Embraced by Darkness (28 page)

I hoped to God I hadn’t killed him, but I had a bad feeling that might not be the case. I’d been reacting to Wilson, and had totally forgotten the body was human.

The thing inside the stranger screamed—a haunting, unearthly, and violent sound—then wisps of smoke began to unravel from the stranger, rolling down the outside of his body before exiting via his shiny shoes.

The snakelike apparition sat there for several seconds, pulsating in time to the ebb and flow of sharpening energy in the air. Then it lunged straight at me.

I yelped and leapt back, and almost without thought, pressed the laser’s trigger. The blue beams shot through the smoky form, scattering it briefly but not permanently.

Then, with almost light speed it was on me, wrapping itself around my legs and slithering upward, the cold chill of death, destruction, and hate eating into my senses. I swatted at it, trying to get it off me, my heart racing nine to the dozen as Wilson’s wispy form climbed higher and the thick scent of hell seemed to encase me. Then the bag on my chest began to burn, and the sweet scent of fennel and flowers flooded the air.

Wilson screamed again, and the wisps of him were torn from my clothing. Relief flooded me, though I knew the danger was far from over.

But one thing was certain. I was never, ever going to mock anything a magi handed to me for protection again. The weird-looking bag had not only saved me, but probably them, too. Under Wilson’s control, I would have been a very deadly weapon.

The bits of his soul were condensing, solidifying again. Once whole, he began to slither away. But his progress was sideways more than forward, because part of him was being dragged ever closer to the gravesite and the open casket.

“He’s about six feet away,” I told the third magi, “but he seems to be heading for the trees more than the grave.”

“He’s a strong one,” she said, seemingly unconcerned.

I glanced across at Marg and the other magi. Sweat dotted their faces now, and the veins along their necks were beginning to stand out against their pale skin. Marg in particular looked ready for a seizure.

But the sense of command and energy was stronger, the sparks of it crawling across my skin and making my hair float out from my scalp.

Slowly but surely, Wilson was being drawn closer to his grave.

He still wasn’t going easily, twisting and rolling and snapping against the leash of magic.

Then another power joined the energy in the night, one that contained the chill of death.

Wilson, not the magi.

Trees moaned and splintered, then there was a huge cracking sound. A massive tree branch broke free and went hurtling through the night. Not at me, but at the magi.

I cursed and raised the laser, quickly incinerating as much of it as I could. Ash, splinters, and leaf rained around the three women. There was another crack, then another, and suddenly the air was filled with flying debris. I kept the trigger depressed, the laser growing hotter in my hand. Branches, leaves, and gravestones filled the air—deadly missiles that crashed toward the women. I was never going to get all of them and I didn’t even try, merely slicing through the biggest of them, the ones that could do the most damage.

Through it all, and no matter how many times they were hit, Marg and the other magi continued their chanting. The power they were raising grew so sharp it felt like thousands of ants were clawing and nipping at my skin and the air was so thick it burned my lungs.

Then there was another high-pitched scream, and the wisp that was Wilson’s soul shot toward the open grave. The wood and rubbish in the air fell to the ground, and the night was suddenly quiet except for the thick and edgy sense of power.

The third magi quickly lit the remaining incense, then completed the salt circle.

“He can’t leave now,” she said, with a glance at me. Her eyes were cat-bright in the night, and filled with a sense of power.

“He can still attack us, though.”

“Trust me, he’ll soon have something else to worry about.”

She walked past the two women and reached into the small carryall that was sitting several yards behind them. What she drew back out looked an awful lot like a nail gun.

“What’s that?”

“A nail gun.”

Which explained why it looked like one, I suppose. “What do you intend to do with it?”

“Shoot specially made iron nails into his chest and his skull.”

“What?”

She glanced at me. “The iron nails will pin his spirit to his remains and prevent him from leaving.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “Iron has been used throughout history as a preventative or warding measure against demons and ghosts.”

“But…how? Why would something like iron—a real material from this world—affect a spirit, who is very definitely
not
of this world?”

“No one is really sure. There are some theories that the slow fire of the oxidation process has something to do with it, but no one has ever truly tested it. We just know it works.”

She sighted the nail gun and let off two quick shots. Almost immediately a scream ripped through the air, a sound filled with anguish and fury combined. A sound that went on and on, sawing at my nerves and making my ears ache.

I had no sympathy for the spirit that was Wilson, however. He deserved the pain he was in. Deserved the eternity of it he was now locked into.

The magi with the cat’s eyes looked at me. “You’d better call an ambulance for that poor fellow in the car, then you can go.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really? You sure?”

She nodded. “He’s pinned now. We’ll just finish the binding, then add some extra protection around his coffin before we get it backfilled.”

“What happens if he gets handy with his psychokinetic skills again?”

“He won’t. We have him totally contained with the salt, the incense, and the magic. This is one bad soul whose nights of destruction are over.”

Thank God for that. I walked over to the man from the car, checking that he was breathing, and that he wasn’t likely to choke in his own blood. Then I called in the medics as ordered. At least I hadn’t killed him outright. For that, I was grateful.

With that done, I got the hell out of there. Wilson was no longer my problem, but that didn’t mean I’d finished dealing with the dead.

After all, I still had Adrienne to find.

Chapter 10

O
nce beyond the cemetery gates, the tension that had been so much a part of the last few hours slithered from my body, and I was suddenly able to breathe easier. It wasn’t just Wilson—and the knowledge of what he could have done—that had wound me up so tight. It was the awareness of all those other souls. The feeling that I only needed to open myself up a little and all their hopes, their dreams, and their anguish would be mine. That the sum of their beings could easily overrun me, until I was nothing more than a conduit for their pain.

I shivered. I mightn’t be able to entirely avoid dead people given my job, but cemeteries were definitely off my list of places to visit in the future.

I slipped back into the flow of traffic and glanced at the dashboard clock as my stomach rumbled a reminder that it actually hadn’t been supplied with sustenance in a while. It was nearly one, so most of the fast-food joints would be closed by now, but the restaurants near the Blue Moon would still be open. In fact, most of them ran twenty-four hours a day, just to make the most of the constant flow of patrons coming to and from both the Blue Moon and the Rocker. And the close proximity of the clubs meant I’d be able to ease a deeper ache after filling my belly.

Except that I’d made a promise.

With a sigh that was only slightly filled with frustration, I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Kellen’s number.

“Hey,” I said when he answered. “You feel like something to eat?”

“Riley, it’s nearly one in the morning.”

“So?” I glanced in the mirror to check there wasn’t a cop car behind me. It wasn’t exactly legal to be talking on a cell while driving—not without using hands-free, anyway—and while as a guardian I could probably get out of the fine, it would create a whole lot of paperwork. And that would only make me
and
Jack grumpy.

“So some of us do actually eat at regular hours.” Amusement lurked in Kellen’s rich tones. “Hell, some of us even keep regular sleeping hours.”

Which explained the sexy, just-woken-up tone I was hearing under the amusement. “So you’re not interested in coming out for a snack?”

“That depends on what else is on the menu.”

“Now, there’s a typical male response,” I said dryly. “Won’t come out for food, but will make the effort if there’s sex involved.”

“Absolutely right,” he said. “When and where?”

“I’ll be at Eddie’s in ten minutes,” I said. “I’m feeling like a burger, and he makes the best.”

“Order me a coffee,” he said. “And add lots of sugar. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to need the energy.”

“You surely will.”

He chuckled softly and hung up. After a glance at the road to see what the traffic was doing, I pressed another button and dialed the Directorate. Naturally, Sal answered.

“What an unmitigated pleasure to speak to you again so soon,” she cooed.

Right. “So Jack’s in the room, huh? Why don’t you just shag the man?”

“Because I, unlike some, have a little class, and I prefer to build up to a relationship rather than take the wham-bam approach.”

She might be a few hundred years old, but it seems her human prejudices had survived the crossover well. “If class means remaining a frustrated old cow, then give me crassness any day.”

“Oh, you can be sure you have that market covered.” Her tone was still so very pleasant, even if her words held the familiar hint of snark. It had to be killing her.

“And with the sort of charm you’re currently oozing, it’s a wonder Jack isn’t just falling at your feet in lust.”

“Oh, he surely will.”

“You want to bet on that?”

“No.” She paused, then added, “And we can cut the crap now—what do you want, bitch?”

Her voice was back to its unpleasant best. Jack had obviously left.

“Did the forensic team checking the rooftop come back with anything?”

“The bullet casings indicated a high-powered rifle. There were no prints on either the casings or at the site. They suspect a professional hit.”

“Which doesn’t make any sense, because I haven’t pissed anyone off lately.”

“As I said before, I find that very hard to believe.”

I ignored the jibe, but mainly because I couldn’t think of a good retort. “Did you manage to do the background check on Mirror Image?”

“Yes. There’s nothing untoward. It was legitimately set up, and has been running without problems for six months. There have been no complaints at all.”

Which in itself was more than a little unusual. Hell, most clubs got complaints, whether they deserved them or not. “No rumors or reports that suggest something less than savory happening there?”

“Nothing at all. Why?”

“Because I suspect there’s a blackmail scam being run out of the club. Who’s the registered owner?”

“Owners,” she corrected. “Jorn and Yohan Duerr. They’re twin brothers who apparently settled here from England two years ago.”

They are what the club is
, Dia had said. Meaning they were not only twins, but also mirror images of each other.

“Were they English born?”

“No. German. They went to England when they were twenty.”

“Any chance of doing a history check in both countries?”

“If there were any convictions, they wouldn’t have been allowed into the country.”

“Yeah, but a lack of convictions doesn’t mean they weren’t involved in anything nefarious.”

“Is there any particular reason we’re digging this deep?”

“I’ve just got a feeling about them.”

“You and your damn feelings cause us more work than anyone else.” She sniffed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.” I hit the brake as the light ahead changed to red. “What about bank accounts—any unusual activity in any of those?”

“I didn’t go that deep.”

“Could you?”

“Possibly.”

“Can you send the info as soon as you get it?”

“I’ll try.”

“You’re such a sweetheart.”

“Swivel on it, wolf girl.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

She made a growling noise and hung up. I grinned and tossed the phone on the seat beside me. The light flashed back to green and I zoomed off.

I parked in a side street not far down from Eddie’s, and walked back. Despite the late hour, Lygon Street was alive with people, music, and the delicious, multilayered scents of cooking and food. I breathed deep, allowing the scents to roll through me, savoring every tasty moment even as my stomach grumbled to hurry up.