Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
After I finish spilling my guts, I allow the steam from my second cup of tea to warm my face as I listen as Jodie divulges everything she knows about the witch.
“Her name is Karen Miller, and the witches have a standing open warrant for her arrest. The good news is she doesn’t have a coven.
The bad news is she doesn’t have a coven because she killed them all.
” Jodie flinches as she talks. “Over the years she has only gotten worse, and Karen Miller has an ego the size of a small country.” Jodie chuckles slightly, although it’s clear to both of us there isn’t anything funny about this situation.
I take a sip of my tea, willing myself to ask the question about the horn. My horn.
“She owns a unicorn artefact…”
Artefact.
I bite my tongue so I don’t say anything that I’ll regret. I can’t be rude or angry when I know Jodie is only stating facts. But heck, it’s so hard for a second to keep my mouth closed.
The witch has made a necklace out of my horn. And is using my magic to hurt people.
The witches really should have dealt with her years ago, but half the witches are nature-loving, peaceful, and wouldn’t hurt a soul, and the other half won’t get their hands dirty. I can understand why, as witch magic is about balance and nature.
Well, I mentally roll my eyes, unless you count ley line magic, which is used to make portals, and urm potions that can melt your face off… oh and if we ignore killer wards… yeah, I don’t understand why the witches haven’t done anything.
Perhaps it’s because they can’t.
That’s a real helpful thought, ha, that so makes me want to shit myself. I’m seventeen years old, and I’m going after somebody older, more experienced people avoid.
What could go wrong?
Thanking Jodie for the information and the tea, I leave the magic shop with my brain buzzing and plod back to the café.
Maybe I should hide in a corner and let the angel fight my battles. Ha, never going to happen.
I guess it’s time to break out my assassin training. I can use the skills my grandad cultivated in me. His training and the darkness inside me would make killing her easy.
Easy as breathing.
Taking someone’s life, no matter who they are, should never be easy. I don’t want to lose myself, so I’ll refrain, for now.
Perhaps one day I won’t have a choice, and I’ll have to put my skills to the test, but I’m not at that stage yet.
Who’s to say my father didn’t just hand over my horn in a monetary transaction?
Of course she shouldn’t be buying unicorn horns—I kick a pebble off the pavement and watch as it skitters into the road—it’s part of a person, for heaven’s sake.
But perhaps she didn’t realise, and it would be unfair to go all assassin’s adopted granddaughter on her ass.
I know she’s not innocent, but she might not be guilty of this particular crime against me.
No, that particular honour goes to my father.
Rage bubbles up, and I stop myself from smashing my fist into the side of a building as I pass. Who knows what damage my new strength might do?
My father.
The unicorns might see possession of a horn as a heinous crime, but I’m not a unicorn… not really.
I hate Karen Miller, but not enough to kill her.
Capture rather than kill is certainly an interesting variant of my grandad’s rules, and what I do know is capturing Karen Miller is going to be a lot harder than killing her.
I slip down the side street as I head for the back of the café, and when I get to our bins, I scoop up a piece of cardboard off the floor that must have fallen out.
There’s a whisper of the sound I almost recognise, a twang, and a change in the air, just as a silver knife whizzes past my face and thumps into the brick wall next to me.
My instincts scream at me to move, so I dive behind the bin.
Fuck. The cardboard saved my life.
The sound was a throwing knife leaving someone’s hand. The blade is buried to the hilt, and the red brick wall is now sporting a huge spiderweb crack. That takes a lot of strength.
My ears strain for movement, and when I hear it, I dart to the side, avoiding another knife. This is fun. The assassin has lost their element of surprise, so I think fuck it and get to my feet. I’m not hiding behind a bin while giving him an easy target. It’s in my nature to fight.
“You need some training,” I say.
The assassin, a male vampire, flashes his fangs. I retaliate by flashing my own blunt teeth and tiny fangs back at him.
Then I leap at him.
The shock on his face is priceless. “Ha, didn’t expect that, did you, bloodsucker?” I hook my leg around his neck and ride him to the ground.
“I will kill you, abomination,” he snarls.
“Yeah, yeah, get in line.” I roll on my back, and with his neck still between my thighs, I grab hold of a chunk of his hair and lock my leg.
The bastard grabs a silver blade from a holder on his leg, and before I can stop him, he slams it into my thigh.
The pain is indescribable, it’s excruciating.
I bite off a scream that wants to tear through me, and instead I groan with the pain and then use it to fuel my anger.
I snarl and wrench his head to the left. “Lefty loosey”—and to the right—“righty tighty.” His neck snaps underneath my hands, and his body flops against me. Nice to see the little rhyme works well with breaking necks and screws.
Unfortunately, bitten vampires don’t need to breathe, so I couldn’t choke him out, leaving me no alternative but to break his neck. I close my eyes for a brief second, then with a grunt, I push him off. The guy isn’t dead, but he will sure feel like it when he eventually wakes up.
My leg is wet and sticky, and it hurts like hell.
There is a bit more blood than I want to lose pooling on the floor underneath me.
I keep the silver knife in my leg to plug the wound.
I tilt my head as I look at my leg and contemplate the solid silver blade sticking out of it.
I thought getting stuck with silver would hurt more.
Zap my strength… It doesn’t differ from a normal knife wound.
Huh, that’s a pleasant surprise. It’s nice to know that the effects of silver poisoning don’t affect me.
As I drag myself to my feet, I wonder if that’s the same for all unicorn shifters.
Or is it my freaky hybrid nature that gives me that wonderful little quirk?
I think I’ll keep that information to myself.
I shoot the still unconscious-vampire a dirty look.
He’ll be out for another five or ten minutes, depending on how old he is.
I pat my pockets, looking for the black marker pen.
I have to do the prices on the special boards today, so I had it in my pocket.
I grin. I lower myself back to the ground and lean over the vampire.
Pulling the cap off the marker with my teeth, I hover the pen over his face.
“Oops, what a shame I haven’t got any paper.
Now where to put it…” I pick the perfect spot, and as I lower the pen, my tongue sticks out the side of my mouth in concentration.
I neatly write on the vampire’s forehead, “Send someone after me again, and I will kill them.” I also artistically—I use that term loosely—draw a penis with hairy testicles on the right side of his face, and to finish on his left cheek I write, “Can’t fight for shit. ”
I nod my head with childish satisfaction and cap the pen and stuff it back into my pocket. Humming merrily, I rifle through his pockets for any goodies and confiscate five more throwing blades and a handful of expensive-looking potion balls.
With a pain-filled groan and some colourful words, I scrape my bleeding body off the ground. I pull my phone out and take some photos of the vampire and scene, making sure I get a close-up of the guy’s face for Story. I bet she’ll love my artwork.
I hop carefully across to the café’s back door, not wanting to disturb the big-ass knife that’s still sticking out of my poor leg.