Jocelynn Drake - Dead Man’s Deal

I opened my eyes again, watching as she lifted her head from Sofie. Her expression was filled with questions, but she didn’t say anything else, leaving it up to me as to whether I would tell her anything of my adventures with Bronx and Reave’s little organization.

The sigh I thought I had swallowed rose back up and escaped me. I would have to say something since I wasn’t completely sure that Bronx would be in to work that night. He would need time to heal and it was very likely that he would still be feeling like shit when the sun set.

“Things didn’t go too well. I wasn’t in the greatest of moods when we were done and I didn’t want to drag that over to your place last night,” I said with a frown. “Also, Bronx might not be in tonight. I’m going to call him in an hour or two to check on him.”

“Not in? How bad did things go last night?”

Leaning against the counter, I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the floor. While the lobby had a nice old hardwood floor, the main tattooing room was covered in this crappy yellow linoleum that was cracked, chipped, and lightly stained with splatters from dropped ink containers. “I was sent to protect a fix-production house.” Trixie gasped and I clenched my teeth and chanced a peek up at her. Pixies weren’t directly related to elves, but it was my understanding that they were at least seen as some kind of distant cousin—a lot closer than humans were believed to be. “I relieved them of their supply in the process of protecting the house.”

“Thank goodness,” she breathed, her shoulders slumping in her relief. But they stiffened again as her mind traveled along the next natural conclusion. “Is that how Bronx was injured?”

“Sort of. We got out of the house fine, but Reave decided that I needed to be punished to make sure that I didn’t try anything like that again.”

Trixie’s brows furrowed, meeting over her petite nose as she looked at me. “So Bronx was hurt?”

“Reave knows that the best way to handle me is to threaten the people I care about. I’ll take whatever beating that he can dish out, but I break when he threatens my friends. I guess we all have to have a weakness, right?”

Trixie opened her mouth to say something, but never got the chance. Sofie jumped out of her arms and back onto the tattooing chair between Trixie and me. “Absolutely not!” she snapped. Her tail flicked back and forth as she paced along the chair. If she had been human, I think she would have smacked me.

“You are a warlock, Gage! You do not have weaknesses. You do not allow ordinary, weak-minded thugs to control your actions through threats. You take care of them and continue on your way.”

I gave a little snort. “This coming from a witch trapped as a cat for the past several years.”

Sofie primly sat in the middle of the chair, facing me. “My condition has no bearing here. You are a warlock!” Her chest puffed up as she added that last bit, as if it was supposed to instill some kind of latent pride.

I shrugged. “I’m not a warlock. I never finished.”

“You became a warlock the minute you were taken to the Towers. Doesn’t matter if you finished.”

“No. I’m not a warlock. I don’t kill.”

I didn’t know it was possible, but Sofie managed to arch one little cat brow at me in mocking question. Fuck. Simon was haunting me.

“That was self-defense,” I said slowly through clenched teeth.

“You’re saying that you didn’t go there intending to kill him?” Sofie pressed. While it didn’t show now, I could easily imagine the smug expression on her human face.

I looked away, glaring at the wall. I could argue that I didn’t go across town looking for Simon because I had been looking for answers from my old tattooing mentor Atticus Sparks. But deep down, I had always known that it would all lead back to Simon and that matter came down to killing him before he killed me.

“Does Reave know about me?” Trixie asked, breaking into my train of thought.

I jerked my gaze over to her and stiffly nodded. I wasn’t going to lie to her in an effort to leave her feeling safe when she wasn’t. It would be better if she at least knew to look over her shoulder on occasion, not that I wanted to add to her worries. She was already looking over her shoulder in expectation of seeing another elf hunting her. We might have earned a reprieve from her people, but neither one of us trusted it.

“I won’t let him touch you,” I said.

“Why? Because you’ll kill him?” Trixie’s words were soft and gentle, possessing a wealth of sadness for me and this life I was trying to live.

I pushed away from the counter and walked over to the doorway so that I could look across the lobby and out the front picture window to the street beyond. Shoving my hands into my short hair, I leaned my elbows against the doorjamb and stared at nothing.

“No, he won’t touch you because I’ll do as he asks until I think of some way to take care of this problem.”

Trixie slid her arms around my waist and laid her head against my spine. I flinched. I hadn’t even heard her move from her seat she was so quiet. “And sell out your morals and beliefs in the process. Things like that damage the soul.”

“Who says that I’ve got any soul left to damage?” I teased, but dark truth underlay that comment. I was already missing a piece of my soul. Simon had stolen it and I failed to get it back before killing him. After all the decisions I had made, I was beginning to wonder if I wasn’t missing more than that one piece.

“Your soul is beautiful, Gage, if a little tarnished.” I didn’t say anything. I wanted her to believe this if only so that she would keep her arms around me for a little longer. “This Reave deserves to die for what he’s done to the pixies and everyone else he’s hurt. I won’t mourn him if you decide to get rid of him. Just don’t kill him with magic. You’ve already lost one year.”

I closed my eyes against that horrible reminder. That little fact woke me up from a deep sleep on more than one occasion, scaring the shit out of Trixie during the few times I had slept over at her place.

Magic had some strange rules. There had to be a little give for everything you got—particularly for the big things like killing someone. For the most part, you simply moved energy that already existed in the air, directing it to do your bidding. But killing someone with magic was another matter. You were ending a life, removing a big source of that energy from the earth, and that unbalanced things. The price was that you lost one year of your own life for each person you killed with magic. And it wasn’t one of those crappy years off the end. No, you could be twenty-five, healthy and happy in the prime of life, and fall dead while walking down the middle of the street with no warning. You’d be dead for exactly 365 days and then wake up as if nothing had happened; assuming that those around you were nice enough to preserve the body so that it could start up again

I had killed Simon with magic. He was dead and I owed magic one year of my life. I didn’t know when it was going to happen, but I was terrified that it would happen before I could help Trixie solve her problem with the Summer Court. I was terrified it would happen before I could get Bronx free of Reave. I was terrified that it would happen and the Towers would discover my body helpless and unprotected. I was terrified of Lilith, who was waiting for me with a chunk of my soul on the other side.

Forcing my eyes open, I drew in a slow, steadying breath before dropping my hands down to cover Trixie’s where they rested on my waist. “It’ll be fine. I’ll find a way to deal with Reave before he even thinks about bothering you.”