by T. G. Ayer
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
Blood Curse - SoulTracker 3
Chapter 1
The truth is, pretending everything is okay can get a girl in far more trouble than actually admitting that shit is going seriously wrong.
How can anything be okay when I know my sister is alive but I have no idea where she is, or how it’s even possible for her to be alive?
How can anything be okay when my head pounds every second of the day, when every morning my pillow is streaked red and I can’t tell if the blood came from my nose, or my ears, or my eyes?
Guess my head is pretty much a bloody mess.
And how can anything be okay when I’m beginning to see things?
Yeah, Mel Morgan, astral traveler, is finally developing foresight.
Only thing is, I know for a fact it isn’t as simple as a vision of the future. This thing that haunts me, that dogs my every breath, my every move, is beginning to affect my mind.
My sanity.
I stood in my frigid, steam-filled bathroom—all white ceramic tiles and dull copper—drenched in the harsh white glare of the fluorescent vanity light.
My spine remained stiff, my neck taut as I stared at the open closet door, gritting my teeth so hard they’d probably be ground smooth over time if I kept up the habit.
Though wrapped in a giant bath towel, a wave of shivers wracked my body. Tendrils of wet hair escaped a haphazard bun, and my skin was still covered in droplets of water from a super-fast shower, snaking down my neck and shoulders in icy rivulets.
My fingers curled like claws into the front of the towel, pressing it hard to my chest, some illogical part of me suddenly afraid of standing naked in the bathroom.
I took a shaky breath and narrowed my eyes, studying the inside of the closet. The shelves were filled with towels, toilet paper, detergent and other supplies, only they were an absolute, sodden mess.
Toilet cleaner and shampoo, bleach and toothpaste, mouthwash and detergent, streaked every single towel and cloth, soaked through every toilet-paper roll, Kleenex box and cotton puff. It looked like a detergent bomb had exploded inside there.
The smell was a heady perfume of peppermint and ammonia, chlorine and lavender.
Just lovely.
Reaching out, I caught the edge of the closet door with two fingers of my free hand and swung it shut.
Then, I held my breath.
A few seconds passed and I swallowed down a bout of hysterical laughter as I watched the damned door swing open of its own accord.
Shifting my gaze, I avoided the fogged-up mirror because I knew what I’d see; a hazy form, just the barest shape of something—of someone—reflected there, standing beside me.
Watching me.
I’m not normally a scaredy-cat. I’m the type who would usually go in guns blazing, happy to kill demons or whoever else stood in my way of retrieving those who have been stolen.
But this evil spirit now attached to my essence, was sucking up my energy.
Someone had cursed me with this poltergeist, an evil African Black Magic spirit meant to devour my soul.
Who would do such a thing? I didn’t know, but I had to find out before the curse succeeded.
I could feel it . . . slowly killing me.
Not that I could tell anyone.
Not that I would tell anyone.
The fisted fingers of my right hand gripped my ocher amulet as if it was a lifeline—in my case it probably was.
I forced my fingers to release their death-grip and slipped the cord over my neck. The charm—oddly shaped, the surface bumpy with the implied curves and proportions of the human form—came courtesy of Natasha, my white-witch friend.
An African ward against African magic.
She’d said it would afford me some form of protection. Maybe it wouldn’t save me, but I wasn’t about to decline any reprieve—however small—from the haunting of the tokolosje.
African black magic.
Who would have thought it possible that someone would be practicing what could be considered a dead art, and within a world already filled with an unending variety of currently-practiced magic?
I’d considered a visit to a warlock, or even handing myself over to the Supreme High Council with a plea to save my sorry ass.
Not that I would have done so, but such ridiculous thoughts had actually crossed my mind.
More than once.
Enough of a reason to believe the evil spirit was succeeding.
I inhaled sharply, stiffening my resolve. I refuse to be beaten.
More than that, I refuse to be beaten by something that didn’t even have the courtesy of drawing breath.
I shut the closet door, my knuckles white as I gripped the brass handle a little harder than necessary.
As soon as it clicked closed, I spun on my heel and scurried out of the bathroom as fast as I possibly could.
My heart slammed against my ribs as I escaped the humid confines of the bathroom and shut the door behind me, the weak morning light shining in through the window, greeting me like a comforting smile.
Early morning showers—anytime showers actually—were way too dangerous these days.
I leaned against the closed door, shutting my eyes with relief. I released a very tense, very stale breath and relaxed a tiny bit. Just enough to feel a wave of frustration threaten to wash over me.
It had only been a few weeks now since I’d discovered I had an invisible, yet terrible, companion.
And I’d told only Natasha about him so far. Steph knew something odd was happening to my power, that my projections and jumps were making me weak and clumsy, but I’d held back the specifics.
And of course the Djinn Queen Aisha, who’d informed me of the spirit’s existence a few weeks ago, also knew.
I’d told nobody else.
Not even Saleem.
The fewer people who knew, the better.
I knew the tokolosje would follow me wherever I went, but he tended to be less conspicuous when I was around other people.
I laughed to myself. My friends must be wondering what was up with me wanting to be in their company so often, especially considering I’d always preferred my privacy.
My phone buzzed and grabbing it from my nightstand, I checked the caller ID, not surprised at the unfamiliar number. I answered with a sigh, partly out of habit, partly out of responsibility.
My job required service twenty-four-seven, and a 6am call wasn’t out of the ordinary.
“Mel Morgan.”
“Hello? Miss Morgan?” The feminine voice was raspy, likely a garbled attempt at a husky, sexy tone.
I shook my head. Of course it’s Mel Morgan. I just answered as Mel Morgan. “Yes?” I kept my tone neutral and polite although I was unable to stop my eyes from rolling.
The woman cleared her throat. “I’m Elise Garner. I need your help to find my son.” Straight to the point. I liked that.
I found myself nodding. Maybe a case would help me get my mind off things.
“I do have some time available this week if you’d like to meet to discuss?”
After a recent last encounter with a client who’d wanted to pay for my exclusive time, I’d begun to make it abundantly clear to new clients that I always had cases going on concurrently.
“Oh?” she hesitated, “are you too busy?”
Her low tone made it sound like she was hurt that I didn’t have time for her. I rolled my eyes again, wondering if I was going to be dealing with a diva. Then I straightened. It shouldn’t matter, especially considering she likely had a missing family member who needed finding.
And I knew exactly how that felt.
I cleared my throat. “Not at all. I manage the cases I have as efficiently as possible and I don’t take
on more than two cases at a time.”
“Oh. Very well. But I’m unable to meet you in person.” When I didn’t respond, she gave a small tinkling laugh. “I’m in Hong Kong, you see. I have a few meetings here, but even if I headed back immediately I’d only be able to meet you in two days, and I’m afraid my case is urgent.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Can you tell me briefly what the case entails?”
She was silent for a long moment and just as I was about to suggest a video-conference call, she cleared her throat. “I have to speak to you in person. The . . . situation is a strange one, and what I have to tell you is quite sensitive.”
With a sigh, I said, “Fine. I can arrange to meet you in the next couple hours. When are you available?”
“Oh? Are you also in Hong Kong?”
I scrambled for a response. “In transit in Taipei. I can meet in two hours if I change my flight, but only if you’re certain this is urgent.”
Don’t waste my time. The unspoken words hung in the air.
Elise Garner laughed, the sound low and reverberating within her throat. “Don’t worry, Miss Morgan. If you feel this case isn’t for you, I will happily reimburse you for your flight and for your time. Is 9pm Hong Kong time good for you? The Meridian at The Garner-Royal Sun Hotel?”
That was a mouthful.
I agreed, and she rang off, but not before thanking me profusely. She left me wondering at the power held by people with money, resources and contacts at their disposal.
So many missing people would never be found because their family lacked the kind of money Elise Garner and Carlo Santiani possessed.
Still, I couldn’t be negative about Santiani. He’d included me in his will—which I’d found both surprising and amazing. A letter had come with a short note which the man must have dictated to his legal team while on his deathbed.
He’d put half of his estate into a trust that issued me with a generous monthly allowance. Enough to maintain my house and provide myself, Steph and Drake with a regular income.
My only regret was that I’d received the letter after his death, and I hadn’t been able to thank the man.
Technically, I hadn’t found his daughter. Not alive, anyway.
Poor Gia Santiani had been dead a while before her father had come to me. But at least we’d managed to free her sister Gina from the demon who’d been systematically killing off Santiani’s family.
Gina was still catatonic, hidden away in an up-state care facility, but the doctors had hoped she’d pull through. Just not with enough intellectual function to run her father’s multinational billion-dollar business.
I still held out hope though. The impossible almost always tended to be possible in the end.
Take me for instance. I’d never have thought it possible to lie to someone I was in a relationship with.
But, here I was, lying to Saleem every single day—and with his mother’s blessing no less.
We’d been gathering our resources for a mission to Mithras, the djinn plane, to look for his brother Rizwan.
Although Saleem had been resistant to me accompanying him on the mission, he’d accepted my involvement in the preparations. Probably just accepting my nosiness as proof of how much I cared. The problem was, I knew way more about his brother’s situation than Saleem himself did.
Saleem—the guy I was crazy about, the guy I’d been keeping my distance from, was a djinn prince whose mother, Aisha, Queen of Mithras, Plane of the Djinn—had sworn me to secrecy with the truth of her family’s precarious situation.
Back home in Mithras, Rizwan was under the control of Omega, one of the three paranormal investigative agencies within the paranormal world, and the only one accused of a whole host of nefarious, illegal and abominable activities—including abduction, wrongful incarceration, blackmail and mind control.
I could go on, because truly, the list was almost endless.
Not long ago, my shifter friend Kai Odel had discovered her mom being experimented on by Omega. Saleem and Logan Westin—Saleem’s commanding officer at Omega, and Kai’s boyfriend—had begun to distance themselves from their employer ever since.
The Supreme High Council, overseer of all things paranormal across the planes, had reacted in a far more subtle way—by creating the Elite; a secret investigative agency for which they were head-hunting specific, talented mages and supernaturals.
I’d received the invitation.
And I’d been putting it off.
My excuse would be that I had way too much on my mind, but it was just that—an excuse.
Chapter 2
I sighed and hurried downstairs, smoothing my pants as I descended the stairs.
The black high-waisted silk pants and shimmering white blouse was a lovely, elegant combination. Completed with light make-up, freshly styled glossy black curls and gold hoops, I figured I looked professional enough for a dinner at any high-class restaurant. Even one all the way on the other side of the world.
The footwear had been a hard sell though—worlds away from my usual serviceable boots—and I’d eventually settled for six-inch-heeled knee-length boots. As was my habit, I’d tucked a dagger into each of the boots, but with heels as deadly as these, I could likely use them as weapons if the need arose.
Excellent thinking, Morgan.
I passed the empty kitchen and followed the glow of yellow light pooling in the hallway outside the study.
Popping my head into the room, I found Drake arranging the secret weapons-repository we’d constructed behind the closet. He turned as my heel hit a loose floorboard, and gave me a lackluster smile.
Wow. Guess I don’t look that fabulous.
He must be distracted as my attire hadn’t even received a raised eyebrow. “How you doing?” I watched his face, dark complexion, obsidian eyes.
Not that I really needed to ask. His glamor shivered around him in a pale haze, revealing his struggle to concentrate on keeping it up.
He didn’t need to hide his real form, not while inside the house. Usually he was happy to walk around bare-faced, his blue-toned skin and black faded tattoos bare for all to see.
Today? Not so much.
Drake’s mouth formed a thin line as he nodded, then returned his attention to the demon rifle—which looked familiar—that he was positioning within its slot.
“Where did you get that?”
“Your boink-buddy.”
I snorted. “You know full well he isn’t.”
“Not yet,” Drake murmured as he closed the door and walked back to the study desk. He was doing inventory, but I suspected he was performing the task just to fill time. “You two suck at romance.”
“You should talk,” I sank into one of the chairs bracketing the desk, “How is our favorite white witch these days?”
Drake had been helping Natasha out with the repairs to her property after a demon-witch had wrecked it. I’d begun to suspect that—despite Natasha’s outward display of superior iciness—she’d kept Drake around for reasons other than physical labor.
The woman was quite capable of magically lifting a giant oak off the ground without the help of any gargoyle—no matter how cute he was.
He inhaled, long, deep and indicative of his emotional state, because Drake wasn’t the type to sigh and huff. “What’s up?” he asked, ignoring my question, his eyes now on the giant-sized bookkeeping spreadsheet open on the desk in front of him. Drake disliked computers and preferred to do his recordkeeping on paper. “New job?” he asked as he reached for a pen and glanced up at me.
I lifted an eyebrow. “How did you know?”
His gaze traveled pointedly from my hair to my killer heels. Then he said, “You have a certain way of speaking when you get a new case . . . a tiny hitch in your voice.” His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile.
I feigned shock “Wow. You scary gargoyle, you. Getting in touch with your sensitive side, I see.”
He grinned, but his amusement fell short of his dark, trouble
d eyes, his forehead creasing as the humor dissipated.
“What’s up?” I threw his question back at him.
He sighed again and put the pen down, then leaned against the backrest of the chair. “I have bad news.”
“Which is?” I asked softly, already suspecting what he was about to say.
He met my gaze head on. “I’m going home for a while.” I nodded. I’d been expecting this for a while now and was only surprised it had taken this long.
“When do you leave?”
“Today.”
Again, no surprise. The gargoyle tended to do things on the spur of the moment.
I glanced at the ledger. “Hence the early morning stock take?”
He nodded.
“Need anything?”
He shook his head and gave me a strained smile. “You can suspend pay for the interim.”
I suppressed an eye-roll. “I’ll do no such thing.”
He tilted his head and studied my face, his expression closed. “Why not?”
“Because you’ve worked just as long—and just as hard—over the years for no pay. Just like Steph and me. Now that we can, we need to compensate ourselves for our dogged diligence toward the job.”
“Dogged diligence, huh?”
I grinned. “How long will you be gone?”
He pursed his lips. “A couple weeks. I just need to speak to the family, get the lay of things.”
“Will you talk to your father?”
Drake shook his head, shifting his gaze away. “I don’t plan to.”
He had some serious issues with Gargoyle Senior. Hopefully he’d resolve it before he got back.
“And if the opportunity comes up?”
“If the opportunity comes up, then I might talk to him. But it’s not the purpose of my visit.”
I sighed and got to my feet. Walking around the desk, I stopped in front of Drake and put my hands on his shoulders. “You,” I gave them a squeeze and a slight shake, “take care of yourself, okay?”