The Mark (Interracial Paranormal Romance) (Toil and Trouble) (6 page)

“You know, I think you’d look really handsome with a black eye.”

“Too bad it would heal in about five seconds,” he cracked. He cradled my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine. “You know I wouldn’t ask unless I was really hungry, right? I haven’t fed in days.”

I rolled my eyes, sticking out my lip stubbornly. “I know.”

“I’m not talking about shacking up with her and having vampire babies or anything,” he said with a smirk as his soft hand brushed my cheek. “Just a quick drink and I’ll whisk you away for a night of passion and excitement.”

“Ha,” I snorted, trying to silence the smile that played on my lips. “You are so not getting lucky tonight.”

I let out a loud dramatic sigh and looped my arm back into his as we turned back to the waiting area. I stopped in front of Natasha, giving her the sweetest smile I could muster. “It’s been a long day for both of us. Why don’t you let Jack walk you out to your car? I’m sure if they have anything else, they’ll call you.”

She practically squealed, but maintained her poise and grace. “You sure?”

I nodded. “I have to go in and tell the detective something I forgot anyway. It should buy you a couple of minutes.” I directed the last bit at Jack. No time to toy with his meal tonight, I was ready to go home.

Chapter Six

Endless Optimism is for Suckers

I sighed as the gentle breeze caressed my face. It was a welcome break from the sun that hung heavy in the sky, plastering my hair to the back of my neck. My legs moved in rhythm with the tires against the asphalt. It rivaled the thundering of my heart as each rotation pushed me closer to the office.

My Boss, or B as we all called him, was rarely in a good mood. I still hadn’t nailed down what he was exactly—Greek god maybe? He did have a thorough hatred for the mortal world, yet took a special delight in sleeping with any woman he came across.

At any rate, he only drug himself to our realm for two reasons: interviewing and training supernaturals and ‘special’ humans for positions with NACA, and cleaning up a mess.

I hopped the curb, skirting into the alley beside the office building. I kicked down the stand and pried off my helmet. I didn’t bother with a ward of protection. In NY I’d be foolish not to, but downtown Raleigh had all the quirks of her big sister and little to none of her hang ups.

I walked up the staircase, clutching my purse like a security blanket as I pushed through the entrance. I scanned the lobby with a smile. The mediocrity of the office in the daylight never ceased to amaze me. The walls that hung darkly under the light of the moon were now beige and bland. The metal chairs and table that stood like empty claws in the darkness now seemed flimsy and ordinary. It really was remarkable how the cool quiet of the night and a handful of candles could completely transform a place.

Two weeks ago, Naomi had ebony skin, with long, soft dreadlocks that spilled past her waist. Now, her skin was pale, her hair crafted into a pixie-cut that accentuated her high cheekbones and voluptuous lips. Naomi was a shifter—able to take form of any human she laid her eyes on. It made her age nearly impossible to determine, but I had a feeling she had to be old and disciplined to put up with B’s moods.

“Naomi!” a baritone voice thundered from the back office. “Where the hell is the contractor?!”

She rolled her eyes, flipping her magazine back open. “Asking every five minutes isn’t going to make them get here any faster!” she hollered back.

“Maybe I should come back later,” I said nervously, my grip tightening on my helmet.

“You could come back next week and he will’ve found something new to complain about,” she chuckled. “Better to just get it over and done with.”

I pushed open the door and gasped in shock. Glass crunched beneath my feet as I surveyed the damage. The desks were overturned, their contents spread all over the floor. There were scorch marks branded into the stained carpet, charred wallpaper hanging precariously from the once pristine walls. B stood beneath a large hole in the ceiling, the sun highlighting a very pissed off look on his face.

B was built like the ancient ruins of Greece, all reverence, their power unswayed by the test of time. His gray hair hung in soft ringlets around his chiseled features, swirling around his harsh face like a tornado as he whirled to face me. “Do I ask too much?”

I swallowed hard. “I-I’m sorry?”

He stepped from beneath the gaping hole and his dark eyes glimmered in the shadows. “Do you remember how you were when I found you?”

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I-“

“Rhetorical question,” he interrupted. “You were drowning your abilities in a sea of booze and dicks. Your magical talents were rudimentary at best.” He picked up an overturned chair and sat it upright, sighing as he sunk into it. “You were putting summoning ads on Craigslist for crissakes. Many wanted you to just be…dealt with.”

“I appreciate all you’ve done for me, B,” I said, my lip trembling.

“All of you, ‘necros’-“ He dropped the word like it was toxic in his mouth. “I pay you well. Do I not? 500 dollars for an hour of work.”

I nodded.

He gestured at the mess. “I just ask that you put aside your innate stupidity and think before you act!” He blew out a steam of air that rattled the walls. “Amateur hour! Summonings are only to be held under the light of the full moon.” He held out his hand and a bottle of water zipped through the air, stopping in his hand. “And then I hear about your little lunch meeting.”

“Look B-” My words were cut short as he flew across the room quicker than I could say “Holy shit.” With one talon like finger he lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him dead-on.

“You know what I find pathetically charming about you humans?” he growled, his nostrils flaring.

“W-wwhat’s that?” I stammered.

“Your endless optimism,” he said smoothly. He released my chin, brushing past me. “You have every reason to just find the closest .45 and blow your brains out, but you just soldier on—thinking everyday might be better. That you control your story.” He stopped at one of the overturned desks and with a flick of his wrist, it stood upright. “You couldn’t be more wrong,” he continued. “Humans only exist because we allow them to. Whether it’s because you taste so deliciously or humor us, WE are in charge of your destiny…not the other way around.”

He turned back to me, crossing his burly arms. “It’s easy to see why you got so cocky, riding off to the save the day, Jade. You’ve got a little special ‘oomph’ that makes you more precious than the average walking ape.” He lowered his voice, his eyes becoming narrow slits. “But make no mistake—if you become more trouble than you’re worth, I’ll smite you myself. Clear?”

I nodded eagerly. “Crystal. Won’t happen again.”

“It better fucking not,” he said acidly. He whirled toward the open office door, his fists becoming boulders of rage. “Where the HELL is the contractor?”

I slid out of the office, while I still had my head.

Chapter Seven

A New Client

I pushed inside Royal Bean, breathing in the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. For a moment, I wasn’t thanking my lucky stars that B didn’t rip me a new one--I was in Ethiopia, sipping an espresso beneath the burning sun.

Royal Bean was filled with its usual fare-students from Meredith and State sat huddled over textbooks and frappes, a smattering of businessmen typed away at laptops, hipsters sipped their fair trade coffee as they read Kafke and Bukowski.

I slid up to the counter and the barista gave me a friendly nod, reaching for a mug. I didn’t even need to drop my order, she knew it by heart. I swiped my latte and stuffed a couple of dollars in the cup and sunk into a couch near the front.

I tried to relax and destressify, but I couldn’t get the Kenny situation out of my head. Everything about it was odd—what was the bizarre symbol I saw etched on the wallet? What was the gibberish Kenny spewed before shoving the wallet down his throat? None of it made sense.

I pulled out my trusty grimoire. To the untrained mortal eye, it looked like an old spiral notebook that had seen better days. But it was so much more—it contained a wealth of magical knowledge. From how to purify an area for spellwork to a dictionary of virtually every supernatural creature that had a name, it was my own little Google that had saved my ass more than once.

I flipped to the back, scanning the yellowed pages for the symbol I saw in Kenny’s wallet before he went bananas. I eyeballed the quick sketch I did from memory at the police station. From what I gathered from the second I glimpsed the thing before Kenny snatched it away, the symbol was two circles, one inside the other. Lines shot from the inner circle outward, like spokes on a bicycle. It didn’t give me much to go on and according to the research, no such symbol even existed.

I ran an exhausted hand through my hair and massaged my temples. B hadn’t exactly said to stop digging, right? Hell, if I could figure out what happened, I’d save him the trouble. I sipped my coffee, still mulling the situation over in my head when a heated discussion at the counter caught my attention.

“…ma’am if you could lower your voice-” the barista said through clenched teeth.

“I will NOT be quiet!” the woman said, slamming her fist on the counter. She looked like she’d gone to hell and back. Her fiery red hair looked oily and misshapen, falling around her blotchy face in knots and tangles. Her blue eyes were wild and swollen, like she’d spent every waking hour sobbing. Her voice was authoritative, but the way her hands shook told me that she was doing all she could to keep it together. “I gave you a twenty, and I demand you give me correct change!”

“Fuck you,” the woman said acidly, knocking over the paper cup in anger. “Keep it.” She stalked from the counter, but swung her purse too hard, spilling the contents all over the floor. Most of the customers watched her, fearful that even if they attempted to help she’d lash out at them as well.

I let out a sigh and pulled myself off the couch, squatting down to help her. My hand grazed a bottle of lotion, but she snatched it away from me, stuffing it back where it belonged.

“I don’t need your help,” she spat, eyeing me defiantly.

“No problem,” I said, holding out my hands in defense. That’s what I get for trying to be nice. I rose to my feet and gasped. Right above a turquoise Swatch, her pale skin was branded, a black handprint seared into her flesh. It was the touch of the dead.

I hesitated. The last time I tried to help out someone with a ghost problem, they ended up six feet under. But as the woman kept swiping angrily at the floor, tears streaming down her face, I knew the decision was already made. I lowered myself back to my knees, putting my hand over hers.