Page 28 of Will It Hurt?

Aisla

The barista was sullen today—not their usual cheery self. As I hung up my windproof jacket and retrieved my tablet, they acknowledged me with a nod and not much else.

Strange.

Perhaps it was because the snow had kept customers away. The Daily Grind was empty save for me and someone tucked into a corner booth.

“The usual?” the barista asked as I got comfortable in my spot by the window.

I nodded. “Ta.”

The crossword app had already sent me a push notification this evening to remind me to complete it before midnight. I swiped up on the tablet, waiting for the screen to load the comforting grids.

Minutes later, when the page still failed to fill the screen, I felt myself getting antsy.

“Is the wi-fi not working?” I asked as the barista set the espresso in front of me.

“‘Fraid not,” they said with a sigh. “And there’s never any signal in this shitehole.”

Ah, that explained their sullen mood.

The idea of sipping my caffeine with nothing else for company except the inner workings of my mind was daunting, and I cursed myself for not bringing a paperback with me .

My sigh echoed the barista’s as they made their way back to the counter.

With nothing else to do, I squinted at the noticeboard across the room, trying to read the messages written in chalk.

But my eyes fell to the sole occupant of the booth next to it.

Ah, shit.

My fingers stilled as I studied the vamp seated by the window.

Pale, poised and pretty.

A perfect blend of masculine and feminine.

Unlike Annabel, who had likely been little more than a fledgling, this one had been around for much longer. Her age was obvious in the set of her shoulders and the lift of her chin.

I’d studied the undead long enough to know that arrogance only manifested in their demeanor after a century of living. Like a rare steak garnished with fine herbs to bring out its flavor.

I’d crossed paths with my fair share of them. But this one stood out in the little kitschy café like a sore thumb.

There were two camps of undead—those who made it a priority to fit in to the century they lived in, and those who couldn’t give a fuck. This vamp fell under the second category.

She wore a deep brown tweed coat and vest with a matching pair of trousers. A crisp white shirt peeked out at her collar and parted at the throat to reveal the pale column of her neck.

A string of gold ran horizontally across her chest and disappeared into her vest.

A freaking pocket watch? In 2025?

Her gaze, dark as sin, rose to meet mine.

It didn’t waver. There was no hesitation there, no trepidation .

Could it be that, for the first time in a long time, the assignment was earlier than I was?

A small nod answered my question.

I sat back in my chair and sipped at the espresso, needing its bolstering kick as the vamp tried to pick apart my soul with her eyes and nothing more.

The insistent pressure of someone trying and failing to push past my mental barriers made me grit my teeth. Instead of pushing her away, I tightened the barricade, repelling her as she tried different ways to crack the shield.

“Stop,” I whispered under my breath.

She heard it. I knew she would.

That was the problem with the undead. They assumed they had the upper hand with all humans, but they usually forgot to factor in people like me—people that had inherited powers from ancestors, and, despite being mortal, could still hold their own against ancient vampyric influence.

The mental fingers retreated and I drained my espresso in a single sip.

If my breathing had grown shallow with the effort it took to keep her away, I refused to acknowledge it.

It wasn’t the first time an assignment had tried to read my thoughts—they couldn’t help it. It was a reflex, an extension of themselves. After years of getting a glimpse into weak human minds, I had no doubt it was strange to find mine closed tight with several padlocks.

I didn’t hold it against them when they tried to pry apart my mental barriers—reflex and whatnot. But I did hold a grudge if they refused to stop when I demanded it.

The vamp reached into her pocket and pulled out the watch. It was still early. All neutralization appointments were booked for ten in the evening and not a minute sooner. The consistency was an important part of the process, and to date, no assignment had ever rushed me .

But when she slid out of the booth and grabbed her coat from a nearby hook, a sigh tumbled from my lips.

Fine, I thought, rising with a scrape of my chair. If that’s the way she wants it.

I could only hope her death would be a quick one. And then, perhaps, I wouldn’t have to bother with another neutralization for a week—maybe more.

I promised myself a significant feeding to the cauldron if it would grant me a week’s rest.

My fingers fought the cold as I zipped up my jacket, following the prints in the snow. This person, too, wasn’t dressed for the weather. They had on wingtips —I almost scoffed aloud at the impractical choice. The narrow shoes made sharp indents on the icy ground.

I paused as I walked around the tenement, fingers outstretched to pull the gate open.

Something wasn’t quite right.

In spite of everything that was out of the ordinary about this person—showing up at the café before their allotted time, trying to break through my mental shields, forcing me to perform the neutralization without honoring due process—it was the lack of double footprints that set alarms bells off in my mind.

She hadn’t hesitated in front of the gates when they all did.

I took a step back, my boots crunching in the snow.

Under my breath, I said: “Do you wish to leave?”

She would have heard me through the gates. Hell, she could probably hear a mouse crawling up the wall in someone’s flat across the road.

There was no response.

Damn it.

I slipped past the wired gate and shut it behind me, but didn’t latch it. There was something about the silence in the air that made me feel …

Unsettled.

Like I would regret locking that gate.

Something quivered in my chest—a warning, maybe. Or a silent hint to remain wary. Instinct had never sent me down the wrong path.

I paused in front of the walled-in garden, my fingers curling over the silver canister in my pocket.

“You’re allowed to change your mind,” I said, in what Maia would call my radio voice. “Leave if you want to.”

I heard nothing in return but the icy cry of the wind.

Shit.

With a bracing breath that felt only half-forced, I turned the corner, my pulse thudding loudly in my ears.

Her coat was on the ground, a splash of brown against the white and green. The puffy sleeves from a bygone era had been rolled up to her elbows. Veins, blue and thick, rose on her forearms, cajoled to the surface by clenched fists.

The look in her eyes would have killed a weaker human.

Run.

Self-preservation made itself known, whispering into my mind.

Great idea.

I turned, intending to stride out of the gate and onto the street where there might be witnesses walking past.

But I didn’t get a chance.

God damn it all, I’d forgotten how fast these bitches were.

The assignment slammed into me, forcing my back into a high wooden fence. We both heard it splinter under my weight.

Pain exploded up my spine, and for a moment, the fingers around my neck didn’t quite register.

What the fuck ?

I scrambled to break her hold, scratching long lines of red down her forearm. My legs flailed where they dangled off the ground, trying to make contact with a spot that might hurt and hurt bad.

But she was strong—a hundred and fifty years of immortality would do that to you.

Spots danced in front of my eyes. Breath was nowhere to be found.

My lungs burned as my limbs lost their fight.

This can’t be it.

It just can’t be.

Panic clawed at my mind as I reached for the spells I knew, the ones I had practiced countless times in the safety of the covenstead. A whisper of the right incantation would do the trick—the power was in my blood, not the words themselves.

I watched my fingers tremble as they dug into her neck, trying and failing to gain any traction. I needed to do something— anything —to slow this down. I needed to buy time, curse it all!

An invisibility spell was my only hope—my one chance to slip away unseen and untracked by a monster like this. But my mental ledger of spells floated like a hazy memory under the weight of fear.

I thrashed beneath her unyielding weight, trying to summon any spell, any magick that would break her hold. Sparks, hot and gold, flickered at my fingertips, but it wasn’t enough, not without the right words.

Ah, fuck. I’m about to die, aren’t I?