My veins flow with molten eagerness. Every second I’ve delayed my revenge has been a torturous eternity. But now my patience will be rewarded.
“Young Dracoth,” Ignixis calls, halting me. His excitement is also palpable. “Take your human females, complete theMortakin-Tok, and gain the power of the Gods. Kill the usurper and bring our people back to the path of glory.”
I nod, feeling the weight of history on my titanic shoulders.
“Oh, and use stealth... no need to make a mess,” he adds with a cautionary tone.
I grin, showing my fangs. “Stealth is for cowards,” I reply, hurrying out of the room.
Maybe I’ll find a challenge after all.
Chapter 2
Alexandra
To new beginnings
Howdidthingsgetto this point? I would cry if I wasn’t looking so amazing in my new Dior makeup, but this false smile is making my face ache.
“So, Miss Alexandra Turner. Looking at your resume, it appears your highest level of education is a high school diploma. Is that correct?” The bald, overweight man, whose name might be Jose... or John, asks with a grating hint of disapproval.
It galls me that these two interviewers, dressed in their cheap Bullseye store suits, look down their noses at me. “Excuse me, could you close those curtains? The light is hurting my eyes.” I wave a dismissive hand at the female interviewer, whose sour expression gives the impression she’s just sucked on a sharplemon. “Thank you,” I say as she moves slowly to obey. It’s good to remind them who’s in charge.
“Actually, Jose, I attended Miss Cutter’s School. You might have heard of it?” I inquire with pride, mentioning the most prestigious girls’ boarding school money can buy. It doesn’t matter that mother dearest only sent me there to be rid of me—the fucking bitch. But Lemon Face and Jose don’t need to know those details.
“It’s Juan,” the male interviewer corrects, a flicker of annoyance creasing his sweaty face. It is too hot in here; I wonder if I should ask them to open a window?
“Oh, my apologies Juan!” I exclaim with fake contrition, not feeling the slightest tinge of embarrassment, only annoyance at being interrupted. “Juan, Juan, Juan. Yes, of course. It must be this heat getting to me.” I smile. “Say, Juan, could you open that window? Thank you.” I point to the one directly behind him. “Terribly hot, isn’t it?” I lean towards Lemon Face.
Juan awkwardly rises from his chair with a pained sigh, while I carefully set my Birkin handbag onto the cheap plastic table, after wiping the table first of course. I enjoy the flicker of awe on Lemon Face’s expression. I leave my precious bag there, making sure the label is facing her. Probably the closest she’ll ever get to such high fashion—a kindness, really.
Juan strains to reach the window handle. “Perhaps the other window would be better,” I suggest, pointing to the other wall in the cramped, stuffy room. “Better circulation.”
“This one’s fine!” Juan snaps back, prompting me to recoil.No need to be rude about it!I share an anxious smile with Lemon Face, hoping for some female solidarity but finding nothing.How disappointing.I remove my beige Birkin handbag from the table as punishment.
A refreshing gust enters the cluttered, dinky office room, brushing through my long, wavy blonde hair. Shame thecurtains are blocking the pleasant breeze. I’m on the verge of asking Juan to open the curtains, but I remember the blinding light and stop myself.
Juan sinks into the flimsy, uncomfortable chair with a heavy sigh. He glances towards Lemon Face with a grimace. “Where were we?”
Lemon Face begins, “Um, Alexandra, tell—”
“Please call me Lexie. That’s how my friends address me.” I interrupt with a smile.Alexandracontains too many syllables for simple people, not to mention mother gave me that name, and it’s her fault I’m in this mess in the first place!
“Alexandra,” Lemon Face continues, giving a cruel smirk I’d love to slap off her face. “You’re twenty-four with no university or college education, and no work experience?” She says it as if in question—a dumb question, considering she’s waving my resume in her hands like a magic wand about to cast a spell. “Why don’t you tell us what qualifies you for the role of regional manager for Chick’n Lick’n?”
Their expectant eyes shift to me, a sudden flood of anxiety clenching my fingers. I’m not used to this, not used to having to prove myself.
“Well, you see, during my time at Miss Cutter’s School, I was chosen as Head Girl. A very prestigious role, demonstrating leadership, team-building, diligence, good work ethic—the list goes on.” That was until that bitch Stacy told the teachers I was cheating on my exams. I got her back by stealing her boyfriend. Kissing that toad Todd was worth every painful second.
Lemon Face and Juan don’t seem impressed. They should be. The boarding school was horrific, a constant battle for social status and struggling to meet the impossible standards put upon me. I couldn’t wait to leave, never wanting to see another school ever again.
“So, you left school at, what, eighteen?” Juan asks, to which I nod in agreement. “That makes six years. How do you account for this long gap?”
Does partying and traveling count?
I suppress a sigh. These questions feel more like cruel accusations. Why does everyone always give me a hard time? It must be jealousy—that I have nice clothes, hair and grew up wealthy. Well, that’s not my fault and I will not apologize for it!
“I was working for my father.” The lie tumbles from my lips as easily as stealing Todd was. In truth, my father abandoned my mother and me when I was just three years old. He’s fabulously wealthy, a big-time Wall Street banker. Mother got a massive divorce settlement and generous child support for me. But that’s long dried up now, and mother dearest seems to have forgotten I’m her only child ever since she met another man—James, a terrible bore of a man. I think my mother sees dollar signs rather than fluttering stars of love.
