Destined to Reap (Reaping Fate Book 3) Page 5

  Wait—what? Intense was his gaze, and it took me several moments before comprehension sunk in. Her was our overworked server who was still darting around the room attempting to serve about ten tables at once as an apparent new exercise regime. Money was the wad of cash I’d noticed her pulling out of her apron pocket whenever a table was in need of change. No doubt the money made up a combination of food sales and tips.

  Protesting was at the tip of my tongue because the scumbag seated across from me had hit a new low.

  Test.

  Damon was testing me. Skeptical was he of my outrageous story which, truth be told, he had every right to be. Swallowing back the taste of beets on my breath, I focused on his eyes. The color no longer green. I’d noticed the change before, the shift into a deep hazel.

  “You want her money?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  So not okay. And how the hell was I to pull this off? Damon beckoned our waitress over. Dazed and obedient, I admonished myself. Acting classes needed to be on one of my to-do lists, Improv was becoming a requirement for my survival. Focusing on my task, I blocked Mind from thinking the word theft.

  “Yes, what can I get for you?” the woman approached, asking with a smile.

  Happiness—even the customer service kind—wouldn’t reflect on her face for much longer. The pocket nearest me on her apron showed a small bulge. Gaze zoned in while Damon kept the waitress distracted. How was I to do this? If truly compelled, wouldn’t I be focused on the Warlock’s command and nothing else? Staring at her apron as if memorized, I extended my arm and slipped a hand inside the fabric. I expected the woman to jerk back from my action, but she didn’t seem to notice. Instead, I extracted a wad of cash, which I kept tucked in hands now folded on my lap. Eyes lifted, and I prayed like hell it was worshipfulness, not contempt, reflecting in their depths as my gaze refocused on Damon.

  I must have been convincing because Damon’s features reflected no suspicion. The touch of his hand underneath the table was all I felt as he pried the money away from my clutch. Then a twenty and a ten made their appearance as he handed the cash over to our server.

  “Keep the change, Shannon,” Damon said. He looked at me. “Ready to go, sweetie?”

  Mouth gaped because… the gall of that man. And based on the narrowing of his eyes, my expressed adoration for the bastard had joined the ghost of Anna Dunne in the tropics. Shit.

  “Yes,” I said and stood. We exited the restaurant before Shannon reached back into her apron pocket to realize her day’s earnings, plus the establishment’s sales, had walked out the door. Thank God, that was over. I felt dirty. Nerves tensed as I worried the owners would make the innocent waitress pay for their missing profit. Did I have enough money in Checking Account to mail her for reimbursement? How much had I even taken?

  “Something’s going on with you, Kiara.” Damon’s abrupt stop on our walk down the sidewalk surprised me. The grip he placed on my arm was painful. He leaned down and crowded my space while the tone of his next words sent chills into my bones. “You can either tell me, or I’ll figure it out. Your choice.”

  Gulping back—hopefully, my panic—I worked to keep my voice steady. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Don’t lie—”

  The ringing blare of his cell phone cut off his words. After a quick glance at his display screen, his focused returned to me. “You’ve got twenty-four hours to think about it. Think wisely.”

  He walked off with the phone pressed to his ear. I stood still in my spot, wondering if I’d be arrested for piercing the black heart of a soulless bastard with my sword.

  Chapter 4

  “Hadley, I’m in trouble,” I said, cognizant of my words being digitally recorded on the other end of the phone line instead of becoming a desperate plea to human eardrums. Time was too brief to be dealing with voicemail at that precise moment, yet it was all I had to work with. “Call me as soon as you…”

  “New Girl. Fancy meeting you here.” A familiar voice purred. “Would’ve thought you’d be mucking it up with the elite right about now. Did you get kicked out?”

  Psycho Praedator—or, Psychotic Bitch—reclined on a bench in front of me, speaking with way too much glee sounding in her tone of voice. She was a half-demon who I had many nicknames for. None of them good. All of them deserving. The Praedator drew black-rimmed sunglasses down the bridge of her nose. Eyes, a shade darker in color than the frames, peered at me from over the top.

  “I’m sorry.” I smiled sweetly, shoving my cell into my purse. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Her gaze remained focused on me, but she did not speak. The only movement was the slight press of her lips. I had discovered the woman was buddies with Mr. You-Have-Twenty-Four-Hours. What type of buds exactly, I did not know. With Damon’s failure to mention this Praedator to me, and with her current silence, I took it as confirmation I really wasn’t supposed to have made the connection. Except with the braggart’s big mouth, it hadn’t been all that difficult to do so.

  Psychotic Bitch leaned back as a Cheshire grin slowly curved her lips upward. “Still walking the earth, I see. Oh, pooh. And here I was trying to help.”

  Squaring my shoulders, I crossed my arms and directly met her gaze. Never mind that the last time I’d attempted to take the woman on, I ended up being flung into a wall. Which had hurt. She had the power of telekinesis. I didn’t.

  “Help me out with what?” I asked.

  “I never said helpful to you.”

  Walking over to the bench, I took a seat beside her. I would not show this psycho fear, and I would figure out her current game. Looking up, I saw a mark standing about two feet away. Mine. His face graced the photograph I’d received inside the charred sulfur-smelling envelope on my front doormat that very morning.

  “Why are you stalking my mark?” I asked.

  “Oh, is he yours?” She tucked her sunglasses into a small purse. “Since you were dallying about, I thought you required assistance.”

  “Do me a favor and take care of your own marks.”

  “I already have. About an hour after receiving the notice. Now I’m offering to help those Praedators struggling with their duties.”

  “I’m not struggling with anything,” I said.

  “Really? Well, then. There’s your mark. Do your job.”

  I turned my attention back to the ghost. No idea what his name was—the information was never provided. Why did he do nothing more than stand, looking back and forth between the two of us, as if our conversation was an annoyance to his day? Two Praedators were within his view, yet he didn’t poof the hell out of there before a decision about withdrawing a flaming sword was made. Lacking smarts, that one.

  “This is not the time for me to send him to Hell,” I said.

  “Whyever not?”

  Gesturing to the passing pedestrians, I said, “We’re in public.”

  “That has never stopped me.” Psycho Praedator reached behind her. I could tell she’d messed with the harness to her sword hidden underneath her blue pea coat. Unhooked or hooked, that was the question. Luckily, no blade appeared as she said, “You’ve got a lot to learn, New Girl.”

  “I’ve learned enough. The advice is much appreciated, but I can take it from here.” Hopefully, the half-demon recognized sarcasm when she heard it.

  Her gaze on me turned serious. “What’s so special about you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a nobody who showed up a month ago and is now being assigned the elite marks.” Her eyes narrowed. “Rumor has it you killed a cambion for the job. That’s a load of shit. You’re a weakling with no powers.”

  The being assigned elite marks left me speechless. Weakling with no powers caused me to see red. Possibly blood. Probably hers.

  “You’d better get your marks, New Girl.” She stood and walked off, calling back over her shoulder, “Before I do.”

  Watching her
retreat, my teeth tugged at my lower lip. What would happen to me if Psychotic Bitch nabbed my marks before I could? There had been plenty of implication in her words that things would not be good. For me. Not her—me. I stared at the ghost.

  He gawked back. “Well?”

  Just when I was getting the hang of sending these dead men with marked cheeks to Hell, they went and mixed everything up. If insanity was a consequence of working as a Praedator, I was halfway there. No wonder Psychotic Bitch was so screwed up.

  “Aren’t you going to try killing me?” I asked.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “So I don’t send you to Hell?”

  An older woman hobbling down the sidewalk froze at my words. Eyes widened, and mouth slackened. The normal response whenever someone spotted me speaking to air. The thing about ghosts was humans couldn’t see them. Because of this, there was one of two options I could go with: I glared pointedly at the baffled eavesdropper until she moved on.

  That, no doubt, the less popular of my choices. But it worked, so who was I to complain? My attention returned to my mark. He raised a brow. I shot him one back—okay, both my brows were raised because I was incapable of doing the one-eyebrow thing.

  Turning, I sought out the nearest alley and headed in that direction. Suspicion was strong that, for the first time, a ghost would follow me instead of the other way around. My thoughts proved to be correct.

  “Now tell me, what the hell’s going on?” I asked as soon as I was standing in a for-the-moment human-proof location. Although, the last time I’d been tucked away in an alley with a spirit, I’d worried my earthly days were numbered. That memory left my nerves tingling in flight or fight mode.

  “You kill me,” the ghost said.

  Okay… this was way too easy. Where was the speeding truck to run me over? The piano harnessed eight stories up to drop on my head? But if the mark was ready for his afternoon tea with Satan… I reached underneath my jacket to unharness my sword.

  “Wait.”

  I knew it.

  “When the time is right, the boss will meet with you,” the ghost said.

  Hand froze. “Who is this boss?”

  “You’ve met him.”

  My suspicions remained, but I wanted confirmation. I was demanding in that way. “Not good enough. I need a name.”

  “The boss was right.” He smiled. “You’re finally ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Light your sword.”

  “Not until you answer my questions.”

  Energy revved up in the narrow passageway.

  “That doesn’t scare me,” I said.

  A porcelain sink whizzed past my head.

  “Ha! Missed.” I grinned.

  Wait… No, he hadn’t. The curve of my lips fell as I spotted the intended target for the flying bathroom fixture. A man who’d paused at the entrance to the alleyway while taking a phone call.

  “Okay, okay.” I pulled my blade. “Stop.”

  The sink dropped to the ground and shattered. The man who’d been seconds away from becoming dearly departed looked at me. With only one full intake of my drawn sword, his feet began moving… as in, far, far away from where I stood.

  “Infernum.”

  “Glad to have you on our side.” The ghost rolled up into a ball of flames. Then he was gone, leaving me standing alone, stunned. No way in hell was I on their side, especially if Red-Eyed Ghost really was this mysterious boss-man. That ghost was pure evil.

  Turning, I came face to face with Anna Dunne. She stood silently, her expression contorted into a die, bitch glare. Nope, nothing at all had changed with her sour mood since I’d seen her last. Before Mouth could open and ask questions—like, what’s your deal?—she disappeared.

  Figured.

  “It’s been eighteen hours,” I said.

  Hadley glanced up from her place in line. Eyebrows drew together as she caught sight of my presence. “What?”

  “I left you a voicemail yesterday.”

  “Oh… yeah. I’m sorry about that.”

  We shuffled forward in the long queue at Cozy Cup, a coffee shop located off-campus that catered to sleep-deprived college students. Hadley had an eight o’clock every Tuesday and Thursday morning and, luckily, I knew her schedule. Since we were BFFs, this knowledge didn’t make me a stalker. It made me a well-informed friend.

  “Kiara, what are you doing here?” Hadley asked.

  “Looking for you.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “No.”

  “What’s going on?”

  I dropped my voice to a hiss. “I think Damon knows.”

  Mouth had intended for more words to be said, especially regarding the ghost with red eyes—who now had one too many red-eyed followers. Serious contemplation was being given for if I should rename him The Original Red-Eyed from simply Red-Eyed Ghost—but the roasted smell of beans finally hit, and it was nirvana to my nose. Sleep the previous night had been lacking. As in, not at all. Damon had said there would be a twenty-four-hour reprieve—at least, that was how I interpreted the meaning of his words. But he was an evil witch. Lying was, no doubt, part of his DNA. Therefore, I had put Hellhound on alert and propped up my brother’s old baseball bat, along with my sword, next to my bed.

  Grumbling had been ongoing the past month from my mouth about the bat my mother’s favorite child had accidentally delivered when bringing over a box of my grandmother’s belongings. Until last night. For once, I’d had a use for the long piece of wood purposely designed for swinging at head-shaped balls… if it came down to that. So far, it hadn’t. I took another step forward as our place in line moved.

  “Damon knows about which part?” Hadley asked.

  “Ummm… not certain.” I reflected on my lunch conversation from the prior day. “He’s definitely suspicious of not having me under his control.”

  “And you believe it’s a rarity for a human to not be compelled?”

  “By one of them?” I asked. “That’s what I’ve been told.”

  Hadley’s lips pressed together while her gaze shifted away in thought. Taking another step forward, she reached the barista. “Good morning, Ryan. A medium of the light roast, please.”

  Ryan was cute in that lanky, awkward sort of way. The kind of guy to camp out in the back corner of a classroom, ignored until one day a girl noticed him, became intrigued, and then wouldn’t stop staring. The barista’s lips twisted into a goofy grin that was on the enamored side, and I had a suspicion he wanted Hadley to be that girl. “No Earl Grey this morning?”

  “Not unless you can infuse it with one hundred percent caffeine.”

  “Coffee it is.” Ryan glanced at me. “And for Hadley’s friend? Tea or coffee?”

  “What’s tea?” I asked. “Never heard of the stuff.”

  “Two medium light roasts coming up.”

  “I think he’s crushing on you,” I said to Hadley as we left the coffee shop.

  “What? Ryan?” She checked behind her before shaking her head. “No.”

  “What do you mean no?”

  “I don’t have time to date, remember? That’s why I got dumped by the man who I thought I would marry.”

  The asshole. “Obviously, Devon hadn’t been the right guy. You can do so much better. Get out there and date. Maybe this Ryan is a keeper?”

  “Do me a favor, Kiara. Take your own advice on men.” She sipped from her cup. “I need to focus on school right now.”

  “This semester is half over, and you graduate next May,” I said, refusing to acknowledge the first part of her statement.

  Hadley’s face clouded. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing. What are you going to do about Damon?”

  The woman was notorious for subject-changing when she didn’t wish to speak. And very good at not letting her hidden secrets get dragged out of her until she wanted. It baffled me why I was the only person called ou
t for being stubborn amongst all my acquaintances and friends.

  “I don’t know.” I walked beside her through the campus, thoughts keeping my mouth silent for a brief moment. “He made me steal for him.”

  “Do what?” Hadley halted.

  “Yesterday at lunch, he tested me to see if I was under his control. I had to swipe all the money out of our server’s apron pocket. What sucks is that I went along with it, and he’s still suspicious of me.”

  “You stole something?”

  “I had no choice,” I said. My defenses rose despite the guilt still eating at me over the situation. “You swiped my sword out of a police station.”

  “That was different.”

  “How?”

  “The sword belonged to you, the money didn’t.”

  “Hadley, I know.” Rubbing my head, I felt every single second of my sleepless night catching up to me. “You know what Warlocks are capable of. Don’t forget what Nicholas Davenport did to two men only a couple of weeks ago.”

  The smell of burnt flesh still haunted my nightmares.

  Hadley began walking. “We have to get you away from Damon.”

  “That’s what I’m saying… but how?”

  “Give me some time for the caffeine to kick in, and then I’ll figure it out.”

  Nodding, I watched as she disappeared into a building. Following her inside was not on my list of to-dos. My college days were long over, thank God.

  Students passed me by as I contemplated my next move. It was about an hour until I had to be at Fated Match, and I had zero desire in turning up at that location. Damon would no doubt make his show, demanding truthfulness from me I wasn’t willing to give. Yet Maude’s charitable act of yesterday’s afternoon off wouldn’t extend through today, and I needed my job. As pathetic of a career as it was, it paid the rent.

  Gloucester Hall stood to my left. A dormitory, it appeared. Its name somehow familiar…

  Anna Dunne.

  The newscaster I’d seen on television had stood in front of the dormitory sign for part of her coverage since Anna had been the latest in a rash of suicides the network was covering on the news. Anna had died only that morning, being a last-minute addition they’d included in the segment. I had researched the full story via the Internet and gleaned a few names of others who’d recently passed away since the reporter had spoken with various grieving family members. Red flags to look out for regarding loved ones who might be considering taking their own life was given. The fact that all the women—and it was all women, no men—were of Irish heritage had been left out of the report. The Irish connection had come only from Andrew and Wilcox.