| TRICK OF THE LIGHT: Chapter 1



Paint it Red!

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. I’d read that in a book once, a fairly famous one. Right now I was going with the time of reaping. Fire had been sown and fire would be reaped. Now. By me, personally. Why?

One: fire burns. Fire destroys. Fire cleanses.

Two: fire also drives up your insurance rates like crazy.

Three: it was deserved. Oh yes, it was very much deserved.

And how do I know this? A lot of ways, but mainly because I know there are demons in the world. Monsters. Creatures that would steal and eat your soul. Devils that would…

Wait. You’ve heard this before, right? Seen the movies. Read the books. You might hide under your covers at night or avoid the deepest shadows of the darkest alleys and pretend all’s right with the world, but you know. I don’t need to tell you. I don’t need to show you the light…or the dark.

You know.

Like me, you know. Even if you don’t want to admit it.

Chicken shit.

But that’s okay. Since I knew, I could personally pitch a Molotov cocktail with grim glee at a nightclub that sat halfway between the University and the strip, an area otherwise and ironically called Paradise. No hiding under the covers for me. I knew about what hid in the dark all right and there was nothing I enjoyed more, at least tonight, than watching some son of a bitch demon’s club burn to the ground. Demons in Paradise, could they be more smug?

It was six in the morning and empty. The last drunk had staggered out twenty minutes ago into the November dark morning. Frying patrons wasn’t part of the agenda and it wouldn’t do the demon or his demon employees much harm even if they were standing in the middle of it, not if they changed from human form back to the genuine article fast enough, but I still enjoyed it. Girls, you get your kicks where you can.

And this was a kick. I inhaled the fragrance of burning gasoline, felt the hot wind lift my hair, and the thud of the ground under my sneakers…my normal high heeled boots were out for this one. I also felt the adrenaline squeeze my heart, pump my blood faster and faster. Damn, I loved that feeling. I looked up at the faintly orange sky because Vegas was never dark, fire or not. We were a sun all our own. The smell of smoke and alcohol, the sound of shattering glass as the bottles smashed through windows, and the glorious red and yellow of leaping flames.

“Beautiful,” I murmured, feeling the sear of heat against my face. It didn’t touch the heat of satisfaction inside me.

“Not without its charm,” Griffin commented dryly next to me before turning and following me. “You and your hobbies, Trixa.”

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