SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (104 page)

He stared at the mark. “The only thing that overrode Michelle’s fear was her love for Matt as she watched him wake up, groggy from being hit on the back of the head by the killer. Matt was going to save her, but then the phantom stepped in, challenging him. Matt never had a chance. Neither did she, even if the killer spoke sweet words to her, acting as if he adored her.”

“Perhaps he adored her too much?”

“Are you saying that if he couldn’t have her, no one else would? I think you’re right, Lilly.” Then he scowled.

“What else?” I asked.

“The phantom. I suspected he was strong before, but I could see just how strong through the vision. I’ve never heard of a ghost who manhandled humans in the way he was doing.”

Demon
, I thought. But it felt as if saying this out loud might make it true, so I remained tightlipped.

Philippe braced himself, reaching out to touch the trunk were Matt had most likely died. A question flashed through my head—what did witnessing these visions do to Philippe after he experienced all the horror and fear firsthand?

As he kept contact with the tree, trying for a touch reading for Matt, he leaned back his head again, his face a mask of pain. The temptation to pull him away and end this clear agony was strong, but what good would “saving” him do when he would no doubt insist on carrying through with this harrowing exercise?

Debating with myself, I barely heard a sound behind me—a whoosh of air?—and I spun round, bent at the knees, ready for anything.

A man stood not three feet away, a slant of shadow covering his face, leaving the rest of him lit by the streetlamps and moon.

White trousers, high boots, a frayed long blue jacket over a vest, a red cravat…

With a swipe of air, he disappeared.

My nerves tangled, but my instincts forced me to level my breathing, and I relaxed, my heart beating in normal time again.

Bump, bump, bump…

I heard that whishing sound from the direction of the tree and, cautiously, oh so cautiously, I looked over my shoulder.

The shadowed phantom was standing next to Philippe, who was still in the throes of his vision, completely oblivious.

My adrenaline screeched because the phantom was
right there
. Was he threatening my partner, just by standing next to him?

Don’t do anything to spook that monster
, I thought.
Play along
.

I pretended to relax again, coming out of my fight-ready posture. Even so, I wanted to hurt him for what he had done to Matt and Michelle.

“Hello,” I said, raising my voice from a whisper. How else should someone greet a killer?

He executed a slight bow. “Good evenin’, mademoiselle.”

A French-tinged accent. A Creole gentleman? Or was this a demon that knew how to muck about with the mind of a human?

One certainty was that this was no Meratoliage—not as far as I knew. Weirdly, the realization was a relief.

He took a good, long gander at Philippe, who was still out of commission, then at me again. Shadows still hid his expression.

“Is he wooing you?” he asked.

Rather to the point, wasn’t he? But before I answered, I thought of Matt and Michelle and how this phantom seemed to operate, based on Philippe’s visions. If this were a nineteenth-century ball, he might be asking if Philippe was my dance partner.

“He’s only a chum,” I said. Then I corrected myself in case this thing had no idea what I was saying. “A friend.”

A man of no commitment.

“Ah, a friend.” The phantom cocked his head, then peered at me again. “Did he not kiss you in the lot after you climbed off the contraption you traveled here on?”

Shite
. Had this phantom been watching over his killing grounds? Had he been spying on us from the get-go?

“He did,” I said. “But he was only jesting with me, having some fun.”

“I see. I wasn’t close enough to hear how this curious jest came about.”

Although the phantom seemed skeptical, he apparently liked hearing that I was available for a good time. He jauntily circled round the back of Philippe, who was still frozen and had been in this particular vision a while, if you asked me.

I held my breath as the thing came closer to me.

As I made myself exhale, then inhale normally, his scent struck me—musty, like many of the rooms in this city.

He stood in front of me once again, and I didn’t run, my hand itching to plunge into my bag and draw out the first weapon I touched.

“You certainly are a thing of beauty,” he said in a silky tone.

Even if I had told him Philippe was merely my friend, I could see where this might end up—in a terribly bad spot—and I feared for Philippe, who was so vulnerable while lingering in that vision…

But the Lilly on the computer had told me to trust myself, so I did.

Smiling at the phantom, I pretended to be flattered by his comment, and I turned round, walking slowly away, as if we were in a plantation garden and he was here to woo me. I wanted to get him away from Philippe before I took any action. Meanwhile, I crept my hand into my bag, feeling for the iron dagger.

I heard a whoosh of air, and before I could think, the phantom materialized in front of me, bowing.

I halted in mid-track, my fingers round the hilt of the dagger.

“My love, what is your name? I must know.”

Dear Lord, he truly was courting me, and a shiver of repulsion overtook me.

“My name is Dawn,” I lied, grasping at the first name that floated through my brain. I wasn’t certain of the reason I had chosen that one, but did it matter? “And you? What’s your name?”

I grasped the dagger, almost ready.

“Etienne.” Then he added a surname I didn’t understand.

That didn’t matter, either, because I had the dagger firmly in hand now. Just let him try to set up another duel with the likes of Philippe and me.

My smile remained in place as he rose from his bow, an angle of light slanting over the lower half of his face. He was smiling, and some of the illumination cut over his eyes, revealing that they were a solid blue color—not the eyes of a spirit at all.

And that gaze had come to focus behind me, on Philippe.

His smile turned deadly, as if this creature had never believed my lie about that kiss in the car park.

I whipped the dagger out of the bag, aiming to slice it across the creature’s throat. We’d see if phantoms bled.

Surprise took over his gaze as he anticipated me, leaning back. Yet he wasn’t fast enough, because my blade caught him on the cheek, drawing blood. So much for an illusion.

“You…” he said, stumbling back, his voice choked as he touched the cut. Then anger took him over. “How could you?”

I’ll show you how easily I can again
, I thought as I lunged at him, bringing the blade down in an arc toward his chest. No judge, no jury. This was for Matt and Michelle.

But just before my blade found its target, his body popped out of existence, leaving a whoosh of air that sent me off balance. Still, my muscle memory was on full throttle, and I recovered quickly, my dagger poised as I circled round, watching for him.

So iron hadn’t any effect on what was definitely a supernatural creature, even if he wasn’t a spirit. If I didn’t know what he was, though, how would I neutralize him?

I only prayed that he wasn’t a demon of some sort as I kept circling, fumbling with my other hand in the bag, trying to grasp the flamethrower. I was also preparing myself to go to Philippe and pull him out of that vision before getting us both out of this park—

Etienne materialized in front of me.

He reached for my neck, as if to grab it and snap it as simply as he’d broken Michelle’s, but I pulled a defensive move out of my arsenal, raising both my arms between his own, flaring outward so I smacked his arms away. Then I spun round, kicking, catching him in the jaw.

He popped out of sight, whooshing in back of me, and I wheeled round again, ready to kick him, then pin him to the ground and put a dagger in his eye to see what
that
would do…

A shot rang through the night before I even completed the kick, and Etienne sprung away from me, falling to the ground. In the near distance, I saw Philippe stalking toward us, his revolver in the air before he aimed straight at the killer.

This time, there was no warning shot—Philippe squeezed off a round at him.

The creature disappeared just before the bullet hit the dirt, grass flying.

I ran to my partner, taking up his back, and we circled round, searching for the creature. But there were only trees, streetlights, the moon over the museum…

“You okay?” Philippe asked.

“Yes. You?”

“You could say that.”

Before I could ask what he meant, voices sounded from near the museum.

“Let’s go,” he said.

And it didn’t take any more persuasion than that.

* * *

We blasted on his bike toward the French Quarter, which would be thick with police. So far, it seemed as if Etienne operated in isolated areas where he could pick off his victims in private, and we were hoping crowds would help.

But we kept our weapons at hand nonetheless.

As Philippe found a parking spot on St. Louis, I hopped off the bike and called Amari on my mobile. Voice mail. But even so, I left a message telling her about what we might be up against—a possible demon.

Then Philippe led me toward a quiet, one-room café across from Antoine’s. The reason he had chosen this inviting place, with its soothing light-blue walls, chandelier, and French impressionist paintings, became apparent when the waitstaff greeted him warmly, directing us to a cozy table near the mahogany bar.

“My cousin manages this place,” he said by way of explanation.

I didn’t quiz him further as he pulled his mobile from his pocket and we sat.

It was nearly ten-thirty, and a couple across the room was finishing up a chocolate crepe dessert that made my mouth water. I supposed going up against evil didn’t curb my appetite. Philippe noticed my greedy gaze, and he called out to the bartender for an order. Meanwhile, I tried not to notice that the only other customers in the room had caught a good look at my boots, and they couldn’t pull their gazes away.

Well, my shoes
were
quite posh, so I crossed my legs, making the most of them, lording it over the gapers.

Philippe accessed his mobile screen and spoke under the romantic accordion music that came from the sound system. “We almost had him, Lilly. He literally dodged my silver bullets.”

“And I left a mark on him,” I said. “Iron doesn’t seem to have a very negative effect on whatever he is.”

“Good to know he can be cut, though.” Philippe tapped on the mobile screen.

Then, after he looked up at me, we said the same thing at the same time.

“He’s not a phantom.”

We kept staring at each other, both of us surprised by the simpatico. But that didn’t last for long.

As the seconds clicked by, his gaze changed from an intense gray to a softer one, and I thought I saw the memory of our kiss in his eyes, a burning, a wanting.

Knots of desire tied themselves tight within me, and I looked away first. He wouldn’t be gazing at me in this way if I had my boots off. After all, hadn’t he seemed a bit cooler when I’d asked him earlier what I looked like without them? Perhaps my true face was the reason Philippe only flirted with me now—because, underneath, he knew what he would find, just as Amari was the only one who knew what was under the covers of all those mirrors in our cabin.

Tonight, he had kissed the princess, not the burnt, pitted frog.

I pulled us out of this awkward mire. “So what did you see in Matt’s vision?”

Was he a bit unsettled by my abrupt shift? From the way he set to brooding in his seat, I wondered.

“There was nothing really enlightening that I saw, just the same kind of agony I found in Michelle.” Philippe went quiet. He sat motionless before thumb-typing on the screen again and saying, “I did sense that Matt would have given his life for her even before having to watch her die, though. Believe me, that tragic realization was a bonus.”

I didn’t have to say that Matt
had
died for Michelle, and we both sat in heavy silence until our waiter brought water. After some small talk with him about Philippe’s cousin, my partner ordered iced tea, and I did the same.

“No Sazerac tonight?” the waiter asked Philippe.

“Not tonight.”

Then the man left us alone, and I watched Philippe. It was clear that Matt’s vision had left another emotional scar—I could feel the empathy rolling off Philippe, feel the horror he had connected to at that oak tree.

He put down his mobile. “To think, I used to be so happy-go-lucky before you busted into the voodoo shop that night nearly two months ago. I was new at the tourist readings, but I was gettin’ the hang of them. I never expected
this
.”

It didn’t sound as if he was blaming me for having to endure the pain of Matt and Michelle—not entirely—but I wouldn’t have thought less of him if he had. I had been the one who had pulled Philippe into my troubles, and it had led him on a path he had apparently never expected.

“I’m sorry for that, Philippe.”

He blew out a breath, then leaned back in his chair. “I don’t mean to be angry. It’s just that I’m only able to see things before or after they happen, and there’s never anything I can do to stop the tragedies. It’s been that way for a long time, though, ever since I developed powers as a boy. Things have just intensified since you appeared.”

Had he seen his mum’s cancer before it had consumed her? Was that what he meant by saying that his life had been painful for a while?

I sank in my chair, wanting to ask him, but not daring. Again, I had the feeling Philippe Angier had never been entirely happy-go-lucky—he had only been brilliant at hiding beneath the appearance of it.

He picked up the mobile again, shutting me out, and it was only after the waiter brought our iced teas that he spoke again. “Question for you,
cher
.”

So it was back to
cher
now. “Yes?”