It happens.
“It’s never been this hard to track one before. What am I supposed to do?”
She waited patiently while the pointer glided across the old wooden board and spelled out Kill it. No matter what it takes.
“Dad, what’s that mean? What’s it going to take?”
Keeping her gaze glued to the spirit board, she watched for the pointer to move and spell out the answer she desperately needed, but it didn’t. She waited for what seemed like an eternity before she repeated, “What do I have to do?”
A gust of wind blew through the room and snuffed out the candle’s flame. She checked around for an open window, and realized there wasn’t one. The wind was a sign from her father that the chat was over.
Aggravated, Mykaela stood up and turned on her lamp. She was tempted to relight the candle, initiate contact again, but last time she’d done that, her father’s ghost had gotten angry and shattered her favorite mirror. Mykaela didn’t want to push her luck—she’d just try again tomorrow.
After she’d showered and changed her clothes, she went back downstairs to the kitchen to look for a snack. Hunting always made her hungry. She grabbed a bag of Sour Cream and Onion chips when she heard the bell on the front desk ring. It was strange, because the inn didn’t open for business until six in the morning, and Mykaela’d been certain the door was locked.
Tossing the bag onto the counter, she pushed through the kitchen door, letting it swing behind her. She weaved around the dining room’s furniture until she stepped into the lobby. When she spotted the guest, her footsteps came to a halt. She could feel herself staring, but she couldn’t bring herself to snap out of it.
He was short for a guy, only a couple of inches taller than her. His black hair feathered toward the side, and his hands were stuffed in the pockets of a jean jacket. A beat-up duffel bag was draped over one shoulder. His face was flawless, free of any mark or blemish, with a smooth tone that seemed to radiate. When he turned, his dark eyes locking on hers, she felt herself melt.
His mouth dropped when he saw her, barely, in the slightest sign of recognition. His eyes grazed over her face, taking in every detail in a way that made Mykaela wonder if she’d forgotten to wipe off some blood.
Narrowing his eyes, he pointed at her through the pocket of his jacket. “Have we met?” He watched her, with an analytical gaze that made a chill crawl her skin. “You look…familiar.”
“I don’t think so.” She knew she’d never met him—she’d definitely remember if she had. And yet, there was something so familiar about him, about those eyes that seemed so deep, about that smell that made her feel drunk. The second she laid eyes on him she felt as if it had all happened before.
“Sorry,” she stammered, finally shaking herself into motion. She must have looked like an idiot, staring at him. “Can I help you?” Breaking her gaze from his, she circled around the check-in desk and took her place behind it.
“I’d like a room, please.” He shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.
Obviously, Mykaela thought. “Do you have a reservation?”
“No.” He leaned an arm on the desk. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“No, we still have rooms.” More like, every single room is available, after several girls drowned under mysterious circumstances. “How long would you like to stay?”
“The week.”
“Okay, can I have your driver’s license please?”
He reached into his pocket with one hand and pulled out a leather wallet. “Here you go,” he said as he fished his license out of it.
“Kerr Lachlan?” Mykaela asked. “That’s an interesting name. Are you Scottish?”
He laughed a little. “At the roots, I suppose. But, no, I’m American. Born and raised.”
She punched the information into the computer system. “It’s a little late for tourist season,” she said, trying to make conversation.
“I’m not a tourist, I’m writing a book. This place is so beautiful.” He looked around at the arched ceilings and the hardwood floors. “Filled with character. It’s the perfect setting.”
Mykaela didn’t know whether to be intrigued or worried. The last ‘writer’ she’d met was Morrigan, and she wasn’t exactly trustworthy. “What’s your book about?”
“It’s loosely based on the events of this summer.”
She stopped what she was doing, her fingers hovering over the keys. Every sense, preternatural and natural went on alert and her hunting instincts took over. “The events?”
“Six young women drowning in the same way—within weeks of each other?” There was excitement in his voice, like that of a kid taken to a candy factory. “It’s fascinating. And they never caught the supposed ‘killer,’ either. When I heard about it, I couldn’t resist.”
She went rigid and her muscles stiffened, refusing to work with her and get his stupid information into the system. “Those girls were my friends,” she said, her voice as cold as ice.
“Oh.” He leaned his elbows on the antique desk, catching her gaze. “I’m so sorry.”
She kept her attention focused on the sign-in book in front of her. She’d love to yell at him for his morbid enthusiasm over the events that changed her life forever, but the murders put a strain on the business. Nobody wanted to stay in a town where women washed up on the beach every other day, and the newest mysterious deaths weren’t helping matters. For the family businesses’ sake, she let the comment slide. “You didn’t know.”
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to do an interview?”
She gripped her hand into a fist, wishing he was one of the monsters she hunted so she could unleash some of her pent up anger on him. The audacity…the nerve of him to ask her to revisit such pain. “No. And I doubt you’ll have much luck finding anyone else to give you one, either.”
“Wow, that was unbelievably insensitive of me.” He smiled at her, flashing a row of white teeth. “Sometimes I have a one-track mind, and I forget there are other people involved.”
She ignored his pitiful excuse for an apology and turned to him, telling him the total.
Pulling money out of his wallet, he caught her gaze, letting her look into sparkling green eyes. “I’m sorry if I insulted you.” He clung to the cash when she tried to take it, and then flashed a charming smile. “It wasn’t my intention. I get a little carried away when I cross a good story. Any story.”
“It’s alright.” She forced herself to smile at him, and he let go. She felt his gaze on her, unwavering, as she shoved his cash into the register, printed out his receipt and then grabbed a room key. “Welcome to the Seaside Inn,” she said, with more fake warmth than the emphatic welcome her mother required. “We hope you enjoy your stay.”
“I’m sure I will.” His eyes lingered on her a minute before he turned to go up the stairs. As he disappeared up the steps, he tossed her another charming smile that she could swear she’d seen before.
She gave him a few minutes to get settled in before heading upstairs once again. Dragging her aching and tired body down the hall toward her bedroom, she wondered if she’d be able to sleep, or if she’d wake from another nightmare long before dawn. Lately, she’d been lucky to sleep for three consecutive hours. Every time she closed her eyes, she thought of Dylan’s betrayal, and how badly he’d hurt her. She found it difficult to think of anything else.
As she reached the bedroom door, something caught her eye. A piece of paper, taped just below the doorknob. She plucked it from the door, unfolding the paper in the process. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared down at the beautifully drawn portrait of a dove perched on an olive branch.
Meet Author Jasmine Denton
Jasmine Denton started writing when she was ten, authoring a series of short stories about a line of princesses who find themselves in similar forbidden love scenarios. As a teenager, she wrote stories filled with angst and growing pains. Now, she’s found a genre that allows her to tell
forbidden love and teen angst stories against a paranormal backdrop. Jasmine’s published works include Soul of the Sea, the first in the Curse of the Sea series and Inner Demons, a modern day retelling of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
To learn more about Jasmine, you can follow her on Twitter (@JasmineLDenton) or visit her blog @ jasmineldenton.wordpress.com
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