The DarkWorld SoulTracker Series Box Set Vol I

by T. G. Ayer

  Storm had always understood me, had all too often just told me what my issues were and how to deal with them. It had been hard at first. Until I understood his intentions were only for my own good.

  The man had his heart in the right place and I hoped that he’d stick around for a long time. The paranormal kids of Chicago needed him way too much.

  My thoughts wandered to how far I’d come since that fateful night when I’d lost everything in one sweeping moment of bloody destruction, that moment when the end of everything I loved had culminated in the beginning of everything I now couldn’t live without.

  Two sides of a life lived only half as much as it should have been.

  Chapter 17

  The clouds hung low over the flat countryside, and the sun-splashed ruby, tangerine, and purple into the shimmering sky. The beauty of the late morning sky set my mood to melancholy, a state I disliked.

  Melancholy brought up memories I’d rather not recall, regrets I’d rather not relive.

  I shook the thoughts off and drove with the window down, inhaling the cool air outside, enjoying the serenity of a moment without pain or pressure or persecution.

  When I drew up in front of Natasha’s house, I felt calmer than I’d been for a long while. Perhaps the decision not to teleport here was smarter than I’d expected.

  As I climbed out of the car and shut the door, Natasha appeared from the woods beyond the house, accompanied by a chorus of cicadas chirping their song. She carried a wooden pail filled with water, and her body seemed to glow in the golden light.

  Her bright pink kaftan should have clashed with her white hair. Instead, they coexisted in beautiful harmony.

  Must be witch magic.

  She gave me a bright smile as she headed up the porch steps and placed the pail on the floor beside the door.

  “Hey you,” she wiped her hands on her kaftan and met me at the top stair for a hug.

  Natasha was, and always would be, the sister I never had. I’d found I could tell her anything and apart from Saleem, she was the only one who knew about the poltergeist.

  Which made me feel worse as I considered the ways and means to obtain a hair sample from her. I knew how the wooden horse must have felt when Troy was infiltrated.

  What the hell are you thinking, Mel?

  “How are you,” Natasha patted my arm, bringing me out of my thought, “You look like shit.”

  “Thanks,” I grimaced and poked a finger into her shoulder. “Is today I’m-not-answering-my-phone day?”

  Natasha’s lips twisted into a grimace. “Sorry.”

  As she turned to enter the house I said, “You didn’t answer. I could have been dead by now.”

  She shrugged. “I’d just bring you back from the dead,” she deadpanned.

  Snorting, I closed the door and followed her into the large flagstone kitchen. It felt odd being here without Drake. The gargoyle had often insisted on driving me to Natasha’s, and in the beginning, I’d assumed the two of them didn’t get along.

  So not true.

  They were now a sort-of couple.

  If that could be possible considering he’d left the EarthWorld for his home plane.

  I plonked myself onto a chair at her kitchen table and watched as she poured a bright red drink into a glass. “So I need some help tracking someone down.”

  She lifted an eyebrow as she set the glass before me. “Forgive me for the confusion, but I was under the impression that you are the tracker.”

  Letting out a huff of air, I lifted the glass and sipped. After swallowing the sweet rich cherry juice, I said, “I’m looking for a very special kind of kitsune.”

  Natasha returned to the table with her own glass and took a seat beside me. “Not many kitsunes around. They tend to keep to themselves.”

  Darkness encroached as black clouds gathered overhead, and the premature chirping of crickets enveloped us in a high-pitched cocoon of sound.

  I grinned as Natasha leaned back on two legs of her chair and reached for a candle and a box of matches on the counter behind her.

  “I need a sorcerer who is also a kitsune. Or is that a kitsune who is a sorcerer?” I pressed my fingers to my forehead as a spike of pain stabbed through my skull. “Ugh. Thinking hurts. Got any magical pills for the pain?”

  “You could have sent me a text you know?” She struck the match and the igniter spat sparks. The match-head flared to life and Natasha cupped it to protect the flame from the breeze flowing in through the open window.

  “Huh?” I asked as she set the flame to the wick of the candle and watched the fire catch and the flame rise strong. “I didn’t know you’re now dial-a-sorcerer.”

  We both smiled, the movement more of a grimace than anything close to amusement. It was funny, but neither of us seemed to be in the mood for merriment.

  I dug into the neckline of my shirt and lifted out the amulet she’d given me. “I’m not sure it works anymore.”

  She pursed her lips and reached out to hover her hand over the token, likely testing its energy. She shook her head. “It’s still working. Something must be blocking the better part of its effectiveness. If it wasn’t working at all, then it’s likely you’d be dead by now.”

  I sighed. “That shouldn’t be a problem. You’ll just bring me right back.”

  She grinned. “So what do you need the kitsune for?”

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and swiped through my emails to find the images of the Chinese symbols Darius had given me. “These helped a great deal.”

  She pursed her lips, interested and impressed. “How do you know it works?”

  I gave her a quick rundown of my stay in Hong Kong and the very satisfying absence of the poltergeist. I didn’t say anything about Darius though, unsure if the ancient would approve. Here again I felt like a rotten friend.

  I focused on answering her question. “It’s these wards. They kept the tokolosje away while I was there. And I’m told that a kitsune sorcerer is the most ideal because they understand the ancient Eastern magic.”

  Natasha’s pale head bobbed, sending her silken locks swaying around her shoulders. “Makes sense,” she slid my phone back to me, “I’ll find someone for you. I think I know of a guy in Mexico. But I have to check.” She tilted her head and studied my face, her eyes watching me with such a knowing expression that I felt she could read into my soul.

  And see me for the liar I am.

  Sighing, I raised my glass—now encased in a layer of condensation—and slowly sipped more of my iced drink, trying to draw out the action.

  Stalling.

  And my guilt kicked in.

  It cut deep into my gut, and like a knife left to sit within a raging fire, it left searing pain in its wake. I set the glass down carefully then pushed to my feet and tapped the table. “Since you’ve felt the need to hydrate me so well, I now need to pee.”

  Natasha’s lips curved into an amused grin, her eyes sparkling with laughter. She wiggled her fingers at me—off you go.

  I hurried down the hall to her bathroom. Her old-style farmhouse lacked the luxury of en-suite bathrooms and I was hoping I’d find what I was looking for in there.

  And I did.

  I’d expected it to be hard to obtain a strand of Natasha’s hair, but given that she only allowed friends onto her property and that she’d erected a super powerful ward around the house, it wasn’t likely that anyone could ever enter her home to rob her.

  Probably why she didn’t worry about leaving her hair lying around.

  Because hair was one item that could be used against a person to perform all sorts of spells and curses, and it didn’t matter if the magic was white or black, African or Eastern.

  Pulling a Ziploc bag and a tweezer from my pocket—I seemed to have them always on my person these days—I slipped a strand of hair free from her hairbrush and deposited it safely within the confines of the plastic, which I tucked hurriedly back into my jeans pocket. Then I flushed the toilet, was
hed and dried my hands, and headed back to the kitchen.

  Natasha was none the wiser.

  And I felt like a piece of shit.

  Chapter 18

  I’d just reached the turnoff from Natasha’s farmhouse onto the highway when my phone buzzed.

  Steph sending me a text notifying me of the Phaser’s latest escapade in Venice.

  A branch of Garner diamonds had just been robbed.

  Heading home, I parked outside our house, switched off the engine and locked the doors. I tossed the keys into the glovebox, grabbed my satchel and projected to the address Steph had sent.

  Thankfully, the car, much like the truck, had very opaque tints so nobody would see me evaporating into thin air.

  Venice was one of the European States, a collection of countries who’d long ago decided that being paranormal or displaying any form of special or unnatural power, meant instant death.

  Long after the witch trials, the cities across the continent were still rife with minor factions and cults who made it their life’s work to hunt down and kill people they suspected of being witches.

  The saddest part was their sadistic effort rarely killed true paranormals. Instead, innocent human blood was spilled. One of the reasons supernaturals remained as much under the radar as possible while traveling through places like Venice or Milan or Amsterdam.

  The cobbled streets were crowded, either with the dinner crowd or the mayhem caused by the robbery. Beautiful old buildings rose around me, ancient stone holding tales of the history they’d witnessed through hundreds of years.

  On my right, the canal snaked away, a long slim gondola gliding across waters so still they appeared glassy.

  A man on a bicycle whizzed past, almost brushing through my projected essence. The street was far too busy and I skimmed along to find a more private arrival location.

  A block away, I found a darker alley, its narrow confines appeared safer than the bright city streets.

  I jumped, regaining my balance as my feet hit solid ground. I checked the street and then hurried around the corner, heading up the street toward the commotion.

  Blue fluorescent tape cordoned off an area outside the entrance of the store, a few uniformed gendarmeries posted outside, their faces molded into a sober seriousness that was more comical than frightening.

  The post-robbery mayhem was visible through the storefront windows, the robbers having thrown jewelry and diamonds around in their rush to take what they wanted.

  Seemed a very disorganized heist to me. Steph’s message had said the police had claimed the Phaser had appeared to be helping, but we had another theory.

  I texted Steph. “Get the CCTV feed.”

  “Already on it,” she replied within seconds.

  I smiled. I should have known. Steph was always one step ahead on the technical issues.

  I shifted my gaze, and began to scan the crowd. One widely-known fact about crimes is perpetrators often returned to the scene to bask in the mayhem they caused. But, I wasn’t entirely certain that the perpetrator wanted to cause mayhem for the general public.

  What I did know was Elise Garner was holding out on me.

  The crowd ebbed and flowed, some recording the scene for posterity or social media on their mobile phones, others merely standing and gossiping amongst themselves.

  One man stood on the edge of the gathering, keeping a clear distance, which set him apart.

  He wore jeans and a black leather hooded jacket, and his gray eyes were partially hidden by the dark glasses he wore. I only needed a second to project and verify that the onlooker was Erik Garner. He stood there for a few minutes, watching, his expression curious with a hint of gloating.

  Then his gaze shifted toward me and he stiffened.

  He turned away and hurried down the street, his swift gait revealing his need to get away as fast as possible. What had he seen about me that would make him flee? I began to follow him, turning in his direction quickly to keep up.

  Someone shoved me aside really hard, as he hurried through the throng.

  In Erik’s direction.

  So he hadn’t seen me. Our vigilante had a stalker.

  I followed the man as he followed Erik, waiting only until I was clear of witnesses. Erik led the man deeper into the warren of alleyways that often narrowed so much that a person could barely fit in the slim space.

  Erik was halfway down the long alley with his stalker at his back, when he stopped in his tracks. Beyond him another man, long black coat and hat matching Erik’s stalker, stood staring at him.

  Crap.

  There were two of them.

  I tugged a black hoodie from my satchel and drew it on, pulling the hood low over my face. Then I jumped, grabbed a hold of Erik and jumped him a few blocks away. He landed startled, then struck out at me wildly.

  Disoriented, he slammed against the wall behind him staring at me in terror.

  For all his age and his vigilante antics he was still a young boy.

  “Don’t be afraid.”

  Even as I spoke, he began to phase through the wall, the form of his body becoming intangible as he sank into the brickwork.

  I held out a hand. “Wait. I saved your life, the least you could do is talk to me for a few seconds.”

  He returned his body to the street and became solid again, watching me warily. “What do you want?”

  I kept my distance and leaned against the wall behind me, folding my arms. “I’m Mel. I’m a jumper.”

  “No shit,” he sneered, then pointed at his eyes. “See these? They’re called eyes. And they work fine.”

  I grinned. “Look. I’m not here to apprehend you. I just wanted to talk.”

  “What about?”

  “Your mother.” He stiffened, then began to phase again. “Don’t you want to know why I haven’t already taken you back to her?”

  He stopped and stared at me, not saying a word.

  “And don’t waste your time running from me. I can find you wherever you go, and I can stop you even if you’re phasing.”

  A total lie, but I spoke them with a straight face.

  Chapter 19

  His eyes darkened at my words and he began to phase.

  I folded my arms and watched, my expression nonchalant, my nerves shot. The last thing I wanted to do was to lose him, and I prayed my play would work.

  Something in my demeanor must have convinced him because he stopped vibrating, became solid and said, “I don’t believe you can stop me mid-phase, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  I shook my head and straightened from the wall.

  “What do you want?” he fidgeted with the ties of his hood, “Why haven’t you taken me yet?”

  “Because too many of the pieces in this case are falling in all the wrong places.”

  He gave a hesitant nod. “But she’s paying you.”

  I shrugged. “I’m not concerned about the money. And a verbal contract given under a false guise, is null and void.”

  He smiled. “You don’t trust her, do you?”

  I shook my head. “She said all the right things. But a few of those things don’t add up.”

  He inhaled. “Okay. I’ll talk to you, but not here.”

  He was already walking off, leaving me to hurry in his wake. I didn’t ask questions, just strode along a few feet behind him so an observer wouldn’t assume we were together.

  A few blocks later, he made a sharp left into a narrow alley, went up a short flight of stone steps then another ten yards later he slowed to a stop.

  I glanced behind me and found the street empty. Up ahead the situation was the same.

  Erik lifted a foot and touch the toe of his boot to a brick low on the wall. Seeing through glamors had always been an advantage and I could make out the glyph etched into the stone. It glowed red and yellow, marking the place as a safe haven for paranormals.

  “I wasn’t aware Venice had any of these,” I murmured as he phased. I jumped followin
g him inside to land in a dank and darkened hallway. A second ward of glamor made the hall look old, with rotting walls and water-stains on ragged moldy carpet.

  Beyond the haze of the glamor was a door, and from the inner room came the low clamor of laughter and the thrum of music.

  Erik led me past the glamor and opened the door, beckoning me to enter with the most perfect manners. Then, he waved a hand at the corner table along the front wall, hidden in shadows and within easy access to a swift departure. Should someone enter and scan the place, we wouldn’t be seen immediately.

  We sat and he waved a hand at the bartender who began to pour without even asking. I frowned but figured it didn’t matter. I wasn’t here to drink anyway.

  I leaned forward, met the boy’s eyes and said, “So, why does your mother want me to find you?”

  He lifted his chin “Because I know her secret.”

  “Which is?”

  He looked away. “I’d prefer not to put you in any danger.”

  I leaned back and chuckled. “I’m always in danger. What’s one more lot of danger added to the mix.” He looked back at me. “Look, your mother asked me to investigate. I can’t be held responsible for what I discover.”

  He gave a short nod, but he met my eyes only for a few short seconds and then studied the wrought iron chandelier above our heads as if the candles, with their magical yellow flames and fake dripping wax, were far more interesting than the problem of his over-possessive mother.

  I leaned forward and said, “She wants me to bring you in. Give me a reason not to.”

  I hadn’t felt any reason to take the kid in. Until now, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Technically, he owned the stores he was robbing.

  Hold on a second.

  “You aren’t taking from the stores are you?”

  He squinted at me, his expression tense.