Soul Survivor (11 page)

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Authors: Katana Collins

BOOK: Soul Survivor
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“We . . . I—well . . . ,” Mrs. Morganson stuttered.
“Were you hiking yesterday morning?” Adrienne asked, stone-faced.
“I was.” Mr. Morganson said. “I took Baxter alone yesterday because Heather wasn't feeling well.”
“Uh-huh. And what time was that?” Adrienne had her iPad back out and was taking notes again.
“I left the house at . . . I don't know, what time was it, honey?”
“A little before six, I think,” she answered for him.
My gaze slid to Adrienne, whose face still revealed nothing. “And what time did you get home?”
“I stopped to pick up some tea and oatmeal for Heather and some coffee for me on the way. I think I was home by seven-thirty or eight.”
A pause. “Which was it, Mr. Morganson? Seven-thirty or eight?”
He swallowed. “Closer to eight, I'd say.”
“And you didn't see anyone else on the trail? Did you see the victim yesterday morning? Or the tall, pale man from today?”
“There were a couple of people jogging.” His eyes traveled in the direction where Sonja's body hung. Even though she was covered with protective screens, his eyes glazed over. A trembling hand covered his mouth and swiped under his nose. “I honestly don't know. I come up here to escape people and tend to keep my head down.”
“And this morning? Where were you at four a.m.?”
The couple both looked as though they might crack any second. Mrs. Morganson's tears had long been spilling down her cheeks and Mr. Morganson was close behind her. “
This
morning? We left the house together around seven. . . .”
“Did I ask you about seven a.m.?” Adrienne clipped. “Where were you at four a.m.?”
“We were asleep. In bed.” Mr. Morganson answered.
“Thank you.” Adrienne's smile slithered up her face in a snakelike way that made me shiver. “We'll be in touch.”
She turned and stalked away back to where the police were still gathered. I followed her, needing to jog to keep up. “That was a little harsh,” I whispered.
“Monica, it's my
job
to be harsh.” She stuffed the iPad back into her bag. “And maybe you didn't notice, but there was dirt embedded under his nails. Grabbing our victim wouldn't have embedded the soot that much.”
“Yeah, but they were hiking. That could be from anything—”
“And the scratch marks on his neck? Did you see those? They were peeking out from under his shirt.”
Damn, I am really not good at this detective thing. I need to start really looking at everything. “Also, could be a lot of things. It could be from his dog or tree branches, or he might enjoy rough play or—”
“Or it
could
be from Sonja trying to fight him for her life. It's my job to look at all possibilities. And if you're going to be a consultant, I suggest you start doing the same.”
After a long pause, Adrienne finally spoke again. “So, what are you doing here, Jules?”
The voice came from between us. “The family crest—it's mine. From my human days.”
“Oh, Julian,” Adrienne whimpered, eyes closing and hands clenched to her narrow hips.
“What does that mean, exactly? Is Sonja part of your family or something?”
I could feel his nod beside me. “Something like that, yes.”
Adrienne looked back at me. “We need to find out whose family crest was on Lena. Find what the link is here.”
“Yeah, no shit,” I said back.
There was a rustling behind us and Damien and George walked up from the trail, panting. I looked George over from head to toe. “
You
hiked?”
He shrugged. “The hot blonde was headed the same way.... Besides, I didn't want to leave your mister here walking alone.”
Damien's jacket was slung over his arm, sleeves rolled to the elbow. “Thanks for that,” he muttered. “Had to listen to him hit on some hiker for about thirty minutes.”
My breath stalled in my throat as I took in Damien's whole look. Sweat beaded over his face and down his neck. Not the gross sweat—but the sexy sweat. The kind that reminds me of a hard workout and two bodies rolling around together in fine Egyptian cotton sheets. I inhaled his musky scent, a slow, warm thrill uncoiling in the center of my belly; that scent, it was all Damien.
“What are you staring at, succubus?” he grumbled while wiping his face with the palms of his hands.
“Well, we're actually pretty much done here,” Adrienne said, and I wanted to kiss her for snapping me out of my aroused fog. “If you want to look around a bit, we'll see you back down at the bottom.”
“Oh, no you don't,” he snapped and grabbed on to Adrienne's elbow. “You're not leaving me here to hike this shit back. I know there's a way to teleport me, as well, right?”
“Sorry, dude,” George offered with a shrug. “There's no way I'm hiking a second time. I linked my arm in his, and George, Adrienne, and I walked over to a hidden wooded area.
“Motherfuckers,” Damien growled just before we disappeared.
16
T
he ArchDemon of Salt Lake City had her office stationed in a mall. A
mall
. She owned a little celestial jewelry shop nestled between The Gap and a Foot Locker.
“Is this for real?” George asked with a flippant gesture toward the storefront.
I shrugged and trudged forward. “Only one way to find out, I guess.” There was a sensor on the door that pinged with our entrances. A young, pretty girl smiled at us from behind the counter.
“Good afternoon.” She sounded as if her vocal chords had been dipped in sugar.
“Er—hi.” I noted some unique-looking stones hanging on leather cords. Crystals shimmered under the lights creating a discotheque look. “We're here to see Claudette. Is she in?”
“Oh, yes.” The girl's head nodded up and down like a bobblehead. “Claudette is always here.” She stared vacantly at us, eyes glazing over.
I darted a look to George, whose lip was curling back as though the pretty girl repulsed him. “Um, could we
see
her, then?”
“Ah, oh yes, of course.”
“Jane, no need, I'm right here.”
Jane's eyes widened as the tall, willowy woman glided into the room. Her auburn pixie-cut hair had bangs that flopped into her eyes slightly. “How do you always do that?” Jane asked, then looked to George and me. “It's like she can always sense when someone is looking for her.” Claudette smiled in the same way a mother would at an infant discovering its hands for the first time. “You must be Monica.” Claudette shifted her smile to me and I took her outstretched hand in mine.
“That's right. And this is George.”
“Hi.” He flashed his dimples at Claudette and even though I was sure she'd seen it all, she still seemed to brighten under his attention.
“I'm Claudette. Please, follow me.” She nodded her head toward the back and we followed.
Her office was plush and bright with entirely white furnishings and accessories. Much more what I would imagine for Julian's office than a demon's. Even Claudette herself coordinated with the neutral/white tones in her taupe pants and white silk button-down shirt. “Please, have a seat.”
Like school children, we did as told. Even though she wasn't our ArchDemon, we certainly didn't want to cross anyone more powerful than ourselves.
“So,” she continued, lowering herself into a large white leather office chair and crossing her legs at the knees. “Tell me, dear ones. What are you doing in my sector? Did Lucien send you here to spy on me?” Her voice was brittle with a faux sweetness that made my stomach clench.
George and I looked at each other—both at a loss of what to say. George was the first to speak. “No, not at all. We're here working on official police business. Lucien actually had very little say in whether or not we were coming—”
“We only checked with Lucien as a courtesy.”
Her lips twitched at the corners, but didn't even resemble a smile. It was hard to tell if this fact pissed her off
more
or simply amused her. “So—any souls you acquire while you're here go to . . . who exactly?”
“I believe that's something you and Lucien should work out for yourselves. He has a couple of your girls, right?”
Her cool smile sent an icy shiver down my arms. “That's correct. I assume you are both working to corrupt the well-known religious population we have here?”
Leaning back on the couch, George swung an arm over the back. “That's right. We're already joining a Bible Bowling League tonight.”
“We are?”
He flashed me a look. “Yes. Did I forget to mention that?”
Claudette's laugh was terrifyingly beautiful and heartless all at once. “Good luck with that. Considering none of us can touch anything holy. My girls have been working to infiltrate these groups for decades. It takes time and patience, and it is certainly not as easy as it seems.”
“I think we can handle it.” George's smile was equally beautiful and chilling, if only for the effectiveness of his charm.
Air expelled through flared nostrils, tension tightening the insides of Claudette's eyebrows. “Of course. Good luck to you both, then. Report back to me if you are still here on Tuesday, please.”
She stood, showing us out. We ran into Jane again as Claudette strolled back into her office.
“Thank you for coming!” Jane called with a wave.
As we made our way to the front of the store, a dark but shimmering stone caught my eye. My blood turned cold as I moved to examine it more closely. It was a deep blue, similar to that of a lapis lazuli, but with more shimmer. It was the same type of stone Lexi and Wills had given to me six months ago. A rare type of stone that has the ability to strip a succubus of her powers. I was pretty certain it wasn't the exact one seeing as Lucien and Jules had promised to take care of it. But the type of stone was rare, one that came from Lilith's time in the Garden of Eden. And seeing how none of us had figured out how Wills and Lexi had gotten the stones in the first place—it seemed even stranger that we should find one here in Claudette's store.
17
Ireland, 1740
 
T
he dinner table was large enough to seat well over twenty and the cavernous room echoed with each clattering plate and utensil. The silence between us was torturous. I sipped my soup quietly, glancing up occasionally at Lord Buckley through my thick lashes. Each gaze was met with a lopsided smirk. The man should terrify me; his very power and presence should have me trembling at the knees. But he was so boyish and charming, it was hard to imagine him as terribly dangerous.
The castle glowed in the candlelight and a fire across the room cracked and popped. It was far from cold inside, but a shiver ran down my spine regardless. The fate of Ireland was in mine and Lord Buckley's hands alone at the moment. And he seemed more interested in sharing playful glances across the table than discussing business.
Dejan's presence in the house was distracting, perhaps even more so than Lord Buckley's. I didn't have to turn around to know he was approaching. His bloodsucking presence tingled through my angel senses. Frigid skin brushed my arm as he reached across to clear my empty soup bowl.
“Did you enjoy your soup?” Lord Buckley boomed from the other end of the table, his smile arching across his face.
“Yes, very much.” I paused. “Lord Buckley—is it—would it be possible to sit closer? It is difficult to discuss the matters at hand when we have a table's length between us.”
His face split into a grin, regal features brightening. I was a lamb inviting a wolf to dine with me. “Of course, m'lady. I agree it feels so foolish to sit so dreadfully far apart.” With a small but effectual clap, he gestured to his place setting, hard eyes holding Dejan's gaze. Standing, he flipped his coattails behind him and glided to my end of the table. He took the seat beside me, leaning his elbows on the table. Wavy hair flopped over one eye and he brushed it back with one hand.
“My god,” he whispered. The candlelight caught a glint in his green eyes and they shimmered like emeralds. “You are stunning.”
“My beauty comes from within,” I answered. “You are merely seeing God's light within me.”
A laugh grunted and his smile twisted. Pain. Discussing God caused this beautiful man pain.
“You don't believe that at all, do you?” I asked the question out of reflex. I clearly knew the answer already.
“Answer me something, my angel. Are these your human features? Or did you change when you became an angel?”
I hesitated. “These are . . . my human features, yes. Though the best version of my human self. I died younger than the body you see before you.”
“Is that so?” He asked the question in a way that suggested he'd already known that as well. “Monica is not an Irish name. Did you change it?”
Most angels change their names after their human lives end. Something I was certain Lord Buckley knew already. His questions were testing me; toying with my very emotions. “Just how much do you know about me, Lord Buckley?”
His smile was sharper than a knife's blade and could just as easily slice me open. “As I said before—I saw you in a vision. And that's precisely what you were—a vision.” His eyes squeezed shut and he tilted his head as though recalling a meaningful memory. “A sight for my sore eyes.” Eyes blinking open again, he brushed the back of his knuckle over my cheekbone, and tucked a curl behind my ear, smile softening. Perhaps I was wrong about him. Maybe he, too, was a sheep, lost and in search of a herd.
“But—you do believe in God, do you not?”
“Can one believe in angels and not a God?”
I studied his face, beginning at his thick hairline, smooth forehead, and eyes that despite years of battle seemed to soften around me. I was determined to discover the reason. “You are adept at answering a question with a question, I see.”
One side of his mouth tilted farther up. “It is an art.”
Dejan brought the main course—a sort of mincemeat pie filled with hearty beef, mixed vegetables, potatoes, and a flaky, buttery crust on top. The vampire's presence again chilled the room. If Lord Buckley noticed my discomfort, he was quite good at hiding it. He placed his napkin over his lap and picked up his fork. “Thank you, Dejan. This looks delectable.”
I followed his movements with my own fork and napkin and took the first bite, the food melting on my tongue. Dejan's footsteps faded and I looked up to ensure he was in fact gone. Even if I lowered my voice, there was no guarantee that the vampire wasn't listening in. I wasn't entirely privy to vampire secrets, but I was pretty sure their hearing was significantly good—perhaps not quite as sensitive as that of we angels, but obviously better than humans'. That was a certainty. “Why vampires, Lord Buckley? Why risk it?”
His fork froze halfway to his mouth, breath fogging the gold utensil. After finishing his bite and chewing slowly, methodically, he tapped his napkin to either corner of his mouth. “That is an easy question to answer. When I lived in France, vampires were running rampant. Everywhere I looked, I saw lives lost.” His gaze shifted somewhere beyond my shoulder, staring into a vacant pit of nothing. After a pause, he continued. “I had a family once. Back in Paris. A wife. Two children. And I came home to find them slaughtered. New vampires, I was told. They are the only ones who feast so rabidly.” Instantly, it was as though his trance expired and his eyes snapped back to mine. “So, when I came to Ireland and I saw similar killings, I enslaved the murderers. It keeps the savages contained and I get servants I would otherwise need anyway.”
“And you don't let them feed?” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “That seems rather cruel, doesn't it?”
He laughed, voice cracking with the bitter sound. “My dear, you don't have to whisper. They can't hear us. I have enchantments on every room. They can only hear what I want them to hear.” His chuckle dissipated and I shifted my eyes around the room warily. “I keep them hungry as a reminder to them that I am in control. They do my bidding if they are close to starvation because they know I am their only hope for a next meal.” He paused, taking a sip of whiskey, rolling the amber liquid around in his mouth before swallowing hard. “Besides, they are weaker when they are hungry.”
I blinked back my confusion. “But . . . how? How can you physically stop a vampire from feeding?”
“I cannot reveal that. Not even to you, my angel.”
“Very well,” I said, my voice taking on the authoritative tone I'd heard come from Julian during meetings. “Let's discuss business, then. You are clearly interested in helping mankind as demonstrated by your containment of vampires. We are facing a catastrophe here in Ireland. Carman's frost is devastating our people. And you, Lord Buckley, you alone have the power within you to end it. Please say you'll help us.”
He leaned back in his seat on an exhale, eyes shimmering. The playful, charming boy who had been interested in courting me almost entirely disappeared. “I will help you.”
The exhale hissed out of my mouth and I, too, fell back in my chair. A smile broke out across my face, the action feeling old and creaky. How long had it been since I felt true elation? “Oh, Lord Buckley, thank you . . .”
He held up a silencing hand. “On a few conditions.” My smile froze; if you had hit it with a mallet, it would have shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. Of course. Nothing ever came without stipulations . . . especially not with a power-hungry sorcerer.
“State your conditions,” I said, my tone stiffening with my spine, “and I will see what I can do.”
“Well, clearly I am powerful. But even Carman may be too much for me to handle on my own. She comes with her three sons, as well. I need the help of you angels.”
“Sons? Lord Buckley, surely you know we cannot assist in this. We are not allowed . . .”
“I'm not talking of you taking any action. But I require your presence. Here at the castle for the duration of the battle. Without your presence, Carman and her boys could attack me specifically at any moment. But with your company, it becomes harder for her and her awful children.”
I sat back in my seat. “Three sons,” I repeated.
“Well, two that are a threat. The one should not be an issue as he is trying to maintain a low profile and claims to have nothing to do with this frost. He's even offered to help where he can.”
“You've been in contact with him?”
Lord Buckley shrugged, but did not answer.
“So . . . you would like an angel to live here. With you.”
“No . . .”
“But you just spoke of—”
He hand fell on top of mine, his warm touch silencing me almost immediately with a gasp. “Not just any angel. You. I require you to live here during the duration of my battle with Carman.”
“You want me to stay here with you and several vampires? This is very unorthodox. . . .”
“And yet—part of you wants to say yes, doesn't it?” His thumb moved in circles over my skin, a gentle caress.
A breath hitched in my throat. I did want to say yes. I wanted to live with this man and learn his secrets. A burning between my legs pulsed through my core and I closed my eyes, not daring to answer him. I couldn't answer that without lying. And I certainly couldn't admit the truth. “I am not authorized to make this decision.” His heady scent flooded my nostrils and I inhaled him deeply.
“Yes, yes,” he replied with a flippant hand gesture, returning to his pie. The absence of his touch left me feeling achingly empty inside. I wanted his hands on me—touching me in places I was not supposed to be touched. “Go and ask your council.”
I stood from the table, the heavy chair scraping along the stone floors with a horrid noise. His eyes rose to mine, startled. “Where are you going? I did not mean right this moment. For heaven's sake, stay. Finish your dinner.”
“No thank you, Lord Buckley. I will have an answer for you in the morning.”
With a wariness that wasn't there before, he stood as well, flipping his coattails out behind him. “Very well.”
“I would like to change before leaving.”
His smile was soft and he took my hand, running a thumb along my knuckles. It sent tingles up my arm and I resisted the shiver that threatened my spine. “Keep it for now. It's far too cold to be running around in tatters.”
“Thank you,” I said softly. “Whatever their answer is, I will see you tomorrow.”
He bowed and as his head dropped, Dejan's cold eyes stared at me from beyond the doorway, hungry and wanting.

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