She snorted a laugh. "Yeah, alright, marshmallow. Let's go."
One thing that was always consistent when sparring with other members of the guild, no one, not a single one of us, went easy on each other in training. To do so would be an insult, and only someone really stupid insults an assassin.
That being said, Bex seriously handed me my ass. Stupid pads. Still, our session provided me the distraction I needed and I left The Shack feeling… better. If not optimistic.
Now, all I needed for a great day was a response from Fin's future wife. But why did that thought make my stomach churn so damn much?
To my confused delight and horror, there was a message waiting for me in the dating agency profile I'd set up to find Fin's little wifey. Revel was, as expected, extremely eager to meet. She'd written that her job had her tied up at the moment, and couldn't make it to Denver until the end of the month. Exactly two weeks after my scheduled hit on Nix Locklear.
I groaned, tapping my phone on my face a couple of times before formulating a reply.
As I hit send, my phone buzzed in my hand and Chris's glittery face winked at me from the screen.
"Hey, Fae-Bitch," I greeted him, answering the call and putting the cell to my ear. "What's up?"
"Just woke up," he yawned. "Last night was in-freaking-sane. Did you see that wood nymph that I took home? Let me tell you, girl: wood was right!"
I snickered. "You're so crass, I love it. I also made some progress today, so you can eat your words, my cynical friend."
"Shut the front door," he gasped. "You finally fucked that sexy as sin fanger boss? Color me impressed, babe!"
"What? No! I mean, I found a single kitsune vixen. She lives in Japan, but she was on one of those stupid dating sites, so she must be single." I chewed at the edge of my nail, thinking about her message. "She can’t come out for a few weeks, but I pressed to see if she could just make a quick trip this week. I need my tails sorted out… badly."
"I know, Hunty," Chris yawned. "Actually, that's why I'm calling …" His tone went cagey, and icey dread formed in my gut. "Uh, can you come over to my place? One of your exes is here. Apparently, he thought I might be able to talk sense into you or some crap? Whatever, he clearly doesn't know you, but he won’t fuck off. So can you come?"
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I took a long breath and counted to ten. Fucking Riot! As if he could sense the direction of my thoughts, Ziff paused with a bit of biscotti in his paws and chirped up at me.
"Not really," I ground out. "I'm running research surveillance on the target right now." In fact, my ass was parked in a café across the road from Nix's registered place of business. I was yet to see anyone who even vaguely resembled his description though. This was going to be a long, boring week of waiting. Killing I was fine with, but the waiting part was not my cup of tea.
"Thea babe," Chris groaned down the phone, "I'm too hungover to deal with this prick."
There was something about the strain in his tone that made me pause and sit up a bit straighter in my seat. I was at an outdoor café, and had already drank my way through five cups of coffee while pretending to work on my laptop.
"Fae-Bitch," I growled in my best menacing tone. "Did you get into the dust last night?"
A long pause was all the answer I needed, and I cursed a little too loudly for polite company. "Seriously?!" I hissed at him, so furious I almost spilled my coffee.
"I'm sorry," he whined. "I was already so drunk, and it was only the tiniest bit …"
"I can't even believe you right now, Chris," I snapped. "You promised me. You promised me that you were done and you'd never touch it again. What the fuck, dude?"
"I know, Thea-sweets, but you don't understand—" he started with that same bullshit that I'd already heard from him a thousand times before.
"Save it," I snarled in an ice-cold tone of voice. "I'm coming over now to take my asshole ex off your hands, but that's it. I won’t sit with you through another dust withdrawal, Chris. This is on you this time."
Whatever he started to say in response was cut off as I jabbed the end call button on my phone. Dust was the commonly used name for a potent and rare variety of pixie dust, harvested from pixies held in captivity like factory-farmed chickens and shaken for their dust several times a day. It was horrific and barbaric, but the dust sold for megabucks on the street, so I doubted the practice would end anytime soon.
For supernatural creatures, dust was the most addictive substance out there: one hundred times more potent than cocaine for humans, and with a price to match. It destroyed lives, and had very nearly landed my best friend into selling his body several years ago … until I’d pulled him out of an auction and dried him out.
I shuddered at the memory as I slammed my laptop back into my bag and threw some money down for my coffees. It had been how Chris and I met, as I was there on a hit. But I never, ever wanted to see him on dust again. I grabbed Ziff, propped him on my shoulder, and stood up.
"Thanks, miss," the young girl who’d been serving me gasped, as she saw the tip I'd left.
"Have a great day, hun," I murmured, flicking my gaze over the street one last time. I'd been there for hours, and there’d been no sign of Nix Locklear. Either this was a decoy address, or he had the day off. Either way, I had bigger fish to fry.
My sharp stiletto heels clicked an angry tune on the pavement as I made my way back to Lola and slid inside. My right hand idly stroked Ziff’s velvety ears as I sat there for a moment, doing my best to rein in my temper; he was the only thing that could really calm me down when I was in a mood. As it was, I gunned Lola's engine and didn't even apologize as her tires squealed and I tore out into the street.
Fucking Fae-Bitch was in so much trouble … but first, I needed to stop my ex from harassing my friends. What was next, were they going to turn up at Mik's house, too? He’d slaughter their arrogant asses and paint the pavement red.
If Mik even had a house, that is. Maybe a castle or a crypt or something? Did he have a coffin? Or a proper bed?
Ugh, focus Thea! First, drag Riot's sorry ass out of my best friend’s house, then kick Fae-Bitch's ass, then daydream about where Mikhail—uber powerful, deadly vampire—sleeps.
Baby steps.
Using my own key, I let myself into Chris's shitty apartment and cringed at the smell. It was like stale sweat, old alcohol, and cupcakes. That was the dust. Fucked up as it was, dust literally smelled like cupcakes or sugar cookies. That's pixies for you though: even under the horrific conditions they're kept in, the little fuckers still exuded happiness from their pores.
"Chris?" I called out, keys jangling in my hand. I wasn't about to call this man any affectionate little nicknames after the shit he'd just pulled.
Ziff chirped and stood up on his hind legs, ears perked. I knew as soon as he let out a little purr that it wasn't Riot I was going to have to deal with … but Fin.
Cursing under my breath, I stormed down the hall and found Chris lying in his bed while Fin sat nearby and chewed on the end of a celery stalk. It was a nervous habit of his, to chew things. Started when he was a pup and never quit. Just one of the things about him that drove me nuts.
He flicked his tail at me and scowled when I stepped into the room.
"I'm not in for some mail-order bride," he growled, and I felt my hackles go up as he bared his teeth at me. If anyone else had done that to me, Ziff would've hissed in response. Instead, he just purred, and I felt my own fangs sharpening in response.