Breaking angelina (Paranormal investigations # 1.5) Read online

  head and clamps her mouth shut. That dark cloud

  squeezes her tighter, and I notice a tear make its

  way down her cheek.

  “He forced you.”

  “I was tutoring him late at night in his dorm

  room … We were alone and …”

  “Did you tell him ‘no’?”

  Biting down on her knuckle, she nods, but all

  that comes out is a half squeak, half sob. “But I

  should have fought harder. He was just so strong.”

  “It’s still rape, Bri.” I step closer, but I don’t

  touch her. Something inside me warns me that

  she’d bolt if I did.

  “He says I was playing games—” Her voice

  cracks, and it’s another moment before she can

  continue. “He says it’s my fault because I’m a

  tease.”

  “That’s what sexual predators do. They put the

  blame on the victim. Set you up so they can

  continue to abuse you.” I learned about this in my

  psychology class, but I don’t need to read it. Seeing

  people’s auras, I’ve watched it all my life. Some

  people suck other people dry — like Cyndi.

  She rubs a hand across her belly. “I don’t want

  to go to hell for killing my baby, but I don’t see any

  other choice.”

  I put a hand on her shoulder. She shivers at my

  touch, like a wild horse afraid of cages, but she

  doesn’t move away. I make my voice soft. “Brianna,

  your priest can’t make this decision for you either.

  Look inside your own heart. What do you want?”

  Another color breaks through that dark cloud—

  a sparkling red ball like a fiery comet circles her.

  Wherever it passes, the black cloud begins to

  dissipate.

  Her voice is little more than a whisper. “I want

  to believe there is hope for me.”

  “No matter what horrible thing happened, hope

  is waiting for you. And this choice is yours. Nobody

  can make you do anything.”

  “All right. I’ll take my time and think it through.

  Maybe look at some adoption possibilities or

  something. Whatever I do, I’ll make the right choice

  for me and my baby.”

  “Then that’s what you should do.”

  The gray cloud explodes in a burst of light. She

  turns to me with a small smile and grabs my hand—

  still keeping her body at arm’s length. “Thank you,

  Angelina.”

  “Sure, no problem.” My face burns, and I smile

  shyly. “Let’s get you that breakfast. A growing baby

  needs food.”

  She picks up the phone and starts chatting with

  the help desk. While she’s giving an order for

  scrambled eggs and bagels with cream cheese, I

  search through my suitcase for my bag of toiletries,

  my travel first aid kit, a clean pair of jeans, and a

  baby-doll T.

  Alone in the bathroom, I clean my knee with

  peroxide. That car almost killed me. I need to figure

  out how to keep from sleepwalking again.

  And where did that hallucination of a blue fae

  half-dragon come from? Maybe it’s symbolic of

  repressed anger issues.

  I pull the nightie over my head and reach into

  the shower to turn on the water. Looking down, I

  notice scratch marks along my arm, some of them

  deep and scabbed over. There’s got to be some

  other explanation than my hallucination scratching

  me up.

  Maybe I got them when I jumped out of the way

  of the car.

  Except they’re already scabbed over.

  I step into the shower, the heat stinging my

  wounds. With the hot water streaming over my

  skin, I close my eyes and imagine the stress and

  pain washing off me.

  The blackout, the blue lady, the overwhelming

  emotions at the game, the voices trying to kill me—

  it’s all over. I’ll recover from the concussion, and

  everything will return to normal. At least, normal

  for me.

  The winter term of my freshman year starts next

  week, and I’ve got to screw my head on straight,

  stay focused, get good grades.

  I’m going to be the best nursing student.

  Or die trying.

  Chapter 4

  ~ HUNTER ~

  I fire up the internet and connect a talisman for

  the meet with Spyder, my informant, the master of

  paranoia. When I plug it into my USB port, it works

  like a modem, allowing me access to the GhostNet.

  Set up to act as a repository for information

  about the otherworldly community and magical

  artifacts, the GhostNet is a magical backdoor to the

  internet created by the Spyder. The only way to

  access it is to connect to the internet while

  activating the talisman keyed to me.

  “Ryne Ashverdi, the notorious Hunter, how was

  your visit to the Pacific Isles?” The voice, an icy,

  raspy whisper, emerges from the shadows of my

  room.

  How he knows my real name, I have no idea.

  I’ve abandoned every connection with my previous

  identity.

  I spin on my chair and inhale his scent, but as

  usual, nothing gets past his cloak made from living,

  crawling black widows. No longer an icon on the

  GhostNet, he stands across the room from me. I’ve

  spoken to a few others who have met with the

  Spyder; no two of them describe the same

  creature.

  “Unpleasant,” I answer.

  He chuckles, the sound like rocks grating against

  each other. “But, I hear Jezebarra is very—” A

  pause. “—accommodating of her guests.”

  “Ugh, I suppose. If you’re into centuries-old

  skank, with a side of psycho.” I study the shadowy

  figure. I don’t know how to read him. No smell, no

  discernible inflection in his voice, no body language

  to indicate he’s joking or deadly serious.

  Spyder is a tricky individual to track down.

  Cryptic notices on encrypted servers, all on the

  hidden, super-secure GhostNet. Paranoid doesn’t

  even begin to describe him. I’ve known him for

  sixteen years, and I still haven’t met him face to

  face. Appearing to me in shadows or hidden in

  illusions, he always says, “You can’t give away

  information you don’t have.”

  Supposedly, he is a member of the resistance

  against the Usurper, but thank the Creator, he’s

  never tried to recruit me. Nobody can take down

  the Usurper, and I’m not wasting my life on a lost

  cause.

  “Jezebarra is known for having interesting …

  appetites. She is also known for backstabbing and

  double-dealing. I hope you got paid in advance.

  What does she want you to do?”

  “Retrieval. Some magical item. What can you

  tell me about a sorcerer by the name of Alistrad

  Karamond Zavisto? He calls himself Magellan and

  runs a circus.”

  His eyes spark a brilliant white, and then a flash

  drive materializes in his open hand. “Here are the

  schematics for
his base—entry points, the layout,

  where his office is, what his powers are, his

  strengths and weaknesses. Memorize it and then

  destroy it. And Hunter, be careful. Even the

  Usurper would be kinder. If he catches you, your

  torment will last into eternity.”

  “How did you—?”

  He shrugs.

  “That’s not an answer.” Sniffing the air, I study

  him, but I can’t get anything. “Thanks.”

  “Our usual fee applies.”

  I nod. “Ten percent. Of course.”

  “Be careful. Accepting gifts from a sorceress can

  be hazardous to one’s health.” And with a

  shimmering light, Spyder is gone.

  I stare at the empty space a long time before

  picking up a burner cell phone. “Jasper, how’s the

  analysis going?”

  “All finished. That golden dagger is really

  impressive. And one sweet mother of a nasty

  surprise. Whoever designed this thing must be an

  evil genius—”

  “Jasper—” I say to remind him to get back on

  track, but he continues, ignoring me.

  “Even with all of my safeguards up, it nearly

  ended me, but don’t worry—it only works against

  magic users. Disguises itself as a magical reservoir

  and power booster, but as soon as a wizard or

  sorcerer touches skin to metal, the dagger forces

  their muscles to contract so they can’t even drop it.

  Then it gulps down their magic and rips into their

  mind. Even if it doesn’t kill the sorcerer outright, it

  will keep him occupied for a few moments. As I

  said, a sweet mother fu—”

  “Jasper—”

  “I was a little more cautious with the two-sided

  quarter. But it seems to be what she said—a one-

  shot teleporter with a fixed destination. Rather

  lame really.”

  “So, what do you have that might be of help in a

  hostile pocket dimension?”

  “Oh, oh, I got this spell shield from a new

  supplier …”

  “You tested it yet?”

  “Yes, kinda. It still has a few kinks to work out in

  the lab. But I haven’t had a real combat situation to

  effectively challenge it. I’ll let you have it for half

  our normal fee if you bring it back in one piece, full

  refund if it craps out on you.”

  “The answer is no.”

  “Come on, man; I’ve gotta test it somehow.”

  “All right, fine. Throw in one of your lock picking

  kits, and you’ve got a deal.”

  “Sweet. You know where to find me.”

  When he’s done, I hang up and crush the phone

  in my hand and then sweep all the broken pieces

  into a paper bag. I’ll drop it into a fire pit on a

  street corner.

  Paranoid? Maybe the Spyder is rubbing off on

  me, but I’ve heard rumors about how the Usurper

  is expanding his territory into this world.

  Better safe than sorry.

  January in Brazil, ninety-two degrees and

  climbing, humidity ninety-five percent. Two hours

  before the portal arrives. I spend it in the hotel

  where the AC fights a losing battle against the

  assaulting heat.

  I miss Alaska.

  The tools I’ll need for the job—my throwing

  knives, my short sword, two pistols and a rifle,

  some magical items Jasper gave me, and the

  teleportation coin and magical dagger—are laid out

  on the bed. I clean my blades, sharpening them and

  lacing poison on the edges before strapping them

  on to my thighs and at my waist, and the sword

  across my back.

  In my head, I go over the intel Spyder gave me

  about this sorcerer and his cattle. The circus is just

  a front for his feeding supply. Not that he needs to

  hide what he does. The Usurper doesn’t care about

  the victims as long as their families don’t complain,

  and Alistrad is careful to only take creatures from

  the Wylds or the few penniless, unwanted

  members of the Allied races from Drakon.

  The portal connecting to the pocket dimension

  where the circus is will be in an old abandoned

  theater in one of the less reputable parts of Rio de

  Janeiro. I smile, remembering the last time I was

  here—I chased a pickpocket through the city

  market. Filthy street rat, full of lice and covered in

  sores, he thought he’d given me the slip in the back

  alleys when he ducked into one of the buildings.

  I made him apologize.

  Then I gave him a job. I needed someone who

  could guide me through the city and then get me

  into the governor’s mansion. A street rat was a

  perfect choice for the job.

  The extra money I gave him at the end was a

  retainer. If he could use the money to get some

  extra bread, it means there’s a better chance he’ll

  survive long enough for me to use his services again

  in case I came back here. You never know when

  you might need a petty thief to do a small job.

  Tonight, I won’t need anyone’s help. I don’t

  want anyone’s help. Attracting the attention of

  Alistrad is dangerous enough without bringing

  some human into the snake’s nest.

  The plan is simple: get in, locate the item, get

  out. Don’t get caught. The dagger Jezebarra gave

  me is always a good back up plan.

  Besides, since the price of the ticket included a

  limo ride, there’s no need to sneak in or out. They’ll

  drive me up to the front door, and I’ll walk right in.

  The organizers obviously didn’t want any extra

  attention from curious taxi drivers.

  Even in this heat, I cover the weapons with my

  trench coat, put my Stetson on my head, and feel

  the glamour tighten over my skin, squeezing across

  my chest, making it hard to breathe. Even my

  senses fade, as if a part of me dies. I hate not being

  able to smell the details about the people around

  me.

  All I have is a slightly heightened sense of smell

  and hearing … and a magical twinge in the pit of my

  stomach directing me toward my target. This is

  what makes me the best at what I do. I can find

  anything, anywhere. In Drakon or on Earth.

  Last, I grab the dagger and coin the sorceress

  Jezebarra gave me and weigh them in my hand

  before tucking them in my pocket. I have no

  intention of using either—I’d rather get in and out

  without her magic.

  Before I leave, I pause in the doorway of my

  hotel room and look back at the room. I traveled

  light—just me and my weapons and the clothes on

  my back. But I still look back over the room to make

  sure I left no personal effects behind as a trail for

  my target to follow.

  But there’s nothing. I already cleaned up the

  few strands of wolf fur and a feather or two off the

  carpet.

  Then I stalk out the door, leaving it unlocked

  behind me, and head down to the waiting limo.

  Sweltering heat and the stench o
f orc greet me as I

  step out of the hotel air conditioning and into the

  scorching sunlight.

  I scan the area as I search for the source of the

  odor, and my gaze settles on the limo driver.

  My lip curls. Chimera and orc live on bordering

  lands, and the orcs found hunting my people to be

  great sport.

  Muscles bulge beneath his black t-shirt. Tall with

  broad shoulders, he stands on the balls of his feet

  as if ready to attack rather than open the door and

  usher me into the limo. His nose is wide and flat

  and his eyes set close together, but rather than the

  green skin and large ears I would expect from his

  kind, his skin is the color of milk chocolate with

  normal human ears.

  He inhales, taking in my scent, and flashes me

  his teeth—the threat of a predator rather than a

  smile—but the square human teeth aren’t nearly as

  intimidating as his real ones with the sharp sabers.

  I keep my hands loose at my side, ready to grab

  a knife if need be. “I paid for my ticket like

  everyone else. I doubt your master wants you

  attacking his customers.”

  “Just keep your animal stink to yourself.” The

  orc shrugs and opens the door.

  I slide into the leather seat, my bulk filling up

  two spaces, and the door slams behind me.

  Trapped.

  Instinct says to jump out and run—go home, get

  a drink of whiskey, and forget this whole mess.

  Finish the job first.

  Chapter 5

  ~ ANGELINA ~

  I stare at the grade on my paper, a red smear,

  the words bleeding.

  A big fat, ugly C.

  C is for mediocre.

  Ordinary.

  Imperfect.

  Wiping a tear from my eye, I force a smile on my

  face. I studied hard, but next time, I’ll do better. I’ll

  keep my scholarship. Everything will be fine.

  I’ve only been back to school for two weeks.

  This was our first quiz, and I have plenty of time to

  make up the grade.

  The world is full of glitters and stars; rainbows

  hide in every corner. You just have to be willing to

  find the treasure in the midst of the junk.

  No matter what terrible things happen to me,

  that’s what I tell myself when I climb out of bed

  every morning.

  “Angelina, Sarah says we’re going downtown to

  this sweet little shop. Soup and sandwiches. Want

  to join us?” Katie has the most beautiful nutmeg