Dead Shifter Walking (2 page)

Then I started killing humans and supernaturals
alike until Grams ended up as head of the council for the Eastern
United States. The Western counterpart gave his blessing to us and
threw a few lucrative jobs our way, which was the only reason he
was still alive. Our rules stated an Executioner could name and
protect their choice for the council and that was exactly what I
did. Anyone who wanted a change went through me and no one ever
managed to get that far; they couldn’t compete with me. I was a
genetically engineered killer, raised in Selena’s own sick and
twisted version of a boot camp. I used all of my formidable skills
to burn it and every living thing inside it, except Anna, to the
ground.

Pushing those demons away for another day, I
cracked my neck, peering out the heavily tinted and bulletproof
glass window to the night outside.

I wasn’t the only executioner for this region,
but I pulled a heavy caseload and was away more than I was
home.

“How was Orlando?” Grams questioned, trying to
reign in her frustration with me.

I turned from the window. “It went well,” I
responded absently. “The usual vamp went over the edge.”

She nodded. “The children will be happy to see
you,” Grams stated.

I smiled at that, turning back to the
window.

I loved the children. They were young, innocent,
full of potential, potential that they would be better than me,
more than I could ever dream of being. I turned my thoughts away
from that dark ally and back to the night outside. I missed being
on my own, driving in the dark reaches of small towns. The city was
constantly moving, flashing, devoid of silence or stars.

“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” I asked,
adjusting my seat in the limo.

“The usual; we have a fairly full docket, and…”
she hesitated in continuing, “Rose has been sick recently. I was
hoping you might be able to pull a few shifts.”

I sighed, slouching down in my seat.

“You’re the best,” she pushed on. “We make the
most when you’re in town.” She adjusted her pastel purple suit,
looking uncomfortable. “Besides, there have been requests for your
particular skill set,” she added, her chin held high.

I closed my eyes; my particular skill set.
Yep.

“Alright,” I said. “Have the schedule ready for
me tomorrow.”

The car slowed in front of the massive mansion.
I loved this home. The Southern plantation style pillars were so
wide, it took two people to wrap around, and they extended all the
way to the third floor. A Georgia mansion is what I thought of it
as. When I had been trapped in hell, I promised myself that as a
safe haven.

I didn’t want to push further into those
memories, so I slammed the door to my mind as I slammed the car
door and waited for Grams to come around the car as it drove
away.

“They should all be in bed by now,” she said
with warmth in her voice, “but you know how they are.” She smiled,
making her way up the three short steps.

Soft noise and light greeted us as the door
pushed inward. I listened to the squeaking of furniture as bodies
moved and the noise dimmed to nothing.

A skinny eight-year-old African American kid
moved from the corner into my view.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the doorframe,
arms crossed against his chest.

I smiled and inclined my head. “You staying out
of trouble, Tommy?” I asked.

He shrugged, sparing a glance at Grams, who only
shook her head and headed upstairs to bed with her cream heels
clicking on the hardwood floors.

“Game?” he questioned with a knowing smirk.

My smile grew. “Game on.”

He exuded the innocence of an eight-year-old
boy, even though I knew damn well he was far older than that.
Perhaps that’s why Executioners don’t live past thirty; we are
really twice that age and our hearts just cannot handle
anymore.

I shook my head at that thought. Who the hell
was I kidding? I don’t suffer that problem; I lack a heart.

…

Dawn light slipped past the plantation shutters
as Tommy kicked my ass again in the racing game.

“Ugh! I am done,” I said, putting my controller
down, rubbing my burning eyes.

Tommy stretched, grinning like a fool ear to ear
on the flowery sofa. “Don’t worry, Olie, I won’t tell a soul.” He
mimed zipping his lips but was unable to complete the gesture as I
smacked him in the face with a pillow.

He started giggling uncontrollably, holding his
stomach, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Go to bed,” I commanded, standing to stretch.
My watch read 5:45 a.m. I groaned inwardly.

Crossing his arms, he attempted to deny my
authority. With only a raised eyebrow, he relented, but not before
pulling me into a surprise hug and dashing up the stairs.

I smiled at his retreating form. He was doing
better; thank all that is good in this world.

Pulling the throw off the back of the sofa, I
snuggled in for a few hours of rest, sighing contentedly.

…

“Yo, Sleeping Beauty,” A familiar voice called
out, pulling me from my peaceful slumber.

“Kass,” I responded unmoving as her light weight
rested on my back.

“What’s up, my long-lost lover bug?” she asked,
covering my body with hers.

Groaning, I demanded, “Time!”

“Time to get up and go get ‘em,” she stated,
slapping my ass, and I knew if I looked up at her Caribbean face,
it would be split into a grin.

“I can kick your ass,” I muttered into the
pillow.

“Whatever, Suc-u-licious,” she stated, pulling
off the already too small throw.

Opening my eyes, I saw Grams walk in, laughing.
“Kass, you know she has never been a morning person.” She was
meticulously dressed as usual in a soft pink pencil skirt and white
blouse.

Kass’s smile only widened, making her teeth seem
impossibly white against her olive complexion.

Pulling my exhausted self into a sitting
position, holding my head, I pushed my exhaustion and irritation
into a braided cord into my mind. It was a trick I‘d learned, long
ago, to manage my inner turmoil. I did the same with all my
emotions, tucking them deep within so I could push them out when I
needed them.

Being a succubus, my emotions were my highest
form of power. I could affect whole rooms if I did not exercise
control. Most succubi and incubi leaked a small amount of emotion;
it was only natural. I did not. I attribute that fact to my hell
and the bitch who created me, Selena. I pushed that particular
braid of pain away deep into my core exhaling.

“Let’s go Princess,” I said, standing and
dwarfing Kass. “I gotta learn the dances for…“ I paused, turning to
Grams.

“At least the next month,” she stated
diplomatically.

Rolling my eyes, I pushed Kass into motion, but
not before she sneaked a smile at Grams. “A whole month, I haven’t
sat that still in a long, long time.” I muttered.

Grabbing a muffin from the deep burgundy bowl on
the yellow cream counters, I couldn’t help but glance around the
kitchen. I had kept the original cabinets, but refinished them with
a soft white with dark brown handles.

Moving around the island to the ceramic sink, I
filled a glass of water from the advanced filtration system,
stretching my left hand above my head and leaning to pull out the
crick in my side from sleeping on the couch.

“Quit stalling,” Kass said, grabbing an apple
from the stainless steel fridge and taking a crisp bite.

Rolling my eyes at her again, I dried my hands
on the forest green kitchen towel before following her into the
dance studio. It was one of my favorite rooms, spanning a quarter
of the house’s first floor with a beautiful, slick, light hardwood
floor, framed by mirrors along three of the walls, not to mention
the top-of-the-line sound system easily controlled by voice
recognition.

Swallowing the rest of muffin down, I caught the
clothing Kass tossed to me, chucking my own travel-worn gear
off.

“That looks like it hurts,” Kass commented as I
slipped the bright pink top on.

“I know; could this color be more sick?” I
asked, looking down at myself, disgusted.

“I was referring to the bullet wound on your
shoulder,” she said, not sharing my humor.

“Still not as painful as the color,” I informed
her, pursing my lips out.

She smiled warily, commanding the music to
begin.

I loved this room and the release it promised.
High-level mages had warded this room to prevent our influencing
the rest of the house, or, in my case, the neighborhood.

A relaxed smile full of mischief crossed her
face, rolling her shoulders and relaxing into the music that was
already pumping through the speakers. “Ready?”

I smiled back, cracking my magic open and
drawing a braid out to wind around my limbs.

Swinging her hips to the raging beat, I felt her
own magic intertwine with mine. As succubi, we made excellent
dancers. Kitten was the dance club Grams and I owned that provided
us enough revenue for keeping up the home and the demands of
raising our children, a few of whom were now in insanely expensive
colleges.

Watching her in the mirror as the beat began, I
absorbed each and every move without having to mimic her first.
That was another kick-ass fact about being a succubus, although
there were plenty of drawbacks. I shuddered, having seen the raw
primal power our blood carried.

Pushing those thoughts away, I focused back on
Kass. At twenty-six, she was the best dancer at Kitten before I
left on my latest adventure. I assumed she still was; otherwise,
there would be someone else here teaching me their latest dance
routines. We updated our shows every month, for the simple fact we
bored easily, running a different show Friday, Saturday, and
Sunday. The dance group was mainly succubi; although, the last time
I was here, there were a few vamps, shifters, and even one human,
if memory serves rightly.

Sweat drenched my clothing, plastering the
obnoxious pink shirt to my back as we ran through the routine. It
felt amazing to let my power out; I hadn’t let it run this free
since… last month I guessed. There was a tangible difference in
forcing power at an opponent during a fight than reveling in it. I
missed it. I had been on my own so long, running from job to job,
hiding from the nightmares that were robbing me of sleep. I needed
to be here, to belong somewhere, and to know that what I did was
more than just killing; I was creating some good in this awful
world.

Kass tossed a towel at me asking, “You good to
go for tonight?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Tonight?” I asked
disbelievingly.

“Yep, I have a hot date,” she smirked, toweling
off her sweat.

I shook my head. “What time?”

“Rehearsal starts at 8:30 p.m. with the show at
11:30 p.m. Just be sure to be there by 11:15 p.m. at the latest. I
know how you’re always on time,” she stated sarcastically.

Throwing my sweaty towel at her, I skipped out
the room, gathering my clothing for a shower.

“Hey!” she admonished my retreating back.

Making my way to the second story where Grams’s
room was, I felt my thighs pull from the unaccustomed exercise. The
wing my old room was located on was currently under construction to
add a bathroom, update the plumbing and electrical, repaint the
walls, refinish the floors, everything.

Knocking tentatively, I heard her voice coming
from the lush study. As I pushed open the cream panel double doors,
she waved me into the bedroom, cradling the phone between her
shoulder and ear.

“That is correct, Governor Hash,” she stated
sweetly. Our ability to influence emotions completely dies on the
phones. She was using good old-fashioned manipulation, which Grams
had in spades.

I stopped in my tracks, wondering if I should
stay and listen. I decide not to, mainly because I don’t have the
patience to listen to his constant and never-ending complaints.

I walked through the enormous bedroom to the
equally large bathroom; I eyed the oversized bathtub with jets,
wishing feebly I had time to indulge in that pleasure right now. I
quite simply didn’t, so I started a steamy shower instead.

“Good God, Olivia,” Grams scolded, entering the
steaming bathroom, “will you at least turn on a fan?”

Flipping the switch, she hurried out, mumbling
something about sweating asses.

Sighing, I turn off my hot water reprieve, using
the plush towel to clear a spot on the mirror before drying off my
own body. I took stock of my image and didn’t like what I saw. My
usual waist-long strawberry blond hair had turned dishwater blond.
The hollowness in my cheeks and under my eyes were reminders of my
lack of sleep and regular meals, but it was the darkness in my eyes
that had me most concerned. My eyes had always been a particular
mix of blue and green, Grams used to call them sea eyes. Now I
wasn’t sure what color they were; darkness was all I saw.

I pushed those emotions down into my core,
locking them away for another day, which I hoped would never
come.

“Grams,” I called out through the open door,
“where’s my duffle bag?”

“Being burned,” she replied, levelly shifting
papers.

“That’s comical; what am I supposed to wear?” I
asked, knowing full well everything was being washed.

Traveling from city to city, I never had much,
just what I could fit into an army duffle bag that had seen better
days, but the bag had been with me longer than anyone in my life.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attached to it. I never felt like I
ever belonged, that I had a home, even now, but that bag kept me
centered, kept me whole in a way brick and mortar could never
do.

“I have a few things laid out for you when you
decide to exit the sauna,” she replied.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me?” I stated,
eyeing her selections with distain. Her smile said she wasn’t.