Page 91 of Hell’s Half Acre

“He claimed he did.”

“Then where is Sorcha?”

That caused her servant to shrink away.

Rising to her feet, Xolotl felt the fire and electricity flare over her body. This was taking too long and time was running out. It was imperative that they sacrifice Sorcha O’Malley. Her blood was critical.

“We need her dead. Sooner rather than later.”

“But Tenoch said⁠—”

“If she were dead, she’d be here. Do you see her?” Xolotl asked, cutting him off.

The fool actually looked around as if Sorcha might be hiding.

“Imbecile! She’s not here.”

“Forgive me, my lord.”

Rolling her eyes, Xolotl wanted blood. Why was it so hard to find good henchmen? How she wished life was like an old TV show or movie where henchmen fell out of trees and were willing to do anything needed.

While being competent.

Oh, for the good old days.

Sighing, she stared at the pathetic wretch in front of her. “Get out of my sight. Take however many you need. Don’t fail me again!”

“Yes, lord.” He ran for the door.

Xolotl clicked her tongue for her hound to come to her. She needed someone to soothe her agitation.

Ever since she’d been reawakened, this entire ordeal had been frustrating. It should have been easy. She and her brother were meant to rule the universe. But how could she do that while her brother was still trapped.

Still slumbering.

She needed Sorcha’s blood to free him. To free the rest of her powers that were still bound. At the moment, she was more like a demigod. Just enough power to be infuriating. She could taste her potential.

More than that, she remembered centuries ago when they’d been venerated.

Nuzzling her hound, she sighed at how close they were. “I will not be defeated.”

Or deterred.

This was the final cycle. Their time to reign supreme.

All she had to do was kill Sorcha O’Malley and the world would be hers. Such a simple task.

Why was it proving impossible?

“Well, that was useless.” Luke threw himself down on his black leather sofa beside Helly.

“Bad day, boss?” She offered him her bag of potato chips.

Normally, he’d decline.

Tonight?

He needed some chips. Taking the bag, he dug out a handful. “Where’s Acheron?”