Phantom Kiss

by Chloe Neill

  “Those little shits,” Mallory gritted out, teeth bared.

  “There was no car,” I said, fury rising. “No white sedan. No perpetrator they’d chased down at the cemetery. They raised the ghost. They were probably trying to get back to the fence when they ran into me.”

  Ethan looked back at the tunnel door, danger in his eyes. “They believe they are invincible and omnipotent. As they’ve hurt two of my vampires, I’ll be proving them wrong in the bloodiest way possible.”

  “Would you settle for their incarceration?” Catcher asked matter-of-factly.

  Ethan just growled.

  “You’ll both have to wait,” I said. “Robin’s not with them. Annabelle only saw one person leaving Lapham’s grave, so he could be the real culprit here.”

  Ethan’s grin was terrifying. “Then let’s go ruin their evening.”

  • • •

  My heart had begun to throb with the anticipation of a fight, of finding the truth. We formed a wall in the doorway of the second parlor while Ethan gave quiet instructions to Kelley. I dropped the backpack on the floor between me and Catcher, then crossed my arms, daring Roz and Matt to make a move for it.

  Ethan walked over, and we made space for him in the line. “Tell me why you did it,” he said, jumping right in to throw them off balance.

  “Did what?” Roz asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “I want to know why you’ve disturbed two graves. For fun? For profit? For excitement?”

  “We didn’t do anything.” But her eyes had gone wide.

  “We found the receipt,” Ethan said, holding it up. “You bought the spell. You summoned the ghost.”

  “No,” she said, so Ethan turned his gaze to Matt. “And what about you? Do you know?”

  When he opened his mouth, Roz grabbed his arm. “Shut up, Matt!”

  There was only a moment of deliberation, of hesitation. “Why? It wasn’t my idea, and I’m not taking the heat for it.” Matt looked back at Ethan. “It’s all Robin. He’s worried about money. After Sorcha, nobody’s using us, because nobody wants anything to do with magic. Everyone’s afraid of it. We’re barely making any money, and we might lose our place.”

  Ethan’s jaw twitched with fury.

  “So you thought you’d call up the spirits of two gangsters?” Mallory walked forward, hands on her hips and her eyes as cold as mine. For a woman with blue hair, she played the badass pretty well.

  “Look,” Matt said, pushing a hand through his hair. “Gangsters in Chicago are big business. There are souvenirs, ghost tours, the whole deal. Robin wanted a piece of that action. He thought if we raised one from each gang, installed them in a house or something, we’d be able to make some money. Have a legit haunted house, or stage an investigation like on television. We’d get crazy amounts of press, and we’d finally start making some real cash. He thought Almshouse would be easiest to get in and out of, and Riley was the only one of Capone’s people that we could find there. We bought the spell, cleaned out our savings for it. But it didn’t work. Or not the way we thought.”

  While he looked guilty, Ethan looked absolutely furious. “Do you know who you actually summoned?” Each word was bitten off in anger.

  “Robin recognized him,” Roz quietly said.

  “Did you think to warn us that you’d raised a serial killer?” Ethan asked. “That we had a serial killer in our home?” He’d taken two threatening steps toward them, and they backed away. That might have been their first smart move.

  “Robin’s going to fix it,” Roz said.

  Ethan’s eyes flashed. “He has fixed enough. Where is he?”

  Roz and Matt exchanged a look.

  “You may be under the impression that I won’t hurt you,” Ethan said. “That I’ll allow Mr. Bell to call the Ombudsman, and let you be processed accordingly. Make no mistake—you’ve hurt my people. And I’ve no qualms about your paying that back, bruise by bloody bruise.”

  “He’s at the Malone mansion,” Roz said, body sagging with resignation.

  “The bordello?” Catcher asked, pulling out his phone, probably to send a message to my grandfather.

  “Our bordello. We bought it before Sorcha, before people were afraid. We’re going to lose it if we don’t get business.” She paused. “Robin’s got Padgett’s skull, and he’s going to try to move Padgett’s spirit from Cadogan House into our building.”

  “Is he alone?” I asked.

  She nodded. “We had a fight. After what happened here, we told him it was too dangerous to do any more of this, that we’d figure out another way to get the money. He said he’d do it alone.” Guilt hunched her shoulders.

  If he gets it right, I told Ethan, if he manages to call Padgett, Padgett will kill him.

  Ethan was quiet for a moment, as if debating whether that possibility—considering the fact that Robin had created the situation and the danger—was worth the trouble of a response.

  “You’ll stay here,” he said to Matt and Roz in a tone that allowed no argument. “Keep an eye on them,” he told Kelley.

  She stepped forward, eyes silvered and fangs bared.

  We walked back into the foyer.

  “You’ve contacted Chuck?” Ethan asked Catcher.

  He nodded. “He’s going to assemble a team, get eyes on the house. He doesn’t want to send cops in yet. If Padgett’s in there, guns won’t help.”

  “Then let’s join them,” Ethan said. “And let’s put an end to this.”

  • • •

  Ethan, Mallory, Jeff, Catcher, Annabelle, and I gathered two blocks up from the Malone house to finalize our plan with my grandfather and the CPD backup.

  “You’re violating the Order’s rules,” Catcher told Annabelle with a grin.

  Her answering grin was equally wide. She was wearing an ass-kicking ensemble of black pants, jacket, and boots. It was a night of fierce ladies, and she nodded with the same ferocity in her eyes. “I know,” she said. “It feels spectacular.”

  Catcher chuckled, patted her back. “Welcome to the club.”

  “The house is surrounded,” my grandfather said. “Robin is in there. We’ve got a man with a camera across the street.” He offered a tablet that showed what looked like color video.

  The house was precisely what I’d have imagined a Midwestern bordello would look like. It was a Queen Anne–style building, with pointed gables on the front and sides, and a thin, round tower on the corner above the front door. There were railed balconies on the street-facing side and gingerbread decorations on every right angle. The house had once been painted in several colors—seafoam green, deep mauve, and brick red with pale yellow highlights—but the color had faded in some spots, peeled in others. Half the windows were boarded up.

  The house was slightly elevated from the sidewalk, and a white banner had been posted in the patchy lawn: MALONE BORDELLO. CALL FOR TOURS OF CHICAGO’S MOST HAUNTED BUILDING.

  The sign looked new. Robin had apparently been feeling optimistic.

  There was a light on in the unshielded front window, and the form of a man backlit by a hanging bulb in the living room.

  “That’s Robin,” my grandfather said. “We presume he is attempting to work the summoning spell he previously purchased in order to move Padgett into this location. We will also presume he will be successful at that, and we’ll prepare accordingly.”

  “The spell is clearly effective,” Annabelle said. “If it’s powerful enough, he can make another go of it.”

  My grandfather nodded. “If Padgett is drawn here, can you put him down?”

  “I can strongly encourage him to leave,” Annabelle said in a tone that left no doubt as to how strong that encouragement would be.

  “That’s good enough for me.” My grandfather looked at each member of the mission team in turn. “Neutralize Padgett in wh
atever manner is most effective. Try to keep Robin alive.”

  “‘Try’?” Catcher asked.

  It had been many years since my grandfather had worn a CPD uniform, but there was no mistaking the vigor in his eyes or the anger. “Try,” my grandfather said again. “Be careful out there and cautious of both of them.”

  “We will,” Annabelle said. “And he shouldn’t underestimate us.”

  As taglines went, that was pretty solid.

  • • •

  We broke into teams so we could make quieter approaches. Jeff and Catcher would go in through the back. Ethan, Annabelle, and I would go in through the front. Mallory would stay outside, magic at the ready, in case she needed to control Padgett’s escape.

  You’ll be careful, Ethan said, taking in my leathers and katana as I gave him a once-over, too.

  And so will you. We’ve got a wedding to attend.

  That there was relief in his eyes surprised me. Even though your relatives may not approve? he asked.

  I smiled at him. I’m not worried about whether they approve of you. More that they don’t approve of me. But there’s not much I can do to change that. I am who I am.

  What you are, he said, is spectacular.

  I was also ready for a fight, I thought, as Ethan, Annabelle, and I walked through darkness, the sound of our footsteps muffled by the calls of cicadas. When we had a visual on the front porch, Ethan held up a fist, calling us to a stop.

  The light was still on, but the main room on the first floor was empty. There was a flickering glow in one of the windows in the second-floor tower.

  “He’s moved upstairs,” Ethan said.

  Annabelle nodded. “That’s candlelight. Part of the spell he bought.”

  “Then let’s get to it,” Ethan said, and we crept across the yard to the porch. The front door was open, the first room lit and empty but strewn with trash, the walls marked by graffiti.

  We passed it and paused in the front hall, listening for sound, and heard the low rumble of chanting upstairs. The air wasn’t yet chilled, but if we didn’t hurry, that wouldn’t be far behind.

  We took the stairs two at a time, followed the sound and the flickering candlelight, and moved into the room where Robin held court.

  It was roughly octagonal in shape, with well-worn hardwood floors and plenty of graffiti. He’d drawn a white circle on the floor with what looked like salt. A fat pillar candle was positioned in the middle of the circle along with a few other bits of magical detritus. He crouched over the pile, flipping through the stapled pages of what I guessed was his ill-gotten spell.

  I stepped forward. “Robin.”

  He looked up, took in the leather, the sword. And the fear on his face turned petulant. “I’m almost done. You’re too late. You can’t stop me.”

  “We can,” Annabelle said, stepping beside me. “That’s precisely why we’re here.”

  “I’m moving Albert Padgett into my house,” he said with bravado he didn’t quite pull off.

  Ethan joined us. “You’re a child who disturbed the dead for his own gain. And because of what you’ve done, you’ve hurt my people. We will damn well stop you.”

  Robin stood up, took two steps backward—and outside the circle. Catcher and Jeff entered the room. Catcher took Robin by the arms while Jeff used a zip tie to bind his wrists together.

  “I made magic!” Robin sobbed. “I did magic!”

  “Past tense,” Catcher said. “You’re done.”

  But the house rumbled beneath us, and the temperature in the room dropped shockingly.

  “Here we go,” I murmured, my breath fogging the air. I put my hand on the handle of my sword. “I think that woke him up.”

  “He’s coming!” Robin said. “I brought him here! I did it.”

  “You called a serial killer into this world using someone else’s spell,” Annabelle said, taking a step backward, away from the circle. “We award you no points for that.”

  Light and magic shot up from the floor; lines and shadows shifted and formed into the shape of Albert Padgett.

  His mouth was open and screaming, the words skewed by magic but the anger clear enough.” . . . my power . . . !”

  Annabelle stepped forward, determination in every feature. “Albert Padgett! I am Annabelle Shaw, necromancer. You are not welcome in this world. Return to your home!”

  She stamped a booted foot upon the floor, and it shook beneath her, proof of her power.

  Padgett’s eyes narrowed, became pinpricks of concentrated anger. “. . . am a god!”

  “You are most certainly not a god!” Annabelle said. “You are only energy, and you are in the wrong plane!” She pointed her finger at him like the Grim Reaper claiming a soul. “You are a monster with no place in this world. You will return to your plane now by choice, or I will send you there myself.”

  He rushed her, so quickly I only had a moment to move.

  I jumped forward, pushed her out of the way. Albert Padgett hit me, and we slammed against the floor together, his spirit wrapped around my body, his hands around my neck.

  That numbing cold began to spread again, icy fingers piercing my ribs and squeezing my heart into stillness.

  In that moment of connection, there was only darkness and death. I could feel his thrill in it, in watching life dissipate, in seeing the last breath catch and release, the twitch of muscle as electricity made its final course through the human body.

  Albert Padgett reveled in death, and as long as he had a presence in this world, he would continue to revel in it. He could continue to kill.

  Then flame covered us both, and Padgett’s spirit darted back. The world filled with light, bright and blue and pure, and those thoughts retreated like a wave returning to the sea.

  I was yanked to my feet, shaken.

  Merit! Merit!

  I waited for the world to come back into focus, stared into Ethan’s eyes. He’d pulled me up by my jacket, hauling me nearly onto my toes while he called out to me.

  I’m all right, I said, not trusting my voice to speak. I’m all right. I got my bearings, watched light reassemble a few feet away. Catcher had thrown a fireball, I realized, saved me. I gave him an acknowledging nod, and he winked at me in return.

  The sparks had split Padgett’s energy, but he was beginning to re-form again. I pulled away from Ethan and unsheathed my katana.

  Padgett had given me a glimpse of his mind. He was mine to destroy.

  With a Cheshire grin as he re-formed, he watched me move toward him. “. . . know what I am . . . What . . . want.”

  That was easy enough to understand in context. “I know what you are,” I confirmed. “And what you want. And I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  I swung the blade horizontally, slicing through him, then back and forth in a crisscrossing pattern that would have torn a physical form to shreds. But it had no effect on him. It only shattered the image, like a ripple through water, but he re-formed again and again.

  “. . . weapons . . . no effect!” he cried victoriously.

  He was right, so I stepped back. Annabelle took my place.

  “Albert Padgett!” she screamed. “This is your last damn warning. Get the hell out of our town!”

  She slammed her foot onto the floor, pushing a shock wave of energy across the room. Floorboards buckled beneath the wave.

  But Albert Padgett didn’t even blink.

  “It’s not working!” Annabelle yelled out, and now there was fear in her voice.

  I closed my eyes, made myself think through the steps. Padgett was still here—why? Because he wanted to be?

  I opened my eyes, looked over at the pillar candle and the ring of salt around it, still intact despite the fighting. Salt rings were meant to contain things; it stood to reason that breaking the barrier would als
o break the containment.

  Like a girl preparing to run into a game of double Dutch, I watched him move, timed my shot, and I darted forward, running beneath Padgett’s open arms, and swiped a foot across the salt, putting a gap in the ring.

  Magic burst across the room. Bolts of blue power, bright and sharp as lightning, struck upward toward the ceiling.

  “No!” Padgett screamed, and his image wavered.

  “Return to your plane!” Annabelle yelled.

  This time, there was no explosion. There was only, like the first night I’d seen a ghost, the diminishing of magic, of energy, of Padgett’s ghostly image.

  “. . . god!” he screamed even as his image faded.

  And then there was nothing but darkness. After a moment, the cicadas began to sing again outside.

  “Not with a bang,” I quietly recited, “but a whimper.”

  Ethan stepped beside me. “He’s gone?” he asked Annabelle.

  She nodded. “As gone as any of us will be. Well,” she added with a smirk, “those of us who aren’t immortal.”

  “We all come to an end,” Ethan said. “Let’s just hope that we come to better ends than this.”

  Epilogue

  We came bearing ice cream . . . and a gift.

  Luc held up a hand when we walked into his room, wagged a finger from his spot in bed. “No more ice cream. I can’t take anymore.” He patted his flat abdomen. “I can feel it destroying muscle.”

  “I don’t believe the biology quite works that way,” Ethan said. “But just in case, we found something else for you.”

  “For me?” Luc’s face brightened when Ethan handed him the gift. “What is it?”

  “A get-well present.”

  Luc ripped off the paper, stared down at the box he’d unwrapped. “You got me an EMF unit?”

  “It’s just a starter unit,” Ethan said with a smile. “But since it appears the possibility of ghosts in Cadogan House is quite real, it would pay to have an expert on staff.”

  Luc looked as happy as a kid with a new bike on Christmas morning.

  “Consider it an incentive to heal faster,” Ethan said. “We need you back in the Ops Room.”