Fool For The Devil

  THE INVOLITION CURSES

  BOOK ONE

  NICOLA CLAIRE

  Copyright © 2024, Nicola Claire

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  Cover Art © 2024, STR Limited

  Cover Illustration AI-Generated

  ISBN: 978-1-99-117225-9

  Contents

  Foreword

  1. Cat

  2. Cat

  3. Cat

  4. Cat

  5. Cat

  6. Rafe

  7. Cat

  8. Cat

  9. Rafe

  10. Cat

  11. Cat

  12. Cat

  13. Rafe

  14. Cat

  15. Cat

  16. Cat

  17. Rafe

  18. Cat

  19. Cat

  20. Cat

  21. Rafe

  22. Cat

  23. Cat

  24. Cat

  25. Cat

  26. Cat

  27. Rafe

  28. Cat

  29. Rafe

  30. Cat

  31. Cat

  32. Cat

  33. Cat

  34. Rafe

  35. Cat

  Review Request

  What’s Next?

  Definitions

  About the Author

  Also By Nicola Claire

  Foreword

  Hello Reader!

  There’s a slight change in the formatting of my books. We’ve moved a few things from the front of the books to the back, so online store samples give you more of the meat of the story.

  You’ll find the following in the backmatter now:

  Definitions

  About The Author

  Also By Nicola Claire

  I hope this helps you navigate the book. I’ve got nothing for you on how to navigate the story. That one’s on the characters, and sometimes they don’t play ball. ;)

  Good luck!

  ♡ Nicola

  Description

  “We are all fools for the devil, Catalin. We play by her rules and no other’s.”

  Obey The Involition.

  The first and only rule that matters. Every witch, werewolf, or vampire knows this. Every creature of the night is aware of what befalls those who rebel against the ruling body of magic wielders.

  Nobody rebels. Nobody can.

  The All-Mother is too powerful and the curses that bind them are too strong. Free will is a myth. The Involition is all there is.

  Until her.

  Catalin Aguirre is in the Special Operations Group of Interpol’s local NCB branch. She’s good at what she does.

  It’s kind of spooky how good she is.

  An ordinary girl. A dedicated special agent. Her life is normal, mundane, and uneventful.

  Until it isn’t.

  For: The Kindred fans who wanted a different kind of Luce and Michel.

  “Don’t be a fool for the Devil, darling.”

  Anne Rice

  Cat

  We are all fools for the devil, Catalin. We play by her rules and no other's.

  The voice was at once silky and threatening. It was also inside my head. I didn't recognise it, and I was sure it wasn't real. But that happened sometimes. I put it down to stress.

  "Subject is heading east on Boulcott Street."

  I cleared my mind and looked up at the glass and metal skyscrapers around me to get my bearings and then took off running. My feet pounded the cracked pavement, my hair streamed out behind me. In the distance, I could hear the crowds cheering.

  "I've got him," a voice said over the Alpha channel. "Closing in on the unsub now."

  I rounded an office building and immediately skipped out of the way of a businessman; my arms spread wide for balance, my breath puffing out in a surprised exhalation.

  "Hey! Watch where you're going!"

  I didn't bother offering a reply; I picked up speed again.

  "View is obstructed," Alpha Overwatch advised.

  "It's okay. I'm almost there," the same voice from earlier replied.

  People milled about on the pavement with paper bags full of sandwiches and takeaway cups full of coffee. Suits strode with purpose, their cell phones pressed to their ears. The roar of the crowd grew louder.

  I was two minutes away at my maximum speed.

  "Do you have him again?" the male voice said.

  "Still searching."

  I lifted my knees and swung my arms, picking up what speed I could and dodging between the mid-week lunch crowd.

  "Cat," a familiar voice said in my ear. I checked the display on my watch. The SOG channel, not Alpha's. "I think the subject took a shortcut through a building. They're not on Boulcott anymore."

  "What are you doing, Tac?" I asked.

  "My job. You need eyes in the sky. I'm it."

  "Alpha has eyes in the sky. We're back-up."

  "Alpha's lost the subject. I've got a possible unsub on Glimmer Terrace."

  "Not good."

  I ducked down an alleyway that would take me across the target zone. If my spatial awareness was on point, I'd come out ahead of the Alpha team member. I might just be able to get to the subject before he did.

  Not that this was a race, of course. Unless you counted it as a race against time. But if the subject made it to Lambton Quay before we did, he might get a shot off. I kept running.

  A cheer went up in the distance, and now I could hear the drone of a loudspeaker. The voice was male. The deputy prime minister must still be talking. But he wasn't the target.

  "I don't have him," the male on the Alpha channel said. "Cutting down the Plimmer Steps."

  Damn. He was going to beat me to Lambton.

  "I've got him," Alpha Overwatch said a heartbeat later. "Keep going. You'll come out before he does. There's still time."

  Strained breathing came over the channel. "Fuck, these steps are steep."

  "Unsub is making his way toward the grandstand," Overwatch observed without feeling. "I have two constables in front of the Gong Cha. Shall I use them?"

  "I'm almost there." Said between desperate gulps of air. Clearly, he needed to exercise more.

  I burst out onto Lambton Quay and came to a stop. Speed attracted attention. Catching my breath, I climbed onto a nearby planter box and tried to look over the heads of all the people. Not everyone was here for the prime minister. Some of these people just wanted an iced tea with their lunch.

  Sweat beaded my brow and I swiped dank strands of hair out of my eyes.

  "Red cap, red cap, red cap," I muttered to myself. The incumbent party was Labour, so red was their colour of choice. There was a lot of red out on the street. "Damn it!"

  I climbed down and started pushing through the crowd, which only grew denser the closer to the grandstand I got. I spotted the owner of the male voice step out from the narrow alley that was the Plimmer Steps up ahead. He glanced one way and then the other; looking right past me. I wasn't wearing red.

  "Have you got him still?" he demanded.

  "Subject is merging with the crowd," Alpha Overwatch advised. "He blends in."

  "Son of a gun! Do your job, Watch! Or should I ask the soggy banana to find him?"

  "Hey, I heard that!" I said over the same channel.

  "Have you got my back, SOG?" the guy demanded.

  "I'm on Lambton Quay, approaching the crowd now."

  "Stay back! I've got this. Just cover me."

  In this crowd? Doubtful. It was more a them-versus-us type of thing. He thought if I came any closer, I'd steal his limelight. His paranoia was probably going into overdrive just imagining it.

  "Covering," I muttered.

  I scanned the crowd, still moving forward. What the good Alpha Hot Dog didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. Red taunted me from every direction. Shirts, caps, freaking flags waving in my face and blocking my view of the grandstand.

  I switched channels, knowing Tac would still be there.

  "Do you have any other description for the unsub?" I asked.

  "Same as what Alpha gave you. Red cap. Shaved head. Tattoos on both sides of his neck. Caucasian."

  "You've just described most of the people in this crowd, Tac. We've lost him."

  "Don't say that over the Alpha channel. They'll blame us."

  "Me, you mean. You're not even meant to be helping with this."

  I would have said more — like, what was the rest of SOG up to if he was helping me out — but I felt a lurch in my stomach, a tingle in my hands then. My head swung toward the opposite side of the street to a dark set of windows three storeys up.

  Not now. Not this again.

  I clenched my fists and doggedly turned my attention back to the crowd around me.

  "Got him," the Alpha team member said. "Closing on him now."

  The tingle became a buzz and I took an involuntary step toward the wrong side of the street. I shook my hands out, jumped up and down on the balls of my feet, and tried t
o get a bead on the team lead.

  Grunting under my breath, now that the tingling had started to hurt, I spotted the Alpha Dog closing in on someone who could be the unsub. The subject hadn't noticed his approach yet. It'd take a miracle for the Alpha guy to blow this.

  I followed my gut and headed toward the building.

  "Ah, Cat? Where are you going?" Tac asked over the SOG channel thankfully.

  "Thought I saw something."

  "The subject's on the other side of the street."

  "Alpha's got him."

  "If he sees you waltzing off in the wrong direction, Cat, he's gonna chew you out. You know how those guys look down on us."

  "He doesn't need me and I saw something."

  I made it to the entrance of the building. Offices, by the look of it. I entered and came face to face with security. With Lambton Quay as crowded as it was, and the public riled up with election speeches, it wasn't a surprise to find the place guarded.

  The tingling was a constant sharp sting now; distracting. The fact that I was breathing too quickly didn't help matters either. I was sure I was hyperventilating; I tried to hold my breath.

  "Empty your pockets and place the contents in the tray," the security guard said.

  I fished out my ID and held it up. "NCB business," I said and moved past.

  The X-ray machine beeped as I walked through it, but the guard silenced the alarm. In seconds, I was in the stairwell and climbing.

  "How's Alpha going?" I asked Tac on our separate channel.

  All I got back was static.

  "Fuck!" I muttered and started running.

  Three floors were not that much, but I'd already run halfway across the CBD chasing the subject. I was out of breath and sporting a gnarly stitch in my side. Not to mention the tingling in my fingers was driving me crazy.

  I reached for my sidearm as I approached the third floor. I'd had practice holding my weapon when my body failed me. My grip was sure even through the buzzing in my hands. I slowed and peeked through the window on the door. Nothing stood out to me, just an ordinary office hallway. Not a reception area, but straight into the guts of the white-collar workers.

  Maybe that was why the subject chose this floor.

  But this subject was not meant to be our subject. Alpha should be arresting the unsub we'd chased all over town about now, I thought.

  I opened the door slowly, ensuring it didn't make a sound. I wanted to check in with Tac again, now I was out of the dead zone of the stairwell, but I didn't want to give my presence away.

  I followed my gut; it usually helped me out. The first series of offices swept past with only a superficial glance. I made my way toward the windows along the front of the building; overlooking Lambton Quay and the grandstand where the PM was giving her speech during everyone's lunch.

  Tempers were high out there. I could hear the heckling now. Post-COVID lockdown and an economic crisis that just wouldn't leave, the voting public wanted more than empty promises. They wanted a pound of flesh, and intel said someone had decided to get it. By lethal means.

  I rounded the end of the hall and took in the row of offices along the street-facing side of the building. Glass walls and doors made it easy to see the office workers were all out. The timing seemed suspicious, but I'd spotted my target now.

  The MRAD sniper rifle balanced on a chair back was a bit overkill for the distance required, but the bullet would do the same this close as it would at 1200 meters. I moved forward, gun trained on the suspect, boots rolling heel-to-toe on the tiled floor, so I didn't announce my arrival.

  A crackle came over my earpiece. A distinctive crack sounded out through the open window the sniper was using. I flicked the safety off, targeted the suspect and yelled, "Hands up! Hands up! Step away from the rifle! Step away now!"

  His finger moved to the trigger and I fired.

  His bullet never left the barrel. My bullet hit its target.

  The tingling ceased.

  I let out my breath and moved into the office, clearing the corners. Although, with glass walls, it was pretty obvious no one else was home.

  "Shot fired! Shot fired!" came over the Alpha channel.

  The surprise of hearing someone speak on what had just been a dead channel almost made me jump, but I was reaching for the sniper's neck to feel for a pulse, so held it together.

  Dead. I swiped the rifle up and moved it back across the room to what looked like a conference table.

  "Sniper deceased," I announced over the Alpha channel.

  "What sniper?" Alpha Overwatch demanded.

  "Third floor. Quest building," I said.

  "Where the fuck are you, SOG?" the Alpha Dog screamed. "All hell's broken loose out here! Subject fired into the crowd. The deputy PM's been shot in the leg. Where's my fucking backup, SOG?!"

  I closed my eyes and let out a frustrated breath of air.

  "Third floor. Quest building," I repeated. "Sniper deceased."

  "There was a sniper?" The Alpha guy didn't sound so sure of himself anymore.

  "Red cap. Shaved head. Tattoos on both sides of his neck. Caucasian," I said as I noted more details on the deceased subject. "An MRAD sniper rifle has been safed."

  "Fuck!"

  The line went dead and when I checked my watch, I'd been disconnected from the Alpha channel.

  "You still there, Tac?" I said, checking the hallway was clear of returning workers.

  "Where else would I be?"

  I snorted. "Send it in, would you? I'll guard the body."

  "Done." A pause and then, "How did you know, Cat? How the fuck did you know he was there?"

  I stared at the tinted glass in the window, at the lights overhead that were all switched off. Outside, the sun shone down from a cloudless sky. I could feel the city heat wafting up off the concrete all the way up here.

  There was no way I should have been able to see anything inside this office from down on the street.

  I holstered my gun, and leaned my butt against the conference table, shaking my hands out even though they were no longer tingling.

  "I saw something," I told Tac. "Thought I'd better check it out."

  "Well, thank fuck you did." And then, "Score one for the Special Operations Group."

  "Elite by Nature. Best by Choice," I muttered.

  "Oorah!" Tac said and I laughed.

  Cat

  "Do you have any idea how close my agent came to being killed?" the irate voice on my cell phone said.

  Three centimetres, I thought. Had the bullet the original unsub fired hit the agent as intended, the deputy PM wouldn't have needed stitches. Chief Intelligence Officer Cox got off lightly, in my opinion.

  I said none of that.

  "Yes, sir," I murmured in reply.

  "It's bad enough that you hare-off on some ill-thought-out scheme, but you fail to call it in during a live operation as well?"

  He waited for me to respond, but I stayed quiet. Rule One: Speak only when absolutely necessary.

  He made a scoffing sound. "I suppose you expect Deputy Director Markham to smooth things over for you, Chief Operative Aguirre. Well, that's not going to happen. I've placed an amendment on your personnel file. Special Operations Group might consider themselves untouchable but don't think your fuck-ups won't catch up with you in the end." He paused for effect. Then added, "And when they do, you'll be out. You'll never be welcomed back here."

  Back here. Back at Bowen House.

  The line went dead. I held the phone to my ear for a few moments longer, thinking things through, staring at nothing. I'd known for a long time there was no going back. The knowledge did not make it easier to accept.

  Finally, I lowered the cell phone and took in the crappy office I was in. Goldie's Brae certainly wasn't comparable to Bowen House where the A-Team resided. The ceilings sagged, the doors stuck in their frames if there was even a hint of humidity in the air, and the walls were painted a puke green. Threadbare carpet covered the squeaky wooden floorboards, and no one had bothered to wash the copious number of windows in at least a century.

  But that wasn't the worst of it. Goldie's Brae was affectionately — or not, depending on the speaker's perspective — called the Banana House. One, because it was shaped in a crescent, rather like a banana. And two, because the inhabitants — that would be the Special Operations Group — were often thought of as monkeys. The Victorian glasshouse-reminiscent residence had been home to the offsite National Central Bureau (SOG Division) for fifty years.