KAIAH

My mother was not a whore.

Despite what my many, many siblings will tell you.

My mother’s family died far before I was born, and my siblings held no love for her. Because of this, I was the only one to grieve her when she passed away. Cancer, they told me. Lung, fourth stage. Inoperable, aggressive.

Terminal.

Even if we’d had the money to pay for the futile treatment that would only cause her more pain, she refused. She kept working until the cancer made her too thin and frail for the “rigors of exotic dancing”. Which, by the way, was a blatant lie. What the beer-bellied pig that was my mother’s boss meant was that her pale, sickly form was no longer appealing to her clients. My mother’s long black hair, golden complexion, and “exotic” almond-shaped eyes from her Native American heritage had once made her the most popular among the club’s customers. The severance check had been poor recompense for the once constant income. Unfortunately, the hadn’t made enough to put much in savings, and whatever she did put away drained quickly for everyday essentials like groceries and clothing. I’d been too young at the time to get a job, too young to drive, too young to be in charge of my ailing mother.

That didn’t matter. I did what I had to.

I had counted myself lucky that I had turned sixteen shortly before she’d gotten sick. I was able to drop out and take care of her full-time. I lied of course, saying I was going to be homeschooled by an uncle or something along those rights. My mother had tried to convince me that my studies were more important, but I was sure she secretly didn’t want me taken from her. It was a sentiment we shared. As far as I was concerned, it was my responsibility to take care of her as she’d taken care of me. I kept my mother’s worsening decision a secret, so we wouldn’t be separated. I’d burn before I ever let my mother waste away anywhere but by my side.

But then, the doctors took it out of my hands. They called my father. A father that, up until that point, I hadn’t known existed.

Yes, I knew somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind that a man had to have donated a little genetic something for me to exist. Of course I did. I wasn’t that sheltered. But whether it be willful denial or general idiocy, the thought of a father had never crossed my mind.

It had seemed like a blessing. But I’d been naïve. I was stressed out, at the end of my rope, and on the verge of crying at any moment. Nothing I had ever felt quite lived up to the emotional trauma that came with taking care of my dying mother.

My father had seemed like a superhero. He’d been tall, blond, handsome, and charming. He’d been the man every girl who’d grown up without a dad wished for at night. He’d swooped in, taken the enormous burden from my shoulders, and absolved me of any guilt while he did so. Something about those deep, dark blue eyes and reassuring smile just made my worries melt away.

And, boy, did he make my worries disappear. He cared for me, taught me what I missed in school, and generally gave me a shoulder to cry on. He was everything my life had so far been lacking. I’d idolized him, Hell, I’d worshipped the man. Turns out, I wasn’t the only one who did.

Finding out your absent father was none other than the archangel Michael, and that you were a Nephilim, was a difficult thing for any sixteen-year-old to swallow.

At first, I believed my absent father’s nonsense story about cancer, but now I knew the truth. I should’ve realized that, even for my mother’s diagnosis, she’d been deteriorating far too quickly to be natural. I was so damned blind.

Then, I met my siblings, and my life once again took a steep downhill slide.

If I thought I’d hit rock bottom before, it was nothing compared to the next few months of my life.

My siblings weren’t at all like me. What I saw at first were strong, able warriors. Gladiators, always ready and hungry for conflict. I now knew that in actuality, they were brutish, monsters, strong and vicious, but monsters all the same. They were abominations, perversions of nature’s gifts. When I’d been younger, they’d convinced me that I was the freak. It wasn’t difficult. Among my thousands of brothers and sisters, I was utterly unique. I now realized that “weakness” was in fact my greatest strength.

I couldn’t, of course, compare to the raw strength possessed by even the weakest of my siblings. I had the strength of a fit human woman. Nothing to be scoffed at when I was a child living with my mother, but surrounded by powerful celestials, I was a weakling. But I could move with a speed that made a striking snake appear almost sluggish. I danced circles around my brothers and my sisters alike. None could rival me.

My siblings were also ugly creatures. Oh, they were pleasing enough to the eye, that couldn’t be denied. They practically shone with a primal, almost wicked beauty. The discerning individual, however, could easily see through the ruse. Like all good predators, they hid their twisted, gruesome selves from their prey. Their gray skin and crimson eyes weren’t any type of exotic beauty; it spoke volumes to their deadened souls. They exuded a toxic aura, so much so that even the plants they tread on withered and died. They could walk nowhere undetected.

Plants, all living creatures, really, thrived under my touch. Yet another quality that my siblings perceived as weakness. That, my shiny dark hair, my lightly tanned complexion, and clear blue eyes all marked me as a target. I looked like a mortal, so they considered me a mortal, a creature beneath themselves. But, of course, I had an advantage in that I could walk among humans undetected. I blended in seamlessly. I had for sixteen years, before my father took me away.

I was freer than all of them, and they resented it deeply.

Yet still I desperately, desperately wanted my family’s approval.

I didn’t see how perfectly my father had set that up until much, much later.

He capitalized on my situation in a way that only a conniving soul like him possibly could.

He took me under his wing, honed me into his perfect daughter. His perfect weapon. He taught me how to utilize the magic that I hadn’t realized existed within me. By the end, I could grow trees and other plants in seconds, manipulate rock and earth, cause magical ailments, and bend my form to match my surroundings.

I could also unerringly tell truth from lie. I partially blame this ability for the fact that I followed my father like a lost puppy for so long. To my knowledge, he’d never lied to me. Of course, I was an idiot for believing that my father, Michael the freaking archangel couldn’t find a way to weasel around my power.

He’d fooled me for so long.

Once my non-physical abilities were sharpened to the point where I was feared by my siblings, my father moved on to focus on my physical attacks. My days were filled with pain and ended with me dragging my bruised and aching body into my cot. The only reason my brothers and sisters didn’t take advantage of my weakened state was because the threat of my father’s wrath that loomed constantly. I was always his favorite. As if my siblings didn’t already have enough reasons to detest me.

My strength never really improved, much to my annoyance. If my siblings had taught me anything, it was that physical strength was the most powerful advantage. But, with my father’s tutelage, my speed and reflexes did grow. Heck, they grew to the point that I almost rivalled him. Him. The most powerful archangel in Heaven.

It was a high I’d never really come off of.

So, when my father put my very first daggers in my hands, I’d happily killed for him. His perfect little assassin. I’d taken out my father’s enemies one by one, whether they be human or otherwise. Because I hated the act of taking a life, I’d slowly retreated inward, becoming an unfeeling machine. And, at least partially because of this, I was damn good at what I did.

So, when I saw the young woman tailing me (did she really think I wouldn’t notice?) She couldn’t have been more obvious if she tried. Heck, she was doomed to fail as soon as whoever she worked for out her on my case. I had no doubts that I could do away with her quickly and quietly if need be. I just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

I’d never enjoyed taking the life of another. I’d always been sick after every kill, no matter how hard my father had tried to beat that “weakness” from me. Even now, my stomach twisted sharply, sending waves of nausea through me at the mere thought. But if life had taught me one lesson, it was that I couldn’t afford to be nice. It never turned out well.

With that disturbing thought in mind, I turned into the nearest coffee shop-The Lean Mean Bean Machine, funnily enough. I ordered myself a mocha with whip and a cookie-because I loved sweet things, despite myself-and sat down to wait.

Just as I expected, my pursuer walked in not five minutes later. I had to take a hurried sip of my coffee to cover up my snort of derision. Tailing 101: You never follow your target too closely. It only arouses suspicion and gives them the opportunity to attack before you can prepare to counter. Whoever this woman was, she was neither an assassin nor a scout. I nibbled on my cookie and considered her from below my lashes.

At first glance, she didn’t look at all intimidating. She was around five-foot four (unfortunately still two inches taller than me) and slightly built, with an easy smile for everyone she passed. Dressed in a mustard yellow sweater that contrasted nicely with her dark complexion, she played the bubbly socialite well.

It took even me a moment to see through her.

Her dark eyes never ceased their darting, calculating movements. Her well-muscled forearm was covered in dark, arcane markings. She sat facing the doorway, her back ramrod straight like a soldier. The amulet around her neck was arcane, and vaguely familiar.

No, she was a mage, and would be a force to be reckoned with. I could feel it in my bones.

I finished my coffee quickly, packing my cookie away for later. I had to take care of this now, before she either tried to kill me or skulked off to report back to whoever she answered to. Either way, I needed to get moving.

After leaving the coffee shop, I walked purposefully toward an alleyway that I’d used for this exact purpose several times before. All had been false alarms, but I wouldn’t be alive without my constant paranoia.

I stepped quickly into the alley and slid against the wall in a practiced maneuver. I didn’t need to crouch behind a dumpster or flatten myself into a nook. I just bent reality around my body, blending perfectly into the worn brick wall behind me like a chameleon. Then, I quieted my breathing and stilled all movement. Now, I was nigh on undetectable.

A minute of waiting, and she blundered into the alley like a brightly dressed, naïve rhino. I peeled away from the stone behind me, coming up behind her and pressing a knife to her throat. The metal didn’t shine in the meager light from the clouded sun. I’d painted the already dark metal blade black to avoid that very phenomenon. It was impossible to sneak up on a victim when your weapon glimmered like a beacon.

“I’m only going to ask once; why are you following me?” I hissed in her ear, digging the dagger into her skin threateningly.

“Ah, I should’ve known not to underestimate you.” Her voice was smooth and throaty, like caramel. “Your kin were too easy. My mistake to lump you into the same category.”

“If you think to goad me into foolishness by mentioning my siblings, you have miscalculated,” I warned her, pulling her from the middle of the alley as I spoke.

“I suppose that was a bit of a long shot,” she admitted, not sounding at all concerned.

“Dang right. Now, don’t make me repeat my question.”

“I thought I made it abundantly clear; I hunt abominations.”

“Abominations like me?” I whispered, clenching my teeth at the truth of my statement. I knew what I was. I just didn’t like to have it thrown in my face.

“Possibly,” the woman shrugged, jostling against my arm. “But unlike your siblings, you have magic. You hide your true form. You try to live like a mortal.”

“I hide nothing!” I snapped, irritated that she thought me exactly like my brutish siblings, in personality as well as looks. “Who do you work for?”

“I work for a king,” she replied glibly, inspecting her fingernails. I tightened my hold on her. I was getting tired of her attitude. “My name is Meg, by the way.”

“I couldn’t possibly care less,” I ground out.

“Well, I thought I ought to tell you before I broke free, just so you’d know whose name to scream into empty air.”

I went to bring my dagger across her throat, but just as she said, I cut nothing but air. I holstered my weapon in the hidden sleeve sheath, clenching and unclenching my jaw. Sure, I hadn’t killed her. But I hadn’t wanted to, anyway. She had disappeared, and I didn’t know where she was, but she had no way of knowing where I would be.

I’d leave town tonight. With a different name and a different town, she’d never find me again. I might as well have killed her right here in this alley. The outcome would be the same.

I smiled ruefully. It wasn’t like I’d been at all attached to this town, to the crappy motel I was staying in, or to my main source of income; hustling pool at the local seedy bar. It was amazing how drunk college students and tattooed bikers alike underestimated a five-foot-two woman at a supposed “male” pastime.

I didn’t love it, but it was necessary.

Come to think of it, I didn’t really love anything about myself these days.

With that depressing thought, I set off to my apartment, ready to pack up and beat a hasty retreat.