Page 1 of Four Calling Birds

Prologue

Lotte

“Youweren’tatyourpost.” Magnus lumbered towards me, his Nordic accent thick, and deep. Wiry blonde hair, soaked and matted in sweat and rain fell over his low, but broad, wrinkled forehead. He was hugely pissed.

His enormous frame cast a shadow over me, as the knife in his hand glinted in the lamp light behind him. The tent smelled of dirt. The plastic canvas flapped loudly in the harsh wind, growing faster and frantic, like the pulse in my ears.

“Yes, I was.” I said, trying to look annoyed at the accusation.

Deny, deny, deny,I reminded myself.

“No, you weren’t!” He pointed the enormous knife at me. I noted the serrated edge, and the blood groove that ran parallel to the blunt end. The thing was enormous, but dwarfed in his gargantuan hand. “You’re a fucking traitor!”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

If you can’t deny anymore, counter accuse. “How could you possibly know that I wasn’t at my post? Where the fuck were you, huh? You’re the fucking traitor!”

Yeah, it was a lame attempt, but I had to try something. Being alone with a ‘roided out caveman with severe anger issues wasn’t fucking ideal.

Magnus headed the Scorpio Network, a high-end arm’s dealership that specialized in crossing borders with some seriously dangerous hardware. Magnus sold to the highest bidder, and would even supply both sides of a war if it suited him. And he was technically right. Iwasa traitor. The recent seizure of a shipment heading to Kemet was, entirely, my doing. But he couldn’t possibly know that.

“You CIA scum!”

I’m not CIA. Not technically. I’m a freelancer. But that was a semantic difference now.

I felt the knife plunge into my belly before I saw him move. Cold metal on hot flesh, the tearing of the outer layer of skin, past the insulation of fat, and into the tender organs underneath. For a big fucker, Magnus moved fast. I didn’t even have time to block it. My hand came up to the hilt, where his hand still held on.

His bared teeth and growl reminded me of a wolf in the forest, snarling before a kill. And I was the prey.

Again, it wasn’t an ideal situation.

But there was no way I was going to die. Call it stubbornness. Call it willpower or intestinal fortitude, but I refused to die until I had figured some things out in my life. I would not let Magnus be the last thing I see before I shucked off this mortal coil.

Then another pair of eyes flashed through my mind. They were a warm amber, gently staring out from above a lopsided grin of sweet tolerance. I remembered the little necklace the owner of those eyes had given me. It was such a small, cheap trinket, but I was never able to let it go.

“Not today, fucker!” I said through gritted teeth.

I dug my fingers into Magnus’ icy, gray, right eye. It was soft, but the membrane was surprisingly tough. It moved under the pressure of my fingertips like a wet grape covered in slime. He let out a growl. My hand shook with desperation as I tried to scoop his eye out with my nails. His free hand came up to my wrist, to pry my sharp fingers away from his precious eye socket, but I refused. I refused. I refused!

The wet, slippery eyeball moved and pulled from its perch, hanging on by thin, stringy vessels. All at once, it ruptured, the insides in red and white liquid goop fell down his face and onto my palm, slicking it with a disgusting, oozy substance that smelled like rot and made me want to hurl.

Magnus threw himself backwards, roaring like a wild animal that was struck by a killing blow. Like the Cyclops, when Jason speared his eye.

His hand came to his disfigured face - it was an improvement, I promise! - and blood seeped down his right cheek, as he howled in pain and shock.

Did I want to kill him? Absolutely. I had imagined his death almost every day for at least two years. I knew he would die by my hands… one day.

But that was not this day. On this day, I would fucking run.

Blood pulsed in my ears.Thump. Thump. Thump!

I looked at the huge knife embedded in my side. My blood spilled down my stomach, soaking my trousers, spilling red down to my boot.

I didn’t feel pain. At least not yet. Irefusedto feel it. My shaking hand came to the hilt, and I held onto it, knowing that if I pulled it out, I’d likely bleed to death.Shit.

If I kept it in, then I had more time. Time to get to the rendezvous. Time to get out. Time to live.

In the split second it took for Magnus to come to his senses and come to terms with the loss of one eye, I was out of the tent, running into the darkness, trying to obscure the trail of blood I left behind like breadcrumbs.

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