Anyway, if this guy had an entire gura looking after him, and Cerberus still couldn't help him without me, then there must be a whole lot of mercenary blooders coming after Cer's friend. Crowds were tough; it was much easier to weave a spell around a single mind. To alter the free will of thousands of people at once was nearly impossible. So I would probably have to go another route. I could sing a spell to affect the environment, and attack them physically, leaving them their free wills. Or I could enchant a few of them at a time, and force those to attack the others. Possibly even a combination of both. It would be exhausting, and probably take me multiple songs to complete. I wasn't even sure I could do it.
“Ten million per song,” I said to Cerberus.
“What?” Cer shouted into the phone.
“An assassination usually takes a few lines, half a song at most.” I explained my reasoning. I never arbitrarily picked a price. “And I charge five mil for a kill. So ten million for an entire song is a bargain, especially when you'll be wanting me to kill hundreds, possibly even thousands, of blooders. You know I'll need to sing more than one song to take out an army, so your friend can pay per song. If it gets too expensive, he can tell me to stop singing, and handle the survivors with his gura.”
“Gods damn you, Elaria,” Cerberus snarled. “You have the mind of Archimedes and the cold calculation of Hades himself.”
“Thank you,” I said primly. “But you know as well as I that you were trying to dick me over on this one, Cerberus, and I'm not happy about that.”
“He's a friend, El,” he sighed.
“Yeah, that's why I'm letting you slide,” I acknowledged.
You'd think immortals would end up having tons of friends, what with our extensive lifetimes. But it's actually the opposite. When you live as long as we do, you end up breaking most bonds. Family is usually the exception, but even they can drive you crazy enough to make you avoid them for a few decades. When you form a friendship that lasts, like mine and Cer's, it means something.
“So, are you meeting me in Kansas?” I finally asked him.
“You'll do it?” Cerberus asked with a measure of surprise.
“Of course I'll do it.” I rolled my eyes. Again. “Any friend of yours, and all that heroine bullshit.”
“Thanks, El,” he said sincerely.
“Of course,” I said just as sincerely. “Now, where in Kansas am I going?”
“Head to Lawrence,” Cer said. “Check into the Springhill Suites–it's one of the nicer hotels there. A Marriott.”
“Well, as long as I can stay at a Marriott,” I teased.
“I'll book a room for you,” he promised. “Under your usual alias.”
“Florence Nightingale,” I agreed. “Perfect.”
“And I'll come and get you after I arrive.”
“Alright,” I agreed. “See you in Kansas, Toto.”
“Bring your sexy red heels, Dorothy. I'll pack my collar.” Cer laughed as he hung up.
Chapter Three
Ah, Kansas. It was actually kind of pretty. Lawrence was a bustling town, but not quite as busy as Seattle, and not nearly as cold. It was November, so there was a nip in the air, but something about that breeze coming off the water in Seattle, made things so much colder there. Lawrence was more mellow with its chill, like Seattle's hippie sibling. Autumn had painted the city in its vibrant colors, and there was the smell of the season on the breeze–dry leaves and cooling earth. I breathed deeply of it as my cabby drove me out to the Springhill Suites.
As promised, I found a room already booked, and paid for, under my alias. I showed the surprised clerk my Florence Nightingale ID, and he handed me the keys with a twitching smile. I gave him the standard line: my folks had thought it was a great joke to name me Florence, what with our last name being Nightingale and all. The clerk let his lip twitching take the shape of a proper smile.
I went up to my room, threw my bag on the bed, and started digging around for a change of clothes. I needed a hot shower, and something more comfortable than my secretary get-up. I found a pair of jeans and a cotton blouse with bell sleeves. Perfect to relax in, and maybe go grab some dinner. Then I headed to the bathroom. When I came out, dressed but still rubbing at my damp hair, my phone was ringing. I snatched it up and answered.
“There's no time for me to meet you,” Cerberus said urgently. “Get over to the Crouching Lion Country Club now.” He rattled off an address.
“What?” I glanced out of my picture window at the night sky. It was still early; the stars hadn't even brightened yet.
“Now, Elaria!” Cerberus roared. “They're here!”
“Fine,” I snapped and disconnected him, muttering to
