Shadow Form (Dark Impulse Book 2)

by Edmund Hughes

  Whoever it was hesitated for a moment upon not seeing him and then continued forward. Jack waited until they’d stepped past him before moving to block the only exit. He cleared his throat loud enough to announce his presence.

  “Who are you?” asked Jack. “And what the fuck do you want from me?”

  The man stiffened, slowly turned around, and then pulled down his hood.

  “You don’t look surprised, Jack,” said Bruce. “In fact, judging from your body language, you look like you were expecting a fight.”

  Jack let out his breath. It was just Bruce. A normal, law-abiding human. And yet, he could only feel so much relief at that.

  “You’re following me now?” asked Jack. “That’s borderline obsessive.”

  “I’m just out for a walk,” said Bruce. “Why would somebody be following you, Jack? Do you feel like you have something to hide?”

  The smirk on Bruce’s face got under Jack’s skin a little. It was the expression of someone who felt like they’d won, and it made Jack wonder how much Bruce knew, or at least suspected.

  “You’re the Sheriff’s deputy,” said Jack. “This is what you’re wasting your time with? You should be out looking for the bastards who killed Ryoko’s uncle.”

  “That’s what I am doing, Jack,” said Bruce. “Right now, I’m following up on my best lead. I know you have secrets.”

  Jack found himself wishing that he could wipe the smile off Bruce’s face. For an instant, he was tempted to come clean. Not about his own supernatural condition, but about what Bruce really cared about. About himself and Katie, and how they’d given in to the ultimate temptation during that one, dangerous feeding.

  Jack did feel guilty about it, even if someone like Bruce was on the receiving end of the deceit. But he also knew that it wasn’t just his secret to keep. Telling Bruce about what had happened would be a stupid, selfish thing to do when it meant betraying Katie’s trust and destroying her life in the process. Especially when she’d only been trying to help him in the first place.

  “Quit following me,” said Jack. “And quit letting whatever personal issues you have with me get in the way of you doing your job.”

  Jack turned to leave the alley, knowing that there was no point in continuing the conversation.

  “I don’t hold back when it comes to my enemies, Jack,” said Bruce.

  Jack ignored him and stepped back out onto the sidewalk.

  CHAPTER 8

  The pizzeria was cordoned off by yellow caution tape by the time Jack reached it. The sheriff must have already finished his preliminary investigation, as the scene of the crime was essentially empty. Jack was all too aware of what it would have looked like to Bruce, who he assumed was still following him, if he’d decided to chance sneaking inside. But that wasn’t what he’d come there to do.

  He found his grandfather’s black BMW, the default car that Ryoko used to chauffeur him around and run errands, parked a short distance away. Jack unlocked it and climbed into the front seat, appreciating it for getting him out of the rain and also making it harder for Bruce to continue following him. He started the engine and pulled onto the street.

  The fog was thick enough to make driving somewhat of a chore, especially given that Jack had only been to his destination once previously. He drove through town and onto one of the scenic roads that wound along the island’s coast. Being so close to the cliffs overlooking the ocean put the extent of the storm into perspective, with the horizon being choked out by thick clouds and occasionally lit up by ominous flashes of lightning.

  Palmer’s shack was outside of town, on a high cliff that overlooked a rocky section of coastline. It did not look like the type of structure that would be ideal for weathering a storm, and Jack had to wonder if the alchemist had devised a magical solution for keeping the roof and walls intact.

  He parked the car and made his way over to the front door. Palmer answered almost as soon as Jack started knocking and grinned when he saw who was on the other side.

  “Jackie Masterson!” said Palmer. “What an unexpected treat. What can I do for you?”

  “Hey,” said Jack. “I need to ask you something. It’s about what you mentioned last night at the bar.”

  “I’m surprised you remember anything from last night, friend,” said Palmer. “Well, come on in. No need for you to stand out here in the bloody rain.”

  Jack nodded and followed Palmer in through the door. What greeted him on the other side was almost enough to stop him in his tracks.

  From an exterior perspective, Palmer’s shack looked like the type of ramshackle structure that might pass for the first carpentry project of an ambitious middle schooler. Rough wooden walls, a rusted tin roof. Even the door hung at an odd angle on its hinges.

  The space Jack stepped into upon crossing the door’s threshold didn’t belong there. For starters, the room was visibly larger than anything the shack could have contained. The floors were polished marble, and expensive artwork adorned the walls. A chandelier hung from a high ceiling overhead, and soft string music came from the corner, where an attractive blonde woman in a sheer white gown played a massive harp.

  There was a hallway in the back of the room, and regardless of where it led, it being there didn’t make any sense whatsoever. Palmer grinned as he saw Jack’s reaction and gestured for him to follow.

  “Take a break, Monique,” said Palmer, to the musician. “And if you pass through the kitchens, might you ask Dianna to bring me and my guest some tea?”

  “Of course,” said the woman in a whispery voice.

  Palmer led Jack down the hallway, which had at least a dozen more doors branching off from it, around a corner, and into a small sitting room. A black leather L-shaped couch sat facing a roaring fireplace. Palmer took a seat, sliding open a humidor sitting on a nearby table and pulling out two cigars.

  “Here, try one of these,” he said. “Some of the tastiest tobacco I’ve found outside of Latin America.”

  “Uh, no thanks.” Jack scratched his head. “This place… How is any of this possible?”

  “Illusory spatial sorcery,” said Palmer. “I hired a magical architect to do it for me. I had used it to spruce the place up a bit when I first moved to Lestaron Island, but I didn’t really let my imagination run wild until your bugger of a grandfather passed away. Rest his soul, but he was a bit of a stickler about how much of an arcane presence I was allowed to have during his tenure as the island’s resident grouchy wizard.”

  Jack nodded, though Palmer’s explanation hadn’t really answered his question. Palmer was still holding a cigar out, and against his better judgment, Jack decided to take it after all. He lit it from a match Palmer produced between his fingers and took an experimental puff.

  “So what was this question you braved this dour weather to seek an answer to?” asked Palmer.

  “There was an attack today,” said Jack.

  “I heard,” said Palmer. “Kurt was a good man. It’s a bloody shame we’ve been losing so many of those as of late.”

  “I fought the bastards who killed him,” said Jack. “They were still there, at the pizzeria, when I showed up. Names were Khumar and Monty. One was short, missing an ear. The other was a giant of a man and seemed to be a little… slow. Know anything about them?”

  Palmer made a face. He tapped the tip of his cigar against an ashtray on the table and then took another puff from it.

  “I’ve encountered them,” he said.

  “Where?” asked Jack. “Anything you can tell me would help, Palmer.”

  “I’m willing to give you the info,” said Palmer. “But my potion sales have been a little lacking today. Think it’s the weather, in part. If you buy one of my potions, I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

  Jack scowled at him and gestured to the room they were in.

  “Do you really need my money, Palmer?” he asked. “I mean, look at this place.”

  Palmer laughed and brought a hand to his mouth. He
shook his head slightly, an odd gleam entering his expression.

  “You should take your own advice,” said Palmer. “Look. Really look, Jack.”

  He pointed a finger at the cigar in his hand. Jack frowned, and then focused on his own. The cigar was actually a cigarette, and for an instant, Jack could hear the pinging of raindrops on a tin roof overhead. He blinked, and the awareness faded as quickly as it had arrived, leaving him back in the grandiose sitting room.

  “It’s amazing what can be done with a few simple, targeted spells,” said Palmer. “I enjoy it, personally. A little embellishment here and there is my personal chicken soup for the soul.”

  “…Right,” said Jack. “Fine, whatever. I’ll buy a potion from you if you can tell me what I need to know.”

  Palmer clapped his hands together and leaned back in his seat, bringing his ankle up to rest on his knee. He reached a hand inside his suit jacket and pulled out a red cloth sack, the sound of clinking glass faintly audible from within it.

  “I have quite a bit in stock, given how slow of a day it’s been,” said Palmer. “Let’s see… given your background and current situation, perhaps a strong poison might interest you? I have a tincture of Deathseeker extract that’s particularly potent. If you coat a blade with just a few drops, any cut you inflict with the weapon will kill a person over the next few days.”

  Jack frowned and shook his head. “I’m not sure that would interest me.”

  If he did end up in a situation where someone needed to die, he suspected that a slow-acting poison wouldn’t help him that much. On top of that, he wasn’t sure if a poison would even work with his Spectral Sword spell.

  “Okay,” said Palmer. “Never fear. How about this? A classic love potion, made from the petals of the Morning Kiss flower. Half a dose is enough for a minor infatuation, while the full bottle will make someone fall head over heels with whoever they spend the most time with while under its effects.”

  “Palmer,” said Jack. “I’m a vampire. If I was interested in something like that, I’d just enthrall somebody.”

  He had very nearly enthralled Katie, and it had led to one of the most passionate sexual encounters of his life. He felt a little guilty over how vividly those erotic memories were burned into his mind.

  “Fine,” said Palmer. “I figured I’d start with my most interesting creations before moving onto the boring ones. How about this? A basic sleeping powder. If you manage to trick someone into ingesting or inhaling it, they fall asleep. Truly fascinating stuff.”

  Palmer rolled his eyes as he spoke the last sentence. Jack accepted a small leather pouch from him, tied closed with a simple red ribbon.

  “So if I wanted to use this in a fight…” said Jack.

  “Open the pouch, sprinkle about a teaspoon of the powder into your palm, and blow it into your opponent’s face,” said Palmer. “Fairly impractical compared to a poison, if you ask me.”

  “I’ll take it,” said Jack. “How much?”

  “A hundred dollars,” said Palmer. “That’s after my friendly discount.”

  Jack sighed. He wasn’t exactly hurting for money after receiving his grandfather’s inheritance, but it still felt a little wasteful to pay that much for something he doubted he’d end up using. Still, he needed the information. He pulled out his wallet and handed Palmer five twenty-dollar bills.

  “Now back to my question,” said Jack. “Khumar and Monty. What do you know about them?”

  Palmer thumbed through the money and sniffed each bill once before slipping them into his pocket.

  “I was at the bar a few nights ago and Khumar was trying to catch the fancy of a pretty young lady,” said Palmer. “I offered to sell him a love potion, but he seemed dismissive of the idea.”

  “Okay,” said Jack. “How does that help me?”

  “He invited her back to his room at the Goldline Motel,” said Palmer. “If he’s still in town, that’s where you’ll find him.”

  Palmer grinned and leaned back in his seat. Jack nodded, finally feeling as though he was getting somewhere.

  “Perfect,” he said. “Thanks. I should follow up on this immediately.”

  “Of course,” said Palmer. “Feel free to keep the cigar. And think of me the next time you need a potion.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Palmer showed Jack out of his illusory home. It was a strange sensation stepping out of what appeared to be a sprawling, expensive mansion, only to hear the sound of a crude wooden door scraping shut behind him and see how tiny the shack really was from an outside perspective.

  He got back into the car and turned around, pausing as he pulled out of Palmer’s driveway to scan for any sign of Bruce. If he was still being followed, it was at a fairly loose distance. Jack knew that Bruce wouldn’t be able to tail him everywhere, if solely for the fact that eventually Katie would notice his absence.

  Thinking of Katie made him realize another facet of his current circumstances. With Bruce watching him, Katie wouldn’t be able to sneak away to the mansion without an extremely good excuse.

  Taking care of Ryoko might fit the bill, but if Jack was always at the mansion when Katie stopped by, Bruce would get suspicious about what was going on. Which meant that it was going to be more difficult for Jack to feed over the next few days.

  It wasn’t a problem he could do anything about just then, so he put it out of his mind. The motel Palmer had told him about was in the center of town, across the street from one of Lestaron Island’s performance venues.

  It was early evening when Jack arrived, and between the setting sun and overcast sky, it was nearly dark enough outside for him to feel his vampiric abilities returning to him. Unfortunately, a faint headache was nagging at the edges of his skull, warning him of what to expect if he tried to utilize his blood magic. The attempt earlier at Shadow Form had taken more of a toll on his blood essence reserves than he’d realized.

  There weren’t many other cars in the parking lot, but given that all the visitors to the island came by boat or plane, that wasn’t unusual. The motel had about four dozen rooms spread out across two floors, enough to make it unfeasible for Jack to begin a broad search.

  He headed into the check-in office. A bored-looking girl with dyed purple hair and glasses sat behind the front desk, her face illuminated by her phone as she stared into it. She was in her twenties and relatively attractive, but she barely even glanced up at Jack as he entered the room. She had a strange—though not unpleasant—smell, almost like a fruit-scented candle.

  “Hi,” he said. “I was hoping you could answer a few questions for me. I’m trying to find two men who rented a room here in the last few days. Khumar and Monty. One is short, missing an ear. The other is huge, pale, and bald.”

  The girl didn’t say anything. She tapped a couple of times on her phone, cursed under her breath, and then finally turned her attention toward him.

  “Motel policy is to not give out the names of guests,” said the girl. “Sorry.”

  “Alright, listen…” Jack squinted, reading her name off the badge on her uniform. “Meghan. These two men are wanted criminals who attacked a friend of mine and killed her uncle. Given the circumstances, can you bend the rules a little?”

  “You’re not a cop,” said Meghan. “No.”

  Jack found himself wondering if it might be easier to just call the sheriff and pass the information he’d obtained so far up the ladder. Doing that would mean trusting Sheriff Carter and Bruce to their jobs, and while he was fairly confident in the sheriff, Jack doubted that Bruce would be able to put his grudge aside for long enough to help substantially.

  “This matters to me,” said Jack. “And this could happen to more people, if you don’t help me. Imagine if they came back here, Meghan, and decided that you were an easy target.”

  Meghan frowned at that, though whether it was because she was considering the possibility or had taken it as a veiled threat, Jack wasn’t sure. Her attitude was wearing on him, and it seeme
d to resonate with his bloodthirst, making his temples throb and his throat itch.

  “You might be able to help me remember,” she said. “If you know what I mean.”

  Jack sighed and pulled out his wallet. He was already running low on pocket money after paying off Palmer, but he fished a couple of twenties out and wiggled them back and forth in his fingers.

  “Will you tell me if you’ve seen them?” asked Jack.

  Meghan nodded, and Jack paid her.

  “I’ve seen them,” she said. “They were here a few days ago, but they checked out of their room yesterday.”

  “That’s it?” asked Jack. “You must know something else. Were they here alone? Did they leave any identifying info?”

  “You’re starting to bother me,” said Meghan. “If you want more information, it’s going to cost you.”

  “I already paid you!”

  “Well that’s your fucking problem.”

  She stood up, brushing a few strands of her medium-length purple hair behind one ear, and then walked toward a door behind the desk. Jack was moving almost as soon as she’d turned her back to him. He looped an arm across Meghan’s shoulder, lowered his mouth into position, and sank his fangs into her neck. And then he realized what the fuck he’d just done.

  Her blood had the same sweet, fruity flavor that her smell had implied. Jack took only a single sip before regaining control of himself and stepping away. He licked the last of her sweet taste from his lips and shook his head, feeling stunned at his own actions and terrified of the line he’d crossed.

  “What…” Meghan slowly turned to look at him, her expression mirroring Jack’s own horror. “What just happened?”

  Jack wasn’t sure he knew, himself. He hadn’t been thinking about biting her, had he? He’d acted without intending to, his body moving on autopilot. He’d been thinking about Ryoko, about the men who’d hurt her, and about how desperate he was to find and punish them while he still had the chance. Meghan had presented herself as an obstacle in the way of that.