The Frozen Witch Book One (10 page)

I found the line into the club, and I joined
the back of it. I tuned out the conversation of the other patrons,
their lilting laughter, their drunken slurs. I tuned it out as I
focused on one task: get in, get out. Get in, get out. It became a
mantra as I reached the front of the line.

The bouncer let me in with one cursory
glance, obviously assuming that my sweaty brow and sickly
expression were a result of too much alcohol and not because I was
indentured to a magical god.

Get in get out, get in get out. I held onto
that phrase with all my might as I entered the club and started my
first mission.

I hated clubs – hated the press of sweaty
bodies, the musty scent of stale alcohol, the noise, the
everything. If I wanted to go out and party, I never chose to do it
in a sea of other people’s body odor.

But right now I didn’t have an option.

For about the millionth time, I ran a thumb
along one of my bangles, my nails snagging against the lock.

I couldn’t quite… accept it yet. Some part
of me kept telling me this was a dream. That soon I’d wake up.
Hell, maybe I was currently strapped down in some psychiatric ward,
just waiting for this hallucination to break….

Or maybe this was real, and it was time to
get used to my new life.

That thought sent a cold shiver slamming
hard down my back. It shoved me forward, giving me the momentum I
needed to push through the crowd.

With the pulsing music thrumming through the
floor and the low, sultry lighting, it was seriously hard to make
out any faces through the crowd.

My heart started to hammer in my chest, my
mouth as dry as sawdust.

I shook my head, sweaty hair jostling over
my shoulders. I couldn’t really do this, could I? Chase down a
criminal and drag him back to Vali?

The answer was I really didn’t want to – but
I didn’t have a choice.

Just then, as I ticked my head back and
skimmed my gaze over the crowd, I saw something. A flash of
blue.

Even from here, I could tell it was a
magical symbol. I shoved to the side, trying to get a better
look.

My stomach
clenched as I pushed onto my
tippy toes and narrowed my eyes. There, just behind the gyrating
businessman dancing with a girl half his age, I saw that same flash
of blue.

It was him. John Lambert.

My cheeks twitched as a pulse of
excitement and terror plunged through my stomach.

I shoved off, heels clicking over the
sticky, alcohol-covered floor.

The nightclub was set on several levels, the
main dance floor hemmed in by two mezzanine levels that you could
get to buy split staircases.

I watched my target dart up one of the
packed staircases, his footfall quick. People were leaning on the
railings or sitting on the steps, drinking, kissing, and quite
possibly doing drugs. But I wasn’t here to collect on their crimes
today.

I felt my bangles grow heavier as I raced up
the staircase, hopefully looking like I was eager to meet some
friends, and not trying to run down a criminal.

I saw John Lambert dart out of sight,
movements quick, snapped like a predator tracking prey. As he
shifted out of view, I saw a glimpse of the side of his face. What
I saw made me sick to my stomach.

I’d never been particularly good at
reading people, not like Larry, anyway. Larry had a sixth sense for
danger. He could also take one look at your face and realize you
were guilty of dropping an entire tray of expensive champagne. He
would dock it from your pay before you had a chance to stutter out
a lie.

Me? Despite my lack of skills in the
prediction department, I suddenly knew that John Lambert was on the
hunt. He was on a case, wasn’t he? He was about to go find his 36th
victim.

That fact struck me like a blow to the
chest. Pressing my hands into white knuckled fists, I fought to
suck in a breath as I pushed up the stairs.

Like I’d said several times before, I was
not a courageous woman. I always ran in the other direction when
there was trouble. I always found someone else to hide behind.
Right now, there was no one to hide behind. And from the little I’d
learned about John Lambert, his victim would have no chance.

There would be a murder here tonight unless
I found a way to stop it.

That fact alone was enough to cut through my
fear. It was enough to drag me all the way up the stairs as I
caught sight of him and continued to follow from a distance.

I knew some people with nerves of steel.
Some of Larry’s friends, to be exact. They were the kind of guys
who could look you in the face during a poker game and cheat you
out of your life savings with nothing more than a ballsy bluff.
They were the kinds of guys who could face a mugger and growl in
his face, stealing the guy’s wallet and mask before the crim knew
what hit him.

Even though I convinced myself I was weak
and pathetic, somehow I found the strength to keep an even
expression as I pushed through the pulsating, dancing bodies. My
heels quickening over the sticky floor, I watched John Lambert
shift forward, steal someone’s drink from the table, down it, flick
his head to the side, loosen his shoulders, then head towards the
door at the side of the room.

I hung back for several seconds, heart
driving wildly in my chest, but breath remarkably steady. I waited
for him to dart out of sight. Rather than let the door close, I
shifted forward and shoved my heel in it at the last moment.

Pausing, I followed him through the door.
Beyond, it was gloomy, several light fittings broken and
flickering, casting the long hallway into an eerie glow.

I was so very aware of the gun in the back
of my pants. As I followed, it seemed heavier than a boulder as it
brushed against my back. I knew full well that when I confronted
John, I would have seconds to pull my gun out. But I was gambling
on something, wasn’t I? That he would be scared enough of the gun
to give himself up. What if he was a good bluffer? What if he ran
at me, and I shot him? Vali had told me that if I killed John, I
would lose my contract. I would succumb to my sins.

The pressure started to get too much for me,
and just as I felt my brow drench with sweat once more, I reminded
myself that John was here to kill a man. I was the only one who
could stop him.

I hung back, trying to keep the
clip-clopping sounds of my heels to a minimum so I didn’t draw
John’s attention.

He looked drawn, seemed focused, intent on
whatever foul task he was here to perform. From the exact line of
his back and shoulders, to the darting movements of his head, I
could tell he was in predator mode. That fact made me sick to my
stomach.

I continued to follow at a distance as he
darted down several staircases, heading even lower into the
building. From the outside, I’d assumed there were only several
levels to this building, but I now counted at least two basement
levels, if not three.

As we shifted further down, something struck
me. What if this place was magical? What if John wasn’t the only
practitioner around here? I knew nothing about this world, so I had
absolutely no idea what I would be up against.

Slowly, carefully, I pushed myself down the
stairs, one hand locked on the railing, the other hovering close
behind my back, ready to grab my gun at the first opportunity.

That’s… that’s when I heard a scream.

With a low, punctuated breath, I jolted
forward towards it. Not away. Apparently, I was more courageous
than I thought. Or maybe I really didn’t want to fail Vali.

I followed the scream.

Another terrified scream broke the air as I
skidded down the corridor, finding a half-open door. I threw myself
in just as I pulled the gun from my pants.

I saw John Lambert crouched low over a
middle-aged man. John had a hand around the guy’s throat. Somehow,
impossibly, lines of light were pulsing out from John’s strong grip
and pushing into the man’s skin.

I smelt the sizzle of flesh and saw blood
trickling down the guy’s throat as he bucked backwards, trying to
escape.

“Put your hands up,” I screamed as I
levelled the gun at John.

It took several seconds for John to react.
Several seconds for him to turn, a sneer creeping over his lips as
he stared at me. “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded. “This is my
target. Go get your own fucking job,” he snapped once
more.

“I said get away from him, asshole. Put
your hands up. This is a magical gun,” I warned. “It will rip right
through you,” I added, even though I had no idea what would happen
when or if I pressed the trigger.

Slowly, like a snake uncoiling from
hibernation, John released his grip on the man’s throat.

The guy convulsed backwards, bald head
slamming against the wall as the blood continued to trickle down
his neck. There were two perfect handprints on his throat made out
of bloodied, burnt, singed flesh.

“Walk to the side. I said get to the
side,” I screamed at John as I gestured at him with the gun. My
hands were so sweaty, I could barely keep hold of my weapon.
Nothing but pure desperation was stopping me from keeling over, or
worse: hyperventilating. “Get out of here,” I told the cowering
man. “Get out of here,” I begged.

The guy did not need to be told a third
time. He scrambled to his feet, moves so snapped, he was like a
doll being jerked around on a string.

Without another look my way, he flitted
through the door, slamming it closed behind him. I heard his
footfall disappear out of ear-shot down the corridor.

That just left me with John Lambert.

He tipped his head to the side, gaze
suddenly slipping up and down my form. It locked on my shaky grip
around my gun. “First case, ha? It will be your last,” he warned.
He took a step towards me.

“I said get back.” My voice was shrill, a
breathy shriek.

He did not get back.

Right now, right here, I would find out if I
could kill a man.

As he took another step back, a smile
spreading over his lips, my finger tightened on the trigger.

…
But I couldn’t
shoot.

He suddenly lurched towards me with speed
I couldn’t track. He jerked his elbow into my arm, and I lost hold
of the gun. It slammed onto the floor with a resonant thunk and
skidded into the shadows.

I gasped and shoved back, somehow showing
agility I had no idea I possessed. I dropped to the floor, rolled,
and lurched to my feet several meters away.

John ticked his head to the side and
laughed, the sound so grating it was like someone was trying to
rake the concrete with broken glass.

“Come on, you little bitch. Not so strong
anymore now, are you? Tell me, you ever been split from head to toe
with a magical sword? Worst way to go. The magic will burn you long
before the steel cuts you in half.” He tipped his head back and let
out such a maniacal laugh, I could tell he’d lost every scrap of
his sanity years ago, if he’d ever possessed any at all.

“Just stop, please. Look, you’ve come to
the attention of Vali. You should hand yourself in. I may not be
any match for you, but he is.”

On the word Vali, John changed. His eyes
pulsed wide – pulsed so wide they could have shot from his skull
and slammed against the wall. His cheek slackened, his lips drew
open, and he swore in a language I’d never heard.

Then he brought up his arm, snapped it up,
in fact, like it were attached by a hinge and not a joint. The move
was so jerky, his jacket flared open, his hair plastering over his
face.

Suddenly
that symbol on his wrist
glowed. It glowed so brightly it rivalled a flood lamp.

I swore, shifting to the side, protecting my
eyes with my hand. But it was too late.

He muttered something, and a circle of
symbols suddenly exploded from his wrist. They hovered just in
front of his hand, almost like a hologram from some sci-fi. He
flicked his hand up, grasping at one of those floating symbols. As
he did, the symbol changed. It reacted to the presence of his
touch, elongated, extended, and became solid.

In a flash, he was holding a sword. One that
was run through with light. It looked like dry earth fracturing
with lava.

He cracked his lips back, showing a flash
of teeth as he let out a dark snicker. “Why do I get the feeling
this is your first job?”

I didn’t reply. Instead, I felt my breath
becoming ragged as I struggled for air.

He took a step towards me, letting his sword
drop to the ground, the tip scratching over the concrete. As soon
as the metal indented the concrete, the concrete blistered. It
bubbled as if it had just been thrown in a kiln.

And then – and then I started to feel the
heat. It was pushing off him in waves, buffeting the room. It
caught the ends of my hair and singed them, playing along my cheeks
with a burning touch.

“Shit,” I swore as I backed up, lurching
sideways and throwing myself against the wall.

My desperate gaze locked on the door, but
with a snicker, he shifted into the middle of the room, blocking my
path.

He now cracked his lips all the way open,
his mouth full of dancing shadows as the reflected light from his
sword played along his face. The symbol on his wrist burnt brighter
than anything I’d ever seen. So bright, in fact, it looked as if it
would consume him.

I pressed myself against the wall, feeling
my cheeks singe and the exposed flesh along my shoulders and arms
smart.