Day of Sacrifice (Day of Sacrifice #1) (2 page)

The priest strapped his wrists and ankles into the leather restraints and began chanting and moving the dull side of the ritual knife over his body.

“Gods! What a perfect time for Maggie to decide to leave me!”

“Get somewhere public immediately,” Fauna said, forgetting to keep her voice down. “Call me when you get there and Clark and I will meet you.” She hung up.

“Well, if this fucking elevator would--” Flora mumbled, kicking the other panel, making a matching dent. The doors wobbled. She stashed her phone in the front pocket of her hoodie and stepped forward, preparing to squeeze inside the opening the moment it was wide enough for her to fit through.

She smelled and felt his vile hot breath on her face before she saw him. Backing away from the elevator as swiftly as she could, Flora cast a locking spell that wasn’t really meant for those types of doors but it would give her a head start. She ran over to the kitchenette in the corner of the room and ducked behind the island, squatting, with her back to the man who’d been hired to kill her.

You heard about these things, one Supernatural family killing another’s Sacrifice, using their death to buy time until a Sacrifice from their bloodline was of age, but she’d never encountered it in her circle of Supernaturals. It was bad form and tended to set off a chain of events that ultimately ruined everyone’s chances of winning the Gods’ favor. The deal between her dad and the Fitzgeralds must have gone farther than South for them to be desperate enough to attempt this.

The man, if that’s what he was, cursed, prying the elevator doors open and stepping into the room. She peeked around the side of the island, running through every possible spell in her head that might benefit the situation.

The first thing she needed to figure out was what kind of enemy she was up against. The hit man was nearly as tall as he was wide, built like a kitchen appliance, and had long stringy brown hair that hung limply on his shoulders. His eyes were covered with cheesy five dollar gas station sunglasses. A gun dangled from his left hand. He was comfortable with his weapon. His charcoal grey suit was cheap, shiny, and pulled tightly across his belly. He appeared to be human; a rather large, mean human, but if he had any magical abilities at least they would be better matched than he expected. Not having people expect much from you was a Sacrifice’s best defense.

He moved in her direction, his eyes scanning the room. Flora conjured a blue flame in the center of her open palm. Forming the flame into a fireball, she scooted down the front of the island until she was at the end closest to the main living area. Never the best aim, she squeezed her eyes closed and threw the fireball, hoping it landed far enough away from her to create a diversion. The sound of
something
igniting whooshed in her ears. She opened her eyes to find the couch she’d just been lounging on engulfed in flames, thick grey-brown smoke rolling off of it. Not exactly the subtle distraction she’d been looking for.

She popped up from behind the island and sprinted toward the elevator.
Where the fuck were the stairs in this damn place?
She chided herself for leaving that helpful bit of information to the discovery of her Guardian. If she lived past the next minute, she was always going to make sure she was aware of her emergency exits.

The hit man caught her by the arm and yanked her back, throwing her down onto the floor. Leaning over her he planted his gun between her eyes. “It’s such a shame,” he said, his voice full of gravel, “that I have to kill you and you havin’ never had the pleasure of being with a man. ‘Cause you pretty, sweetheart, and I hate to waste an opportunity.”

She brought her fists up in front of her and let him see a tear roll down her cheek. “Please, don’t.”

He clicked the safety off. “Like I said, honey, it’s a shame, but it’s my job.”

As his index finger compressed the trigger, she shot one hand full of fire up into his crotch, grabbing his balls. With her other hand, also alight, she clasped her fingers around the barrel of the gun, heating it until the metal glowed orange.

“Fuck!” he screamed letting go of the gun and stumbling backwards, his cheap grey suit smoldering.

She leapt to her feet, pointing the gun at him. She had no idea how to use it, but he didn’t know that. Backing up to the elevator, she looked over her shoulder to make sure the hit man didn’t have any buddies inside waiting to ambush her. It was clear. Low expectations had saved her ass again.

The overhead sprinklers jolted on as the hit man lurched toward her, his red blistered thighs and nether regions exposed where his clothing had burnt away. She fired the gun and jumped backward into the elevator. She’d missed him completely, the bullet lodging in the ceiling above him. Thrusting her foot out, she pressed all the lower floor buttons on the panel, the emergency alarm, and both the open and close door buttons. Still he came at her, his fury building with each painful step. She fired again. This time Flora didn’t miss. He clawed at his shoulder, screaming in agony. She focused on the elevator panel and poked the button for the lobby. The doors shuddered and came together.

The car lowered smoothly, dropping to the private penthouse entrance in a hall off of the lobby in less than a minute. She exited and shoved the gun into the nearest trashcan. It may have come in handy just now, but it was more of a danger than a help to her. Walking in as unsuspicious a manner as she could manage, Flora strolled through the lobby and out onto the street.

She scanned the nearby parked cars for anyone that looked like an associate of the guy she’d just burned, but the street was pretty empty. Everyone loved a DOS, the procession, the parties, the spectacle. Fauna was right. She needed to get into a crowd immediately. She started jogging the five blocks to the city center, hoping she appeared to be hurrying because she didn’t want to miss the show. Flora tried not to think of Aiden, her friend since childhood, grinding his teeth together to keep his face expressionless while they cut him open.

The cutting had started. First the jugular, then they would move on to the femoral. It was never very long after that. Julian took Mrs. Grant’s hand. She was sobbing. She had let herself love her son, of course she had. Some Supernatural families had upwards of twelve children just trying to forget the first one they’d had to let go. The Grants had never had any other children.

Mr. Grant didn’t make a sound. Julian wondered if he was adding up in his head all of the profits his son’s Sacrifice was going to net him.

Julian followed Aiden’s gaze, lifting his eyes slightly to look in the same direction.
Was he staring at that cloud?

After running for about ten minutes the streets went from deserted to chaotic. Flora kept her head down and blended in, shouldering her way through the crowd. She figured if being in the crowd was good, being as close to Aiden and the TV cameras that were filming his sacrifice was better. She couldn’t get any more public than that. Straining to see over the people in front of her, she located the banner that flew Aiden’s family crest. The banners were always placed right next to the sacrificial stone. That was where she needed to be.

Her heart thudded in her chest as she drew closer, trying to reconcile what she was about to see with the desire to save her own ass. She hoped he was dead already.

One final push through the crowd and she was at the rope barrier that had been set up around the perimeter of the city square. Taking a deep breath, Flora made herself look at Aiden laid out on the slab.

His chest rose and fell in stilted breaths. Blood ran down his naked chest and thighs and filled the deep tracks cut into the stone to drain the blood into the sacrificial chalice at its base. He made no sound. He only stared upwards. His family would be proud. They all stood a few feet away from him, watching. His mother was crying hard, holding onto, not Aiden’s father’s hand, but his Guardian Julian’s. Julian had always been with Aiden, no matter what Aiden’s behavior. He let all of the Sacrifices get away with more than he should have, he was cool that way. Like he almost understood what it was like to be one of them. Who would he guard now?

She dug her phone out of her pocket and called Fauna.

“Are you safe?” she asked, breathless as though she’d been running.

“Yes,” Flora answered. “I’m front and center watching my friend slowly bleed to death, but the bad man isn’t trying to kill me anymore.”

“So, they got to you?” Fauna’s voice went up several octaves.

“Don’t worry sis, I can take care of myself. I fireballed his...uh, balls.”

“You didn’t! Oh, Flora! They’re going to send a posse after you now.”

A zing of fear swept through her. A posse? She hadn’t considered that when she was fricasseeing the hit man. Yeah, she’d really taken care of herself. She’d be better off cuddling up to Aiden and getting her sacrifice over with. “Faun, can you come get me? I fucked up.”

“I see her!” Flora heard Clark say in the background.

“We’re on the other side of the square. Can you see us?” Fauna said.

Looking around frantically, Flora spotted Fauna and her boyfriend charging through the onlookers.

She breathed a sigh of relief. “I see you. Stay put, I’ll come over there.” She shut off her phone and stuffed it back into her pocket. As she started moving to the side, a gun went off across the square. The man beside her collapsed to the ground.  The crowd erupted in screams, everyone surging in one chaotic mass in an attempt to get away from the gunman. Flora froze for a split second and then crawled under the rope barrier out into the open. Innocent people did not need to die because of her. Two more shots fired and she heard Fauna yell her name. She trained her gaze on the sound of her sister’s voice. The hit man from the hotel was coming after Flora and another goon was charging toward Fauna. Both had their guns raised.
Oh, no you don’t. Besides, Faun is so not a virgin.

Instinctively, Flora’s hands conjured up fire and prepared to launch it at the attackers. But she was too slow. Her knee burst with bone shattering pain and she stumbled backwards. Disoriented, she looked over her shoulder and saw Aiden take his final stuttering breath as a pair of massive white iridescent wings enfolded her and the world went silent.

It had been a long time since he’d transported with another person and Julian didn’t remember it being quite so debilitating. He braced his hands against the kitchen counter, trying to bring himself down from the adrenaline rush. Flora was safe, that was all that mattered. He really needed to pull it together and get back to her.
A few more seconds
. He turned around and leaned against the counter. Devising a three part plan always helped him get his head on straight. One: get Flora healed. Two: find out what the hell was going on and who was trying to kill her. Three: get her out of harm’s way and keep her safe. Her Day of Sacrifice was only a few days away.

Julian sighed and pulled a mug from the cupboard next to the sink. Walking over to the Grant’s pantry, he extracted a ladle full of liquid from one of Mrs. Grant’s many potion kegs. She was a talented witch, especially with healing potions, almost as talented as his mother. He thrust the ladle back into the keg with more force than he intended.
Damn it.
Aiden was supposed to be his last charge. He was finally going to get to spend more than a few days every six months on his family’s land. But one look at Aiden’s face when he realized Flora Hamilton was in danger and Julian knew what he had to do.

She was Aiden’s closest friend. He’d been madly in love with her and told her as much. She’d turned him down, telling him she didn’t love him in the same way. To be fair though, Flora turned everyone down. That had been one hell of an awkward conversation for Julian to try not to overhear. Still, she’d kept her word to Aiden and loved him as best she could. Julian admired her for that and for her magic. She was beyond her years with her fire work. It was a damned shame she didn’t have any more years available to her for her other skills to catch up.
Why did it have to be Flora Hamilton?
He was too close to the situation on several levels. Because of Aiden. Because of admiration. Because of another life changing conversation he hadn’t meant to overhear years before.

She’d woken up in worse places. Never in quite as much pain, but then again, having your kneecap blown to bits was bound to be worse than coming off a two-day tequila bender.

“Good, you’re awake. Here, drink this.” Julian towered over her with his hand out, offering her a mug with a kitten on it.

Flora sat up and took the mug, surveying the room. The cream colored walls were bare, the room Spartan apart from a wooden chair in one corner, and a couple of cardboard moving boxes in front of the empty closet. The double bed she’d been resting on was fitted with green plaid flannel sheets and a thin navy blue comforter that were soaked through with her blood. She took a drink and struggled to swallow the hot nasty-tasting liquid. “Ugh. Thanks for saving me and everything Julian, but what is this crap?”

He chuckled and sat down next to her on the bed, completely disregarding the bloody mess she’d made. “Just drink it. It will mend your bones. Aiden’s mom keeps a stockpile of it in her pantry.” His voice broke a little at the mention of Aiden’s name. He shook it off. “You know how clumsy he was. Must have broken nearly every bone in his body at some point.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “He broke three toes trying to waltz with me at Fauna’s coming out party.” They sat quietly for a moment, remembering his charge and her friend.

“So, who’s trying to kill you Flor? And where the hell is your Guardian?” Julian asked, moving closer to her.

She leaned into him, appreciating the comforting feel of his broad chest. “The Fitzgeralds. Dad had a bad business deal with them, I guess. And Maggie,” Flora shrugged, “she quit this morning.”