by Natasha Hoar
Reagan chuckled, a haughty, hollow sound. “Well, babe, where’d you hide it?”
Rachel eyed Sylvia carefully. Her lips twitched down, and she briefly closed her eyes. Rachel couldn’t decide if the motion was a partial wince or a schooled expression meant to look like she was squeezing back tears.
“Do you need some encouragement?” Reagan’s lowered voice raised the hairs on Rachel’s arms.
“It’s in the house.”
“Bullshit,” Rachel snapped.
“It’s the truth.” Sylvia looked at her. Rachel opened and laser-focused her sensory gift of heightened empathy on the woman—an act she normally wouldn’t consider, but it was an absolute emergency—and was slammed with an acute sense of peculiarly fear-laden honesty. “The board is in the basement where Kit left it.”
Rachel shook her head. “That can’t be.”
“It is. That board never meant as much to him as the Eldorado.”
Rachel’s lips pursed. She thought back to the start of the day. “Why’d you leave the key in the car, Sylvia? Did you hope it would get stolen?”
“Stolen? Ha!” Reagan tapped the back of Sylvia’s chair with his gun. “That’s not baby-cakes’ style. Especially when a car as beautiful as that can be sold so easily.”
“Well?” Rachel glared at the other woman.
“The key is locked inside.”
“One broken window—”
“You can’t break a window that’s part of a box. Not if you’re like Kit.”
“Where’s the lid?”
“Driver’s window. Painted on with clear sealant.”
“Why hang on to that car at all? Why not up and sell it at the earliest convenience?”
“Ever heard of ‘so close and yet so far’? That little problem we were discussing earlier knows the car is there. It keeps him on edge, makes him act out a little more. The key to great drama is convincing motivation.”
Rachel felt like she was going to throw up. “You kept the car to torture him?”
“I didn’t know how this would end, if he’d eventually get tired and become some shambling poltergeist that simply refused to go away. I thought it pertinent to hang on to something—a carrot, if you will—just in case. After all, people like you won’t come to exorcise just any old ‘issue.’ They have to be up and kicking, fiercely.”
Rachel’s mind whirred. “Why did you need me at all? A poltergeist would be easy to banish, so you could sell the house without a problem.” She narrowed her eyes. “That man with the black gloves—”
“Let’s say I like to explore all of my options thoroughly before settling on one. I told you I’m a survivor.”
“You’d gladly use your own brother as a means to an end? Or is this simply a victimless crime in your eyes?”
Sylvia’s expression became cold, her voice bitter. “Show me Kit Elkeles’s body, Ms. Miller. I can’t see it.” She looked back toward Rachel as they slowed for a red light. “Can you?”
“You could have changed that outcome.”
“No. That issue won’t come back to torment anyone. Kit is gone, and I’ll be damned if our family history will haunt me beyond this day.”
“It’ll come back if you have a son one day. Karma’s a bitch that way.”
Reagan leaned forward from his shadowy roost in the back seat. “Not to spoil the party, ladies, but why do I get the distinct feeling you’re talking about more than a snowboard?”
“Something go over your head again, Reagan?” Sylvia snorted derisively. “Why am I not surprised?”
The gun came out of nowhere, slamming into the side of her head with enough force to draw blood, but not to knock her unconscious. The sudden violence sent a shock of painful energy surging through Rachel, and she quickly shut down her heightened empathy, cutting herself off from Sylvia’s emotional and physical anguish.
“And you wonder why I have to keep you in line over and over again.” Reagan sniffed, leaning back and spreading his arms along the back of the seat. “That smart mouth gets you into trouble every time.”
They pulled alongside the house a short while later. Sylvia killed the lights, but no one made a move.
Almost immediately Rachel could sense the wraith stirring inside the darkened house.
“Where’s the money?”
“In the basement.”
“With this gal’s snowboard?”
Sylvia nodded.
“You remember what I told you would happen if you ever lied to me again?”
Sylvia looked over to Rachel, her expression eerily calm, cool and compliant. “You said you’d kill me.”
“Good girl. Lead the way.”
The night pooled in even deeper shadows outside the house as the trio walked in a lopsided triangle toward the front door—Sylvia first, then Rachel back and to the right, with Reagan taking up the rear roughly between them. He kept his hands in his pockets, always in easy reach of either firearm.
Sylvia paused at the front door and took an audible deep breath.
“Problem?” Reagan’s voice carried eerily in the near pitch darkness blanketing the porch.
“Just need to find the light switch, is all.” The damaged door handle rattled a little, and the door squeaked as Sylvia pushed open.
Rachel could sense the wraith was near. So very near. She caught herself leaning away as the sound of Sylvia’s hand scrabbling across the inside wall stretched on. Finally, it stopped.
The porch light, and then the entrance hall light, clicked on.
The wraith vanished off of Rachel’s internal radar. A moment later, she had the distinct sense he was in the basement.
Sylvia flashed her a quick wide-eyed look that asked was he close?
Rachel shook her head.
“Go on in, girls. You’ll catch your death out here.” Reagan tipped his head toward the well-lit, homey-looking entrance hall. “Christ, what happened to the door?”
“Bunch of kids tried to break in earlier today. Neighbors scared them off.” Sylvia brushed her hands down the side of her jeans before stepping inside. Rachel hesitated, but Reagan eyed her cruelly.
“Bunch of kids, eh? That can’t be why you two are so jumpy.”
“And yet having two guns pointed at us tends to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” Rachel crab-stepped inside, unwilling to take her eyes off of the man.
“You have a smart mouth too.” He grinned once more, that fake, nasty quirk of the lips cut off by his moustache. “Lucky for you, you’re not my responsibility. Or else I’d have to teach you some manners.”
Rachel bit down the retort on her lips. She almost bumped into Sylvia, who had come to a stop in the center of the entrance hall. Sidestepping the other woman, Rachel gave herself enough space to keep both the quarreling exes and the window she’d leaped out of earlier in her line of sight. Reagan, not seeming to notice or care, eased the door shut behind him.
“So?”
“It’s actually in the kitchen.”
“Nice try. So are knives, pans and all the other accoutrements you loved to throw at me.” He eased the GLOCK back into view and aimed it at Sylvia’s chest. “Where’s the money, honey?”
Sylvia raised her hands. “In the basement.”
“It’s always nice when you remember your original story.” His expression became hard and utterly cold. “Get moving.”
A tiny fluttering sensation across her right wrist caught Rachel’s attention, and she became aware of not one, but two of the presences of her sigil—the first and fourth.
Why are you here? I can’t send Kit Home, and I certainly can’t banish Reagan—
An overwhelming sense of dread flowed through her, as well as a sudden sense of knowing, so powerful it became a visceral thought. If she didn’t do something fast, it wouldn’t be Kit the presences would be taking Home—it would be her.
I don’t know what to do!
“Move, you conniving—ack!” Shards of bike helmet shell ripped out of th
e couch and whizzed through the air, thunking into Reagan’s arms and torso. The stunned man dropped his gun, staring between the protruding pieces of custom-painted thermoplastic material and Sylvia. As his knees buckled, Rachel dived forward and dragged him off to the side so he wouldn’t fall against and block the front door. He tried to grab her as she dug her revolver out of his pocket and slid it back into her own, but she was just a touch too fast for his pain-fogged brain.
“You’d better stay alive, you creep,” she murmured at the fallen man. He stared at her like a bubble-eyed fish, gurgling a response.
Will he live? She flashed a quick look in the direction she felt the presences lingering.
The presences inched back, a sign they weren’t going to take him anytime soon.
“Right, then.” She snatched up the GLOCK, shoved it movie-style into the back waistband of her pants and turned on Sylvia.
“What—”
Rachel yanked the iron blade free from its hiding place, snatched up Sylvia’s hand and forced the dagger into her grip. “This will slow Kit down.”
“Where are you going?” Sylvia practically shrieked.
“To get your brother’s rodach token.”
“I’ll go. “
“No.” Rachel immediately slid the pistol free and aimed it at Sylvia’s face as she tried to lurch for the door. “You’ll stay here and give me time.”
“She has time.” The wraith materialized behind Sylvia, looming over her like the grim specter of death. “All she’s ever had was time.”
Sylvia released a tiny gasping cry but remained frozen in place as Rachel had the first time she’d encountered the wraith. This time, though, Rachel was prepared for his appearance. She jammed the pistol back into her waistband and spread her hands wide, trying to capture his attention, “Kit!”
He flinched as though struck and dragged his eyes up to glare at her, lips pulled back over bright white teeth.
“Do you remember who you are? You remember Sylvia. Do you remember why—”
Sylvia chose that moment to run. Like a wolf triggered into action by fleeing prey, the wraith threw itself after her.
A bright flash lit up the windows on the lower level. All three of the souls paused as fire began to lick ravenously at the outside of the house.
“Sylvia, use the dagger!” was the last thing Rachel yelled as she yanked open the front door. She was faced with a thick line of fire and the overwhelming stench of gasoline. She flinched reflexively, but the crash and scream of Sylvia fleeing the wraith behind her set charges to her legs. Leaping over the fire, she bolted down the porch stairs and around the corner, sprinting toward the garage.
Rachel threw the garage door open, yanked the cover off the Eldorado and eyed the driver’s side window. Foot? Elbow? GLOCK. She put the safety on and brought the butt of the gun down as hard as she could on the glass. The fragments hadn’t yet finished settling before she’d unlocked the door, slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine sputtered once, then came to life.
Rachel slammed the car into gear and floored it.
Gravel and dirt spat in every direction as the Eldorado raced down the rough drive. Rachel turned hard, planting the car kitty-corner to the front door. She shut off the engine, yanked out the key and pounded back up the porch stairs. Flames licked greedily at the sidings, and snatched at her clothing, but she couldn’t back off. The fact that the wraith had not made an attempt to come screaming out of the house toward the Eldorado meant either Sylvia was dead, or the Pandora’s box sigil was still in place.
She managed to make it around the side of the house, to that fateful window. Sure enough, while the paint had bubbled off, the flames had not fully consumed the window sill with its engraved sigil. Rachel clicked off the pistol’s safety, aimed it at the sigil and fired. Wood and embers exploded, covering Rachel in a moment of unbearable heat and clawing debris. She turned her head toward the Eldorado—nothing. Heart in her throat, Rachel tried to peer inside the window.
A looming shadow came into view, hoisting a body off the floor. The body was kicking ferociously.
Her flesh blistering, Rachel lifted the Eldorado’s key. “Kit Elkeles! I call you back to the earth!”
Seconds seemed to stretch into an agonizingly extended breath. The wraith vanished, and Sylvia’s body dropped to the floor. Rachel could still feel him.
He was coming.
She spun on her heel and bolted. A hurricane of shadows enveloped her, lifted her and threw her against the Eldorado. It took all of her will to remain focused. She lifted her badly burned hand and revealed the key. “Kit Elkeles, I call you back to the earth! It’s safe to return to Adam’s visage.”
The shadows coalesced into the physical form of the wraith. One hand cupped her throat, the formidable grip unbearably cold against her tender flesh. With his other hand, he gently plucked the key from her grasp. He looked at the key intensely, turned it this way and that, just as he had with her bracelet. His hand slipped from her throat to her shoulder. He gave her a mighty shove, sending her sprawling onto the front lawn. As she lay gasping on the grass, he stared at the open front door of the Eldorado, large eyes blinking, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Rachel struggled to a sitting position. One more time. The book had said three times. “Kit Elkeles, I call you back to the earth—”
“It’s okay.” The rodach-wraith cast her a look over his shoulder and smiled. “I remember.”
He slid into the driver’s seat, put the key into the ignition and vanished.
“Help!”
Rachel turned her head, struggling to her hands and knees. Sylvia was trying to drag Reagan out of the house. Shadows—neighbors from across the road and either side of the house—raced up the porch stairs to assist. A blanket was draped over Rachel’s shoulders as strong arms tried to lift her.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
“This guy’s breathing,” a woman yelled nearby. “Help me get him out, so I can move the car and make room for the fire truck!”
It took Rachel a moment to absorb what was being said. She turned her head, managing to look past her would-be rescuer, to the Eldorado.
There was an emaciated man slumped in the driver’s seat.
Kit Elkeles had come home.
Chapter Nine
Mr. Grey watched the fire gobbling up the house from a safe distance. He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that the rescue medium had succeeded. He hit speed dial on his cell phone and lifted it to his ear. He grimaced at the smell of gasoline soaked into his black gloves. He’d have to throw them out.
The phone connected almost immediately. “ID confirmed. It’s our girl.”
“And the Elkeles woman?”
“Survived. As did her ex and the rodach.”
“Did the medium make a connection between you and the mark?”
“She never saw my face.”
A pensive pause, filled with the sound of approaching emergency vehicles. “Pull back.”
“Pardon?”
“Pull back,” his handler said firmly. “It’s time we sent Luke in to deal with the medium. The other three are not to be engaged further.”
“I can complete this—”
“If ID is confirmed, you’re hardly qualified to continue handling this operation. Luke will take it from here. What?” Again her voice turned sickly sweet. “You almost sound disappointed.”
Mr. Grey’s jaw worked silently as the line went dead. He shoved the cell phone back into his pocket.
So be it.
He stepped into a nearby black Acadia Denali and drove away with as little fuss as possible.
Down the opposite street, a vampire stood in the shadows cast by an overgrown hedge, watching keenly. The humans streaming from their homes to stare at the burning house barely paid him any attention. Then again, supernaturals of his kind tended not to be noticed, period. He also pulled out a cell phone and hit speed dial.
�
�She survived, Janus.”
“And the rodach?”
“She turned him successfully.”
“Did you assist?”
“Didn’t have to. But—” he rubbed his jaw slowly, “—someone tried to burn the house down with everyone still in it.”
The sounds of papers being shuffled and the clink of a very expensive decanter touching an equally expensive crystal tumbler crossed the line. “Was it Reagan?”
“Reagan’s a regular douche bag—his kind tend to avoid putting their own lives at risk. Besides, they had to pull him out of the house, so I doubt he was running around setting fires.”
“You didn’t notice anyone around the house?”
He flinched at his boss’s tone. “Unless the guy was a freaking ninja, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”
“Follow them to the hospital. Make sure they’re admitted safely.”
The vampire sighed.
“Do I need to pull you off this assignment, Scott?”
The vampire’s eyes widened slightly. “No, Janus. I’m just not sure why I’m—”
“I pay you to follow through on my orders. I let you live because you don’t argue with me.” The line went dead.
“Son of a bitch,” the vampire breathed.
Chapter Ten
Rachel stood at the entrance to Kit’s hospital room for a long moment. She could still sense the wraith inside him, but it felt distant, almost like a whisper across the edges of her mind.
“I can feel you standing there.”
Rachel smiled. She limped into the large, mostly empty room and headed for the only bed with the curtain drawn around it. As she drew the curtain back, Kit’s face lit up with a boyish grin. He was still painfully thin, but he was a healthy color. Then again, any color was healthier than the wraith pallor.
“You must be Rachel.”
“And you must be the human version of rodach-wraith Kit.” She eased onto the edge of his bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Apart from being constantly hungry, never felt better. You?”
“I look worse than I am.” She lifted her bandaged arms and hands. “These’ll be gone way faster than everyone thinks. Comes with being different.”