by A M Boone
“Good morning, Eliana,” she said, beaming.
“Hey.” I rubbed my eyes. Why were they here so early? It was barely 9 AM. Truth be told, if it wasn’t for work or school, I didn’t get up before noon.
I was just wearing a long t-shirt that clung to me a bit more than I’d like. If I’d known they were going to show up at ass o’clock in the morning, I would have gotten dressed.
Vincent looked me over, and his eyes flashed red. Hopefully that was a good thing. Better red than black, though.
He side-eyed me. “Well, Miss Delacroix? Are you going to let us in or not?”
I yawned. “Why are you even here?”
“I said you and Gloria were going to train, did I not? I need to make sure my personal assistant is in tip-top shape, after all.”
Fair. I hadn’t even used any magic since I blew up, since Gloria said I’d damaged my core.
I stepped aside and let them in.
Vincent plopped down on my couch and started playing Mario on the Wii-U.
First thing: Rude. He could have asked first.
Second thing: Demons played Mario? What the hell?
“Well, Eliana,” she said. “Have you been practicing?”
“Uh…”
Vincent glanced at me.
“I mean, after the whole exploding thing, I’ve been a little…”
The word stuck in my throat. Terrified.
“You won’t get any stronger if you don’t practice.”
“You said I was barely a witch.”
“I never said that. All descendants of Mother, the first witch, have power.”
“I’m just… What if I blow myself up again? I don’t want to die.”
“That’s what the practice is for.” She rested her hand on mine, and her eyes twinkled. I couldn’t help but be reminded of Momma.
“Okay.”
The training was more or less the same as last time. Drawing spell circles and making them do their our bidding, regulating the flow of wild magic through our bodies, blah, blah, blah…
But it was a little easier now. Maybe overloading my body with magic was enough to widen the chakra pathways, or whatever the hell let us do magic.
“Good,” she said. “Keep practicing. I’d start carrying around sticky notes and a notebook with spell circles. Most witches do, after all.”
“Right.”
And she floated away with enough grace to make me look like an oaf.
“What’s up?” I asked. “Don’t you have things to do? Terrorize your sister? Watch some stocks?”
“We need to talk. Again.” His voice was quiet, and he let out a long, low sigh. Had what happened at Monica’s ball fucked him up that badly?
“Okay. Is this about Santi?”
He took a deep breath and pursed his lips, resting his hands in his lap.
“Is it about the whole eldritch monster in disguise thing?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me a monster.”
Great. I’d made it worse. Of course I’d make it worse. I was the queen of shoving my foot in my mouth.
“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, and a few strands came out with it. Strange. But his shapeshifting looked fine today. He looked normal—well as normal as demonic royalty in the human world could. And ridiculously, almost comically, attractive. Couldn’t forget that.
“It’s nice you still find me attractive. I couldn’t feed off you if you didn’t.”
It always came back to me being a free meal.
“You’re not free, Miss Delacroix. I still have to buy you dinner first.” He smirked at me. “But on the serious side, we do need to talk. The Collective blew up the Rose Creek police station. They think you have extra-dimensional blood, since no one who’s ‘pure’ would ever ally with me voluntarily.”
“Great.”
Wait. They thought I was eldritch? No way. I was human—well, mostly human—and I’d know if I was partially from some different, horrific dimension.
“You don’t have any.” He crossed his legs. “I would have sensed it when we first met.”
I joined him on the couch. Just yesterday, Santi and were kissing here, and now… “How many people are like you?”
“Not a lot. In all the years I’ve been alive, I’ve only met thirty.”
I nodded. Made sense.
“But that’s not all I’m here to discuss. Since I took out Harriet’s inner circle, you’re safe for now.”
For now. The words hung in the air between us, and I shivered.
“She’ll regain allies, put out more propaganda in the supernatural world, and come back eventually, but for now, everything should be okay.”
Should be okay. That didn’t mean it’d actually be okay.
“Just watch your back. It’d kill me if you got hurt.”
And for the first time since he gotten here, he sounded sincere. Like a man who wanted to protect me and keep me safe and happy.
“How are things going with Mr. Dominguez?”
“F-fine.” I twiddled my thumbs, my face hot. “You’re really okay with this?”
“It’s just a bit of playing.” He slid his hand onto my thigh. “Nothing serious. As long as you come back to me at the end of the day, I don’t care.”
I gave him a look. Playing? Really? He was acting like we were kindergartners playing house. Not grown-ass people.
But he smiled.
“And Feli?”
“Feli and I have shared partners before. I don’t mind sharing you with them.” He shrugged. “Anyway, one more thing.”
“What is it?”
“I should have discussed this with you the night we made the contract, but it slipped my mind. How do you want me to look? I can shapeshift into any body you’d like, Miss Delacroix.” He stood up and walked around the room. With every step his body changed slightly: taller, shorter, more muscular, less muscular, chubby, curvy, angular… Just watching him made my head spin.
“Weird!” I blurted out.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He stopped just out of my reach.
“That’s weird! Just… I dunno… Stay the way you were when you came in.”
“Are you sure? I want to make myself as pleasing to you as possible.”
I shivered.
“What would you want your dream man to look like?” He stepped forward and gently caressed my face, before trailing a finger behind my ear.
No one had ever asked me that before. When I was in love with Tony, I would have answered his body. Taller than me, lithe, with milky white skin and piercing blue eyes.. But now that he was out of the picture, I could have anything I wanted.
“Did you do this with Daniel? Choose a form he wanted and not how you saw yourself?”
“I did. But cubi’s internal pattern is much more fluid than humans’,” he said. “I don’t mind changing myself. But yes, I looked like this most of the time.” He shimmered, and he became a little shorter and stockier, like a jock turned computer programmer. “Would you like this?”
“Not really. Something with abs?”
“This?” Another shimmer, and he shot up six inches in height and bulk.
I shook my head. “Too big. Swimsuit model?”
“I think I get it.” He shimmered again, and shrank a bit. “Like this?”
“Yeah. I like that.”
“Excellent. So do I. I’ll admit that Daniel’s preferred form and mine… didn’t overlap much. He liked the ‘jiggle.’”
I couldn’t help it. Whether it was from the absurdity of the situation, or I’d finally just cracked from the stress… I burst into hysterical laughter, tears streaming down my face.
He eyed me. “What’s so funny?”
“I don’t know!”
“I see.”
“I think I’m just overwhelmed. I’ll get over it.”
He nodded.
“It’s nice that you’re actually
talking about Daniel.”
“I was told that it’d be better for me to talk about him than keep it all bottled up.”
“Fair.”
“I’ll let you go. Remember to keep an eye out for anyone who might want to hurt you.”
“Of course.”
He let out a quiet noise of agreement, then vanished in a shimmer of light.
Maybe Feli and Santi were right. Maybe everything would be okay.
Chapter Twelve
Vincent sent me a text message Tuesday night reminding me of our debtor appointment.
I swallowed. We hadn’t gone after a debtor since Neil, and that was a disaster.
And after he went all squirmy at Monica’s ball… Sometimes all I could see was that. Not the man who saved my life, not the cubi that made my heart race and my magic sing, just an abomination. And the noises—dear lord, the noises—and how… ruthless he was. How he killed ten people in less than that many minutes.
If it wasn’t for Feli protecting me, I would have gone blind like Vincent’s mom, or worse, become a drooling vegetable. Nausea churned in my gut, and I swallowed it down. I couldn’t do anything about Vincent’s extra-dimensional blood. If I didn’t accept every part of him, from the squirming to the attractive, he’d just eat me.
Well, maybe not. He seemed to like, or at least respect me now.
I sighed as my cellphone buzzed again.
I’m outside.
I pulled my hair into a messy ponytail, then left to go meet him.
“Good evening, Miss Delacroix,” he said softly. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Who are we kneecapping tonight?”
“A Shade. His name is Francis, and I saved his life a couple of years back, after he tried to defect from The Order of Donovan de Witte. They nearly destroyed his shadow soul in a ritual after they caught him.”
“The Order of Donovan de Witte?”
“Shades—well, most Shades—see their queen, Noelle St. Pierre, as their goddess’s liaison in their world. All-seeing, all-knowing, all-powerful, you get it. But there’s another ‘sect’ who believes she’s a fraud, and that Donovan de Witte is their true god.”
“I see.”
“They’re lunatics and terrorists,” he snapped. “Never get involved with them.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” I shrugged. Supernatural politics wasn’t my bag, anyway.
“They’re currently driving a young Shade man insane because they believe he’s the reincarnation of Donovan de Witte. Not worth it.”
I stayed silent. Hadn’t Vincent nearly gone all squirmy and taken over the world after Daniel’s death? Did he really have any place to talk?
He glanced at me, and I shut up. Mind reading. Always mind reading.
“That was a complicated time in my life. Very, very complicated.”
That was the understatement of the century.
I gave him a small smile, but he didn’t match it. Foot. Mouth. Once again.
“You never truly get over the death of a loved one, but you have to move on eventually,” he said softly. I nodded. “Anyway. I gave him protection for six months to throw them off his trail, and one hundred thousand dollars so he could start a life in the human world, so now he owes me. We’re just cashing in.”
I lost my breath. Last time we “cashed in” on someone, Vincent nearly died—oh. That made sense now.
But this still wasn’t going to end well.
My phone rang. Anthony’s mother.
“Who’s that?”
“Anthony’s mom,” I said quietly. “I’m going to—”
He snatched my phone out of my hand and answered the call. “Good evening, Mrs. Harrison. How may I help you?” He tapped the speakerphone button and placed the phone in his drink holder.
“Excuse me?” she cried. “Who are you, and why do you have Eliana’s phone?”
“That’s for me to know and you to never find out.” His voice was as smooth as silk, but there was that venom behind it, as if he were talking to Monica. “Now, I’m only going to say this once. Eliana Cecilia Delacroix had nothing to do with your son’s disappearance.”
Her voice was so defeated. “Then… who did?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” And he hung up.
I nearly screamed. That made it even worse! How was it that he managed to make everything worse? They’d be able to track his voice, track my phone, track everything about me, and…
“Calm down. They won’t.”
“But you can’t—”
“I’m much more rich and powerful than you think I am, Miss Delacroix.”
I tugged at a few of my locs, my heart thudding away in my chest. That still made things worse. Maybe he had some grand plan in mind that my puny mind couldn’t comprehend.
The rest of the car ride went on in silence, except for the radio quietly playing classical music, and Anthony’s mother constantly calling my phone.
* * *
We pulled up to a small, but still nice enough looking house, with dark gray walls, and matching roof tiles. This was a Shade house? How was Vincent so sure this guy lived here? Santi said something about them living in an alternate realm. Urzalov or something like that.
“Shades are rare,” he said quietly. “But I know he lives here. I have sources.”
“Right,” I said again, and hopped out of his car. “Will I need the gun?”
“Most likely not, but you can never be so sure—” Vincent froze, staring off into the distance.
“What’s up?”
“Someone followed us here.”
“Who?”
And as if on cue, that hooded figure came out of the woodwork, just staring.
“Who the fuck are you, and what do you want?” Vincent snarled. “You stay away from her! Did Harriet Albero send you?”
No response.
“I’ve been seeing this figure all over,” I said, shaking. “I don’t know what it—they—want.”
He glared at me. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
“I think someone stalking you is important—ah. Turning the tables.” He gave me a small smirk. “Anyway. Did it hurt you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Vincent teleported over to it and grabbed its hood. “Let’s see who this mysterious stalker is—”
“No!” it cried, and shoved Vincent to the ground.
A male voice. It threw another stone at the ground, and smoke billowed from it.
Vincent swore loudly enough that a few lights came on in nearby houses.
But just like the second time, when the smoke cleared, it was gone. So I wasn’t hallucinating. Both Santi and Vincent saw it. Great. I had my dead husband’s parents on my ass, several groups wanting me and/or Vincent dead, and a stalker. My palms went damp, and my heart raced away. What the hell did I get myself into?
I sighed.
Vincent put his hands on his hips. “All right. Part of me wants to call this off and take you back to my apartment, but I won’t. Let’s do this. Afterward, you’re permanently moving in with me. We can get your credits transferred to Holy Names University, or some other school in the Bay Area.”
“No,” I said firmly. “I can hold my own, and it doesn’t seem to want to hurt me.”
“Yet.”
“Vincent.”
“Miss Delacroix.”
“You know what I mean. I can hold my own. I have magic and a gun. That should be more than enough.”
“If you insist. But if you see it again, call me immediately.”
“Got it.”
* * *
Vincent knocked on Francis’s door. No response. Figured as much. No one ever answered the door when debt collectors came by. That was true for anybody. Human, Shade, demon…
I sighed. Vincent was still in his—well, my preferred—form. Not hulking and demonic, but not lithe like in his baseline form. Just a normal, built
, good looking guy. Weird.
He glanced at me again. “This was what you wanted, correct?”
“I mean, yeah, but I thought you’d change for a job.”
“I don’t plan on cracking any skulls tonight.”
He didn’t plan on it. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t.
Vincent knocked again, and said, “Francis, let’s not do this. Let’s just talk this out, and everything will be fine.”
The door’s lock clicked, and Vincent opened the door.
“At least he’s smart,” he said quietly, then grabbed my hand and walked in.
A young woman, probably around sixteen or so, lingered near the entrance. What was she doing here? “Are you Mr. Aldana?”
He nodded. “I’m here to talk to Francis. Is he in?”
“Yes…” Her voice was high, like a songbird’s, and clear, but accented in a way I’d never heard before. It was almost like she was singing, but not. Strange.
Well, she was probably from the Shade world. Of course she’d have an accent.
She motioned for us to follow her, and went further into the house. Unlike Elery’s house, which needed to be condemned, or Oliver Li’s, which made me feel small just standing near it, this was a thankfully normal house.
She stopped in front of a door. “He’s here.”
He opened the door, and a man, with platinum blond hair was kneeling near the bed, praying.
“Mr. Aldana,” he said quietly. His voice had the same cadence as the girl’s. “I knew this day was coming.”
“I’m just asking for my debt to be repaid. You have three choices. Money, work, or life. Make up your mind, and do it quick because I don’t have much patience about things like this.”
Heh. Didn’t blame him. After what happened with Elery, Neil and Oliver, I wouldn’t have much patience either.
“How much?”
He pulled out that notebook from his pocket—the same one my name was written in—and flipped through the pages. “Twenty thousand ithuns.”
What the hell was an ithun? Shade money? I glanced at the book, but the notes were written in the demonic tongue. Because of course they were.
“Twenty thousand? I thought you said twenty thousand human dollars? Are you insane?”
“No. Merely a businessman. I do have some openings in a workshop in Shioya or Thoiriele?”
Francis’s eyes flashed black, and tendrils of shadows slithered up his arms.