If they had one of those anonymous rehabilitation programs for folks like me, my introduction would be, “Hi, I’m Shira, and I kill people.” Except rehab suggests killing people bothers me. It doesn’t. Neither am I particularly committed to anything other than not being caught. That sounded a shred on the hard-hearted side. I’m not. I’m a lot like you. I get up every morning, clean myself up, and check my phone to see what I have cooking. Everyone has a job. Mine happens to be ridding the world of people who shouldn’t be here. Not that I’m making those decisions. People hire me, and I trust they’ve done their homework. I’ve always been…different, never had a close circle of friends or even associates. Once I discovered I could do unusual things, I kept to myself. Those rare skills make me a perfect choice because I kill from a distance and leave no evidence. What I do is lucrative. I’m pretty much set even for my rather long lifetime. In theory, I could quit anytime. I say that after every job. That I should walk away, except I don’t. Tell you what. Don’t judge me, and I might spare you if your number comes up on my dance card. Deal?

The only constant in my long life is murder. Assassin for hire, to put a finer point on it. I’m an earth wizard. Usually, we’re on the peaceful side. Not sure what happened to me, but I never fit in with my kinsmen. They’d have chased me out of the fold—for obvious reasons—but I saved them the trouble. I left on my own. The same way I left the Circle of Assassins because it was too tame for my taste. Or maybe too structured. Along with my bondmate, an oversized eagle, I’ve been playing fast and loose with the rules forever. Of course, the rules have changed, but I’ve rolled with the punches. Never found a policy I couldn’t manipulate to my advantage. There’s an old saying about life coming full circle. It’s about to snatch me up and spit me out. I can run, but there’s nowhere far enough to hide from what I am or the Circle of Assassins. My first home. My first nemesis. Grigori said I’d be back. How in the hell could he have known?

I’m one of the old ones. I’ve lived many lives, done many things. I’ve been called sorceress, witch, and far worse. Mortals have hung me, burned me, staked me out and left me to die. What a pack of fools. I’m immortal, and their petty attempts were laughable. So were they when I stopped their puny, pathetic hearts. The thrill of ending someone never gets old, no matter how unbalanced the contest. When I want a break from everything, Dorcha—my bondmate—and I bide with the Circle of Assassins. I never mean to stay long, but the years have a way of slipping by. While I find peace within the Circle, Dorcha becomes restive. She never used to mind being the only unicorn, but she’s grown silent, withdrawn. The place within me where I feel her energy is often empty. We need a nice juicy assignment to get things back on track, a mission worthy of our skill. Excited by the prospect of free-flowing blood and the crusty stench of battle, I searched for her, but she was gone. Worse than gone, my link with her was buried beneath layers of unicorn enchantment. Could I find her? Sure, but she didn’t wish to be found.

Power is intoxicating. Anyone who says you can overdo it is either incompetent or a very good liar. I’ve chased down every scrap of additional magic that crossed my path, drained it, and started the hunt anew. My obsession hasn’t made me much of a companion. I wouldn’t have blamed my bondmate for leaving, but the snow leopard has stuck by my side. It pains me to admit he’s my sole connection to my better nature. He tempers my penchant for blowing holes in the world and asking questions later. Not that he has a soft side. He doesn’t, but we’ve taken care of each other for all the years in my memory. Information just fell into my lap. Critical material I should have picked up on if I’d been paying attention. My next stop is Grigori, the werewolf who heads up a gang of paranormal assassins. Once I was part his Circle, but I left to sharpen my seer skills. No matter how adept I became, scrying the future—or the past—didn’t augment my power, so I moved on. Flitting from this to that to the other has been the story of my obscenely long life. No more. It’s back to the Circle for the leopard and me. We’ll remain as long as we’re needed.