Dead and Horny Ch. 24

"It's a free country," she said, then licked her lips nervously. If the Curator had come to capture her, she might get lucky and manage to escape, but it would come with all sorts of attention she didn't want. And if she was realistic, her odds of succeeding were practically zero.

"That's the illusion anyway." The Curator leaned forward and studied her for a moment.

"Are those new eyes?" she asked. "They used to be a different color."

"They are, thanks for noticing." A corner of his mouth rose. "I had to carve out the old ones. I got something in them."

Legion nodded. "I guess it's a good thing you had spares on hand."

The Curator nodded. "I always have spares on hand. But I'm not here to talk about me. I'm here to talk about you."

"How did you get in here?" she asked. "I didn't see you coming."

"I came in on my private jet." He tilted his head toward the window. "Wanted to speak to you directly."

"About?" Legion tried to keep calm, but her hands were shaking.

The Curator opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when Legion's server came to the table.

"We're closing up soon, so last call," she said, then looked at the Curator. "Can I get you anything?"

"I am not thirsty," he replied.

"I'm good as well," said Legion, then handed over a pair of twenties. "I'll settle up now."

The server took the money and then walked a few steps away before looking back at Legion. "Are you okay?" she mouthed, then pointed at the Curator.

Legion nodded, then sent out a mental pulse toward the server. The woman promptly forgot about them and wandered off, the money still clutched in her hand.

"An interesting trick," said the Curator.

"Well, you can't have it," Legion replied. It was the same trick she'd used all her life, the ability to remain unseen and easily forgotten. Being a famous pastor's daughter had given her great practice and she was very good at it. Even the succubus had been susceptible, and that was no small feat. "And even if you could carve it out of me, you wouldn't like the limitations."

He nodded solemnly. "A lesson I learned long ago, yet still far too late."

"Let's cut to the chase. I may be immortal, but I still have places to be." Legion finished her drink and set it down on the table. "You came for me."

"I did. But how you work doesn't currently interest me. Your vessel wouldn't survive the process, and I wouldn't learn anything that carving up your minions hasn't taught me already."

"I'm aware." Legion scowled. After the church exploded, her consciousness had been spread across eight other meat suits. The Curator tracked them all down in record time, then dissected them while they were still alive. Legion felt every moment of their pain as she fled toward the west coast, knowing every sacrifice bought her precious hours. "So what do you want from me?"

"You." The Curator pulled a folder out of his pocket and slid it across. "You see, I've recently discovered someone that I find very interesting."

"Tough break for them." Legion took the folder from the Curator and opened it. She looked over the top of the thick cardstock and frowned. "So what, is this guy some sort of warlock or something?"

"A few years ago, he was just an ordinary man. Now? Let's just say that I have a hunch about him. Do you remember Amir?"

Legion scoffed. "Of course I do. I tried to work with him once, but he has a weird hard-on for demons."

"An apt description. This man somehow managed to hurt him and take down most of his cabal in one fell swoop."

Legion whistled. "Okay, that actually impresses me."

"Good. Because, you see, I want your help." The Curator grinned, which somehow made his bloodless face seem even more sinister. "I'm putting together a team and need powerful individuals such as yourself to assist me in this endeavor."

"Over this guy?"

The Curator nodded. "I have my reasons for believing this man may be the key to my research."

That statement made Legion shiver. If the Curator truly thought this, then Mike Radley was a dead man walking.

"What if I refuse?" she asked.

"Then you get on your plane and hope to never cross my path again." The Curator fixed her with a stare. "Your pet vampyr slipped her reins when daddy tried to teach her how to hunt. How many people died in that nightclub? The Order's investigation would have inevitably led them to you, and thus, to me. You were lucky I had someone on the inside, but even that was a card you forced me to play too soon. The mistakes your people made cost me time and energy that would have been better spent elsewhere. So should we ever cross paths down the road, I would likely remember how cross I am with you. However," the Curator held up a finger and pointed out the nearest window. "If you get on my plane instead, I will fully fund whatever endeavor you wish to pursue."

Legion licked her lips and felt her heart rate jump. "I don't want to be locked into your project based on success," she said.

"Heaven forbid." The Curator smiled at his little joke. "If you assist me with this, then I will make sure you have whatever you need. No limitations. As long as you come running when I request your services, this partnership of ours will be just fine."

The intercom in the bar crackled to life, and a bored desk agent announced that Legion's flight was ready for boarding. The demon almost laughed at the timing, but knew that was probably intentional on the Curator's part. He was essentially offering her a chance to start over without requiring decades of resource building. She would be a fool to decline.

"So what will it be?" he asked.

Legion chuckled to herself and stood. "It sounds like I've got a flight to catch." She grabbed her bags and waited for a thin frown to form on the Curator's face. A storm was brewing behind the man's brand new eyes, but she wouldn't hesitate to mess with him just a tiny bit. After all, he may be a mass murderer with no moral compass, but he did have a slight sense of humor. "I assume there's plenty of legroom on that plane of yours?"

The Curator grinned.

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Aileen stared wistfully at the fridge, her stomach rumbling. The last of the leftovers had run out two days ago, and all that was in there now was a gallon jug of the cheapest orange-flavored water she had been able to find. Sighing, she pulled out her phone to check her emails. She had begged Madame Ogna for extra hours yesterday via email, but the woman hadn't responded yet.

The witch walked to the kitchen to pick up an empty pitcher. It was dark outside, nearly midnight now. There was still crime scene tape wrapped around the broken railing outside her neighbor's door. He had come home from the hospital yesterday evening just as she was stepping out of her door, and had deliberately avoided eye contact.

While Aileen appreciated what Dana and Tasia had done for her, it hadn't actually solved any problems. The police had been so far up her ass after the assault that Ogna had cut even more of her hours under the pretense of causing a spectacle. The assault had made the news, clearly a replacement for the car chase that the media neglected to mention, even though hundreds of people had witnessed it. The only reason Aileen's face hadn't been plastered all over the television was because Ogna had pulled some strings.

Aileen filled the pitcher with water and walked through her apartment, singing to the plants while she watered them. Leaves turned in her direction as she approached, and every plant reached toward her in gratitude as she hydrated their soil. She took a moment to touch each one and connect with it. Plants weren't alive in the same sense that animals and humans were, but she could easily interpret the alien thoughts that came from them.

"If only I had a greenhouse," she muttered. Maybe then she could have planted some food. Trying to ignore that hollow feeling in her gut, when the doorbell rang she jumped and nearly dropped her pitcher.

The last time someone came around this late, it was the police on the night of the assault. Her stomach fell as she realized that enough of the lights were on that it was easy for anyone to tell that she was home and most likely awake. What if it was one of her neighbor's buddies, come back for revenge? Or maybe Ogna was stopping by to let her know in person that she was out of a job.

"Miss Durant?" The feminine voice at the door was unfamiliar. "May I have a word?"

"Well, at least my murderer is polite," she groused as she set her pitcher down and slid a ceremonial dagger up her sleeve on her way to the door. Though her personal mantra was to do no harm, she was allowed to protect herself if her life was in danger.

When she opened the door, it revealed a woman with alabaster skin and raven hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. She wore thick, black rimmed glasses that seemed too big for her face. Those details were paltry compared to the enormous wheelchair her visitor sat in. It looked brand new, the metal glossy and unmarred by scratches. It was a motorized model, but looked unusually big in the back, making her think of the motorized carts at every department store.

"Sorry for the late night visit," said the stranger with a grin. She held out an envelope. "This is for you."

"What is it?" Aileen took the envelope, but continued to study the stranger. Her aura was different than anyone Aileen had ever met, and she could sense the hint of a glamor spell, but couldn't figure out where it originated.

"My friends were here a few days ago. You helped them." The woman leaned forward in her chair. "My name is Eulalie Weaver. A pleasure."

Aileen frowned, but shook the woman's hand. She could sense an unnerving amount of strength in Eulalie, and knew the dagger would be worthless.

"Your friends caused me trouble," she said, then stepped away from the door. "Would you like to come inside?"

"No thanks. Um...my chair might not fit." Eulalie made a face. "Besides, this is a quick visit. I heard you were having some trouble with the locals."

Aileen snorted. "Understatement," she replied.

"Well, I've got good news." Eulalie gestured at the envelope. "Inside, you'll find a plane ticket and some other documents. Starting next week, you'll be the new librarian in the town of Fossil Reef, Wyoming."

"I'm being...reassigned?" Aileen opened the envelope. Sure enough, a plane ticket was inside, as well as several other documents. Her hand shook as she pulled them out.

"Not quite. You're being poached." Eulalie smirked. "You see, starting next week, you work for me."

Aileen frowned. "I don't...I mean, I'm flattered, but...that's kind of a huge risk for me."

"You're right. It is." Eulalie bumped the knob on her chair, which caused it to swerve. She fidgeted with the knob until the chair was straight once more. "I've already worked things out with your head...witch-type people. You will still be doing exactly what you've been doing here, only you won't be starving to death."

Aileen's cheeks burned. "It has gotten pretty bad," she admitted.

Eulalie nodded. "I'm doing this in part because I owe you. But I'm also doing it because it's the right thing to do."

Aileen fidgeted with the envelope. "I don't know what to say."

"Say yes. The keys in the bottom of that envelope are for your new place. It's not a rental, by the way. It's all yours."

"This...this is..." Aileen bit her lip to damn up the tears starting to form. "How?"

"Because I'm rich and in need of good people should I ever need them." Eulalie turned her chair around. "So, do you accept?"

"Yes." Aileen's voice was barely a squeak. "I accept."

"Good. You might want to get to bed, though. Movers will be here first thing in the morning. I'll call you in a few days to see how you've settled in. Oh, and one last thing. Did some research on the area." She gestured toward the police tape. "I can't guarantee you won't encounter shit like this, but it won't be nearly as bad. And if it ever does happen again, I'll be just a call away. Anyway, good night." Eulalie pushed the lever on her chair and rolled down the hallway toward the elevator.

Stunned, Aileen shut the door and went to her dining room to pour out the contents of the envelope. A prepaid credit card with a thousand dollars on it came out first, followed by several documents. The last thing to slide out was a pair of house keys with an address written on the keychain.

"Is this for real?" she asked, her voice a whisper. Holding up the keys, she closed her eyes and offered a quick prayer of thanks to the goddess. Tucking the keys in her pocket, she grabbed the gift card and headed for the door. Sleep was good, but a midnight snack would be even better. The hollow void in her belly was far too distracting to sleep with.

It wasn't until she was halfway to the stairs that she remembered her apartment building didn't actually have an elevator.

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And with that, the curtain falls and I have set pieces into place among the shadows. With any luck, the payoff down the road will be worth it.

Thanks again to everyone who read this far. Don't forget to leave some stars and check my Lit Bio for when I plan to release future chapters, because I've got more stuff coming. I also want to thank everyone who has encouraged main series readers to come check this story out. I've gotten a few emails recently from people who were appalled to discover just how much of the story they missed by skipping out.

Now take a break from the day and go hug a loved one. Nobody nearby? Hug yourself. You matter, and you've earned it.

This was Dead and Horny 2. Annabelle Hawthorne, out!