Belladonna's Curse

by E. M. Whittaker

A bloody scene never bothered Travis, but their horrible sense of decor should have been a crime. Several strobe lights rested in strategic places around the club. The floor was a nightmare—a mix between a house of haunted mirrors paired with colorful squares every few seconds. It clashed with the half-contemporary vibe of the broken furniture and semi-fancy food.

  Thank goodness Mye stayed behind. She’d take some pointers from these horrendous designers and decorate her place with the strobe lights and the seizure-inducing floor.

  No, wait. Her posh brother-in-law wouldn’t allow it.

  He’d burn the place down first.

  For the first time since Travis arrived, his darker half emerged, whispering sage advice whenever he wished. He welcomed it. It beat the harsh glares of his previous colleagues or listening to Peters prattle on about unimportant matters. At least his other side understood the importance of survival.

  He walked closer, then stopped.

  Several bodies rested in a messed-up circle at the center of the floor.

  The circle he could overlook. The bodies themselves? Well, they were bent in awkward positions. They resembled a square toward the left side of the circle. Somewhere along the line, the killer emptied the place out and had time to carefully arrange his victims, then bent their bodies like twigs. Part of a bone stuck out of someone’s dislocated leg.

  Yep. They dealt with cultists.

  Maybe this was Soulstealer’s work.

  But the last time they met, Soulstealer didn’t kill her victims with bloodshed. She just stole their souls. She emptied out entire buildings with one spell, harvested them, and left. She never left blood or markings on her victims.

  Still, he couldn’t deny the bloody pentagram, the meticulous details, or the way the bodies were bent fit the killer’s purpose. Red energy spiked around him throughout the room.

  This was a magical killing.

  “Look what we have here.”

  Yippee. The local police department came to offer their respects.

  “Look, we share jurisdiction on this case, Bennett.” Travis kept his gun beside him, then craned his neck toward two other officers investigating the bodies on the opposite end of the room. “Fraser knows we’re here. Mona briefed me when we arrived.”

  “Fuck her.” The short cop reached for his baton. “We’ll just tell her an accident happened inside.”

  Accident his ass.

  Now, he sounded like Mye.

  “Tch.” Mye clanked glasses on her connection. “I recognize that voice. Be careful. Alan Bennett is one of Donahue’s cronies. He’s got crooked cops inside the police department. Then again, almost every decent mobster does. Except me. I don’t need them.”

  Nice to know.

  He’d remember that.

  “Wow.” The cop’s lips curled into a smirk. “The rumors were true. You really sold out and pledged yourself to a goombah. However, you’re on the wrong side, bucko.”

  “Least she’s honest.” Travis pointed his gun toward the officers. “She’s upfront about killing me. I doubt she’ll slit my throat in my sleep.”

  Mye chuckled. “That Alan knows of.”

  Travis groaned.

  She wasn’t helping her case.

  “Aviere Mye’s a ruthless son of a bitch.” Bennett leaned closer toward Travis. “Seriously. You don’t know that evil chick like I do. If you’re in a relationship, do yourself a favor and break up with her. She’s vindictive. You’ll end up dead before you know it.”

  This time, Travis laughed.

  “I’m fucking serious.”

  “What is the BCPD doing here?”

  “Processing evidence.” Alan’s no-nonsense demeanor returned. “Now, beat it. We’ll send you everything when we’re done. We’ll even gift wrap it for your specialist prick. I’ll get him a cute little bowtie, too.”

  “Tell your officers to step back.”

  “No. They’re doing their job.”

  “Listen to me, you stupid shithead.” Travis grabbed Alan’s collar and put his face close to his. “Whoever killed these people—they’re still here. This wasn’t an ordinary assassin. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now. Neither would my specialized prick.”

  Alan’s baton slapped against Travis’s thigh. “Feds handle drug cases.”

  “This isn’t drug related.”

  Mye snorted. “If a crooked cop offers you information, then take it. But watch him. He’ll bag the evidence the first chance he gets.”

  “For once, believe the girl.” Alan pulled his weapon back. “Even if she breaks the Omertà by working with you, she knows her shit. She’s broken rules by finding loopholes and slight technicalities.”

  Yep. That sounded like Mye.

  “Technicalities my ass.” Her tone turned vile. “It’s not my fault he works for a shit stain like Donahue. And there’s no need to mention our code of honor. Then again, you wouldn’t honor it, anyway.”

  “Listen, you little bitch. That shit stain will wipe the floor with your feline ass.” Alan pointed his finger toward Travis’s earpiece and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Too bad we need you alive or I’d silence you with a bullet to the head.”

  Well, well. Even at a distance, Mye attracted weirdos.

  No one could match her talent.

  “Enough.” The agent returned to the two officers on the opposite end of the room. “You’ve got bigger problems to worry about other than Mye. Keep your eye on those officers before—”

  The red energy around the circle of dead bodies focused on the unsuspecting officers, then encompassed them. It ate their blue hues in a matter of seconds.

  By the time Travis aimed his gun, both officers had dropped to the ground face first.

  Jesus, Joseph, and Mary.

  Their perp was still here.

  Alan ran off—like the scared coward he was—while three other officers went over to their fallen comrades. They tried shaking them. Then they poked them. At one point, someone had the bright idea to drag their lifeless bodies out the door.

  In a matter of seconds, the other officers collapsed like their coworkers.

  Alan ran.

  He didn’t make it to the door.

  This time, the snarky cop didn’t collapse on the ground. The red energy wrapped around his throat and lifted him into the air. It grew around him the longer the energy continued to choke him.

  A sickening crack reverberated through the nightclub. A familiar crack.

  Then it tossed his lifeless body to the ground.

  Travis couldn’t keep the smirk from his lips. Good riddance. That bastard betrayed the department and the general public without a good cause. And he didn’t even give back to his community. Not like his wayward partner who played her own version of Robin Hood whenever she made medicines for the sick.

  At least she had some morals.

  “Keith.” Peters’s warbled voice called from the door. “What the fuck—”

  “Don’t move.” Travis aimed his Desert Eagle at the darkness. “This energy… it’s everywhere. It just snapped Bennett’s neck. It’ll dissipate in a minute.”

  Peters pulled out his Smith and Wesson. “When it reappears, I’ll shoot the son of a bitch. Just let me know—”

  “Don’t be stupid.” Tessa came to the door with her own weapon. “You can’t shoot magic. You both should leave. Now. I’ll brief Captain Fraser about the situation.”

  “Peters, take Tessa and leave.”

  Ice Queen Tessa returned. “Don’t be a hero, Travis. We’ll call the boss. He’ll get backup. Better backup than the police department.”

  Damn woman.

  That’s why Sanderson sent him here.

  “Peters, escort Tessa to her squad car and leave.” He pointed his gun toward the crimson energy hovering over the corpses. “I’ll brief you when I get back. Make sure Mye stays at the compound.”

  The energy spiked, then headed for the door. It hovered over Peters and Tessa.

  He unload
ed his entire clip.

  Then they ran.

  “Mye, I need a little help.” Travis aimed his gun straight ahead. “I got several dead bodies and a dried blood pentagram in the middle of the floor. This guy went out of his way to break his victim’s bones and drain their blood. And now, there’s this weird energy killing people. The name Soulstealer is floating around, but I haven’t seen the perp yet.”

  “Hang tight. Let me call Lim.”

  Peachy. Just peachy.

  Why couldn’t Dalara meet him here?

  The entrance to the Puckered Lips slammed shut and a lock clicked. Whoever controlled their magic made a dramatic entrance.

  Travis brushed his bangs away from his eyes. Mages always had a flare for the theatrics.

  This one would be no different.

  “Keith. It’s been a while.” A perky female voice came from the doorway. “I’m surprised you stumbled upon our trap for another mage. It’s a shame we couldn’t meet under better circumstances.”

  The figure stepped toward him and moved her long blonde hair off her shoulders.

  Miranda Greene. Disciple of the infamous Red Coat Society.

  He was in deep shit.

  Her piercing blue eyes bored into him, before adopting a playful quality. The young bombshell blew him a kiss, adjusted her red beret, and brushed her hands along her skintight leather pants. When she finished, she pulled out her wand, a measly thing compared to his Eagle and magic, but formidable, nonetheless.

  Then she licked her upper lip.

  “Now, before you get all high and mighty on me, we’re after another mage, not you.” She took another step closer. “He’s caused the Society problems for a while. Of course, since you’re here we could talk about your employment.”

  Travis scowled. Not this again.

  The Sect never gave up.

  Of course, the Sect employed the world’s most badass mages, but they were too religious for their own good. They based their entire code of ethics around the Ten Commandments, but broke them whenever the situation suited them. While they had some great assassins, they all had one flaw: pressing their religious beliefs onto their new recruits. If they didn’t believe in God, they killed or brainwashed them. It depended on how useful they’d become to their organization.

  Miranda’s nose twitched.

  Travis shook his head.

  He’d pass on her offer.

  Besides, their trenches sucked. Scarlet turned him off. He wasn’t into blood sacrifices or purifying himself for God every time he committed a grievous sin. He knew Travis’s job. He didn’t smite him down with holy lightning.

  He’d stuck with Sanderson, thanks.

  “Aw, please don’t turn me down again.” Miranda kissed her finger. “My boss sent Angel and I to collect those unfortunate souls who spurned him. To deny my offer means certain death.”

  Miranda came closer.

  Travis backed away.

  He stepped into the summoning circle.

  Keith! Back away before—

  By the time he realized his mistake, the magic circle activated. He hurried toward the edge, but a dark barrier kept him inside it.

  He threw his hand out and directed energy into the darkened forcefield.

  It didn’t budge.

  Lord help him. A possession by the Red Coat Society wouldn’t bode well. They’d transform him into some monstrosity. Or they’d steal his soul. He could become a zombie.

  Travis tried again. No luck.

  Something slithered around his legs and anchored him to the ground.

  He shot at the magical tentacles, but the bullets ricocheted off them. When that didn’t work, he turned his hands into a holy weapon. He cut the blasted tentacle around his stomach in half.

  The damn thing multiplied.

  “Damn it.” Miranda’s remorseful tone carried through the club. “That wasn’t meant for you. I’m sorry about this.”

  Another voice—an evil disembodied voice—answered her disciple. “Don’t worry, Miranda. We just need to turn one of her cohorts into a magical demon. I don’t care which person it is.”

  Travis aimed at the barrier. He had to destroy this damn thing somehow.

  Before he fired, one of the tentacles wrapped around his throat and its thick thorns left deep gashes along his skin. While it distracted him, the other tentacles wrapped along his wrists and ankles.

  Travis gasped for air.

  His gun fell from his nerveless fingers.

  “Now…” The disembodied voice came closer. “I know this gentleman. He stole someone important from us years ago. Unfortunately, she’s dead, but he’d be a perfect replacement for her—with some modifications, of course.”

  The owner of the voice lingered outside the barrier with a vindictive grin on her lips. Her hands slid along her curvy hips as she straightened her red sequin dress—a slight contrast to her fiery hair.

  Jesus. Not this crazy bitch again.

  Soulstealer could deal with this A rank bounty herself.

  “Soulstealer.” He spat out her name. “If you’re here for her—”

  “Oh, she’s on our list.” Angelique came through the barrier and patted his cheek. “I’ll deal with her later.”

  “You… you work with her?”

  “The poor soul defected.” Her finger trailed down Travis’s strong jawline. “She’s been gone for a while. Even we cannot find her. Her precious husband hid her from us. However, I’ll tell you a secret.”

  Her finger pressed against his lips.

  “Soulstealer never killed Lyssandra. The two of them were close. Almost like sisters, even. She wouldn’t dare harm a hair on your little wifey’s head. I can disclose who did kill her. Lyssandra, I mean.”

  Travis bit her finger.

  She slapped him across the face.

  Keith, she’s right. About Soulstealer, that is. She’d never plan my death.

  Didn’t matter. If he found the necromancer, he’d find a way to her killer.

  His life depended on this.

  “Aw, your anger is admirable.” She cast a sigil into the air. “In fact, it feeds into my spell. Enjoy your transformation into thralldom.”

  Scarlet energy surrounded his body.

  Mye yelled an incomprehensible curse into his ear, but he blocked her out once his body exploded with pain. Liquid fire burned through his blood the longer Angelique’s magic seeped into his body.

  He screamed.

  Lyssa called to him.

  The tentacle around his throat loosened.

  In a matter of seconds, the dark energy receded, and the magical barrier dissipated. The tentacles slithered away from his body, then dropped him onto the ground—the smooth, psychedelic dance floor with its weird lights and now magical qualities. A smooth surface never felt so good.

  Travis tried standing, but his legs buckled underneath him. He fell to his knees.

  Angelique cast a black thunderbolt toward the nightclub’s entrance.

  The figure disappeared.

  What the hell—no who—came after him? He told Peters to stay behind with Tessa. Then again, he couldn’t teleport. No one around him teleported but him. And he became damn good at teleporting, too.

  He reached for his gun. Then fired.

  No one would kill him today.

  “Easy.” Dalara’s voice pierced through the gunfire and cheesy magical side effects from the women’s spells. “Hold onto me. We’ve got to leave before this spell activates again. You’re no match against Angelique like this.”

  He’s right. Lyssa’s voice shook with rage. Go with him.

  Before Travis could argue, Mye’s brother threw an arm around him, then phased out of the barrier.

  His body reacted to Dalara’s magic.

  Once they reappeared, Travis fell to his knees again. Whatever Angelique did crippled him. His body tingled. The world had a red tint to it. He couldn’t appreciate the simplistic colors he cherished before. Why did everything have a unique tast
e?

  Jesus Almighty.

  What the hell happened to him?

  8

  For once, Lim wished he rolled his joints with the Godfather strand of marijuana instead of buying whatever was on sale from his dealer. Or had a stronger drug on standby. While it was the strongest shit on the market, it wouldn’t take his anxiety away. Not after this.

  Sis’s partner wouldn’t recover from this shit.

  The transference spell Angelique cast on him was a tricky maneuver and forbidden for a reason. For one thing, it usually killed its subject, or turned them into some monstrosity which they’d never recover from. However, Sis’s partner got lucky. He maintained his humanity despite some of the wonky side effects he felt.

  Lim clutched his fist, ignoring his demoness who tried stirring from her partial slumber at the agent’s behavior. He couldn’t tell him about her.

  Not yet, anyway.

  He wouldn’t listen to reason.

  The mage backed away from the agent, jammed his hands into his pockets, and leaned against a tree. He couldn’t tell her partner outright about the demon Angelique transferred to him because of his aversion to his magical powers. It didn’t take a genius to figure out his inferiority complex. Besides, he relied too much on his detective and federal training when he played the dutiful bodyguard. What good would warning him about a demon do?

  You should.

  Lim stopped. What?

  You totally should warn him. Her voice turned into a valley girl. He’d shit his pants. Besides, you’d have a little buddy.

  He pointed to the dazed man on the ground. No one should—

  Oh, come on, boy. Her exasperation echoed in his mind. Think about this for a minute. The trap was for you. Not him.

  No shit.

  Angelique and her shifter brother Dominic Argrove tormented his sister whenever they got the chance, but they’d laid low for a while. Now, he understood why. Dom wouldn’t approve of her magical tactics despite using them to his advantage. He was a shifter through and through. Besides, for a spell of this magnitude, she needed amulets, tons of power, and blood sacrifices. Somehow, she acquired all those within one night.

  So, why Travis? Why not wait for Lim?

  Remember the cute blonde?

  Lim scratched his neck. Oh, right.