Stunned, Kit stared at the Weaver. He hadn’t been paying attention to the news as of late, hadn’t known that an election was underway in Skadra. He did, of course, know who the Nethertons were. Their money transcended magic. In Skadra, they were the one family with enough money to be outside of Weaver control. They were also among the few in Skadra to be completely without magic, as magic wasn’t genetic. That was why powerful witches in Skadra tended to come from covens, not families. The Nethertons’ eldest son Drayer was the first witch in their family to have been born in three generations. It made him somewhat a celebrity in Skadra. The city had been abuzz since the man had barely escaped with his life from an assassination attempt a month ago.
“Is that all?” he asked hoarsely, “I’m sorry, but that sounds a bit out of my caliber.”
Clea laughed. “Look where you are, Mr. Assassin. A giant warehouse you cleared out yourself. That was a real leap for a desert rat like you. This is far smaller. Besides”—she leaned forward, which sent her coffee cup sliding precariously close to the edge of the conference room table—“I have a little secret that makes this kill more of a backstep. Easy peasy kill. Walk in the park. I’d do it myself if it weren’t in a government facility. The boss has a strict rule about that.”
“Wait, slow down,” he said, his head swimming, “you’re not making any sense. The Nethertons would never leave the protection of one of their own to the government. That’d be idiotic.” Skadra and the government had a complicated history. Witches had won the war against the fae two hundred years ago, and thus the government had gifted them Skadra — a city meant for witches. But things had soured once the governmentrealized too late that uniting the tiny witch population had been a mistake. They couldn’t be controlled any longer. Skadra sucked up all the talent the government so desperately craved.
To put it bluntly, the young witches (or self-proclaimed ‘mages’) that the government swept up sucked ass.
“You’re right. The Nethertons aren’t stupid. Drayer Netherton is protected twenty-four-seven by top-talent nomads. Same team that keeps all those fuckers safe. That’s why you’re not killing him directly. The Nethertons have a soul-bound girl sequestered in Tunsa.”
“You’re shitting me,” Kit said, forgetting for a minute he was speaking to one of the most powerful Weavers in the city. Soul-binding was a horrific practice, one that tied two people’s lives and magic together. The magic was so dark that it was a close cousin to the wicked soul magic witches used to make vampyres. “No wonder he survived that bullet.”
Clea nodded, her dark eyes gleaming with what looked to be admiration at the Nethertons’ wickedness. “Exactly. He shared the injury with the girl, siphoned the injury to her in order to heal himself. I’d bet my left tit that she’s magic-less so he can control the bond any way he sees fit. That’s why when you kill her, it has to be instant so he won’t be able to shut things down on his end. Here.” She threw something small in his direction.
He caught what looked to be a tiny wrapped candy.
“Has her exact location someone leaked for a pretty penny. As long as they didn’t lie, the job should be simple for you. Nothing but government mages.” Clea at last took a sip of coffee from her mug, and Kit could sense their meeting was coming to a close.
Guilt swam in his gut at the idea of harming someone so… helpless. He had to try. “What if I pull a harder job for you? This is a waste of my talents.” He’d hoped Clea would point him to an absolute scum, someone he wouldn’t mind killing. Someone like the Redbacks. Not some poor magic-less girl whose entirelife purpose was to serve as some rich prick’s life source battery pack.What have you gotten me into, Visha?he thought, not the first time.
The dark-haired woman snorted. “Aw, you’re a real gentleman. But tough shit. Your coven owes me big time and this is what it takes for me not to hunt your girl to the ends of this earth. A girl for a girl. You’ve got talent, Kit, and being soft isn’t going to cut it as your services go into demand. Hell, if you want someone less pathetic than that Visha pulling your strings, I’ll sponsor you for our next Weaver initiation. With your reputation you might be able to skip the first few challenges.”
“No thanks.” Kit deflated as he inspected the candy she’d given him, his ears hot because the Weaver had seen so easily through him.
Clea smiled because she’d won. “You will go to Tunsa and kill that girl. Tonight. If not, Visha the wannabe mobster is the next on my shit list. You’re dismissed.”
Kit nodded, his heart hurting in a way he hadn’t thought possible after a year of numbing it. His final job, only a few weeks ago, suddenly felt like it was yesterday. The weakness in his body from a lack of magic attested to that.
He resigned himself to his fate. To save his coven, to save Visha, he’d have to cross a line and kill an innocent.
Just as he was about to exit, Clea’s voice interrupted him, “When you kill her, leave the wrapper on the body.”
“It has your boyfriend Luke’s symbol on it, not yours.”
Clea’s smile was all teeth. “Our anniversary is next month.”
five
Kit
Despite his reputation as an assassin, Kit had never taken a memory lozenge for a job before. For one, consuming anything crafted from another witch begged for a curse. The second reason being that there was nothing more unreliable than someone’s memory. It was far better to use non-magical means — pictures, documents, a diagram scratched out in some cave — to keep the details straight.
It was for those reasons the Weavers preferred memory lozenges. They were anonymous and difficult to trace, plus any skilled witch could manipulate the memories as they pleased. The perfect obfuscation technique.
Under a starry, freezing sky, Kit flew the two hours to Tunsa and found the dingiest, out-of-the-way motel that took cash. After warding off the room, he settled into a chair and unwrapped the lozenge. The candy was ruby red and reeked of Clea’s magic. He flexed his fingers and considered destroying the cursed thing. He knew ways to disappear off the map because the Redbacks had tried all those tricks to escape justice.
Justice,he scoffed internally,what do you know about justice?He was a country bumpkin at his finest, a blunt weapon pointed at her enemies.
You don’t have to be.The thought felt true, for the first time. He eyed the door. This was Clea’s side project. She didn’t have his hair. Why did some girl have to die so Visha could make a quick buck?Let her clean up her own mess.
He rewrapped the lozenge and set it on the bed stand. Then stood up. He was exhausted from the broom ride, his magic weaker than he’d like it to be before a job. Another day until he was back to full strength.
But Kit wasn’t so tired that turning tail wasn’t appealing. He picked up his broom from the corner and strode towards the door, invigorated. Once things died down, he’d sneak back to the Jumpers base and steal Sam back. They could go fishing.
Ting. Ting. Tiiiing.As his fingers grazed the doorknob, his annoying ringer (reserved solely for Visha) went off. His cell sat on the bed stand where he’d left it.
Memories flashed before his eyes. Raja dying. Visha crying.This is the last job,he promised himself,all you need to do is one last job. Then Visha is on her own.
