Cheat the Grave by Vicki Pettersson

half-consciousness. But only after locating a place of relative safety, where demons wearing bowler hats can’t plow soul-stealing blades through your innards.
    For me, that place turned out to be a bright conference room streaming with morning sun, espresso fumes, and the disapproval of twelve board members constituting the whole of Archer Enterprises.
    â€œMs. Archer?”
    Too late I realized my head had lolled on my neck again. Snapping upright, I checked for drool. Seriously, these blue bloods were so boring they could send Mackie back into his coma. Still, it was my first board meeting of Archer Enterprises, where I’d just replaced Xavier Archer as chairman of the board. It occurred to me that maybe I should make an effort. I yanked off my oversized shades and shielded a ginormous yawn.
    â€œSorry. You lost me at the bit about that vesting thing.” They’d drawn the subject out so long I think oceanic plates had shifted.
    The man to my left, six feet away but still seated closest at the long, glossed table, studied me drolly. “Late night?”
    â€œIt was a killer,” I replied huskily, and reached for the water.
    The man beyond him—indistinguishable but for the three feet separating them—placed his pen down and folded his hands in front of him. “Yes, word is your traveling disco got hijacked. It must have been terribly traumatic for you.”
    I let my water glass dangle dangerously from two fingers just to see him squirm, and discarded the idea of detailing what “trauma” really meant to me. “It was more of a rave than a disco,” I said, angling my glass in a halfhearted toast.
    He stared at me with undisguised disdain, and though I hated to do so, I blinked first. Olivia Archer didn’t “do” stare-downs, though I quickly followed up with another gaping yawn. At least that didn’t have to be faked.
    â€œPerhaps we can get back to the business at hand?” One of the eleven identical twins intoned. It was John, Xavier’s attorney, whom I’d apparently inherited as well. “The compensation plan again, then?”
    I replaced my water glass with a pen and waved down the table with my free hand. “That would rock.”
    He began his monotonous intonation again…and I began to doodle. Catching the words “strip” and “straddle,” I perked up a bit, then realized he was talking about how they intended to keep the money I paid them this year. Oh well, I thought, broadening my pen stroke along my pad. Someone would go over all this with me later, I was sure. Ad nauseam.
    As John droned, a shape formed beneath my pen. I jolted upon recognizing it, marring the precise whorls, but was back at it before it could escape me. I began sharpening the outline more consciously, scrollwork leading up to a pairof wings. It wasn’t just familiar, it was somehow mundane . I pulled back my pen, frowning. It was also the symbol I’d spotted on the giant chest from in the previous night’s treasure hunt. Cher’s report that Arun’s servants were the ones to arrange the hunt and plant the clues initially surprised me, but it was now clear that someone with unnatural powers had infiltrated Arun’s little cadre. Maybe, I thought, pen stilling, Arun Brahma himself. Could he be an agent? A rogue newly arrived in the valley, and using Suzanne and Cher to get to me?
    Or, if the weapons were left for me, could he actually be some sort of ally? My pulse leapt at the thought, not because it was particularly likely, but because the idea of an ally in a world rife with enemies was shiny enough to draw even a magpie’s attention.
    It was worth looking into either way, if only because of Suzanne and Cher. I might not be a superhero anymore, but I’d die before I allowed another attack on someone I cared for, like the one that’d taken Olivia’s life.
    Making a mental note to research Arun Brahma