Kiss of Death (Supernatural Security Force Book 1)

by Heather Hildenbrand

  “Is what going to be a thing?”

  “You waiting for me, walking with me. Are we friends?”

  “I mean, nurse Leslie thinks we slept together. I think the logical thing is to try out friendship, don’t you think?”

  Rather than try to answer a statement like that, I walked faster, beelining for the coffee station on the far wall of the dining area. Milo followed.

  “If you don’t want to be friends, we can be frenemies,” he said.

  “What’s a frenemy?”

  He stopped and gawked at me. “Haven’t you ever seen Mean Girls?”

  “What’s that? Like a web show or something?”

  “Dear Baby Jesus. It’s a cult classic. How do you not know—”

  I sighed. “Okay, we can be friends if you promise not to make me watch whatever thing you’re judging me for not watching.”

  His brows dipped in what was obviously more judgment.

  I poured a cup of coffee and then mixed in more creamer than any one creature probably needed.

  “Do we have a deal?” I asked, turning back to find Milo sizing me up.

  “Fine, but if I tell you to wear pink on Wednesday, you have to do it, no questions asked.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because we’re friends,” he said as if that was the only answer I should need.

  “Fine. But I look better in magenta.”

  His grin was slow and wide. “The fact that you just said ‘magenta’ erases my doubts. Come on, lover, we’re going to be late.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried that Milo was in my first class. He was obviously a morning person and maybe even a demon-spawn considering his level of cheer and lack of caffeine.

  I gulped down my coffee and wished I’d thought to double fist it. Before I could sneak back for a refill, an older man in a Hawaiian print button-down walked in, closing the door behind him.

  “Welcome to History and Heritage. For the next few weeks, we’re going to be talking about the formation of the SSF. How we got our start and what our role is as it relates to demons, Nephilim, and the world around us. I’m Professor Wayne, and I’ve been with the agency for sixteen years. In fact, I started as an analyst for the portal division and worked my way up and over from there. Can anyone tell me what that department does?”

  A male recruit raised his hand. I recognized him as the warlock who’d fussed at Milo yesterday during orientation. He was probably not very powerful judging by the ink stains on his fingers. Only lower level magicians still wrote out their spells. Everyone else was digital these days. Or oral.

  “The portal division is in charge of managing the active portals in its district,” the warlock said in a nasally voice. “Analysts provide data on what kinds of demons have come through and how long since the portal was last used. They pinpoint where a demon entered the city and how long it’s been loose.”

  “Good. What’s your name, kid?”

  “Langdon Potts.”

  “Keep it up, Potts.”

  The warlock looked sufficiently pleased with himself. Total nerd, I decided, and possible tutor if I ended up needing the help. School had never been my strong suit. But then I’d never needed to graduate in order to avenge a murder either.

  “And who can tell me when the first demon appeared in the world?”

  “Exactly one hundred years ago in June,” said a female voice. “This summer solstice marks the centennial.”

  I didn’t even have to turn to know which recruit had spoken. The brunette from yesterday’s assembly sat two rows over in the front. Her folded hands and fresh notebook screamed “teacher’s pet.” After the interaction we’d had during orientation, I wasn’t surprised.

  Professor Wayne flashed her a smile. “Correct, Miss. . .?”

  “Faith Burkhart.”

  “Burkhart.” Professor Wayne tapped his chin. “I know that name. Your mother is a scientist?”

  “Geneticist,” Faith said, tossing her chestnut hair as she spoke.

  “Ah. Yes. Brilliant mind. I’ve read her research on using RNA splicing on supes to cure human diseases. Very intriguing.”

  Faith preened. “She’s my mentor and biggest cheerleader.”

  Suddenly, the “blue collar” comment made sense.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Milo pretending to stick his finger down his throat in a gagging motion.

  “Now, who can tell me when the first Nephilim appeared?”

  Milo muttered, “When someone stared into a broken mirror and said Bloody Mary three times in the dark.”

  I choked on a laugh as the rest of the class erupted. Faith shot Milo a dirty look. Professor Wayne seemed torn between amusement and reproach.

  “What’s your name, kid?” he asked.

  “Milo Greene.”

  “Tell you what, Milo. You answer my other questions correctly and I’ll overlook the comedic commentary.”

  “Forever?” Milo quipped.

  “Depends on how many correct answers you can give me.”

  Milo smirked. “The Neph showed up within days of the first wave of demons. Convenient but apparently not a setup as time works differently in the big chill-out in the sky. According to the stories passed down by the Head Nephs, the demon war started in the Underworld, spilled into the Overworld, then ended up here, in the in-between. We’ve been trying to plug the holes ever since.”

  Silence followed.

  “Well.” Professor Wayne cleared his throat. “That’s the most succinct and possibly entertaining way I’ve heard it explained.”

  “And the most ignorant,” Faith muttered.

  Milo flipped her off, and her eyes widened in indignation. She opened her mouth to respond.

  “What about the SSF?” Professor Wayne asked before Faith could get a word out. “Who wants to give the backstory of the organization you now work for?” His eyes swept the room and landed on me. “Miss…?”

  “Gem Hawkins,” I said, knowing full well what would follow.

  As expected, his eyes lit up with recognition. “Any relation to Vic Hawkins?”

  “I’m his daughter.”

  Faith’s eyes narrowed.

  “A legacy, eh? In that case, I’m interested to hear your answer.”

  “The SSF was founded after the first level four demon was recorded,” I said.

  “Location of the four?” the professor challenged.

  “Right here in the French Quarter,” I said.

  He nodded. “Go on.”

  “The Nephilim realized they needed help—”

  “Wanted help,” Faith corrected. I shot her a look, and she added, “The Nephilim don’t need us. They’re stronger and more powerful than any supe will ever be.” She batted her lashes at the professor. “We are honored to serve alongside them in keeping the world safe from evil.”

  “And who will save us from you?”

  The words slipped out before I could stop them.

  Faith gave me a look that could have given demon-poison a run for its money.

  Professor Wayne just laughed.

  “I see a rivalry has already formed. All in good fun, of course.”

  “Of course,” I reassured him.

  Faith didn’t answer, and I knew I’d just made myself her number one target. Something about her syrupy-sweet smile told me I would have been better off facing down a level four hellhound than Faith Burkhart.

  “That’s a frenemy,” Milo whispered, and I shot him a look.

  “You were saying, Miss Hawkins?”

  I looked back at Professor Wayne. “A year after the SSF was founded, the Nephilim formed the council, which oversees all of the major decisions of the organization and all of its employees. For the first sixty-five years, the council consisted of only Nephilim. Ten years ago, they opened a seat to the supes by way of general election.”

  “And who sits on the board for the supes now?” Professor Wayne prompted.

  “No one,”
I answered, anger tightening my chest. “Four years ago, John Fulburn, the supe council member was assassinated, and the Nephilim declared it too dangerous to allow another to sit in his place. The seat has remained empty ever since.”

  “I heard the seat was eliminated last year,” someone else put in.

  “For our safety,” Faith said.

  “I heard it was budget cuts,” said another recruit.

  “Try elitism,” I said, and Professor Wayne lifted a brow.

  “Interesting theory, Miss Hawkins. I look forward to reading your thoughts on the reorganization of the International Coalition and how it affects our own city’s rate of recruitment.” He turned to the rest of the room. “You’ll all write a two-thousand word essay on the subject. Due tomorrow.”

  The others groaned.

  I studied the professor, trying to decide if he’d assigned the paper based on my comments or if he’d intended it all along. Before I could form a theory, he glanced at Faith then back to me.

  “We’ll use the essay as a basis for a class debate. Faith, why don’t you captain one team and Gem can captain the other.”

  I cringed at the idea of pitting myself against Faith. Regardless of my personal feelings, I didn’t want any more enemies if I could help it.

  “Sir, I’d rather—”

  “I look forward to it,” Faith said with a wild gleam lighting her red eyes.

  Of course she did.

  A viper always looked forward to a chance to spew its venom.

  There were zero familiar faces in my next class, and after what had happened in History, I was relieved to be just another face in the crowd. The training room had been cleared of any desks or seating and was nothing more than mats from wall to wall with a large selection of various handheld weapons displayed near the doors.

  I found a spot on the mat and sat like the other recruits.

  “Hey, I’m Leedle.”

  A female recruits on my right stuck her hand out.

  I shook it, noting the glittery dust to her cheeks that almost resembled freckles and the wings folded against the inside of her racerback tank. Pixie then.

  “Gem,” I said.

  “Love the hair.” She flashed a quick smile, and I realized our short blonde cuts were nearly identical.

  “Good morning and welcome to Weapons 101.”

  I had to crane my neck to see the female instructor who spoke from the front of the room. Even with the rest of the recruits sitting, she was barely visible over their heads.

  Dressed in full black, the leather of her pants crinkled as she paced back and forth. Her hands were clasped behind her back and her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail. Her looks were practical—and badass. And it made me wonder if I wasn’t underestimating her. Any woman, regardless of how short or small, who was given a job as weapons instructor probably knew her shit.

  “I’m Professor Kinrade, and I’ll be your instructor for all things weapon-related.”

  One of the recruits snorted and Professor Kinrade stopped short to glare at him.

  “Name?” she demanded.

  “Charles Lane.”

  “Supe category?”

  “Boar shifter.”

  Beside me, Leedle muttered, “Explains some things.”

  “Do you have an opinion about my ability to instruct this class, Charles Lane?”

  “You don’t look like much of a threat,” he said, and I shook my head.

  One look at Professor Kinrade’s gleaming expression and I knew he was going to live to regret that statement.

  “Come on up. You can be my first volunteer.”

  Charles sauntered to the front, and Professor Kinrade resumed her talk.

  “Today, we’ll go over each weapon and you’ll have a chance to play with them, feel their weight, and get comfortable with the proper hold for each one. Starting tomorrow, you’ll need a partner for sparring. We use live weapons, people, so stay alert. If you get too distracted, you just might end up dead, and I don’t want to do that kind of paperwork, are we clear?”

  Leedle and I exchanged a wary look.

  “Good.” The professor strode to the weapons display and pulled down a short-handled blade.

  “Charles, want to tell me what this is?”

  “A knife.”

  A few recruits snickered.

  Kinrade wasn’t amused.

  “An astute observation. Do you know what kind?”

  Charles looked away, still doing his best to seem confident. “The sharp kind?”

  Kinrade turned to the rest of us. “This is a Kershaw. It’s the easiest weapon to conceal carry in terms of weight and placement. It’s also the most accurate for long distance throwing and the most lethal in close combat. It’s an agency favorite, which means you’ll all be issued one of these along with a couple of other staples. Charles?”

  She held out the knife.

  He took it awkwardly.

  “Now, attack,” she said.

  His brows lifted. “You want me to knife you?”

  Her smirk was lethal. “I want you to try.”

  Charles hesitated another moment then shrugged in acceptance. When he lunged, Kinrade danced away easily. Her movements were faster than I’d ever seen especially without magic, but in less than a blink, she’d dodged him and doubled back to wrap her arm around his throat.

  Charles gagged. His face reddened, and I knew she’d squeezed tight enough to cut off his oxygen.

  “Your most important lesson is this,” she said calmly. “Being armed doesn’t make you more dangerous than they are. Know how to use that weapon skillfully or don’t use it all. At the end of the day, you have to be faster and you have to know how to fight with your own two hands.”

  Charles began choking, and she promptly released him. He gasped, bending at the waist as he sucked in air. Kinrade grabbed the knife from his limp hand and returned it to the wall.

  “Sit down, Lane,” she said.

  Charles dropped to the mat, looking relieved.

  The rest of class was a piece by piece instructional on the various weapons we’d be training with. At the end, Kinrade assigned partners, and I ended up paired with Leedle.

  “Looks like we’re going to have to kick each other’s asses starting tomorrow,” she said as class broke up.

  I eyed her wings, knowing I’d have to work extra hard to keep up with her in a fight.

  “Relax,” she said sadly. “They won’t work until the wards are lifted.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Apparently the wards strip everything, so now I’ve got a pair of shower curtains hanging down my back.”

  “Let me know if you need help reaching them in the shower,” one of the male recruits called over.

  “Fulton, if my wings were melting off my body, I wouldn’t call you,” she said.

  “Ouch,” said the guy beside him.

  Fulton just smirked and disappeared into the crowd headed for the dining hall.

  “Hawkins.”

  I turned back and saw Kinrade watching me from doorway.

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” Leedle said with a wave.

  “See you.” I doubled back to the training room. “Ma’am.”

  “You’re a Hawkins. As in, Vic Hawkins’ daughter.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” My stomach sank. Of course she’d called me back to discuss my legacy status.

  “I’d like to establish here and now that doesn’t mean an easy ride for you, no matter how good of an agent your father was.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t expect.”

  She thrust a book at me hard enough to elicit a grunt.

  I frowned down at the thick volume and read the title: Myth & Modern Century Supes.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Let’s call it extra credit.”

  “Why do I need extra—?”

  “Class ended, Miss Hawkins. That means all of your questions will have to hold until tomorrow.”

  I
opened my mouth to argue but was cut off with the door clicking shut in my face.

  So this was what it meant to be a legacy.

  On a sigh, I hurried to drop the book at my dorm room before lunch. This thing was ridiculously heavy, and I didn’t want to lug it around on top of everything else my afternoon instructors might give us.

  The dorm halls were empty, and without the crowd of other recruits pushing against me, I found my room again easily enough. Pressing my finger to the electronic reader, I listened for the click of the lock and then pushed the door open.

  Inside, I stopped and surveyed the room.

  Nothing had moved but there was an envelope on my unmade bed that hadn’t been there before.

  My breath turned shallow, and my senses went on high alert.

  Without my fae hearing or sense of smell, it was impossible to identify who might have put it there.

  With slow, measured movements, I crossed the room and checked the tiny closet.

  Empty.

  None of my clothes were missing.

  Doubling back, I checked under the mattress and found my hidden cell still tucked where I’d left it.

  With relief, I peered down at the envelope.

  There was no name written on the front. And without magic, no signature detectable from the creature who’d left it.

  I picked it up and sniffed anyway.

  Nothing.

  Stupid mundane senses.

  With careful fingers, I peeled back the flap and pulled out the single sheet of paper inside.

  You shouldn’t have come.

  The words were handwritten and messy enough to be almost unreadable.

  I frowned, turning the paper over in my hands, but there was nothing else to indicate who might have sent this.

  My thoughts drifted to the stranger in the alley. The one who’d threatened me away from the academy. But without the proper credentials, there was no way he’d have access to the Tiff. Then again, if my suspicions were right, whoever was behind that message probably had the title and the position to get in here.

  On the other hand, it could have been any one of the students here at the Tiff. Faith came to mind, but I immediately dismissed the idea. I had a feeling her penmanship was better than this. And she wouldn’t stoop to vague notes. She’d tell me to my face.

  One of the instructors, maybe?

  It was a possibility, especially after the way they all seemed to sour toward me once they found out I was a legacy.