Page 11 of Villains Never Die

Is ithisphone number?

Call him back! I haven’t seen anything interesting all week…

If you call him, I’ll find out who the first magician was.

I stopped stroking my phone and gritted my teeth. The dead could probably get me information. Tempted, I opened my mouth to speak to the restless spirits…

And closed it, breathing out a sigh of relief through my nose as the door opened and Gray stepped into the room.

“What did you find out?” I asked, leaning forward with my elbows on my desk.

“You’re not going to like it.” Gray propped himself against the door and frowned.

“Tell me anyway.”

“Clayton Pope,” he said.

It took me no time to place the name. Clayton was a special client, and I’d sold him something I’d given no one else. When he approached me for an untraceable killing spell to protect himself from those who wished to collect on his many debts, he didn’t have the money for it. Instead, he traded me something much more valuable—a favor, and enough of his blood that I could ensure he paid it when I came to call. Which meant two things: one, he wouldn't repay me, and two, the killer was targeting magicians of power and unique magic.

That included me more than anyone.

The only physical indication that I was shaken by this revelation was the way I loosened my tie at my neck, but Gray noticed. He was the type of man who was keen and quiet, always picking up little tells and information without ever having to open his mouth to ask a question. He was an excellent second set of eyes at parties or at my nightclub, Avalon, when I needed to glean a lot of information about guests quickly.

“He’s dead, so the exclusivity clause is void,” he said. “You can sell the spell to someone else.”

I nodded without a word and let him think that it was my biggest concern right now.

“If you don’t need me, I have to get a few things done at Avalon before it opens tonight,” he said. I dismissed him with another nod and he left me at my desk with throbbing temples. I tried to think of magicians I knew who might end up on that list.

Blackwell.

Pope.

Me.

A few people with rare books or spells that had enough weight behind them to change the course of the magical community, if they were misused.

And…

I pressed my forehead into my palm and groaned.

Fucking Rook.

I should tell him. No, good, that’s what he’d get for trying to yank control of Ashbruck right out of my hands. If I could keep my tongue and hands safe, maybe the killer would take care of the increasingly obnoxious problem in my life.

The one stacked with muscle, who pierced me with eyes I had tried pointedly not to think about, and whose grating voice taunted me through my phone.

Good riddance.

Stepping into my living room a little later, I finally let my body sag with exhaustion. I took a deep breath, listening for out-of-place sounds or motion. The penthouse was a fortress, but it didn’t hurt to check at a time like this. I was alone, except for the voices that never left me.

Before they could speak, I said, “I am tired, I am pissed off, and I don’t want to hear a peep from you arseholes untilmorning. I’m going to ask you if you understand, and it’s rhetorical. Shut the fuck up. Do you understand?”

Nothing. Excellent.

I stripped off all my clothes and climbed beneath the bed that was still unmade from the night before. I laid on my side, letting my head create a dent in the pillow, and closed my eyes. Deep breaths—counted, rhythmic. They slowed my heart rate and put me in a better state to get some rest.

Blue eyes flashed behind my lids. My measured breath turned into a sigh, then a hiss of air that made one of the spirits in the room stir.