Blood King (Spirit Seeker Book 1)

by Amber K. Bryant

  Guess that wasn’t going to happen this time around.

  Chapter Eight

  The sound of a woman laughing brought Elis to the entryway of his office, situated on the ground floor of a turn of the century brownstone walkup. As he cracked open the door, the laughing stopped, replaced by the cheerful squeals of young children playing in the schoolyard across the street. Normally the playground’s steady, boisterous noise had a mellowing effect on him, but at this moment, it did nothing to soften his shock.

  “You!” He opened the door wide.

  “Me!” Smiling, the hazel-eyed woman from the fair tapped a sign framed in iron hanging from the building’s brick wall. “‘Elis Tanner, Hypnotherapist with a Heart.’ Awww! You are one cheesy guy.”

  Amazing! This woman believed she could insult him again and again even though she barely knew him. “I didn’t expect to see you here. You didn’t seem like you believed anything I had to say at my show.”

  “I believed everything you said. It’s not that. I just wasn’t there for the same reasons everyone else was.” She took a step forward, only to have him place his hand against the doorframe, blocking her entrance. She clucked her tongue in mock outrage. “You’re not going to let me in?”

  His hand shook. With his nerves rattled and her standing so close, there was no way he could avoid taking in her scent. Warm, spicy, dangerous. Had she worn her hair pulled away from her neck on purpose to tempt him?

  Impossible. She couldn’t know what he was.

  “I know what you are.”

  She pushed on his arm, which had become nonoperational with her last words, and walked inside.

  “Of course you do. You read the sign, didn’t you?”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” She glanced around his office, examining the simple lines of mid-century modern décor. His fastidiously selected yellow upholstery and lighter-toned wood grains offset the dark, rich accents of the room’s interior—a plush green carpet, mahogany wainscoting and built-in cabinetry featuring arts and crafts-styled stained glass. He wondered if she noted how uncluttered and organized he’d learned to keep his space and then, with dismay, wondered why he should care what she thought at all.

  Her gaze paused on a bookshelf where the painting of a woman with dark hair and heavily-lidded, morose eyes sat staring out at the room. “She’s beautiful.”

  Elis couldn’t have told her what had possessed him to paint Juliana’s portrait and hang it somewhere where he’d have to see it every day. Perhaps after years of torture, he was uncertain how to live without that keening pain her image brought to him. He missed her less than he used to, it was true, but he didn’t not miss her at all either.

  “The only reason I’m allowing you to stand here in my office is because you are a mystery that needs to be solved. If you can’t provide me with any clues, then I would ask you to leave. Please.”

  In response to his polite request, she sat on the edge of his desk and crossed her legs, brown riding boots tapping against the desk’s front panel, black skirt pushed up to mid-thigh. Tempting…so tempting.

  As if she was reading his mind, she uncrossed her legs and then crossed them again. “All right, what would you have me tell you?”

  “For one thing, how you avoided being hypnotized. And for another, why you’ve put yourself in danger by coming here today.”

  “I can’t be mesmerized. Not by your means, at least. As for today, I came because we agreed I would. And I’m not in any danger because you won’t hurt me.”

  In a flash he was on her, pressing himself to her bare knees. “I agreed to nothing. And I can hurt you! I can kill you.”

  “Stand down, dear. We’re not in Twilight. There’s no need to be so dramatic.”

  The steadiness he’d noted in her at the fair permeated the limited space between their faces. She wasn’t just acting unafraid; she was genuinely calm. He pulled back an inch. “I’m not being dramatic. I can kill you. I really can!”

  “Oh sure, you can kill me. You could throw me on the ground and drain me dry. But you won’t. You couldn’t live with yourself if you did. Plus, you want something from me, and you haven’t quite figured out what that something is yet.”

  Elis placed his hands over hers and leaned in towards her again. He was close now, close enough to feel how invitingly warm she was. And that scent… What was it about this woman? He couldn’t let her think she’d figured him all out. He hadn’t even figured himself out yet, and he’d had a lot longer than her to do so. “I know exactly what I want from you. That’s what should scare you.”

  “Oh, God, spare me, please.” She took a deep breath, not to steady her nerves, but to display her disappointment. “Your spirit was wrong after all. Here I’d thought that maybe…”

  He backed away. “My spirit?”

  “Yeah, your spirit. Dream time Elis has been busy while you’ve been catching your beauty rest. He’s become my number one fan. I’ve got to tell you, though, it appears he’s completely cracked. Keeps telling me he’s rejoined with you. But here you are, clearly still a soulless asshole.”

  He leaned in again.

  “Can you make up your mind, please? You keep invading my personal space and then pull back like you’re allergic to peanuts and I just ate a PB & J. You’re making me nauseous. I mean, what…what is this, what’s going on here?” She pointed at his face like there was something wrong with it. “What are you trying to accomplish with your eyes going all glary on me like that? I’ve gotta warn you, Elis, I used to have staring contests with my cousin when we were kids, and I always won.”

  To make her point, she opened her eyes wide and locked them with his own.

  Damn her! He blinked, looking down to his side for a moment before resuming what he hoped was non-predatory, normal, humanlike eye contact. “My spirit wasn’t lying to you. There are people who have the power to reconnect us. This happened to me—to us—two years ago. It happened to someone else I knew long before that as well.”

  Did she raise her eyebrows a fraction of an inch at these words? Perhaps her seemingly immoveable calm was capable of escaping her after all.

  Her expression remained impassive. “This has happened before? Is it still alive?”

  He scowled. “She is no longer alive, no. This isn’t a matter I’m comfortable discussing with a stranger.”

  “You’ve practically taken up residency in my bedroom. I’d hardly call me a stranger to you.” She cocked her head to the side. “Aww, Elis, I didn’t know bloodthirsters could blush, but here you are doing it.”

  This was the most confusing encounter he’d ever had. “I can’t remember you.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

  Pushing off him with her boots, she twisted to the side and headed across the room towards the couch where she’d thrown her purse. She reached into it and after a moment of searching, pulled out a small paper sack. “This is mugwort and rose hips tea. Take it before bed and it will help you remember your dreams, which, by the way, I happen to star in.”

  He took the bag from her. “I don’t normally drink anything besides… I don’t drink tea.”

  “You do tonight. Don’t worry. Just because it didn’t get emptied from anyone’s veins doesn’t mean it will kill you. Seriously, it’s fine. My mom makes me drink it all the time.”

  “Hmm. How is it you know what I am and I don’t even know your name?”

  “My name is Sybille. Sybille Esmond. As for how I know you…” She tapped the bag of tea. “Infuse one teaspoon in eight ounces of hot water for ten minutes. Drink it all, go to sleep, dream. I need you to do that because, honestly, I’ve already told you how I know what I know and I’m not going to do it again. You need to remember all on your own, bloodthirster.”

  Sybille’s phone chimed. Digging it out of her bag, she ignored Elis while she checked her messages. “That’s work. I’ve gotta jet, but I’ll be back tomorrow. We’ll see how this goes, okay? Oh, and since Spirit
Elis will remember every moment of this.” She stepped up on her tippy toes to look at him right in the eye…or in the lips rather. “You’re going to have to earn that lip nibbling you want me to give you so badly. Be a good boy and drink your tea.”

  With that, she slid out of the door.

  Elis thought about stopping her. He could make her stay with him, force her to explain how the hell she knew he’d been fantasizing about her sinking her teeth into him, rather than the reverse.

  One of his first clear thoughts when he’d become a soul incarnate bloodthirster had been the desire to find a replacement for Juliana. For two years he’d searched, but no one had come close to what he was looking for. No one made him feel the pull that Juliana had. Then this woman had to come along and destroy all his expectations.

  The pull was certainly there. She could yank him right off a ledge if he wasn’t careful. If he had to spend the rest of his life with her, though, he’d either be the happiest bloodthirster ever, or he’d be begging for the stake within weeks. It was clear that there could be no in-between with this Sybille Esmond.

  He opened the bag of tea and sniffed at it. His eyes watered.

  “Disgusting.”

  Shaking his head, he tucked the tea into his jacket pocket so that he wouldn’t forget to bring it home with him at the end of the day.

  Chapter Nine

  Devin had warned her this wasn’t going to be an easy gig. It turned out, her gentle giant Nate was some sort of bloodthirster gang leader in Low Hollow. Her knowledge of the Low’s underworld and come to think of it, its above world culture, was limited at best. Devin knew more than she did, having been there numerous times for work, but he was missing critical pieces of the puzzle if he hadn’t known Nate was a crime boss until his contact told him. The gaps in his knowledge weren’t so surprising. No one was an expert in the Low, because if you found yourself there often enough to really get to know it, you were no longer in a position to be an objective observer.

  Devin kept his trips to the Low as short as possible. He knew what he was doing, but still Sybille worried about him. The Low wanted things from anyone who entered its domain. Sometimes she wondered what it sought from Devin. Beyond that, exactly how much of himself would he be willing to give to it in exchange for what he took? The Low loved its thirster inhabitants, and Devin’s job was to remove them, not just from the Low but from the Now World. They were undead with no claim to remain in the land of the living as far as she was concerned. The Low, champion of keeping the undead Earth-side, however, wouldn’t look kindly upon Devin for doing what Sybille sent him there to do.

  She cringed as her thoughts strayed to the terrible predicaments she put her field agent in. Yes, it was his job. Yes, he was compensated for his efforts, but if something ever happened to him while working for her family in the Low she would no doubt have a heart weighed down to the ground with guilt.

  Sybille spent the afternoon at her cousin Zareen’s house, helping clean up after the illness that each of her family members had succumbed to one by one. After several restless nights in a row, Zareen was in a foul mood. Hindsight being what it was, it had not occurred to Sybille to wait to tell her about Elis until she was well-rested and in a more reasonable frame of mind.

  “He sounds like a huge creeper to me.” Zareen swept chunks of meatballs and half-eaten spaghetti noodles off a highchair and into a waste bin. “Can spirits be creepers? I mean, if they can be, he totally is one. One incredibly hot pervert.”

  “I never said he was good looking!”

  “I used my imagination, and I can tell by your fake outrage that I’m totally right. Maybe he’s not a bloodthirster at all. Maybe he’s one of those incubi!”

  Sybille laughed. “No one’s ever been able to prove those are real. Besides, I know he’s a bloodthirster. I went and talked to him.”

  “You what?” Zareen threw down the rag she’d been preparing to scrub the counter with. “Hell no, Sybille. That’s what field agents like Devin are for. We’re not supposed to approach bloodthirsters and for good reason. Your mother taught you that when you were an itty bitty.”

  “This one is different.”

  “Said the bloodthirster snack.”

  Sybille took the rag Zareen had just discarded and tackled the counter herself. Better to keep her hands busy and feel useful rather than focus on the look of disapproval she was certain was clouding Zareen’s face. “I know how it sounds, but I’m serious. I can’t tell you what it is exactly but trust me, it’s better that I met with him in person.”

  She scrubbed furiously at the counter until it was sparkling clean, then tossed the rag in the sink and swung around to confront her cousin. She expected to be met with defiance, but Zareen’s upturned lip and expectant eyes made her appear more bemused than anything else.

  “I can see the wheels spinning, Zareen. I know what you’re going to say, but I’m not a fool. I’m aware that he’s dangerous. I keep my focus. I watch my six.”

  “You watch your six? What are you, SEAL Team Sybille?” Zareen laughed. “I trust you Syb…but that doesn’t mean I understand whatever game it is you’re playing.” She reached across the kitchen island and motioned for her cousin to step forward. Sybille complied, and Zareen put her hands on her shoulders. “Let me know if you need backup or not. You know I’m good for it.”

  “Of course, you are. I can’t tell you how much your support means to me. I just need more time on this one. You probably think I’m being reckless and maybe I am, but I still need you to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

  Zareen squeezed her shoulders, then let go. “Always. Hand me the mop, will you? You wouldn’t believe how crusty the floor gets after just one meal. We need to get a dog.”

  Sybille could have cried, she was so relieved to have Zareen by her side. Whenever she felt at all unsettled, she could always depend upon a visit with Zareen to restore the balance. Zareen was like a big sister to her. Growing up on the same block, they’d been thick as thieves as children, despite the five-year age gap. She’d been maid of honor at Zareen’s wedding to Trevor and had been present at each of her children’s births. She’d helped test Adelaide, the oldest girl, for hierophant tendencies. The two cried together, tears of both joy and sadness, when the tests had confirmed that the little girl had inherited her mother’s gifts.

  Zareen might have her opinions regarding Sybille’s involvement with Elis, but she’d support Sybille nonetheless. This assurance was a lighthouse beacon guiding her through a stormy sea.

  Zareen’s house was spotless by the time Adelaide and her brother and sister woke from their naps. An hour later, it was dirty again, floors scattered with brightly painted toys, board books and various toddler accoutrements. Still, Sybille had yet to receive that coveted call from Devin. She did her best to pretend this didn’t worry her at all.

  Patrons were the bane of Sybille’s existence. Unfortunately, this secret society of one percenters with an unholy interest in all things paranormal were also the Esmonds’ bread and butter.

  Growing up in a hierophant family, Sybille had had occasion to get to know many Patrons—so many that she could probably write an in-depth Patron guidebook (or perhaps a cautionary tale) to benefit future generations of psychics. She doubted any of the basic facts about them would change over the next few decades. For instance, in blatant disregard for the march of time, Patrons’ attire—long brown robes with hoods that hid their faces—never changed. Even worse than their get-ups, upon being initiated as a Patron, they were all trained to speak in an archaic and stiff manner lacking contractions. She’d yet to meet one that didn’t sound like a character from a poorly written fantasy novel.

  Patrons may be insufferable, but damned if their wallets weren’t stuffed to the brim with cash. Since Patrons were as inevitable in a hierophant’s life as undeath and taxes, Sybille made the best of it by imagining how much money she could make if she revealed their existence to major news outlets. Unfortunately, if she w
ished to continue feeding her family, outing the Patrons was ill-advised. Instead of inciting an anti-Patron revolution, she settled for humiliating them in her mind.

  The Patron she’d been dealing with for the past year or so, known only by his not-at-all-pretentious alias Celebrimbor, sat with Margot and Peter at their dining room table, slurping tea and staring at the chair he’d been told the spirit of Nathanial Atkins sat in. Celebrimbor had no psychic powers to speak of, only an obsessive desire to experience the paranormal. His job was to make sure Sybille’s family delivered on their promises of bringing the hidden world to the Now World so he and his Patron cohorts could have a sip of it. As much as he might harp on about ridding the world of the cursed bloodthirsters and how wonderful it was that he could have a role in it, being on the right side in a battle of good versus evil was secondary. It was that taste of the supernatural he truly craved. This was the driving force behind all the Patrons: proof of a world beyond the Now World. Proof of something more.

  Despite how obvious this was to Sybille, it wasn’t something you mentioned out loud. She’d made this mistake as a teenager, calling out her mother’s Patron for making Margot perform four possessions in six days. Exhausted but afraid they’d lose their biggest source of income, Margot had obliged, while Sybille watched on, arms wrapped around her, face red with rage.

  “Do you enjoy seeing my mom suffer for your own amusement? Why does that have to be the shit you Patrons get off on?”

  The Patron hadn’t taken kindly to Sybille’s sass and the resulting paycheck drought nearly destroyed their already tenuous finances.

  Having a Patron here hour after hour as they waited for Devin to report in was a test of Sybille’s level headedness. If Celebrimbor, or Bore as she preferred to call him, asked her for one more palm reading, she was tempted to tell him she saw violence in his immediate future and then smack him in the face.