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Chapter twenty-eight

T he sounds of laughter came from the open window. The streets in the downtown area were packed with civilians and Shifters alike. Nikita watched the crowd as she closed the window, cutting off the sounds. Her plans for the evening would need to change. That was always the case. She had work but some stranger tried to take advantage of her sister and Nikita had to step in. Her sister always came first. Nikita could take care of Will the next day. While Halloween would be the perfect day to spark the chaos, the day of the dead was a close second.

Nikita moved calmly around the bed towards the dresser in the small room. She hated the apartment in the Loft. It was one of the renovated old buildings downtown, with that quaint nostalgia feel. Her sister, on the other hand, loved the place and had packed every room, including the bedroom, with plants. The place looked more like a greenhouse than a home.

“Pathetic,” said Nikita, as she moved a plant out of the way to look in the mirror on the dresser. “Why do you still want to be an earth witch when you could do so much more?”

Glancing at her reflection, Nikita stroked the soft red curls of her natural hair. She loved the color a lot more than that blonde wig she always wore. But red made her stand out, and that was her sister’s color.

“I swear, you are seriously a magnet for evil shifters,” said Nikita softly.

A male voice came from the living room. Nikita picked up the tranquilizer gun from the small purse and smiled. Taking her time, she strolled out of the bedroom into the plant-filled living room.

“These plants are so impressive,” TJ said, facing the window filled with plants. “You have some I don’t even recognize. Would love to know where you got them from.”

TJ bent over to examine a few pots located further back than the rest.

“That would be a great, just not today.” Nikita told him in a sultry voice.

He spun around, and Nikita shot him in the chest with Abby’s gun. TJ’s eyes rolled back in his head as he dropped to the ground, comatose.

“Abby, dear,” said Nikita. “It’s for your own good. You know we can’t trust shifters.”

Bartholomew woke up in the infirmary at Union Station with an IV attached to his arm. He wasn’t the only one there. Other operatives took over half a dozen of the beds. Angela made her way around, checking on vitals and fluids.

“How do you feel, Bart?” said Angela, checking his pulse.

“Like a sun-dried tomato,” he replied.

“Drink this.” Angela handed him a glass of red bubbly fluids from the table next to him. “It will cool down your throat.”

Bartholomew didn’t protest, drinking the potion down.

“What were you thinking?” Angela asked, taking a seat next to him on the bed.

“That would be easier to eliminate the threat all at once,” he said hoarsely.

“Instead of just teleporting yourselves fifty feet in any direction,” she added.

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty doc.” Bartholomew dropped his head on the pillow. “What happened?”

“The short version. You drained your magical flow to almost nonexistent.”

Bartholomew raised his head to glanced at her. “I didn’t know that was a thing.”

“Bartholomew, you released as much power as a missile, yet you concentrated on a specific location and target.” Angela glared at him. “That skill and magic takes centuries to gain and then to master.”

“Not good, then?” he asked hoarsely.

“You know how your body only has so much blood?” she asked, and he nodded. “Well, think of your powers in the same way. Your body only has so much. When you used it all, it started pulling from your own life force.”

“I have never heard of that,” he said, holding his head with his hands.

“That’s because most beings don’t have as much power as you do to attempt something like that.” Angela adjusted his hair. “A stunt like that should have killed you. I don’t know how you survived.”

“Maybe because I already died once,” Bartholomew tried to joke, but failed.

“No, you can absolutely die again,” she reminded him. “But there is a lot we don’t know about Death’s powers. Regardless, you are one lucky guy. Don’t do it again.”

She slapped his hands as a reminder.

“Ouch.”

“Too late to complain,” said Angela. “Wait until your sister hears about this.”

“No!” Bartholomew shook his head. “She is going to kill me. Where is my phone?”

“On the table next to you,” Angela told him. “Now, don’t be getting yourself excited. It’s going to take you a few weeks for you to get back to normal. You can’t use your powers.”

“Thanks.” He reached over and took the phone.

His notices said he had over ten text messages. Don’t they know I’m dying? he asked himself but checked them anyway. The first one he clicked was from Eugene.

Hey man,

We found him, 2-bad Mickey was dead already.

Death is here as well.

Found ur killer- 1 of his clients.

Crazy-it’s a girl.

Guess she is an assassin on top of a serial-killer.

Can u be both?

But Isis said to send u this.

Bartholomew shook his head but regretted it as a wave of nausea hit him. Sometimes it took Eugene a while to get to the point, even in text. Eugene sent an attachment, and it was taking longer than normal for the encrypted file to open.

“I need to upgrade the signal in the basement,” Bartholomew told himself as he shook the phone hoping to speed up the process. He went to Eugene’s next message while he waited.

According to Mickey, the girl’s parents were killed by wolves.

She was rescued by a werewolf.

Isis said something about trauma and weird coping stuff

No idea, ur sis can explain later.

But chick is dangerous and doesn’t know it.

Be careful.

“What in god’s name are those two talking about?” Bartholomew looked around the room confused.

The phone beeped, and the photo finally downloaded. He switched to his files and the image of Abby came on the screen. Except that in this photo she had blonde hair instead of her red mane with blue eyes, as piercing as Magdalena, his dragon-shifter crush. The caption underneath read, Nikita-shifter killer.

“No!”

Bartholomew bolted from the bed, making everything hurt.

“What do you think you are doing?” Angela ran back to his bed. “What did I just tell you?”

Bartholomew handed her his phone. “Is TJ back?”

“Is this Abby?” Angela asked.

“I think so.” Bartholomew struggled to move around the bed.

“I don’t know, the features are sharper,” Angela mumbled. “Maybe twins.”

“Angie! Where is he?” Bartholomew waved a weak hand in front of her face.

“He and Abby never made it back.”

“Call Bob. Tell him I’m heading to Abby’s place.” He took off the IV.

“Bartholomew, you can barely walk.” Angela held him down.

“We don’t have time. If Abby is the killer, TJ is in trouble.” He placed a hand on her cheek and vanished.