Pact Breaker: Uncollected Anthology, #23

By Stefon Mears

An elaborate private party, for the rich and beautiful. Names known throughout Portland, Oregon and beyond.

 

Every one of them owes their wealth to a demonic pact. Their fortunes built on the suffering of innocents.

 

Tonight, one man invades their midst. One man, who would topple all they have.

 

If he can…

 

"Pact Breaker" - an exciting short story of urban fantasy, featuring magic, demons and a hero with lots of attitude. From the twisted mind of Stefon Mears, author of the Spells for Hire series and the Rise of Magic series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thousand Faces Publishing
• Release date: Nov 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393504221

Book preview

Pact Breaker

Pact Breaker

Uncollected Anthology #23 Supernatural Soirees

Stefon Mears

Thousand Faces Publishing

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Uncollected Anthology

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About the Author

Also by Stefon Mears

Shelf full of good alcohol, and not a drop of it for me. And dealing with this crap, I could use a drink.

Big stupid party, full of big stupid people.

Well, not that big. I suppose. Thank God.

The ballroom isn’t any bigger than the two-car garage it started life as. Before the whole house was remodeled from a three-bedroom into a McMansion. Oh, the owner would be scandalized if any guests figured out that this wasn’t always a ballroom, but nobody who knows what they’re doing puts a ballroom at the front of the house, beside the entryway.

There’s no flow to that. A ballroom should be toward the back, preferably letting onto an elegant patio and backyard.

Anyway, the owner of this joint actually tiled the ballroom like a bathroom. Sure, it’s white marble instead of ceramics or something, but it’s still a white tile floor. Honestly. Textured, burgundy wallpaper as though to make up for the floor, and a ridiculous crystal chandelier that probably costs more to clean than this whole house used to.

I’m in my itchy, white-jacketed monkey suit, talisman hidden under my shirt and pockets full of help, just in case. I’m tucked away behind the mahogany wet bar where, legally, I am now old enough to both drink and serve alcohol. And to keep up appearances, I have to smile at these idiots while they ask me to add soda to single malt scotches older than my dad, when requests like that really make me want to slap the stupid off their faces.

I’d