The DarkWorld SoulTracker Series Box Set Vol I

by T. G. Ayer

  The phone rang, pulling Saleem safely back to reality. Fulbright glanced up at him, giving the phone a pointed look. Saleem gritted his teeth and picked up the receiver.

  It turned out to be a call from missing persons. A teenage boy was missing. At last, a chance to watch Fulbright in action. He took a few notes and when he put the phone down, the older man looked at him, his gaze hard and expectant. “It’s a new missing persons’ report.”

  “Where?” Fulbright sat up straight, raising his eyebrows at Saleem, urging him to answer quickly.

  “Manchester Heights. Seventeen-year-old male. Name’s Ethan Reed.”

  “How long?”

  “Since this morning. Could be last night. Parents haven’t seen him since he went to bed last night.”

  Fulbright was already rising, chugging down the last of his now-cold coffee. He flung the cup at the wastepaper basket, not caring that it fell short and rolled into the aisle. He grabbed his file and headed out of the office, swiftly avoiding the still-rolling cup.

  Saleem remained close on his heels. When he jumped into the car beside Fulbright, the detective gave him a sour glare. But he said nothing, clearly resigned to his new partner. He shifted into gear and sped off down the street. Saleem was silent as they wove through the city, soon passing through residential areas that got poorer the further they went. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to Fulbright. What he really wanted to do was punch the man in the face.

  They arrived at the house—an old weatherboard building with peeling paint and an unkempt front yard. A police cruiser sat outside, lights flashing, while an officer spoke to a man at the front door. The cop glanced over his shoulder as they approached, and Saleem hid a smile at the pained expression on his face the moment his gaze fell on Fulbright.

  The detective seemed oblivious as he marched up the cracked sidewalk and headed for the door. Saleem winced, hoping Fulbright wouldn’t come on too strong. The man at the door—most likely the father—looked upset enough.

  Saleem hurried after Fulbright, greeting the other police officer with a nod as he passed him on his way to his vehicle. Saleem approached the entrance to the house and introduced himself just as the detective stopped speaking. Fulbright gave him a narrow stare, as if he’d hoped Saleem had conveniently disappeared.

  If only he knew.

  “Come in, detectives.” Reed waved them inside and Saleem watched Fulbright’s spine stiffen at the assumption that Saleem was also a detective. But he didn’t bother to correct the man.

  A woman entered the lounge, curly red hair mussed, eyes red. Lines tracked her wan face deeply and her gray complexion spoke of hours of worry and inconsolable tears. She stared at them, her expression almost indifferent. As if some part of her had already given up.

  On a hunch, Saleem studied the house for magic or charms but came up empty. He wanted to ask to see the boy’s room but hesitated, preferring not to piss Fulbright off any more than necessary.

  “Please sit,” the father said. When Fulbright sat, the man held his hand out. “I’m Robert Reed, this is my wife Betty.” The detective flushed as he rose to take the man’s hand, giving it a perfunctory shake. He nodded at the wife and resumed his seat, fishing his notebook from his inside jacket pocket. Saleem shook hands with both parents and remained standing.

  Fulbright went over the time they last saw their son, what his mood was, if he had any problems at school—all the usual questions. Listening with half an ear, Saleem drifted toward the inner hallway which he assumed led to the boy’s room. Three doors led off the passage and all were open, allowing weak light to shine on the worn and threadbare carpeting.

  Once he got the lay of the place, Saleem went to the front door, glancing back at Fulbright, who looked up at him, dislike clear on his face. Saleem headed for the car and got in, shutting the door hard enough for the detective to hear the sound from inside.

  Then, with a glance up at the house to make sure nobody was watching, Saleem simply disappeared in a flash of amber embers. And appeared again at the furthest end of the passage within the Reed home.

  Fortunately, the boy’s room was immediately to his left and he stepped inside, moving with extra care, afraid of making any loose floorboards creak. Inside the room, he kept one ear out on the drone of Fulbright’s voice and the short, sharp answers of the Reeds. They’d taken an instant dislike to the detective. Must have been his interrogatory demeanor.

  The kid’s room screamed boy. Dark blue curtains, a rickety bookshelf stacked with comics. A football lay in a corner, an old computer sat at the desk beside the window. The bed was unmade, the sheets thrown off as if he’d risen in a hurry. The window sash was raised, the curtain shifting in the breeze.

  Saleem wanted to rule out anything paranormal from this possible abduction. He couldn’t sense any spells here. And if there had been a paranormal presence like demons or wraiths, their scents would certainly have faded over the last few hours. They really should have been on the scene this morning.

  There was nothing in the room. Nothing to indicate anything unusual or abnormal had happened. Nothing to indicate anything paranormal, either. Saleem was disappointed to leave without any clues, but from the rising voices in the sitting room, it seemed Fulbright was ending his interview. And any detective worth his salt would head down for a thorough inspection of the boy’s room, so Saleem needed to get the hell out of there.

  Just as he was about to transport himself back to the car, his eye caught something strange on the windowsill. He grabbed his phone and stepped closer, then snapped a couple of pictures and disappeared in a flash of orange sparks just as the parents entered the room with Fulbright close on their heels.

  Saleem reappeared in the interior of the car, his phone in hand. He stared immediately at the screen. The image chilled his blood. Although the windowsill had appeared clean, Saleem was blessed with a secondary sight, courtesy of his demon blood. And dark sight allowed him to see the demonic sigil drawn on the sill.

  Saleem’s gut clenched. There was more to these kidnappings than met the eye. He held in his hand proof demons were involved in this particular boy’s abduction, but what about all the other missing persons Fulbright was investigating? How many of them were demonic as well? And what, if anything, did Mel Morgan know about it?

  He glanced over at the house, wondering for the first time if Fulbright had really been onto something. Maybe he had known there was more to these disappearances. Saleem shook his head, trying to absorb the turn this case had taken. This information would be valuable to Omega, but for once he hesitated to pass it on. He had his own problems, and to solve them, he planned on looking to the sexy Ms. Morgan. If anyone could help him, she could.

  Fulbright left the Reeds’ house and hurried down the path to the car, almost tripping over the uneven concrete. He threw himself into the car, waves of negative energy rolling off him as he gunned the engine.

  “What’s wrong? Find anything?” Saleem knew he was expected to ask something. He was slowly learning more about the way the man worked. He liked to trail information like little crumbs.

  “Nothing.” Fulbright grunted. “I searched the room and came up with nothing. How is that possible?” His eyes glittered with fury and his fingers tightened dangerously on the steering wheel.

  “So you think he’s a runaway?” Saleem offered the option.

  The detective glanced at Saleem, irritated. “He didn’t take anything with him. Not even his wallet or his money. What kid runs away without at least taking something with him?”

  Good question. Fulbright wasn’t stupid. So he knew it was most likely an abduction.

  “We need to keep this under wraps. I don’t want that Morgan woman finding out about it.”

  “How would she find out?” Saleem asked, curious as to how the man came to his conclusions. Why would he immediately focus on Morgan?

  “Who the fuck knows. Every case involving abduction, she’s there afterward when we close it, unsolved. I t
hink someone is feeding her information.” Bitterness simmered in his tone.

  “But that’s after the case has been declared unsolved, right?” Saleem pointed out. Fulbright seemed so eager to point a finger at Morgan. What he didn’t know was that it was his own Chief who willingly worked with paranormal intelligence, who regularly fed Mel Morgan unsolved cases.

  “Yeah, whatever. It’s like she’s psychic. How the hell does she do it?”

  “So, she’s like a psychic private detective or something.” Saleem met the detective’s eyes.

  Fulbright snorted, although he flushed. “Some private detective.” Then, Fulbright drove off, eyes on the road, refusing to discuss anything further.

  Saleem could understand Fulbright’s frustrations where Morgan was involved. But it solidified his decision even more.

  If anyone could help him find his own missing person, it would be Mel Morgan. Now, all he had to do was to get her to agree to do it.

  Chapter 14

  Mel

  On the ride to see Nathaniel, Drake was a little too quiet.

  I glanced at him but he kept his eyes on the road as he drove. “Hey, sorry about Natasha. I didn’t expect her to banish you to the porch.”

  “I was fine.” He bit the words out. Good sign. If he wasn’t, his entire body would have said so.

  “The lemonade was nice of her.” I waited for a reaction.

  “Yeah.”

  I frowned. “What’s wrong?” My tone was hard and impatient. He’d already had one tantrum and I’d given in to him. Now, I was getting annoyed with his reticence.

  “What’s wrong? This whole thing is wrong. Nathaniel is too powerful.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I just have a bad feeling about this.”

  I shook my head. “Bad feeling or not, I still have to go. Samantha Cross is waiting, and I don’t think we can afford for her to be left much longer. Who knows what they will do to her . . . we have to rescue her.”

  Drake nodded and sighed. “I understand that. I do. It’s just that my gut thinks this is a bad idea.”

  I sighed. “I know. My gut agrees. Making deals with death sorcerers is not exactly my cup of tea. But he’s the only one I know of who can help me with a spell against the blood magic ward.” I sighed again. “He’s my only option right now.”

  “Okay then, let’s do this. You ready?” He glanced at me, a worrying question in his eyes.

  I snorted. “As ready as I will ever be.”

  The rest of the drive was silent as Drake drove through the streets, passing blue-collar and white-collar residential areas until we reached what qualified as gold-collar, as far as I was concerned. We slid quietly through the streets, hemmed in by palatial mansions that loomed over high walls and dense tree-filled fences. When Drake drew up in front of a set of towering wrought-iron gates, I was sure he’d gotten the wrong address.

  “Is this the right place?” I laughed, looking at Drake as if he was kidding.

  “Yup, this is the address.” Then he glanced at me, a dark look in his eyes. “At least I know you’ve never been to see Nathaniel before.”

  I glared at him but turned my attention back to the gates. Not the best time for a spat. A speakerphone sat on a metal pole to the left of the drive. Drake got out of the car and went to it, speaking into the box. I watched the gargoyle, wondering why he was so accommodating all of a sudden. Not too long ago he’d been trying to talk me out of coming, and now he was getting me access to the sorcerer.

  As Drake returned to the car, the gates began to swing open. My stomach clenched as we moved forward, closer to Nathaniel. Just because I was determined to see the man didn’t mean I thought it was a fabulous idea. I bit my lip as Drake maneuvered the car along the winding drive. He stopped on the gravel beside the stairs leading to a wide porch. A pair of white Grecian columns flanked the entrance, rising all the way to the roof.

  Impressive.

  As we left the car, I scanned the grounds; landscaped and manicured gardens seemed to stretch endlessly all around the house. We hurried up the steps and I pressed the buzzer while Drake fidgeted beside me.

  “What did you tell them?”

  “Just that you needed to see Nathaniel and does he have some time available.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Very polite.”

  “I’m trying to play a part here, okay?”

  “And what part is that?”

  “Resigned sidekick?” His voice held an edge of ice so I backed off. More important things to think about. But as soon as we got home, I would have to sit Drake down for a nice long talk.

  The door opened, putting an end to our silent standoff. The thin, tall man staring at us wore a black suit, including a small black bow tie, his skin pasty as if he had forgotten what the sun was. “I believe you wish to see Master Nathaniel?”

  I blinked at his accent, so English and so posh. Everything about this address seemed so wrong. I’d come here to meet a necromancer. Where was the shadiness, the house with an air of gloom? I was disappointed that not a single dark and angry cloud wafted over the property.

  “Yes, I do.” I nodded, feeling awkward. What else was I supposed to say?

  “Follow me, please.” The butler led us into a large and airy lounge and gave a small bow. “The Master will be with you shortly.” Then he left, giving us a final glance that made me certain he didn’t like our presence too much. His cold eyes slithered over me before he turned and stalked out of the room.

  “Nice guy, huh?” I asked Drake, more to break the weird silence than a desire for conversation. My stomach writhed, as my nerves couldn’t decide what to do with themselves.

  Drake grunted. “Be careful what you say and how you say it.”

  I raised my eyebrows again. No nonsense, just a warning? Drake must be worried.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall and a man entered the room. He was resplendent in a black morning suit, his dove-gray lapels perfectly complementing his salt-and-pepper hair. I don’t know how I’d pictured Nathaniel, but it certainly wasn’t this elegant, aging gentleman.

  His fingers gleamed with silver and gold rings, and his ears were studded with stones. I swallowed as he strode closer, a hard glint in his bright green eyes. He had an odd look on his face, as if he wanted to say something then stopped himself. Then it was gone and I chalked it up to my jitters.

  He halted before me and held out his hand. “Nathaniel Hawker. How can I help you?”

  Okay, so this was the necromancer I was here to meet. Nothing here was what I expected. I took his hand. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t have much of a choice either. “Mel Morgan. And this is Drake Darvon.”

  He gave my hand a swift, firm shake and then moved on to Drake. I’d heard it said you can tell a man by his handshake but right here, right now, I knew you couldn’t tell a thing about Nathaniel from his grip. You’d be forgiven to think he was just a wealthy, eccentric old man. But he wasn’t. Energy rolled off him in waves.

  Magical and dark.

  An ominous silence hung over the room and I turned to Drake and the necromancer beside me. Nathaniel still held his hand, staring at Drake, his green eyes sharp and cold. He took a breath, then let go of Drake’s hand, seemingly changing his mind about saying anything to the gargoyle.

  What was it with Drake today? First Natasha and now the sorcerer?

  Nathaniel turned away from Drake, piercing me with his cold eyes. “Please sit,” he said, waving us at the long black leather couch behind us. He sat opposite us on the matching sofa. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and stared intently at me. “So, tell me why you have come.” His words were short and precise, as if he wanted to waste not a single minute with us.

  At first, I hesitated, unsure of how to put my request into words. Then I decided I might as well be clear and upfront about it, no beating around the bush. “I need a counter-spell. It’s for a demon circle created with blood. My understanding is a circle like that can only be created with dar
k magic.”

  “That is correct.” Nathaniel nodded, his eyes never leaving my face. “Can you describe the circle to me in as much detail as possible?”

  I glanced at Drake, his eyes revealing a warning, but I returned my gaze to the sorcerer. I described the blood circle and watched as the necromancer’s face grew darker, the skin at his eyes tightening. I tamped down the urge to frown as I took in his reaction. He seemed much too upset. Too affected by my description.

  “Have I said something wrong?” I asked, not taking my eyes off his face.

  He blinked as if seeing me for the first time. “No, no. There is nothing wrong.” And then he fell silent.

  I pressed further. “You seem upset about something.”

  He shook his head, but his eyes darkened, and I could almost feel his anger. “No, not upset,” he said. “It’s just that what you have described to me is really dark magic, and I’m wondering where you would have come across something like this.”

  I narrowed my eyes as I looked at him. “Does it really matter?” I asked.

  Nathaniel’s gaze went from me, and then to Drake. He got to his feet and said, “I guess it doesn’t really matter. After all, what matters right now is you came to me because you need something, so let me see what I can do about it.”

  He spoke so formally that for a minute, I was concerned.

  Then Nathaniel moved toward the door and said, “Would you like to follow me? It’s best we do this in private.”

  I nodded, and he spun on his heel and walked straight out of the door. Drake and I followed him, keeping close as he led us further into the house. Dark wood paneling covered the walls halfway up. He came to a set of stairs that led to a lower floor, probably the basement. I hesitated for a split second before following him.

  Of course, the necromancer would have an underground lair. What else should I have expected?