Henchgirl (Dakota Kekoa Book 1) (7 page)

“I need her.” I managed, through the cords of fear that tightened around my chest.

“You lie,” he said with absolute certainty. Then he sighed, “What am I going to do with my children? You lie for your mother, Bobby lies for you, yet perhaps it is only inevitable as I was sired by a dragon of trickery.”

“Probably,” I said.

He laughed, and squeezed my shoulder; as his thumb touched my skin I felt the fear I was probably filling up the car with, seeping out of me and into the pad of his thumb.

He rarely did this to me, but I knew it was giving me a taste of my own proverbial medicine. My aspect, at least partially, came from this exact ability of his. We were made from the same blueprint, though, unlike him, I could not keep the emotions. For some reason, my aspect had also morphed into something much more than I should have inherited. In this one way, I was more powerful than my grandfather. Unless I sent it to him, he was limited to feeding only off the strongest emotions people dumped out of them, whereas I had the potential to consume the entirety of a person’s soul.

By the time the driver turned off the main road, a warm numbness had replaced the ice cold fear and my panic had abated enough for me to remember that I had something, something that could redeem me at least a little. “I was invited to hang out with both the Hales at six thirty today.”

“At their home?” He asked.

“No,” I said, disappointed.

“That is still good,” My grandfather said with a smile, “You can finally use your abilities to uncoil and manipulate their emotions. I would suggest you work on the boy, he seems to be the more susceptible of the two.”

The car stopped, as did my mind, the gears just halting.

My grandfather must have read something in my expression because he said. “I know you usually refuse to use your aspect on humans and I understand why you have this reservation, however, this time you will have to overcome them. You will take off your dampener when you are alone with the boy and change his feelings so that he is in love with you.”

“Grandfather,” I said, clearing my throat, “Planting emotions is a lot harder than pulling them. I know it worked when we practiced, but you have so much more soul than Keanu. I don’t know if that’s even possible with a human.”

“It’s very possible. You will have to use finesse. Every other time you’ve uncoiled a soul will only count as practice for what you will have to do, it is within your ability. All you need to do is delve into his deeper emotions and pull emotions from some areas, say his love for wave-riding and plant it instead as an emotion in his memories of you. It is not so different from steering obedience or fear; it will just take more subtlety and artistry. He will seek you out afterward and you can fine-tune it when you are more comfortable and do it in small increments.” It wasn’t a request, it was an order. My grandfather’s stern face showed he would accept nothing but acquiescence.

I nodded.

What could I say to him? ‘No grandfather, I might damage your enemy’s son and I kind-of want him to fall in love with me all on his own.’ Somehow, I did not think it would go over well. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure that was what I really wanted; I just knew whatever I wanted from Keanu, I wanted it to be authentically from him and real.

“Soon the vengeance we have waited so long for will be realized,” My grandfather said.

I inhaled deeply and then nodded again, this time meaning it.

The image of me, eleven years old, drenched in blood, begging my grandfather to make me a soldier arose in my mind. I had trained these past five years for this mission; it was what I’ve lived for. Maybe my grandfather was right to put me aside; I did not deserve to be a soldier.

My grandfather pulled out a gleaming gold paint-ball rifle and said, “I have mine, where is yours?”

In the front pocket of my backpack, I opened an unzipped compartment and found my little coin purse. When the purse was closed, it let off absolutely no magic. That is how the little eastern-print purse had made it possible for me to slip my guns through every type of security. Closed, I could even carry the purse through water-wards; however, I could not use it to get my guns, as its magic would not work past the water-ward line.

“You use this portal into the Dragon Kingdoms too lightly,” my grandfather said, scolding me as he took it from me. “Portals are hungry magic, if you put your hand into it for more than thirty seconds, it will pull you through. I prefer you open it only if your life is at risk.”

Portal-making was my grandfather’s most lucrative aspect. Mostly he opened small portals for dracons looking to communicate with the dragon kingdoms. It was a very, very rare aspect for a dracon and none of his children inherited it.

Honestly, I am glad I did not inherit that aspect even if it would make me rich. My grandfather could only make portals through fire and could only connect to places of fire; as there was fire in his blood, in all dracons’ blood, that was what he usually used. That was why the inside of my little purse was red, which was just all kinds of gross.

If I did pass entirely through one of his portals, as I am a creature with fire in my blood, I could survive, whereas a human who only has water in their blood would die instantly. However, if I did pass through I would be stuck in the dragon kingdoms, no thank you.

My grandfather’s hand opened and yanked out Incident, my handgun Contingency’s little brother, without my seeing him move. He released the round in the chamber and replaced the clip before handing back over my little paint-ball gun.

The driver parked us in front at the shooting range that my grandfather had built for me in a field that had previously been on a sugar cane plantation. He had bought it as soon as I had inherited my second, smaller aspect, my sniper’s aim. He had left most of the property as a productive and functional cane field, only clearing out the central area to put in a maze of small buildings that my grandfather loved to have switched around on me.

Leaning over to open my door, he told me, “One minute until I shoot. I’ll make twenty doppelgangers this time.”

“I’ll shoot you in half that! Loser buys pizza!” I said, jumping out of the car into a full sprint.

Chapter Five

“He’s here!” my youngest sister, Stacy, lisped out, pulling her face off my window and leaving an impression of her nose and forehead behind. Stacy was playing my self-appointed look-out, more excited about my date than I was.

“Finally,” I said.

The silver truck ripping up our driveway appeared bleary through the pane, either my window was really dirty or I was exhausted.

“Do me one more favor?” I asked Stacy. “Make sure the coast is clear for me?”

Stacy, who was ten, looked so excited her pigtails were threatening to stand on end. “Yeah, I’ll do a really good job!” she said.

She ran off before I maneuvered off my bed. There was only one person I was avoiding, my mother. When I had arrived home, I was stuffed with the pizza I had purchased and I was covered in multi-colored paint.

A second after I closed the front door, my mother rushed into the spacious wood-walled foyer of our stolen mansion. The house smelled like lemon and bleach, probably my older sister Clara’s doing.

Mom had a shuffle walk, her platform shoes wearing in the well defined scuffed lines on the hardwood.

Having five dracon babies was hard on my mother, even diluted as our dracon blood was. She was once a staggering beauty, that’s how she attracted Lorien, Deagan and Clara’s birth-father’s attention; but as she often reminds us, “Every baby added five pounds and five wrinkles.” But my guess was that the gin added even more than that. Sometimes I thought the only remnant of her past unsurpassed beauty was reflected in how devotedly she groomed and dressed herself.

“Sweetheart, you’re home!” she said, tilting her head and slightly pouting out her lower lip. “You must be exhausted.” Her large brown eyes, full dimpled cheeks and fifty thousand dollar smile were so familiar; I wanted so much to be comforted.

“Yeah,” I said, gently setting down my bag to avoid getting paint on it. “But I can’t pass out, I have another assignment tonight.”

Would that be the last time I said that? I felt… what was beyond disheartened? Everything was shattering.

“Oh, baby,” she said, “Do you want me to fix you something?”

“Yeah,” I said, and to my horror, there were suppressed tears in my voice. Rubbing at my eyes, I wondered why I suddenly did want her to fix me something so much; I wanted her to fix me anything. “Can I have some tea?”

“Yeah love, come on into the kitchen.”

Careful not to touch anything, I followed her, the weight on my shoulders amazingly feeling less with my mother fixing me tea; and I almost reeled back when I saw a werewolf in her human form sitting at a barstool at our counter. Her two-piece suit and folder screamed professional, as clearly as her double-soul clued me that deep in her was a moderately strong she-werewolf; not an alpha, but far from an omega.

I stopped dead as I saw what covered the counter, cloth samples.

No. Just no.

My mother’s smile grew and locked on her face as she bustled around the kitchen pretending she knew where everything was. The house was all windows and wood, the light from the western windows made me squint in the afternoon sun as I watched her. She mumbled something about maids moving the kettle from its usual spot.

I resisted the urge to show her where we kept it.

“This is the daughter that I was telling you about, Gina,” my mother said, finally finding the kettle and filling it at the tap; she forgot to switch on the filter. She looked over at me with a weighty glance. “Did you remember to go by the bank on the way home angel?”

For a moment, what she was saying did not compute, and when it did the hot tears feeling returned. But I would not cry. She knew I was getting paid today, and she already spent the money. And, I did not have it.

Gina swiveled in the bar-stool to give me a tight smile; her voice was low, raspy. “Yes, we’ve been expecting you.” The look she pointed my way was professional and detached.

I locked my gaze with my mother’s, saying, “They wouldn’t let me withdraw at the teller, since my name isn’t on your account.”

Her words were spoken through a tense smile, “How much did they let you get out?”

“Fifteen hundred,” I said. Then, because my lie sounded so stupid I added, “It was the ATM limit. I’ll go get it.”

“No, honey, you’re exhausted, I’ll get it.” And she was shuffling to the foyer before I could stop her. She returned a minute later with the remainder of my money. “Gina, I can only pay you close to four thousand now. Could I reserve the date for that?”

Gina had no touch of sympathy in her voice, “We could do this Stephanie one of two ways: you can pay in full now and receive a ten percent discount, reducing your budget of twenty-five thousand to twenty-two thousand five hundred or you could pay a nonrefundable deposit of twenty percent then the remainder in full on the morning of the event, but you will not receive the discount.”

“Great, I’ll do the second,” my mother said. She handed over my cash and pulled out her checkbook. “Can I write a check for the remainder of the deposit?”

I walked out, the tap-water tea completely unappetizing.

When my older sister Clara appeared at the top of the stairs, her inhuman beauty seemed to shine down on me. She rushed down and embraced me completely ignoring the paint on every inch of me. “Hey goofy girl, how was your day?” My sister’s soul was like morning sunshine, as warm and pure as a sunrise.

I had to fight myself from pushing her off of me.

The grocery money I had promised her was gone, and my belly was full of pizza. The worst part was the cash was still in the house, still within my reach, and I was too pathetic to take it from Gina’s grasp.

“I have to shower,” I grumbled, shrugging off her embrace and dodging Stacy as she ran for me.

After the shower, I locked myself and Stacy, when she wouldn’t stop knocking, in my room which had been enough to keep my mom from barging in.

My luck did not hold when I descended the stairs, busy trying to redo the clasp on my dampener charm bracelet, I looked up to find my mother leaning against the front door.

“It doesn’t look like an assignment to me,” she said.

“It is.” I did not really feel the need to explain myself so I reached for the doorknob willing to push her aside if I had to.

Her hand took the bracelet I had not managed to put on, and she clasped it around my arm, and did not take her hand away. “Sweetheart, I know that you are angry at me, but you need to understand, what I do, I do for all of us. I am only ever thinking of our family.”

It took all of my energy to tolerate her touch I was so angry with her, knowing if I knocked her hand away, I would more than likely use too much force. “Mom,” I said, “Let go of my hand or I can’t make you any money.” Right before I opened the door, I said, “Oh yeah, it’ll be one hell of a party with no electricity.”

I did not wait for a response, just ran up the driveway and climbed into the bed of the pick-up where Keanu was reclining and settled in next to him. The outside of the truck was dirty, but the bed was spotless.

“Hey beautiful,” Keanu said smiling. Then he asked, “Does your mom care you’re back here?”

He nodded toward my mom as she was still standing in the doorway, arms crossed and gaze disapproving.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said.

“Alright,” he said, tapping the back window of the truck with his knuckles. As we drove away my mother just stood there, watching.

The truth was: I was positive that my mother hated that I was lying in the bed of a truck with a boy, but she would never object.

The first time I came home with a split lip from a job, some stupid little girl part of me really wanted to believe that my mother would throw a fit and demand I stop. She had taken one look at my face and then turned and poured herself a glass of vodka with shaking hands. It was actually really stupid that I was disappointed in her reaction, because even at twelve I would not have stopped or wanted her to get in my way.