Sister Death (Acid Vanilla Series Book 4) by Matthew Hattersley (best short novels of all time txt) 📗

for air, he swerved over to the centre of the park, stumbling through a tree-lined passage that opened out into an exotic garden with a huge ornamental fountain standing in the middle. It was quieter still here, with only a handful of people sitting peacefully on the benches that surrounded the fountain. None of them looked up as he hurried past them, desperately searching for an escape, a place to hide, anything.

For a stomach-leaping moment he thought he’d given his pursuer the slip, yet as he ran through the gardens, heading back towards the far side of the park, she stepped onto a raised flower bed a few metres in front of him and slipped her hand into the pocket of her jacket.

“Shite.”

Before she had a chance to pull out the weapon (a gun most likely, but with her it just as well could be a fecking samurai sword) he ducked behind a large flowering bush and made for a path running alongside the main road. Over the top of the perimeter fence he could see banners and flags being waved around to the sounds of upbeat electronica. He kept going, running now as fast as his weary limbs would take him and looking over his shoulder every second or two to see if she was near. Because if that was a gun she’d pulled from her pocket – and a glint of sun reflecting off metal told him it was – he’d like to be ready for it. They say you never hear the bullet that kills you, and maybe that was for the best, but his ego wanted to know, to be prepared, to look his killer in the eyes in his last moments.

But all this meant Danny’s focus was away from the path in front of him as it curved around a small patch of Spanish carnations, and he ran full speed into someone. The impact knocked him off his feet and he scraped his knee against the gravel path trying to keep momentum. The nausea almost came to fruition as he staggered to right himself and get away, but he couldn’t move. Something was holding him back. Something physical. A hand on his arm.

No. Please. Move. Have to move.

Have to get away.

Danger.

“Wait,” a voice rasped in his face, husky but well-spoken. “Come with me.”

He shot his attention to the figure gripping his arm. A woman. Dressed in black and standing about five-five in her battered Converse trainers. She was wearing sunglasses and had dark, almost black hair, but no white streaks. Not the nun. Not his killer.

“Are you—? Did my uncle—?”

The woman’s face was stern, and her full lips were pressed into a determined pout. “It’s Danny, yes?”

He nodded. Gasped for air. “S’right.”

She peered over his shoulder and he was certain he saw the hint of a smirk twisting the corner of her mouth. “We need to get out of here. This way.”

The woman kept hold of his arm, leading him through the ornamental gardens and along a wide path that led out of the park where the road was flanked on both sides by cheering crowds. Danny risked another glance over his shoulder and spotted the now-familiar white streaks as the nun appeared at the gate and glared his way.

“She’s still coming,” he cried, while they shoved through lines of people and onto the main street. “Woah, fecking hell…”

A procession of dancers was heading down the road towards them, each of them wearing huge papier mâché heads. Monsters, farmyard animals and grotesque caricatures of (what he imagined were) Spanish government officials made up most of the ensemble, as well as one guy dressed as Jesus Christ and carrying a bright pink inflatable guitar.

“Get a move on, will you?” the woman snarled, almost yanking him off his feet as they wound their way around the dancers, both of them peering back the way they’d come.

“You see her?” he asked.

The woman halted, straining her neck. “No. But that doesn’t mean we can relax.” She let go of his arm, before launching herself through the crowds on the other side of the street without an excuse me or an apology or anything. Danny watched on incredulously for a moment and then quickly followed on behind, distorting his face into an apologetic grimace as he pushed his way through.

“Hey, you,” he called out as they got through the mass of spectators and the woman made for an alleyway that ran between two apartment complexes. “Do you know where the hell you’re going?”

She spun around but didn’t stop, walking backwards whilst facing him. “Somewhere away from that crazy bitch for starters.”

“Then what?” Danny asked. “You got a plan?”

The woman shrugged and grinned manically. “Not really. But I’m sure I’ll think of something.” With that she turned and ran down the side of the buildings, took a left, and disappeared.

Seventeen

Acid was already regretting taking the job as she got to the end of the alleyway and stepped up into an unused doorway to wait for Danny. What the hell was he playing at, trotting along like there wasn’t someone chasing him ready to put a bullet in his skull?

Not cool. Not what she needed. At all. Soon as they were safe, she’d ring The Dullahan and tell him she couldn’t do the job. She’d have to pay him back some other way because it was too much to take on and she wasn’t ready. Not for this. Not for anything. She had assumed (hoped) that seeing Magpie again would have conjured up a renewed energy inside of her. That experiencing the vile woman – and all she represented – would have spurred her on to complete what she’d started. As it was, she just felt… Well, she didn’t like to think about what she felt, or what that meant. But her lack of impetus wasn’t the only thing plaguing her thoughts as she huddled in the doorway.

She’d been watching Danny as he paced around the carousel in the park, convinced