Wavy strands of raven-black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and piercing emerald eyes seemed to glow in the dimly lit throne room. She exuded an otherworldly aura. Clearly a Hexborn, her striking beauty and seductive air betrayed her succubus ancestry. Lounging on a lavish chair fit for a ruler, her posture radiated power and command. As her gaze locked onto mine with a mixture of surprise and amusement, I couldn’t help but feel drawn to her in a way that both intrigued and unnerved me.

“Jack,” she said, her voice dripping with mock surprise. “Time has not been kind to you, I’m afraid.”

She urged me to sit with her, and the goons to her side made sure I accepted the offer.

“I’ve had a rough few days,” I replied.

She raised her eyebrows. “Just a few days? You look like the findings of an archaeological dig where they forgot to preserve the body.”

“Lizzy,” I said.

“It’s Elizabeth now.” She smiled radiantly.

“Lizzy, I need your help.”

She smiled wider. “Oh, Jack,” she purred, her voice smoother than hundred-dollar silk. “It’s been too long. What terrible favor brings you back to my den of iniquity? I know you never liked my working here.”

“I’m sure you’re aware of the price on my head.”

“Not a small fee. You’ve really tickled the wrong people upstairs, I’m guessing.”

“You’re not interested in claiming it, are you?”

“Now, Jack.” She growled softly and made a tisk-tisk sound. “You know me better than that. Gold is good. But secrets? Secrets are a girl’s best friend.”

“I need help with just that. A secret. It’s about one of your ‘clients,’” I said.

She slid closer to me, placing a hand on my leg. “Always so serious, Jack. Straight to business.” She puckered her lips. “No time for fun anymore?”

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

I slid back and removed her hand from my thigh. “Enough tricks, Lizzy. Are you going to help me or not?”

She sat up and dropped the act. Her face took on an entirely different form, more refined and discerning. The goo-goo eyes were gone, like a mask she wore only for those who didn’t know her. Her new demeanor was commanding, proving the lie to how she was acting before. She ran this place; she was no damsel in distress. She had dirt on half the politicians in the city and all of the important ones.

“You really have gotten old, haven’t you, Jack?” Her voice was deeper now, more matter-of-fact. She flashed a familiar smile. “Have it your way, straight to business.”

She snapped her fingers and stood. We were led through a set of heavy wooden doors into a private room fit for royalty. A soft, curved couch sat against one wall, adorned with plush pillows and a cozy throw blanket. In the center of the room was a small table, intricately carved from dark wood and adorned with ornate decorations. I took a seat on one end of the couch while she settled gracefully on the other. It was quiet here, the faint muffle of the club barely audible.

The air between us was thick with unspoken tension, memories of the past mingling with the present reality of my undead state.

“How can I help you, Jack?” she asked, her voice smooth yet commanding.

The room exuded an air of luxury and elegance, making me feel out of place in my simple attire. But as always, she made me feel at ease with her effortless charm and grace. This was her sanctuary, where she could shed her title and responsibilities and simply be herself. She kicked off her heels and lounged back. A goon got her a drink of dark amber.

A few women sat in the back of the room, watching us. I assumed they were her real bodyguards. The goons were just for show.

Her piercing gaze met mine, a mix of curiosity and something darker flickering behind her eyes. She sighed after a moment, the sound laced with resignation.

“So, how can I assist you, Jack?” she asked, studying me intently. “Back in the business?”

I scoffed. “No, just fulfilling a favor.” But deep down, I knew it was more than that. It was quickly becoming personal.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the matchbox, tossing it onto the table between us. Her relaxed demeanor faded as she stiffened at the sight of it.

“Got this from the pocket of Robert McGuffey.”

“Jack, you know I can’t discuss my clients. It’s a matter of privilege.”

“Even the dead ones?”

She didn’t seem surprised.

“Especially the dead ones,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

“I didn’t realize you still had a ‘no kiss and tell’ policy,” I retorted.

She let out a sad chuckle. “Oh Jack, you of all people should appreciate our discretion.”