Imprisoned Gods - G. Bailey Page 0,1

curse word list is pretty impressively mixed between British and Irish words.

“Coming from the actual Barbie doll with big boobs,” I reply, because she damn well looks like one of those little feckers she used to steal from me as a kid. “Though you look great, and you will be fine today.”

“What are your plans for today?” she asks, and I glance down at my hand, seeing the name John Markson in black ink tattooed on the back. I flip my hand over, seeing the black Celtic circle knot in my palm, which when touched will take me to wherever John Markson is so I can deliver his karma. When the ink is black, it’s my favourite kind of karma to deliver. The bad kind. Usually I ignore the ones that are gold, because I’m not the type to give good things to people all the time. My brothers and parents are much better at those jobs.

“I have a date with a John Markson,” I say as honestly as I can. It won’t be a date, more of a bad surprise depending on what I can sense he hates the most. It will be funny either way.

“Sounds like fun,” she says, winking at me before grabbing her bag and leaving her apartment. I turn my hand over and press the mark, disappearing into a puff of green dust.


When I reappear, shaking the green dust off my clothes, I look around at the street that I’m in. Each house is a good distance apart and filled with massive mansions protected by big metal gates stopping anyone from getting in. I’m taking a wild guess the house right in front of me is my guy, judging by the fact it is the biggest on the row. Usually, rich guys need a good dose of bad karma because they are born dickheads. That isn’t always the case, but years of this job have taught me those born with a silver spoon in their mouths tend to think they can do what they want with no consequences.

I walk across the street, pull the mailbox in the brick wall open, and look for a name on the letters inside. John Markson. Perfect. I shove the letters back in before going to the gate and pulling my necklace out of my top. I flip past the lucky charms until I find the magic key charm and press the key against the metal gate. It glows purple for a second before the gate swings open. This is going to be easy. I love my lucky charm necklace; there is not much that my charms can’t do. Each charm was a birthday gift from my parents over the years. The important ones are on my necklace, and the less important ones are on an ankle bracelet of mine. All twenty of them have been useful somehow over the years, or they have got me into trouble somehow. Either way, my necklace keeps things fun.

I walk up the expansive driveway, admiring the flower beds that my mum would adore. I pass some very nice cars that I have no idea what they are, but man, would one of my brothers love them. I jog up the rest of the driveway, which is straight uphill, and I'm out of breath by the time I get to the top of it. Maybe I should go to some of those cardio classes with Mads. I straighten up once I get my breath back and look at the posh manor house. There is loud music coming from inside, and two motorbikes are parked outside the house in pride position. Clearly this guy loves his bikes, maybe his fear is they get stolen or something. I could make them disappear for sure.

I walk up to the front door and turn the handle to find that it is open. That’s some good luck right there. I try not to whistle as I sneak into the white tiled entrance hall and see the white walls with a surfboard hanging on the wall by the stairs. The place is posh, like the kind of house a celebrity would live in. Everything from the vase of vivid flowers in the middle of the entrance hall to the art deco painting of a beach on the one wall makes me think this guy has a lot of money.

I follow the noise of the music and pause outside a closed door, knowing I don’t need to make him aware I’m