Damn it. His control was impressive, but he looked weak as hell, so I didn't think he had the strength to run.
The caster has barely started to sit up when I use the last reserves of my magic to cast a paralysis spell on him. Dragging him over to prop him up beside the heavily drugged necromancer, I snap a picture of the two of them and send it and these coordinates to the RLHNA. That's all they'll need to finish wrapping shit up here, and the bounty should be transferred to one of my accounts in a few days.
Eyeing the grandiose mansion as I walk through it, I step out the front doors to scan the extensive exterior landscaping and surrounding woods further away. No surprise, there's no trace of Boone. That fucker is fast.
Great. Now there's a starving, unstable thrall on the loose. I wouldn't be surprised if the RLHNA put a bounty on his head soon, too.
Again, probably something I should mention to Frost.
As if my thoughts summoned him, my phone starts buzzing in my hand, Everett's name flashing across the screen. Lifting the phone to my left ear, I lean against the outside of the mansion, trying not to grimace when piercing pain starts somewhere in the right half of my head.
Yep. Fucking migraine, and I'm sure this conversation is not about to help.
"Fuck off," I answer. "I'm done for the day and about to head home?—"
"Too bad. This is urgent."
He's not always in the worst fucking mood in the world anymore, now that he has his keeper and quintet back, but it sounds like he's ready to kill someone right now.
I scratch at the faint scrying brand on one of my forearms. It's still fading from when I got it during the Upheaval. No one really uses it to communicate anymore. "If this is about a job, I'm not interested."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm really not."
"Yes, you fucking are. I'll triple what I paid during the Upheaval."
Triple?
Fucking Frosts and their diamond-lined pockets. I know Everett's business acumen has made him a pretty penny even just since the Legacy Curse was lifted, most of which goes towardthe nonprofit that's helping Nether humans adjust in the world—but still, I'm far from a cheap hire. It was already ludicrous what he was paying me during the Upheaval.
Curiosity almost has me asking what this is about, until I remember Dev's fangs buried in that charred backyard and change my mind. Hellhounds have a higher chance of respawning around midnight, and I don't want to miss it, if it ever fucking happens.
"Call me in a couple of days.”
"No good. The job starts tomorrow.”
He's a stubborn motherfucker, but that makes two of us.
I yawn. "That's nice. I won't be there, so find some other sap to?—"
"I can't trust anyone else with this, Asher."
His voice breaks somewhere in there. I pause, realizing the icy asshole that I now consider a friend by some sick twist of fate is…emotional. Maybe even on the verge of a breakdown.
What the fresh hell is this?
When I'm too taken aback to say anything, he goes on being bossy like usual, clearing his throat.
"Your transportation magic is shit, so Silas will be there soon."
I snort. "Oh, yeah? There, where? You guys don't even know where I?—"
The overbearing, searing magical signature of Silas fucking Crane fills the night air just before the blood fae turned necromancer appears beside me with a bright flash. I stare at him for a moment before rubbing the bridge of my nose, still talking to Everett.
"Damn ravens."
Silas smirks like the smug dick he is. "She finds them endlessly useful. All we did was ask if she could locate you. Ready?"
