Lethal Blow: (Succubus Hitwoman Book 2) by Eliza Hendrix (love books to read TXT) 📕

“This isn’t about the dragon,” I say. “Shit will keep getting worse. Do you understand? This is bad, Rachel. Super bad. I suspect that Zerachu—or whoever was controlling her—is on the hunt for the rest of the book, if they haven’t already gotten to it. Don’t you get it? A war is starting.”

“All because of my grandma’s book?”

Admittedly, I feel kind of bad for the kid. She must think all of this is her fault, when it’s mine.

A few hours ago, all I could think about was fucking Veerka.

Now, the entire world is about to crumble all because of my selfishness.

I should have been more careful.

I should have been better.

If Jamal were here, he’d be ashamed of me

As my throat swells, I shake my head. “Fuck the past, okay?” I tell her. “This isn’t your fault, and it isn’t the book’s fault. Shit happened, and now we have to deal with it. I’ll do whatever I can to get your stuff back, okay? Or at least out of the dangerous hands it landed in.” When she doesn’t respond, I add, “Can you create the portal, or not?”

Rachel moves toward my ring and sticks out an open palm. Puffing out my cheeks, I tug the ring off.

“Don’t lose that,” I say, giving her my I’m the boss look.

She turns around as if she didn’t hear a thing I said—likely running all sorts of recited spells in her head—and brings the ring up to eye-level.

“So, it’s made from the same metal?” she asks.

I nod.

“Okay, I think I can do this.”

When I don’t respond, she turns to me and says, “Can you guys give me some space, please?”

Mr. Mushroom runs away as if he understands, which I know he does. He’s a smart cookie, and I don’t give a shit what anyone else says—he understands English. Sometimes I think he’s a reincarnated witch. Either that, or he used to be human and someone morphed him into a dog out of spite.

Drax and I move to the back of the motel room and near the bathroom where the stench of mold escapes. It’s so strong that I turn to Drax to breathe in his scent of mud, apples, Taiwanese plastic, and weed. I’m thankful he isn’t one of those demons who reek of something rotten.

“Riskus,” Rachel says, and without questioning her, Riskus reaches into his pocket and pulls out a brown pouch that I assume contains powder.

This isn’t the first time I see Riskus give her powder, and now I’m wondering if he has an endless supply of it. Is he wearing some sort of powder-producing pants? I suppose anything is possible these days. Either that or his body creates it. Staring at his long gray hair fastened into a bun, I cringe. Maybe this magical powder she keeps using is nothing more than his dandruff.

She reaches for the pouch, opens it up by its rope strings, and sniffs the contents. “Not that one.”

Riskus nods, his fleshy pointed ears wiggling, and reaches for another pouch. When he hands it to her, she opens it and pours a few grains into her palm. The stuff is orange and clunky, reminding me of pink Himalayan salt.

“That’ll work,” she says, squeezing her fist around the pouch.

Riskus grins from ear to ear, making him look like a smiling great white shark. It’s obvious he wants praise, so she pats him on the head and adds, “Good job.”

Rachel pours a teaspoon worth of the salt-looking grains into her palm, closes her eyes, and recites a bunch of gibberish. Considering she started creating portals recently, I have to hand it to her—the kid’s a genius. I’ve seen her cast some spells after reading them a single time in her spell books. It’s almost like she’s able to retain every single piece of information that enters her brain.

Maybe her grandmother was something special.

As I watch her sprinkle the orange dust into the air, I wonder if maybe Rachel possesses the same capabilities as Zerachu. They are related, after all. Maybe I don’t give her enough credit. Someone once told me that witches who are fortunate enough to attend witching school often require years of experience before being able to create a portal. And even then, most schools refuse to include this in their curriculums due to the dangers of traveling through time and space.

But Rachel? The kid hasn’t even gone to witching school and she’s already creating them.

Mr. Mushroom whimpers and licks his nose when a frizzy orange light swirls around the room. It forms an oval shape, twirling in circles the way storm clouds do before sending a devastating tornado to the ground.

The brighter the color gets, the faster the portal spins. Rachel flicks her wand left and right, and her long red hair flows behind her as if she were standing in front of a giant fan.

It gets so intense that I’m forced to pull my hair out of my face.

“It’s ready!” she shouts over the loud humming.

I glance sideways at Drax as if to say, Wish me luck, and he returns a look with slanted hairless brows that doesn’t reassure me whatsoever.

Moving toward the portal, I shout, “Close it in five minutes.”

“What if you aren’t back?” Rachel says.

I don’t answer her, which is an answer in itself. It shouldn’t take me more than five minutes to grab that talisman and jump back into the portal. If it does, it means something happened and I can’t risk anyone else coming back into this room if I’m not here.

Rachel might be developing as a witch, but she and Drax are no match against evil beings.

I pull my long black hair back into a high ponytail and tie it with the elastic I always keep around my wrist.