Lethal Blow: (Succubus Hitwoman Book 2) by Eliza Hendrix (best motivational books to read TXT) 📗

isn’t having it. Without so much as blinking, she clicks her fingers and the Lussar explodes into rainbow-colored Christmas tinsel.

Squeals and gasps spread throughout the casino, and a crowd of horned demons wearing security uniforms rush toward the scene, their triangular red eyes darting from side to side. They have no idea what’s going on—all they know is that people are freaking out.

When they see her, however, they stiffen their postures and clear their throats. The bulkiest of the group presses a button on his radio. “Cleanup in section D. I repeat: cleanup in section D.”

Barely making eye contact with the witch, he adds, “I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

Zerachu rolls her eyes and jerks her chin out at me. “This had better be good.”

Without saying a word, I follow her as she raises the bottom of her long mauve and forest green dress over the Lussar’s tinsel remains. She doesn’t even seem bothered that everyone’s staring at her like she’s a monster. I bet she does this all the time, and everyone knows not to get involved.

“He’ll bounce back soon,” she says, glancing sideways at me. “Dey alvays do.”

What she doesn’t mention is that despite her being the one to attack him with magic, he’ll be the one banned from the Dark Hall.

As we enter her tent, two diminutive men with ball caps and long green tails come scurrying toward the pile of tinsel with brooms in their hands.

I can only assume this tinsel will be put in a holding cell until the Lussar comes back to life. What if they drop tinsel on the way there? What if that one tinsel happens to be the dude’s—

“Sit,” Zerachu orders.

I do as she’s told me and slide the metal-framed chair toward me. On her black wooden table are cards laid out sporadically, one of which has a figure of Death on it. Most people freak out over this, but it isn’t always a bad thing. All the best outcomes I’ve ever had have come from the Death card. It’s the card with the clown face that’s giving me the heebie-jeebies.

The second she sits down, she drops her wrists on the table, ticks her nails against the wood, and makes her eyes go big.

She doesn’t have to say anything for me to know that means I’d better start talking.

“Book of Origin,” I blurt.

She pulls her face back, rolls forming around her jawline.

This caught her attention. “I-I have it,” I say.

I’m not the type of person who gets intimidated—not after several hundred years of being on this planet. But Zerachu… she’s something different. There’s an ice-cold look in her eyes that makes you feel like she could send you straight to hell with a click of her fingers. And in all fairness, the woman isn’t even mean—her intentions are good, but she lacks interpersonal skills, which might have something to do with her spending countless years living in a shack.

“Vat do you mean, you have it?”

The last few words come out like she’s spitting them at me.

“Well, I don’t,” I correct. “There’s this witch—”

“A witch has the book?”

I can’t tell if she’s interested or downright pissed off.

“Listen, it’s complicated. The kid’s name is Rachel—”

“A kid?”

I can’t tell if she’s shocked or pissed off.

“It was her grandmother’s, and she passed. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal to give it back to her—”

“You didn’t think?”

Okay, she’s pissed.

I knew this was coming.

Throwing her hands over her head, she bursts out laughing. It isn’t a laugh that tells me she’s having fun; it’s the kind of laugh that tells me if she doesn’t let it out, something else might come out in its place.

I’d much prefer the creepy laughter over sparks and spells.

“Were you drunk again, Alexis? Is dat vut happened?”

She narrows her glowing green eyes on me, and I swallow hard. So she does remember who I am.

“I fucked up, okay?” I say.

She drops her hands back onto the table, sending several cards swooping through the air, and lets out a long breath through flared nostrils. Then, digging her nails into the wood, she closes her eyes.

“Vhere’s da book now?”

“Which half?” I say.

Her nails dig so hard the table splits in half.

Holy shit.

“Vhich half?” She cocks an eyebrow like she’s trying to look at me through a magnifying glass. “Vhich half?” she repeats, this time, her voice jumping an octave. “Do you have any idea how dangerous dat book is?”

“Yeah, I do—”

“And how did a child get ahold of zis book?” she says.

The lit candle between the two of us blows out.

Okay, she’s definitely pissed.

“It was her grandmother’s—”

All the anger on her face vanishes and she slaps a hand over her mouth. “Celeste.”

Is that supposed to mean something to me? I don’t know shit about astronomy.

“I—I knew it,” she breathes. “It vasn’t a dream.”

“What’re you talking about?” I ask.

For the first time, Zerachu’s face softens. She reaches for her lip, then extends her arm into the air. What the hell is she doing? She brings her arm back down, closes her eyes, and kisses her fingers.

When she doesn’t respond, I clear my throat.

“I couldn’t confirm because of zhe spells she cast,” she says.

“What spells?” I ask.

I’m guessing Celeste is a person. Or, more specifically, Rachel’s grandmother. But why is Zerachu acting so heartbroken over it? Were they friends?

“Celeste cast cloaking spells to protect zhe book,” she says, “to conceal herself and her family from all shadow dwellers.”

I’m about to ask her what the game plan is. Sure, it’s sad. The woman’s dead, but we aren’t. At least not yet. And the longer we sit around here mourning someone who isn’t coming back, the more