Hell's Belle (2 page)

I’d parked my beat-up work truck two streets over and walked to the back of the building. I could feel the noonday sun beating down. The sky was a cloudless blue, and the temp was already climbing. But the heat worked in my favor. It was Sunday, so many of the warehouse’s windows had been left open. Without the ventilation, Monday’s workers would’ve walked into a concrete and steel oven.

A trail of sweat streamed down my back. Some days my body craved the heat. But today wasn’t one of them. Thankfully, I’d worn jeans and a tank top instead of leather. Leather would protect you in a fight but it wouldn’t matter if you died of heatstroke before the first punch flew. For the same reason, I’d pulled my raven-black hair into a braid.

I used my palm to remove dirt from the windowpane, wiped the grime on my faded jeans, and briefly noted my reflection. The mirrored woman’s light-blue eyes looked worried…and tired. The dark smudges under those eyes were from a month of nightmare-interrupted sleep. I ignored her worry and the foreboding sense those shadowy dreams had evoked, instead looking past my reflection to assess the warehouse’s layout. There was one main door with a center aisle wide enough to allow the two forklifts parked at the front to pass each other. To each side was aisle after aisle of stacked building supplies. Not surprising, considering the building was part of a boat builder’s shipyard.

I was climbing through another window farther down, out of Bob’s sight, when I heard the gravel at the warehouse’s front crunch. A door slammed, and I moved quickly inside. If Bob had a partner, I wanted to catch them both. It was doubtful the miserly vamps would increase my fee, but I was a classic overachiever…when I wasn’t majorly screwing something up. My business partner, Mynx, said it was a yin-yang thing. And I agreed. Like clockwork, at least once a week, life always came full circle to bite me in the ass.

Once inside, I paused, letting my eyes adjust. There was fluorescent lighting high in the rafters, but as this was a clandestine meeting, it hadn’t been turned on. Dust motes swirled in the sunlight coming from both high and low windows. Sawdust covered the floor, its scent nicer than the sickly-sweet, rotten meat smell drifting from Bob’s direction.

While I worked my way through aisle after aisle of timber and God knows what else, I double-checked my weapons. They were the standard stun guns that most runners carried when dealing with humans. It was illegal to use magic against a human, unless they were also armed. That was one of the many rules the government had established to help the humans feel safe after the Supernatural community had popped out of the proverbial closet. Still, that particular rule no longer applied here.

The stunners were holstered in a leather harness that ran across my shoulders and back, leaving the guns beneath my arms. In my utility belt I had an assortment of charms. And attached at my right hip was my whip, real silver woven into its black leather braid. The whip was great for intimidating Weres. But for Bob? It was doubtful either weapon would help. And I couldn’t be sure of my charms. I’d never used one on someone who was already dead. And, unfortunately, I’d left my more deadly knives, sword, and silver-tipped throwing stars at home. I’d thought bringing those to retrieve a human was overkill—a decision I was already regretting.

That left me with only one viable option: My own, innate magic. My family was comprised of generational witches, dealing mostly with earth and energy magic. I had those abilities, though they needed refining. Plus, I had a little something extra.

I’d nearly reached Bob when I heard muffled voices. I carefully looked around the metal shelf separating us. A tall figure was taking a briefcase from my target. No matter how hard I looked, the figure’s face was hazy.
A distortion charm.
A well-made and very illegal one. Not that these two were concerned with obeying the law.

The distorted man almost appeared to be wearing a cloak, but that couldn’t be, not in this Mississippi heat. For a moment, his guise slipped, showing a twisted, gnarled face.

“You work for me,” the distorted figure growled.

“Maybe today,” Bob said, “but only because my master wishes it. You’ve been gone a long time, Nicodemus. Things change.” He paused. “Allegiances change.” Bob’s reply was slurred. That was good. Very good. No matter how powerful the possessing spirit, dead bodies still broke down. A slow tongue meant Bob’s other muscles would also be slower and less accurate.

I inched closer, barely hearing the distorted man snarl, “The pendulum swings both ways, my friend.” He sneered. “Soon it will swing again in my favor. You’d do well to remember your loyalties.”

I frowned. This sounded like more than missing money. The cold, hard knot forming in the pit of my stomach echoed my thoughts.

I could’ve walked away. They weren’t aware of my presence, and I was ill-prepared for this fight. Every instinct I had said go. Everything my family had taught me about picking my battles seconded that. But there comes a time in life when you have to do the wrong thing for all the right reasons.

Or maybe I was just in the mood to do something really, really stupid.

Usually the criminals I’m hired to retrieve at least do me the courtesy of waiting until I announce something cliché like “Reach for the sky” before fighting. I’ve been told that I have a deceptively innocent face and that my five feet five stature is
not
intimidating. But I’ve always thought it was my sweet, Southern drawl that did it. As my Nana says, “A pretty face and charming disposition go a long way to disarming a man.” Although, come to think of it, I’ve never determined whether or not I was supposed to take that literally. Whatever the cause, most don’t believe I’m there for them…until a knife pressed to their ribs drives home the point.

But I guess my mystery man and Bob were in a hurry, because I’d barely stepped into the open when Bob said, “Someone’s here.” The distorted man’s hooded head jerked in my direction. I had a moment to note that I had been wrong. The cloak
was
real and not part of the illusion. Then I was dodging as Bob—who I was beginning to think deserved a more villainous name—threw a ball of black-magic at me. I skidded behind a heavily laden shelf, and the ball whooshed by with a dark chill, narrowly missing my ear. My enspelled earrings sparked, reacting to its magic.

I moved again, ducking behind a crate of nails just as another ball flew past, smashing into a stack of timber behind me. Wood sizzled, smelling of acid rot as black-magic consumed the planks. I raised my head then quickly dropped again. I didn’t need my eyes to locate Bob. His evil aura and revolting smell were strong enough to paint a bull’s-eye at midnight. But with his distortion amulet, my mystery man could be anywhere—a sniper waiting for a chance to pull the black-magic trigger.

Or not.

Movement on my right drew my attention. The distorted man was slowly and confidently walking out with the briefcase. On my left, Bob was forming another of those deadly balls. I shuddered. Bob Rainey had the same sadistically happy expression he’d worn when playing with the rats. The distorted man said, “Meet me, Sarkoph, when this is done, but take another body. That one has outlived its usefulness.” He stepped into the sunshine streaming through a high window. Again, I glimpsed a gnarled, twisted face, but this time, sharp, red-brown teeth and black lifeless eyes were also discernable. He turned back to say more, and his features were once again like that of the hooded reaper, only blackness where a face should’ve been. “And leave no trace of this one. We are too close now for mistakes. Fail, and I’ll make sure your true master, not that bitch you serve, executes your punishment.”

Bob or Sarkoph or whoever he was (well, I had wanted a more villainous name) simply said, “It shall be done, my lord Nicodemus.” He spat out the title.

Wait, did he say dispose of? I was suddenly furious, my previous caution washed away. It would take more than a stiff-limbed accountant with demonic powers to finish me. And if they thought anything less, they were in for a surprise. Mr. Monkey-Suit and his fake hair were about to find out that I was descended from a long line of ass-kickers.

My breathing slowed. I focused on the fire flowing through my veins. I’d promised my mother never to call the flames outside of our family home. It wasn’t a power witches had. It wasn’t even a power guardians had. My mother had said if the wrong person found out, there’d be hell to pay.

However, things change. My mom wasn’t around to care about a promise made years ago. And even if she were, Evie Delacy had been the one to teach me that sometimes to survive you had to break the rules. This was a matter of survival. There would be no containing a demon-possessed body. One way or another, Bob Rainey’s dark rider had to go.

Two orbs then a slight pause looked to be this thing called Sarkoph’s pattern. With only seconds before the next attack, I came out blazing, literally. I threw a ball of bright green earth-magic at the distorted man. It clipped his shoulder, eliciting a muffled curse. Then he was gone, fleeing into the brightness of a spring day. The door closed with a click. And Sarkoph and I were alone in the half-light.

From the corner of my eye I saw Sarkoph prepare his throw. Pulling on my innate magic, I twisted, letting the forbidden fire run down my black and silver whip. The flying leather coiled around his hand, and I pulled. His magic flew right, splattering with a loud
boom
on something metallic. Ears ringing, I barely heard Sarkoph’s pained cry as fire seared his wrist. Who knew the dead could feel pain?

I certainly hadn’t, but it was useful information. I might not be able to destroy his body, but I could make it a highly uncomfortable residence. A little voice in my head said that was a bad idea. But I wasn’t listening. It was the best idea I had, so it would have to do. I felt the pain in my own arm. Blood dripped warm and slick from where his last shot had grazed me. Though small, the cut felt like it was simultaneously being melted and frozen. Magic that corrupt was poisonous, even to the one wielding it. The wound needed to be cleansed soon, or things would get nasty.

I needed this fight to end…and quickly. I looked at Sarkoph. It hadn’t occurred to him that I was within reaching distance. I needed to act before that fact smacked us both in the face. This close, his cologne, eau de decay, was horrific, making the urge to gag mind-blowing. And his appearance didn’t help. Bob’s facial muscles were loose, jowls sagging, all visible skin a purplish white. Even if I hadn’t crashed the party, the spirit would’ve needed to abandon his body soon.

Sarkoph was trying to pry my whip from his wrist, but as long as I kept my flames steady, he couldn’t get a good grip without scorching his fingers. But controlling my fire was difficult, another reason to hurry. I dug deep, pulling fire into my left hand.

I was about to do something really dumb…and really, really stinky.

Stepping forward, I dragged Bob’s smelly, rotting corpse closer, dry heaving as we came nose to nose. His eyes widened, hands rising to stop me, but I was already shoving fire straight into his chest. Sarkoph’s eyes rolled back. His nails dug into my forearms, his magic-coated fingertips scorching my skin before his grip slackened and his hands fell away. For a second, my flames danced on his chest. I kept pushing, willing them to go deeper. The spirit resisted. His body sagged, his weight pulling on my whip. Then the resistance slipped away. Like a ship gliding through water, the fire pushed into and through him, forcing the possessing entity out.

With a surge, the wall I’d been pushing against simply dissolved, and I nearly fell on top of Bob’s corpse, managing at the last moment to throw myself backward. I landed on my ass in the sawdust and sat there for a second, disbelieving what I’d done. Then I jumped up. Confused, I found myself suddenly standing over an unmoving, lifeless, decaying lump with a very pissed-off mass of darkness hissing and hovering above it.

There wasn’t a curse word big enough for this.

I’d never used my fire against something living or, in Sarkoph’s case, something dead but with a body capable of independent thought. (I wouldn’t say intelligent. He had, after all, stolen from the Vamps.) It shouldn’t have worked like this—exorcism was not one of my powers—but the magic had heeded my request…just not in the manner I’d expected.

Using my fire, I quickly drew three of the four protection wards. They shimmered red in the air. Against a full blast of black-magic, three wards wouldn’t hold as well as four, but they’d have to do. I wasn’t about to turn my back to draw the last corner. Hopefully, with my fire’s boost, they’d keep me from being possessed until I could banish this demon. And I was sure now that he was a demon or, at the least, one of their lower-level cousins. A bodiless spirit, Sarkoph’s true power came through possession, meaning he was vulnerable until he made himself a new host by forcing someone’s soul out. Unfortunately, I was now the most convenient Motel 6.

Time. I needed some to think of a banishment. “So, tell me, why didn’t you run?” I asked, slowly dragging my feet through the floor’s sawdust. I wasn’t really expecting a reply, just hoping to occupy the spirit while it tried to process my question.
No way was Aunt Helena going to believe this.
“That was an awful lot of money. You could be on a beach somewhere, sipping margaritas.”

Only the oldest spirits could speak outside a body, so I was surprised when the darkness that was Sarkoph did, his deep grating words barely understandable. “Know…runner come…always send powerful ones.” The dark mass vibrated, expanding and contracting with each word. Tendrils of demonic power began to test my wards. I kept moving.
“
Make runner mine. Money good…body better. This one…smells.”

I snorted, stifling a sarcastic retort.
Smells
was a definite understatement, but criticizing the vocabulary of something trying to possess me seemed unwise. I moved further, never turning my back, adding what earth-magic I could to strengthen my defenses, racking my brain for something…anything.