Sister Death (Acid Vanilla Series Book 4), Matthew Hattersley [best book club books for discussion .TXT] 📗

on around the club, drifting past the chill-out area, seeing most of the booths were already inhabited by young loved-up couples, some already engaged in high-energy kissing sessions. Others laughed and joked together, their eyes fixed only on each other. Then as she circled around one of the large round pillars that supported the upper level, she saw her. Only a glimpse at first, her head just visible over the top of the booth’s high-backed, red leather seat. But it was her all right. Magpie Stiletto. Sister Death.

Acid froze as a million possibilities flew through her mind. To underestimate Magpie now would be dangerous, but fate had brought them here and she was curious. Sometimes the only way out was through. Besides, neither of them were armed, and even if they were, killing someone in a crowded club, having to pass by two huge bouncers to use the only available exit, it was reckless at best.

“Is this seat free?” she asked, appearing at the side of the booth. The club’s acoustics had been cleverly designed so the music was muted here in the seated area, but she still had to raise her voice.

Magpie didn’t flinch. Only turning her head slightly to take in Acid, with that same old wicked sneer tainting her lips. “Be my guest.”

After a brief glance at the exit, mentally rehearsing her escape route, Acid slid into the booth to face her old colleague.

They stared at each other without speaking, like they had done earlier in the street. As though winning a staring contest would be all it took.

“You look well,” Acid started, giving it as much sarcasm as she could muster, nodding at Magpie’s gaunt appearance and dry straggly hair.

Magpie let out a throaty, humourless laugh. “Looks were always so important to you, weren’t they?”

“Costs nothing to take pride in your appearance, sweetie.”

Magpie raised her head a touch. “It costs everything. This desire for attention from anyone who’ll give it, it is detrimental to the soul.”

Acid took a swig of beer. This was new. Magpie had always been spiteful and nasty with her words, especially those directed at Acid, but she never sounded so pious and… well, creepy.

“I think we both gave up our souls a long time ago,” she replied. “But, hey, thanks for the tip.”

“Always joking. So tragic.” Magpie sat back in her seat, placing both hands flat on the table in front of her. With her stiff, slender neck and sinister but deadpan expression, she had a look of the Sphynx about her. She glared at Acid. “You want me dead, I take it. That’s why you are still in Spain. Why you were at the convent.”

Acid took another gulp of beer. The bottle was almost empty. “You always were rather astute.”

“I’m paid to be. But tell me, what are you paid for these days, Acid? What is your role here?” She sat forward, slapping her hands against the table. “I knew you were trouble the moment we met. So full of ego and confidence you were. Then, as time went on, and your skillset grew I thought maybe I’d been wrong about you. But no. Here you are, a pathetic, broken wretch, unsure of who she is, of what she is. You think you scare me? At all? You do not.”

“I see.” Acid ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek. Couldn’t let her see she was getting to her. “And what about the game of dress up you’ve been engaging in recently? Is that who you are? A new calling?”

“Not a new one. Sister Death is simply another part of me. Always there. But risen to the surface recently. She is a stronger, better person.” Her tone changed, from deep and threatening to sounding almost affable. “I almost became a nun once. Did you know this?”

“Is that so? Wow.” She held her nerve, keeping one hand on the bottle, one eye on the door. “A life with God, hey? Isn’t that a little at odds with… you know, all the killing you’ve been doing the last twenty years?”

“Not so,” Magpie spat. “When we rid the world of filth and sinners, are we not doing His work? Tell me, do you believe those you have killed deserved to die?”

The question almost floored Acid. Because it was true. She’d always told herself as much. It had been a way of justifying what she did so she could sleep at nights, but it was still true, the large majority of her kills had indeed been total shits of the highest order. Corrupt, despicable people who the world was much better off without.

“I take it from your lack of response that you agree,” Magpie went on. “But this idea of Sister Death, it goes much deeper.”

Acid leaned forward as the music grew louder. The club was filling up fast and it would be easy now to disappear into the throng. Could she do this? Finish it here and now. Another name off her kill list. The penultimate one. She ran her fingers down the slender neck of the beer bottle. The bats were united, wings smashing against her frayed nerves.

Take the bottle. Smash it off the table.

Into the bitch’s throat.

“You have heard of St Francis of Assisi?” Magpie asked.

“I recognise the name. Friend of yours?”

“You jest, but you are not far wrong, Acid. St Francis was a clever and spiritual man who in his later life decided to make a friend of Death. Sister Death became a part of his life, not something to fear but to simply accept. By doing so he freed himself from his human frailties. This is what I do now. Who I am.” She spat the words out, her manner growing in intensity and rage as she went. “Death is not my enemy but a part of me. I do not fear it. Every day I am ready for it. So let me ask you this, Acid, are you ready? I remember a time when you feared nothing and