Cado (23 page)

I raised my arm, reaching for Lucian. “I never should have ran. I’m sorry. I understand now. I want you to know that I understand and I’ll always love you.” Lucian grinned, his smile dazzling. I wished I could go to him so he could take me in his arms. I wanted it almost more than anything else. But I still couldn’t let him start the apocalypse. That much hadn’t changed.

“Come, my Karma, I—”

“But I still can’t be with you.” I dipped my right index finger in a shallow cut on my left palm. I wiped the blood over one of the dulling symbols on my arm and met Lucian’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” I mouthed just before a flash of white light knocked me on my ass. When the brightness level dimmed, both Michael and Lucian were gone. I collapsed in a heap on the ground. I’d done it. Somehow I’d sent them both back to their respective homes, at least for the moment. Hopefully I would have time to run…and hide…what I did best, before they both came looking for me again.

The mansion was huge, and tucked back on sprawling well-maintained grounds. It was located just outside Nashville in Franklin, Tennessee. The woman, my target, her name was Marilyn McAuthor, formerly Marilyn Lanst. She’d left a string of wealthy dead husbands in her wake across the country. The deaths were all suspicious and yet no one had a shred of evidence to pin her down. That’s where I came in. I would be able to know for sure if she was guilty, or merely picking her husbands because they had a high mortality risk. Although shitty, that technically wasn’t a crime and I wouldn’t punish her for that. Buuut… If she was a killer, a black window, then I’d make sure she’d weaved her last web.

I pulled my fake Merry Maids car up to a stop by a silver Jaguar. I wasn’t really employed by Merry Maids but I was posing as someone who worked for the company to gain access to Marilyn. Her regular service was on Thursday, and it was Tuesday. No one would link me to the crime I might have to commit, especially because there was no record of me being in the state. I was just passing through, making a pit stop because of some recent information I’d been able to dig up. It actually had pretty much fallen into my lap. Marilyn wasn’t just a possible target, but her latest late husband was a collector of religious artifacts, and one specifically I was very interested in. It was a blade said to be able to kill angels. I just hoped my protection spells kept me hidden long enough to grab it if it was indeed within my reach. I figured, two birds, one stone and all of that.

I hefted my bucket of cleaning products with a grunt, and headed for the front door. I pushed the bell and listened as it echoed through the mansion. A few moments later the heavy wooden door swung open. A butler, wearing a pristine uniform straight out of an old movie, greeted me with a tight smile. He was elderly with all white hair, his face lined from him probably scowling his disapproval all the time. Maybe it was his appearance, but he immediately struck me as stuck up. Like he didn’t realize that it wasn’t his money that paid my fictitious salary. “Usually a call ahead is expected when Merry Maids needs to change days,” he said sharply. “Mrs. McAuthor will not be pleased to have her schedule disrupted. And—” He peered around me. “There is usually a team that cleans for Mrs. McAuthor. It’ll take too long for just one of you.”

I averted my eyes and tried to appear sheepish. “I don’t make the schedule. I just go and clean where and when I’m told. A bunch of girls got sick, strep throat, highly contagious, and the schedule is all out of whack this week. It’s either I clean Mrs. McAuthor’s place today, by myself, no matter how long it takes, or it might not get done at all this week. We’re too short staffed and there is really nothing Merry Maids can do about it.”

The butler made a sound of displeasure as he tugged on his bowtie. “I told her not to hire Merry Maids as a cleaning service. We need a live in maid to keep up with things. But no, Mrs. McAuthor has been using Merry Maids for years. She’s so stubborn when it comes to change. And where is your uniform? Not only are you here the wrong day but you’re not dressed in the proper attire for the job.”

I wanted to roll my eyes but somehow held myself in check. I mean, what were we in 1955? “I’m an assistant manager, sir, and I usually don’t go on jobs anymore but because we’re so short staffed, like I said, and Mrs. McAuthor is such a good client—”

“All right. Come in. Mrs. McAuthor must have her house in order or all will suffer.” He bustled me into the foyer where I tried not to gape at the ornate—okay, gaudy décor. It looked like Mrs. McAuthor seemed to think she was in a movie. Maybe a noir film? Did she picture herself a glamorous femme-fatale? I couldn’t wait to meet her. I was suddenly filled with a morbid curiosity.

I nodded numbly as Jeeves, as I came to think of the butler in my head, droned on about what I should and should not do to upset Mrs. McAuthor. With a final withering glare he left me in the upstairs bathroom, which was bigger than most places I’d lived. I pulled out a rag and a bottle of multipurpose cleaner, my excuse to wander as I went on a search for Mrs. McAuthor.
Don’t mind me, I’m just cleaning.

A high-pitched scream pierced the air, causing me to drop everything I was holding. Out of pure instinct I took off at a dead sprint in the direction it sounded like it came from. I skidded to a halt a few doors down from where I’d been. I clutched at the doorframe to keep myself upright.

There, standing a few feet away from me, his azure eyes blazing, was Lucian. His gaze met mine as a slow predatory smile spread across his face. I looked past him to see, who I assumed was Mrs. McAuthor, laying on the ground in a pool of her own blood. Black wings unfurled and moved restlessly.

“No. But—but—” I brought my hand up to cover my mouth. “Why?” Had he somehow known where I was all along? And why would he help me? If he was always a step ahead of me then he’d know what I was after, so why would he want me to get the blade? Unless he was daring me to try and use it on him, like he thought I couldn’t or wouldn’t actually kill him. Or he’d taken it. Which seemed much more likely than him helping me. I wasn’t sure why I’d thought that Lucian would help me to get the blade to begin with. I guessed just the sight of him sent me into a tizzy, confounding all sense of reasoning and logic.

Lucian winked, and without a word, disappeared. A moment later Jeeves dashed up beside me. “What have you done?” he demanded. “I’m calling the police.”

I remained where I was for a moment, numb. I needed to find the blade, my time had just been cut infinitely shorter by Jeeves’ discovery. I was flustered, wondering if that was Lucian’s plan after all, to force me to have to leave before I got the blade, if it was even there. I didn’t know where to look. I might be forced to— My gaze caught on a shiny object glinting suspiciously on the ground near the now dead Mrs. McAuthor. I nearly laughed out loud when I stepped closer to see what it was. Of course, it appeared to be the damn blade I’d been after. I recognized the intricate patterns etched into the handle. I didn’t have time to think about what Lucian’s new game was. But it did indeed seem like my initial gut reaction to him being here was correct. Maybe I’d sensed it somehow, picked it up from him the same way I did other things.

I snatched up my prize, staring at the ancient looking blade in a daze. Shaking my head violently I realized I had to get the fuck out of that house. I wasn’t a real Merry Maid and I had no explanation for why I was there. I hastily used my shirt to wipe my fingerprints from anywhere I might have touched and then dashed back to collect my cleaning products. I wiped all evidence of my existence from that room too and made a run for it. I knew I didn’t have much time to get out before the police arrived…minutes probably. Things were too rushed and I was worried I was being sloppy but I didn’t have a choice. I’d thought I’d have more time.

I didn’t see Jeeves on my way back to the car or any police yet as I high-tailed it for the woods surrounding the mansion. I had a change of clothes in my backpack and I’d put them on as soon as I was far enough away that I was comfortable. It had been my plan to ditch the car anyways so not much had really changed. I was good at making snap decisions under pressure.

About a mile into the woods I switched the clothes I had on for the ones in my bag, and then continued on my way. I knew if I kept heading straight I’d come out onto someone else’s property, which, hopefully wasn’t swarming with cops yet.

As I hoofed it through the woods I couldn’t help but think about what had just happened. Lucian knew where I was, and he made sure I got the very object that I could use to kill him. Was he challenging me, or merely being his usual cocky self? I couldn’t help but question how the information about the blade had come to me so easily to begin with. Had he planted the information for me? And if he knew where I was then why hadn’t he come for me? It’d been weeks since the incident in the alleyway with the biker. The fact that Lucian had so willingly handed the blade over to me made me want to second guess everything. Or maybe it didn’t matter. I wasn’t planning on proactively searching out Lucian to kill him. I just wanted protection from him and any other angel. It didn’t matter which team they played for, Heaven or Hell. As far as I was concerned they were all duplicitous bastards. Every last one of them.

Ever since I’d begun dealing out my own brand of justice in this lifetime, I’d felt like I’d had a purpose. It was my motivation, my driving force. I slipped into any role I needed to get the job done. But now I was starting to falter. What I’d said to Michael—I couldn’t get it out of my head. What was the point in any of it? Not just my life, but all life. What was the damn meaning of everything? Why was I here? Why were any of us here? It felt like we were all pawns in a game that no one was really sure of the rules. I wanted to make the world a better place, one bloodstain at a time, but was I? Was I really? I kept away from Lucian because I didn’t want to be responsible for the apocalypse. But what did it matter? What did any of it matter? I was tired of denying myself what I really wanted. And yet, I just couldn’t let go of my old ways. I was too afraid. I was stuck in limbo. I couldn’t move forward and I couldn’t go back. Lucian was right; everything about this life was different than the others. It was a turning point for something—something that I didn’t—or couldn’t face yet.

I finished picking the lock on the back door of the condo that housed my next target. I crept through the kitchen, my eyes darting around— “What the fuck?” I stood, completely aghast, while taking in the scene before me. The man whose neck was bent at an odd angle at the bottom of his stairs was thought to be a major player in sex trafficking. Blood was also pooled around his head. There didn’t seem to be any other injuries. I wasn’t a detective but it almost looked like he’d leapt down the stairs headfirst and used his skull to break the fall, breaking both it and his neck in the process.

It was the third time in a row it had happened… I would choose a person of interest, a possible target, and someone off-ed them before I even had the chance to confirm or deny any dastardly deeds. I didn’t always kill my victims either, I usually let the punishment fit the crime, or at least I tried. I had a habit of getting carried away sometimes. The truth was, as time went on, I killed more and more.

At Mrs. McAuthor’s I’d seen Lucian, but I hadn’t laid eyes on him since. In fact, I hadn’t seen anyone or anything since then either. I merely got to the crime scene, saw the body, and got myself out before I was blamed. But just because I hadn’t actually seen Lucian, didn’t mean I wasn’t almost positive it was him.

“Lucian, what the fuck are you playing at now?” I gritted out, half expecting him to answer.

The air filled with electricity, the fine hairs on my body rose, but when Lucian didn’t appear, I had to push down the unwanted feelings of disappointment. I couldn’t be with him, and yet I was starved for even just a glimpse, which was probably why he wasn’t giving it to me. I couldn’t decide if he was punishing me or hoping that by denying me his presence that I’d break down and beg to see him.
That’ll never happen. I’ll never beg him. Never, never, never.