Medusa's Dagger: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (Aya Harris Collection Book 1) (4 page)

“What’s going on?” I asked Mr. Price.

His pale complexion and foreboding expression was what you’d expect from a creature that made a living off of death and destruction. His grey eyes rolled in their sockets, until they managed to lazily land on me.

“The Yonas have been taken,” he said in a low grumble. “There was no note. No warning. I’ve heard through my coworkers that Mr. Yonas already bit the big one.”

I ignored his look of glee and pressed him for more information. “Any news about the other three? Have they found the boy yet?”

“No, they haven’t. And I doubt they ever will…” Mr. Price’s voice trailed off.

I realized then why I had always avoided him in the laundry room. If I was ever in need of a severe case of depression, I could spend five minutes with Mr. Price and I’d be sure to find myself ready to jump off the nearest roof.

“Way to keep positive thoughts,” I told him, pushing my way through the rest of the crowd.

Nearing the staircase, I saw a flash light up the room. Surrounding the stairs were at least six reporters. A few of them had notepads and recorders in their hands. Another had a big camera with a giant flash. Perched a few steps up was a news reporter with big teeth, a giant mic, and a cameraman standing next to him. I recognized the reporter instantly.

Ian Welch was a bigwig at the local station, always the first on the scene for crime beats. Last year, he won an award for reporter of the year. There were even rumors that Good Morning America was interested in snapping him up for national news. Anyone else would call him lucky. But then again, luck didn’t have much to do with the deal he’d made with the demon he hosted in his body.

The air around him shimmered, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of his demon side – an ugly rotten creature with crooked fangs and bloodshot eyes. A second later, the shimmer was gone, and Ian Welch stood in his place again, perfectly gelled hair and all.

I didn’t know what kind of deal Ian had made with his demon sidekick. Probably gave up his firstborn or the last twenty years of his life. Who knew?

But when it came to demon deals, the law was clear. Anyone was free to make their own decision, as long as it wasn’t coerced. Most of the Fortune 500 Company CEOs probably shared their fleshy real estate with demon buddies. I could never understand it, but then again, I didn’t have the desire to run the world like the suckers that made deals with the devil.

“Miss, can we speak with you?” Ian called out.

I looked behind me, but there was no else he could be talking to.

“Miss, I’d like to speak with you,” he called again.

I back pedaled and bumped into one of the centaurs roaming the lobby. Being featured on the evening news was the last thing I needed at this moment in time.

“Um… No, thank you.”

Ian motioned to his cameraman. They sprinted down the stairs and surrounded me.

“Surely you’ve heard about the kidnapping in your building,” Ian explained.

His cameraman fiddled with the giant black piece of equipment as I eyed it suspiciously.

“I just want to ask you a few questions for KYZA news. I’m sure your friends will love seeing you on their TVs tonight.”

“I really don’t want to,” I mumbled.

“Now, don’t tell me a pretty thing like you is camera shy.” Ian gave me a grin that flashed his horse-like teeth. He winked, resting his hand on my upper arm, rubbing it softly with the pad of his thumb. “I’ll even take you out to dinner after our interview, and tell you about some of the gruesome crimes I’ve covered. You’ll be spellbound.”

“I’m sure I would be,” I said, shaking him off my arm. “But I really have to go.”

Ian yelled out again, but I ignored him and made a hasty exit out the lobby door. My apartment was clear up on the fourth floor. Luckily, there was a stairway in the back that’d probably be a lot less crowded than the main lobby.

I pushed through the overgrown brush that nearly blocked the alleyway next to the apartment. Back in its heyday, the landlord had taken the time and effort to plant a row of pine trees in the snippet of yard on this side of the building. Over the decades, more buildings were added around the apartments, until the pine trees were forgotten and left for dead. Surprisingly, they’d flourished in the alleyway. At least, until today.

As I passed the row of pines, I noticed that several of them had withered away into dried ugly things overnight. A carpet of brown, dead, pine needles covered the ground. If ever there was a sign of big magic, that was it.

Unlike in most of the TV shows and movies that butchered our culture, magic didn’t come free. Our supernatural abilities were fueled by life force. Whenever I had a vision, my life force would be sucked away to fuel the magical qualities of the images flashing in my head – whether I liked it, or not. It left me with a rather bad headache, as if I’d been chugging fireball whiskey the night before.

Life force fueled the magic world. It allowed witches to perform their hexes, demons to manipulate nature, and creatures to perform their own brand of enchantments. That’s why vampires drink blood. They need life force to sustain their immortality.

While most low level creatures are only able to use their own life force to fuel their magic, there are a few powerful and experienced enough to borrow life force from living things around them. Usually that means sucking the life out of nearby plants, just like the pine trees outside my apartment. From the look of that row of trees, someone really powerful did a lot of magic. And I had a feeling I knew who that was.

The back stairwell was empty. I heaved a sigh of relief and marched up the stairs. Now, the only obstacle left was avoiding Mrs. O’Conner in apartment 413. She was a brutal old woman with three giant whiskers on her chin. Often dressed in a fluffy pink bathrobe that should’ve been tossed a decade ago, she liked to glue herself to her peephole and prey on the other residents of the building for her source of entertainment. Unfortunately, she was also one of the few humans in the building, and therefore untouchable by those who wanted to kick her out.

I opened the door to the fourth floor and peered inside. An empty hallway with five wooden doors, each affixed with a number, lay before me. I snuck inside and gently closed the door behind me, tiptoeing on the faded damask carpet toward my door on the other end of the hall. When I reached Mrs. O’Conner’s door, I snuck down below the line of sight of her peep hole. I might’ve looked like an idiot, but freedom was calling my name. The sound of a door opening behind me instantly killed that dream.

“Only guilty people sneak around like that,” Mrs. O’Conner said in a high-pitched voice that could shatter glass.

I turned to face her. Sure enough, she donned a fluffy pink robe and a drab pair of house slippers. Three cats circled her ankles, meowing up at her. A particularly fat tabby named Adler looked at me and hissed. It could probably tell I was more of a dog person. I hated cats and they hated me. It most likely had something to do with my harpy heritage.

“I’m not sneaking, Mrs. O’Conner,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m just trying to get to my apartment. Is that okay with you?”

I knew I shouldn’t have tagged that last bit of sass on, but I couldn’t help myself. Mrs. O’Conner had decided she didn’t like me from the beginning. The first day I moved in, before I’d even met her, she called the cops and told them I was a prostitute servicing johns in my apartment. It was embarrassing, having to explain to the officer that I wasn’t a street walker while all my new neighbors walked by.

“With a murderer on the loose, what are people supposed to expect?” she asked. “Sneaking makes you look guilty. Are you guilty of something, Ms. Harris?”

First an SI agent accuses me of kidnapping and now Mrs. O’Conner calls me a murderer. This day couldn’t get any better.

“No, Mrs. O’Conner. I’m just guilty of trying to get home.”

Out of nowhere, Adler leapt forward and slashed at my ankle with his wicked little claws. Thankfully, my boots protected me from the assault, but I kicked out in an automatic reflex of defense. The toe of my boot caught fat Adler in the ribs, causing him to howl in anger and attack my other leg.

“Don’t you kick my kitty,” Mrs. O’Conner screeched.

She pulled a broomstick from behind the door and began smacking my legs with it. Between Adler’s incessant attacks and Mrs. O’Conner’s broom bristles, my boots weren’t going to last long.

“He attacked me first,” I said in my defense, but Mrs. O’Conner would have none of it.

She chased me down the hall with her broom. “Bad girl. Bad, bad, girl. Hurting my poor Adler. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Bad girl.”

I dropped my keys out of my purse and cursed. This only resulted in Mrs. O’Conner hurling religious insults at me as I snatched my keys and desperately tried to unlock my door.

“Devil girl. Demon child. Whore of Babylon!”

Finally, I succeeded in turning the knob and squeezing inside my apartment, leaving Mrs. O’Conner and her three cats hissing in the hallway. I leaned back against the door and breathed. As much as I wanted to take a talon to one of those cats or Mrs. O’Conner’s broomstick, it wouldn’t do me much good. That woman was a permanent resident of Kenneth Manor, with only her cats and the raging dementia as company. She’d be here long after I was gone. It wouldn’t do any good to make her angrier.

“If only you knew what I really am,” I muttered to myself.

The apartment was still quiet. Johnny often didn’t get home from his job at the courthouse until late. I cherished the time I had alone, just as much as the time I spent with my friends.

To my left lay a small galley kitchen. Johnny was much better with a stove than I was, so that was his territory. Our living room was furnished with two shabby couches covered in brown bed sheets. They might not look like much, but there was nothing better than sinking into them for a movie or two.

In the corner stood my Olympic weight set, left over from my CrossFit days. I still liked to pump iron most evenings – it was an addiction that I just couldn’t shake. But unlike other addictions, this one left me with killer thighs and biceps, so I didn’t try to kick it.

I dropped my purse on our dinky kitchen table and headed to my room. A thought had been bumping around my head all day, scratching at the inside of my skull. Somewhere in the back of my closet was an old track phone. It’d been over a year since I used it. I didn’t even know if it still worked.

Dropping to my knees, I dug through the piles of shoes and wrinkled pants on the floor of the closet. Underneath an old pair of Silvers jeans, I found a beat up Nike shoebox. Inside were the remnants of another life, another time. Friendship bracelets from summer camp in 1996, a small rag doll from my childhood, monopoly pieces that I’d found in the street as a first grader, and many other random mementos that I couldn’t force myself to throw away.

A few photos in the bottom of the box caught my eye. Faces of friends and family stared up at me. I turned them facedown, blocking out the rush of emotions that began. In the corner of the box was my old Samsung track phone and the charger. I snatched them up and threw the box back in its pile of forgotten items.

As I plugged the phone into the charger and waited for that little screen to light up, I prayed it wouldn’t work. That it was busted or dead from months of disuse. Or maybe my minutes had expired. Turning it on was a bad idea. Finding
his
contact info was an even worse idea. But… calling him up? That was the idea that could bring my whole life crashing down.

Despite my desperate wishes, the track phone lit up with a welcome screen and a cheery tone that didn’t fit my mood. I opened my contacts and found him halfway down the screen. Just five simple letters: Nicky. My finger lingered over the green call button. All I needed now was to press the button and just maybe, he’d be on the other end of the line.

I dropped the phone and paced the room. It was silly to get involved. The Supernatural Investigations team had everything under control. They’d find the rest of the Yonas family and everyone would be okay.

Except, Mr. Yonas was already a stiff on the morgue table. Obviously, the SI didn’t know enough because they hadn’t been able to save him. And now, a family was without a dad. I knew how that felt, even if my own father was still alive somewhere. An alcoholic tended to make his kids feel fatherless.

I caught my reflection in the body-length mirror leaning against the wall. Avoiding my face, I trailed my eyes down to the billowy white tank I wore that day. The tips of my black harpy wings peeked out on my bare shoulders. Harpies had the ability to hide their wings, even without an enchanted city. When not in use, they appeared as nothing more than an elaborate tattoo of black feathered wings folded across my shoulders. But when spread out, they could span the room from tip-to-tip.

“You’re being stupid,” I told my reflection. “He’s probably changed his number since then, anyway. Just call and see if he’s involved. It couldn’t hurt.”

I marched across the room and picked up the phone, pressing call before I could change my mind. The plastic phone felt cold against my cheek. It took a moment for the call to go through. I was beginning to think that my phone was out of minutes, but after a few seconds I heard ringing in the little speaker.

One ring. Two rings. Three. Holding my breath, I hoped that no one would answer. Four rings. Maybe someone else would pick up and tell me it was the wrong number. Five rings. Or he’d answer and immediately know it was me. Six rings. Nicky had a way of knowing things he shouldn’t, especially for a human.

The call went to voicemail and I sighed in relief. Fate had intervened. I wouldn’t have to talk to him after all. A robotic voice came on the line, asking for a message after the tone.

“Um… Nicky? Is this still your phone number? Probably not, we haven’t talked in so long. How are you?” I shook my head, trying to get my thoughts to organize. “Oh yeah, this is Aya. But you probably already figured that out.”

I was starting to bore myself with the rambling message. I cut to the chase.