My eyes flutter open, and I turn my head to watch Denali chewing gum and furiously tapping away on her cellphone. She is sitting on the same cushion-less wooden chair where I left her, only she has slid it forward about three feet from the side of the bed. She lets out a long sigh before crossing her legs and re-adjusting her long black hair that she's got tied up into a messy bun. Her icy blue eyes pop in stark contrast against her mocha skin.
Dani was surrendered as an infant at Denver Regional Hospital, so she was part of the foster care system since she was born. I, on the other hand, was found wandering around near the woods of Windsor, Colorado when I about seven years old. I had no belongings and no memories of who I was before the police found me. The only clue to my past was a gold bracelet with my name printed onto the front.
Dani and I both spent a decent chunk of time being shuffled around from home to home repeatedly until we arrived in the care of Jennifer Brooks at ten years of age. When we were placed into Jennifer's foster home with four other kids our age, Dani and I became inseparable. We bonded over the fact that we are loners and never particularly cared for anyone else. Neither of us ever fit in at school, in Jennifer's home, or with any potential adoptive parents.
Late at night, when we were supposed to be asleep, we told ourselves stories: how we would pack up our things and move to Florida, get jobs, go to college, and live together like the sisters we'd become. Things would fall into place, and we would have a sense of normalcy when we weren't bouncing from home to home and finally had a place to call our own. So, at the ripe age of sixteen, we became your standard American runaways and never looked back.
It became her and I against the world like it had been since we met.
I yawn audibly, stretching my body out on the bed. As Dani's eyes meet mine, she smiles and quickly sets her phone down on the nightstand. When she glances down at her watch, her eyes widen, and she leans back in the chair, crossing her arms with an impressed grin.
"Wow, that was quick," she says.
"How long was I out for?" I ask as I prop myself up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.
"Eh, only about two hours and some change. Mission complete, as usual?" She taps the button on her watch to stop the timer, and I glance down at the screen on my own wrist: 2:15:07.
"Isn't it always?" I stand up and make my way towards the bathroom while Dani rummages in her suitcase.
"Well yeah, but how the hell did you find Jack and take him out that quickly?" she calls from the bedroom. I stare at myself in the mirror and grab a more casual outfit off the bathroom countertop, tossing on a pair of denim jeans and a green tank top.
"Let's just say that he wasn't exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. He heard my voice and came right into the AP. I didn't even have to convince him to follow me."
"Well hey, that was the quickest quarter million that we've ever made," she says, crossing the room to the front door. She takes an old rag that saturated with a sage water solution and begins wiping down the door to remove the charcoal black witches' knot that she painted onto earlier that evening.
Ever since I started astral projecting again, Dani has immersed herself in the Wiccan religion to protect me and make my job easier. She began by learning how to create a mixture of Angelica, dried charcoal, and herbs to draw protection symbols on entryways before I projected. After a lot of trial and error, she discovered that by carving the same symbol onto my knives, kill-con vials, and even my watch, she made it possible for me to bring these objects with me to the AP as long as they remain on my physical body.
Strangely enough, I can also physically bring my kill-con out of the spiritual world if it is in one of the glass vials. I gave up on trying to solve this mystery and the other endless impossibilities that pepper my life long ago.
Since I began my career as an assassin operating in the astral world, I've only gotten better at tracking and dispatching my targets quickly and efficiently. But my assassin work is just a part-time gig; the rest of my time is consumed with running a cartel of drug and arms dealers.
I glance down at my watch again, registering that it's already after midnight. I step to the dresser and grab one of my burner phones. I quickly type Smith's number and hit call, antsy to confirm our rendezvous point at the docks. I'm ready to complete this kill-con exchange so Dani and I can go out and tie one on with our lump of cash. My mind lingers on the little bar right around the corner from our hotel that always seems to have a steady stream of alcoholics flowing in and out.
"Hello, Reaper. Is the job complete?" Smith asks coolly.
Smith, along with the rest of my clients only know me by the assassin name that I coined about five years ago. A mere handful of people know my real name, and I intend to keep it that way. The fewer people that know my real identity, the better off I am.
"It's done, and I've got the confirmation," I reply, picking at my nails.
"Excellent. Where would you like the exchange to take place?"
"Meet my contact at the warehouse docks in half an hour to make the trade," I answer, standing up to grab my jacket so Dani and I can head out.
"Consider it done."
"Per our agreement, make sure you bring the cash in U.S. currency, pre-counted $100 bills. I'm not in the mood for sifting through anything smaller."
"Anything for you, ma chérie," he answers with a dark chuckle.
Hopefully, this guy is smart enough to know if even one single bill missing from the amount I am owed, I will hunt him down and kill him. No matter how deep a crevice he crawls into, I will find him once he sleeps. I am the Reaper, and only fools believe they can evade me. I have very little patience when it comes to my money, but Smith seems intelligent enough, so I decide to let my reputation do my intimidation for me without piling on the threats.
"I'm glad we understand one another, Smith. My contact will see you in half an hour." I hang up the phone as we gather our purses and head into the hallway.
"So, are we going to hit up that bar on the corner tonight after the exchange?" Dani asks. "I'm ready to get drunk then head back to Miami tomorrow. Six months is a long time to be away from home." Her eyes beam with excitement that I'm about to kill.
"I've got a couple more clients who need some work done in Germany and Thailand. Miami might have to wait a little longer," I carefully respond, knowing this is going to set her off. Dani grits her teeth and shakes her head with irritation, storming ahead down the hallway.