Jessica Shirvington - Empower

His face wore an expression of pure surprise.

I’d seen that look before.

I sighed and my shoulders slumped forward, unfulfilled. This was my job, one that I would do for as long as I existed, which could be a significantly long time. But two years ago I’d accepted that there was no longer any satisfaction to be had in my world.

No fairytales.

Only the cold.

Turning towards where I thought my dagger had landed, my surroundings suddenly changed.

I was no longer seeing the warehouse. There were flashes of white, moving fast, pounding hooves. Horses. Silver streaked through the air like a dance. Swords. Slashes of red painted the sky. Something sharp and deadly ripping through flesh – wet and gruesome. Claws. Thousands and thousands of beings as far as I could see fought ruthlessly, with no sign of tiring. In the centre, two warriors battled beneath a blinding light. I could not make out their faces.

I blinked hard.

The image was gone and in its place Gray stood against the wall of Lincoln’s warehouse, casually flipping my dagger in the air. ‘Would you like me to applaud?’ he asked.

Leaning against a metal support pole, he had that mid-twenties look I’d come to associate with the older Grigori – though I had no idea how old he really was – and was dressed in his usual black jeans, black T-shirt and black leather jacket. Black really was the only colour worth investing in – blood stains everything else. He sported about a week’s worth of growth on his face, though his head was shaved, the scars that ran over the top of his skull telling of a history both terrible and secret. Grigori did not generally scar, so I knew that whatever had caused these had occurred before Gray had turned seventeen.

I swallowed over the lump in my throat and glanced around as I composed myself. The whole … hallucination … had lasted only a couple of seconds. I clenched my jaw.

Christ. It was nothing. I’m just imagining things.

I snapped my bracelet back in place over my marking and shot him a dry look. ‘Should I be charging a spectator fee?’

My voice sounded normal but my ears felt like they were still ringing with the echoes of battle.

‘Not if the show is going to be over so fast, princess.’

I glared at him for persisting with the stupid nickname. ‘You know, you could’ve stepped in and given me a hand.’

‘Sure,’ he said with a solemn nod. ‘And you could’ve waited until the meet time we’d all agreed on, too.’

I looked away briefly. ‘So, why are you here early?’ I asked, hoping to divert the conversation.

Gray tilted his head. ‘Because I know you.’

I shrugged off the veiled accusation, even though it was true. To a degree.

‘It was easier this way.’

He threw my dagger into the air and I caught it by the hilt and slipped it back into its sheath.

‘Well you can explain that to the others, since they just arrived.’

‘Children, it is the last hour, and just as you heard that Antichrist is coming, even now many antichrists have appeared: from this we know that it is the last hour.’

1 John 2:18

gray and I found the other Rogues waiting in the designated meeting place around the corner from the market.

Spotting us, Carter took one look at me and hoisted himself onto the bonnet of his car, shaking his head. ‘Bloody hell, fellas, she’s done it again.’

Milo and Turk set hard looks on me. The first time I’d been on the receiving end of their stares, it almost made me think twice about fighting solo again. But then, the alternative was even less appealing.

I wished I could explain it so they would understand. Hell, I wished I could understand all the reasons why it was easier to fight alone. I could say it was because of my blood. That since none of them – apart from Gray – knew what I could do with it, I was merely protecting one of my many secrets. Rogues were a law unto themselves, and I was still learning all the rules that operated under the guise of having none. I could also argue that if one of them was hurt I would feel responsible and have to heal them, creating a bond that, although nothing like that between Phoenix and me, still suggested some kind of ongoing commitment. Keeping my distance from people had become paramount to my day-to-day survival.

Really, though, I knew that it had more to do with not wanting to rely on anyone. And not being able to watch one of them take a fall.

Not that I was about to admit to any of that. These guys would eat me alive.

So instead, I shrugged. ‘I got here early and saw an opportunity, so I took it. Don’t we have somewhere else to be tonight anyway?’

Carter lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply. Of all the Rogues, Carter was the most … unpredictable. And the biggest. The guy was built like a freight train and had the strength of one too. When he pushed his hand roughly through his overgrown brown hair and narrowed his amber eyes at me, it was not in jest.

I rolled mine in response, to which I am fairly certain he growled.

‘We all know that job ain’t paying anything like this one,’ he said, not even attempting to keep his voice down.

I folded my arms, unperturbed. ‘You’ll all still get your cut.’ This was never about solo profiteering. ‘This way we can get on with the other job and you’ll all be able to start drinking earlier than planned.’

Milo threw me a wink and Turk ruffled his bleached mohawk. I read both actions as signs that they were happy enough with my offer. Carter, however, was still eyeing me off. He’d put on his full-length leather coat for nothing and was pissed he’d missed the fight.

I sighed. ‘I’ll buy you all a round,’ I offered, to which Carter grunted but tossed his cigarette and slid off the bonnet.

‘You’ll be buying at least a few, purple,’ he said, getting into the driver’s seat as Milo and Turk filed into the back. ‘Where we headed?’ he asked Gray.

‘Round the back of King’s Cross Station. That big building they have all those billboards around,’ Gray answered.

‘The new Schrager hotel?’ I asked.

Carter curled his lip. I suppose he didn’t really care who the designer was. I might have left my artist days behind, but I still noticed things like that.

‘That’s the one,’ Gray said. ‘You know the drill. It’s a London Academy job and they’re paying us to be there as back-up. Tread on their toes and we don’t get paid. Got it?’

Everyone nodded except Carter, who grunted and started his death-trap car. He didn’t offer me a lift, which sucked, since now I’d have to ride on the back of Gray’s bike. It was nothing personal, but I would have preferred the death trap. Of all the Rogues I was closest to Gray, but letting people into my space – and hanging onto them on the back of a bike classified as such – wasn’t my idea of a good time. It reminded me of things I’d never again have.

Things broken beyond repair.

Taking part in Academy business was something I preferred to avoid, but this job had come in carrying an additional request from the New York Academy, and as much as I didn’t owe them any favours, I agreed to the occasional contract. When Gray first told me about this one earlier today, I’d felt that chill on the back of my neck that I’d learned to respond to, and signed up.

‘You really should invest in some helmets,’ I said, not for the first time.

Gray gave me a flat stare and got on his Harley. ‘Feel free to walk.’

Like that was going to happen.

I hooked my leg over the seat, careful to maintain a distance between our bodies, and made a scoffing sound.