circumstances. Also, we don’t have another lab available. He’s got the most sophisticated equipment. It’ll almost mirror what you once owned.”

  The medicine continued to burn as it traveled in her bloodstream. “Do you know what he did? How he—”

  “Oh, come now.” Sanderson leaned forward in his chair. “You’re going to let a hallucination—something you dreamed up while you were sick, by the way—stop you from—”

  He stopped.

  She smiled.

  What a juicy tidbit he gave her.

  “Anyway, Myra’s death hit all of us hard.” He cleared his throat. “It was common knowledge she brought you here because of your condition. As for Azazel, his laboratory is the only place we have available. You’ll work with him until you find somewhere else to work. Understand?”

  Did his voice drop a pitch from nervousness? Or did she imagine it?

  She leaned back into the comfortable chair and closed her eyes.

  The medicine kicked in.

  For the next few minutes, she ignored everyone around her. Their voices became like busy bees. No, gnats. Those things buzzed when they flew and irritated her whenever they flew around her ears.

  Except Peters’s voice. His dulled, but she recognized his words.

  Why him, she’d never know.

  “Yo.” Peters kicked her chair. “Don’t turn into Sleeping Beauty. We have shit to do.”

  She yawned. “I know.”

  “The sooner we finish, the better. Then we’ll stop pretending to be frenemies.”

  Mye laughed. “You’re serious.”

  “Of course, I am.” Peters crossed his arms. “Who wants to work with you? You’re reckless, naive, and selfish. They’re all traits I hate. Well, okay, not hate. Half-admire. Still, I don’t know why people bend over backwards for you.”

  She stood, then stopped.

  Good. She maintained her balance.

  Mye marched over to him, grabbed the armrests, and sank her claws into the chair.

  “Why?” Her hot breath made him flinch. “Because I command an army of dangerous men? Because I have more smarts than you despite your caffeine-induced highs and your wannabe hacker skills?”

  Her nose touched his.

  “Because I can kill you with a straight face and you’d never suspect a thing. Well, until you writhed on the floor, drowning in your own blood. All it would take is spreading odorless powder in your drinks or on those precious reports of yours.”

  He spit in her face. “You don’t scare me, bitch.”

  She seized his chin.

  This upstart would learn his place.

  “If you survive your fight with me, there are others ready to spit down your throat. I invite you to try fighting through my horde. I’m sure Lim wouldn’t mind dropping you into the Chesapeake Bay with rocks tied to your wrists and ankles. You know…if Joe doesn’t snap your neck first. He hates upstarts like you.”

  Peters pushed the butt of his revolver into her nose. “Enough.”

  Mye turned his head, cracking his neck for emphasis. Then her hand wrapped around the gun.

  “I can’t wait to kill you. And I’ll enjoy it, Shawn Peters, bring your A-game. I expect a challenge when we have our final duel.”

  He shoved her aside, knocked over his chair, then stormed out of the office.

  “Aviere.” Sanderson tsked. “The feud stays out of my office. I don’t like bloodshed. Also, we have business to discuss. I don’t have time to fuck around even if your blight is entertaining.”

  “Fine.” She flopped into her chair. “The less I see him, the better. He reminds me of a weasel.”

  He grinned. “Funny. We share the same sentiment.”

  Travis grabbed Peters’s chair, then sat down. “I’ll confiscate his gun next time if you don’t instigate another argument. Of course, you’ll hand over your weapons, too.”

  She tapped her foot. “Over my dead body.
”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “Sure.” Mye twirled her bracelet. “You’ll die first, though. Unless you can survive and become the Headless Horseman.”

  Sanderson drove his knife into his desk.

  They stopped their argument.

  “For fuck’s sake. You’re really like two rivals on a first date.” Their boss slid a file toward Mye. “We found another set of bodies at a nightclub. They’re drug related deaths. You’re to meet another contact on the scene. She’ll brief you.”

  She flipped through the folder until she read the preliminary reports. There wasn’t much information—just a manifesto of names, the transcript of the 9-1-1 call, and an address. The pictures they attached were too blurry.

  He handed her a folder of useless information. But why?

  Whatever. She had mages with photographic memories. They recalled crime scene investigations better than the world’s greatest photographer.

  She tossed the file back onto his desk. “Any idea who they are? The pictures don’t show much.”

  “No. They’re still in the investigation stage.” His voice changed to a darker tone. “Their bodies… Well, you’ll see. They’re hard to identify. But someone prepared a ritual. There’s quite a few bodies there.”

  Travis waved a hand toward Mye. “You heard him. Let’s go.”

  “No. Just you, Keith.”

  Mye scooted to the end of her chair. “Why?”

  “Two reasons.” Sanderson held up two fingers. “Because a shifter’s greatest vulnerability is magic. If those mages are there, then they’ll target you. Also, you need to process the evidence Daddy Dearest gave you. I’m anxious to see what Roland found.”

  She stood. “I should go.”

  “You’re just like Gunther.” Sanderson’s tone turned hostile. “I swear, that bastard doesn’t listen to orders. He’s always wrecking the place, too.”

  Her heart fluttered.

  What did he just say?

  “Anyway, your contact is already at the nightclub.” Sanderson straightened his tie. “And don’t rile her up, Keith. You’re already on her shit list.”

  Travis patted Mye’s shoulder. “Don’t kill Mordechai. Wait until you have backup. No one will miss that fucker.”

  Then he disappeared.