Retribution of Soul: Book 3 of the In-Between

by Senese, Rebecca M.

  “It’s there, isn’t it?” Joan said. “I can sense something.”

  “She’s not bad,” Charlie said, “for an older broad.”

  Shut up.

  “Just tryin’ to lighten the mood.”

  “You can see it, can’t you?” Joan said. Her head tilted. “Are you talking to it?”

  Now he felt fear as an undercurrent of that anger, like a sourness that prickled his skin.

  “It’s not an ‘it,’” Sebastian said. “It’s a him. It’s my friend, Charlie.”

  Jessica gasped. She recoiled in her seat, pressing against the back.

  Dammit.

  After everything, she’d always been the one who didn’t look at him like he was a freak but he saw that look now on her face. That look of revulsion.

  He’d lost her.

  He had to get out of here.

  He pushed back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor, and stood up.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to go. I know you’re trying to save the world and all but I just want to save my family. I’ll come back and help, I promise. If you still want me.”

  He said it to the entire table but kept his gaze fixed on Jessica.

  He started to back away.

  She got up from the table and pushed past the three people to reach the corner.

  “That’s it?” she said. “You’re just leaving? You won’t even listen to what’s going on?”

  “I have to go,” he said.

  “What’s happening in Rome, it could affect everyone,” she said. “Won’t you even wait to hear about it?”

  His chest tightened. He wanted to reach out to her, wanted to stay and hear whatever she had to say. But an entire motel of people had died just a few days ago and he knew it was Alexa, knew she was heading for his family.

  That motel had been her calling card. A little announcement just for him.

  He couldn’t wait any longer.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  He turned away from her.

  Blond Bristles and Brown Bristles blocked his path to the oak door.

  Shit.

  “Let me take care of these guys,” Charlie said.

  He vanished and reappeared behind them. This time, the glow happened much faster. Both men yelped as Charlie grabbed the back of their pants to administer the ultimate weggie.

  Sebastian darted past them as they flailed.

  He yanked the door open and was through before it even swung fully open. Maybe he should have shut it to block them from following him but he didn’t have time. He raced across the wide front foyer, shoes slapping on the marble tile. The front oak door opened just as easily and he was outside, running down the gravel driveway.

  The same van they’d brought him in was parked at the end of a line of cars. One good thing about having been with the In-Between for a while, they’d taught him how to wire a car. He yanked the driver’s door open and jumped in. How thoughtful, they’d already pulled the wires out of the steering column. He twisted them together and the engine caught.

  As he backed out, people began pouring through the front door, racing down the driveway toward the van. He pressed on the gas and the van shot onto the road.

  He turned the wheel and drove away.

  Charlie appeared in the passenger’s seat. “Don’t worry. I mucked up the car in front of the van. It’ll take ‘em a minute to get it out of the way.”

  “Thanks,” Sebastian said.

  “Hey, it’s the least I can do. I didn’t mean to mess things up in there. That guy was just such a dick. I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Yeah,” Sebastian said. “I know.”

  “What was that about Rome?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “A job. Another nest of vampires to clear out. Same old thing.”

  Charlie frowned. “Didn’t sound like the same old thing.”

  Sebastian glanced across at him. “Too late to worry about that now.”

  “Sure, buddy. Let’s hit the airport.”

  Sebastian patted the bag at his waist. At least they hadn’t taken the money from him.

  It was going to have to be enough.

  Already in the sky he could see the darkness lightening toward dawn. They’d kept him for hours. More time lost, and he’d lose at least another day in travel time before he made it all the way home.

  Way too many losses. He just kept piling them up. It wasn’t fair. How much more could he lose? Just when he thought there was nothing left, something else dropped away, stripping another layer off him, taking another piece of his soul.

  Jessica...

  He’d pushed too far. He saw it in her eyes.

  Maybe after, maybe he could explain things. She’d lost her mother and her brother, had had to kill the vampire that came back to her with her brother’s face. But that was a long time ago, and she didn’t have any family left.

  He might not be able to make her understand.

  He almost turned the van back. As they came up to a stop light and he waited for the light to change, he noticed the road widened just up ahead. He could make a U turn.

  He could still go back.

  “Ah Sebastian?” Charlie said.

  “What?”

  The light turned green.

  “Shouldn’t you be driving on the left side of the road?”

  “Fuck!”

  He abandoned the van in the parking garage at the airport, surrounded by the smell of exhaust, drying road paint, and grime. Sebastian inhaled as much of it as he could on the walk to the airport, trying to overpower his sense of smell.

  It might just help drown out the scent of blood around him.

  As time passed, he got a little better at resisting the temptation but such a dense concentration of people still threatened to overpower his resolve. Sitting in an airplane, surrounded by that alluring smell was going to be hard enough, he had to get through the airport and the gate before he even got there.

  And he still needed to get a ticket.

  With only half of the cash he needed.

  Easy, right?

  He wished he was invisible like Charlie.

  He joined the line at the order desk. Only three people in front of him. A quick check of the board above the desk told him the next flight to the States was leaving in three hours. He had barely enough time to get a ticket and go through security.

  He couldn’t wait for three people.

  He focused on the woman standing in front of him, in her navy business suit, skirt fashionably a half inch above her knee, black shoes a modest three inches high. She held a navy wheeled suitcase behind her. Her left hand clasped her passport and papers.

  Bathroom, you have to go to the bathroom.

  She shifted a little, left black shoe sliding on the speckled floor. She cleared her throat.

  Bathroom…

  Her right foot moved now, pressing against her left. She stood with her legs tight together. Her hand tightened on the passport.

  Bathroom…

  Her body wiggled. The toe of her right shoe tapped the floor. Abruptly, she spun, feet marching forward as she headed to the left. The suitcase wheeled behind her as she hurried away.

  Sebastian moved up.

  Only two more to go.

  Each of the others was easier. He sent the man in the leather jacket and sneakers off for a coffee and bagel because of his imagined starvation. The other woman in jeans and flowing flower top, he sent to the bathroom as well.

  Finally he was next.

  The attendant behind the desk motioned him forward. He stepped up handing over his passport.

  “I need to be on the next plane to the U.S.,” he said. He pitched his voice low over the counter.

  For a moment, he thought she hadn’t heard him, hadn’t heard the push in his voice.

  Her head remain bowed, the fringe of dark brown hair around her face covering her forehead. Her mocha colored hands with perfectly manicured, pale pink nails trembled j
ust a little. The cuffs of her dark blue flight attendant jacket shifted up her wrists. Her face lifted and he noticed the telltale vacant expression in her dark brown eyes.

  “U.S.,” she said.

  “Yes, the next plane.” He focused, feeling the dull pain in his head start to tighten around his temples. He just had to get her moving.

  Her hands trembled a little more. Her fingernails scraped the tops of keyboard keys then settled onto them.

  Press down, now he just had to get her to press down.

  She began typing. At first her movements were hesitant, then they became smoother as she went along. Sebastian leaned against the counter, wishing he could rest his head against its cool surface. Pain radiated from his temples down into his jaw.

  “Credit card please,” the attendant said.

  Oh shit, he’d thought he could pay by cash and Influence her into thinking it was enough.

  He was going to have to improvise.

  And oh, wasn’t he so good at that.

  “Um, use your own,” he said. He closed his eyes and focused on her.

  “Sure.” Her voice sounded faint and distant. Her fingers sped over the keyboard. Each tap felt like a bludgeon against his temples. Finally she finished and printed off a boarding pass.

  “Gate C78. Do you need to check any baggage, sir?”

  “No,” he said.

  Amazing that he was able to keep his voice steady.

  “Security is that way.” She pointed to her right. “Next.”

  He grabbed the boarding pass from her hand and stumbled away, heading for security. Part way there, he realized he’d look suspicious with no baggage at all. He hunted through the various shops, finding a khaki bag he could us for carryon. He wandered through the stores, grabbing souvenir t-shirts, shorts, books, anything to fill the bag. He used up about half of his cash before he thought he had enough.

  He could have Influenced people not to notice but the way his head was feeling now, he wanted to avoid it as much as possible. Besides, the In-Between might be able to follow his trail.

  Not that he’d be that hard to follow.

  Surprisingly, security passed him through with a cursory check. The squat, heavy-set woman, her light brown hair pulled back and styled in a fashionable bun at the base of her skull, waved the wand at him as he passed through the x-ray machine. She was nodding even before she finished.

  His bag rolled down the conveyor belt without incident.

  He grabbed it and headed for the gate.

  Only another couple of hours and he’d be heading home.

  That should give him plenty of time to come up with a plan to deal with Alexa but not nearly enough to figure out what the hell he was going to tell his parents and his brother.

  CHAPTER 7

  The worst thing about travel wasn’t the security or the airports or the cramped seating or horrible, plastic-like texture to the food. It was the jet lag.

  Sebastian stumbled off the airplane in Chicago, dragging the khaki bag with him. The stark white light in O’Hare blinded him, pounding into his head. Everywhere was bright, the white tiles, the spackled walls, the gleaming metal gates he stumbled past. He desperately needed sunglasses.

  Smells assaulted him from all sides. Stale, confined air seemed to swoosh out from the airplane behind him like an annoying dog he couldn’t get rid of. Sour sweat from the people waiting at the gate mingled with the odors of sickly sweet perfume and cologne. The heavy, greasy smell of fried food seemed to crawl along the floor before coating the insides of his nostrils and sliding down to lodge in his throat.

  And everywhere underneath these odors, he smelled blood.

  The sweet, tantalizing temptation called to him. Over and over.

  He sagged against the wall beside a coffee bar, letting the strong stench of burned coffee and sweet rolls waft over him. He could still smell the business man at the counter, could even hear the ticking of his watch. Expensive looking polished metal (titanium? White platinum?) with some kind of jewelled setting. Too bad the ticking was off by a fraction of a second. Probably made the watch lose several minutes per year. From the coiffed hairstyle, the expensive double-breasted grey suit, and Italian-made leather shoes, Sebastian imagined the businessman would be pissed to learn that his ultra-expensive watch lost time like that. The man picked up his latte from the woman behind the counter and moved to the side, adding several packets of sweetener to it.

  Shouldn’t bother, he was already well on his way to getting diabetes.

  Sebastian could smell it in his blood.

  He turned away before the man finished pouring. There had to be some place with a few less people. Maybe with no people.

  Just get him away from that smell.

  The hours on the flight had left his resistance low. Too much open space in the airport. The large wide hall with the gates and food court spouting off on either side, filled with people. There was no getting away from the smell of people, the smell of blood. The air moved through the central hall like a wave, carrying the scent along and it called to him.

  He could feel it.

  Just one taste...

  He forced himself into the washroom, surrounded by chrome. Shining paper towel holders and taps. Gleaming mirrors. Sparkling walls. Shining floor. It all burned his eyes, felt like it was frying the retinas at the back of his head, but he welcomed it, welcomed the pain of the harsh, bright light. At least it gave him some distraction from the sweet, seductive call.

  Just one taste…

  He splashed cold water on this face and used the industrial soap on his hands. The strong, detergent smell overpowered his nostrils, even driving out the scent of blood.

  Finally.

  “You don’t look so good,” Charlie said.

  He stood by the chrome sink but Sebastian couldn’t see Charlie’s reflection in the mirror.

  He hadn’t realized ghosts wouldn’t have reflections.

  Of course, hallucinations wouldn’t have reflections either.

  “Tired,” Sebastian said.

  “Wish I could help you with that,” Charlie said.

  Sebastian nodded. “You did enough.”

  And he had. Charlie had sat in the seat next to Sebastian for the entire flight, forcing out the businessman who had booked the seat. The man had complained about the coldness and the weird feeling. At first the attendant hadn’t believed him but then had felt it herself.

  She arranged to move the man and hadn’t disturbed Sebastian again, not even to offer soft drinks.

  Sebastian didn’t care. The flight had been hard enough.

  “How long are we stuck here?” Charlie said.

  “Four hour layover,” Sebastian said. “Then an hour or so in the air.”

  “Not so bad,” Charlie said. He smiled one of his classic Charlie grins as if they were still hanging out in their dorm room, talking about skipping class.

  How many years ago had that been? It felt like centuries.

  Sebastian splashed more water on his face. It helped a little, helped clear his head. He yanked a few paper towels from the dispenser beside the sink. The second towel tore in his hand leaving half hanging from the gleaming metal teeth.

  Oh great. His hands still dripped. He dug his fingers underneath, trying to fish more out, feeling water dribble down his forearm, heading for his elbow. Just about to soak into his shirt. Terrific.

  Was it good to know that no matter what happened to him he still managed to be an uncoordinated klutz?

  Behind him, the door banged open and footsteps stumbled inside. Sebastian turned to look just as whoever it was disappeared around the corner. He caught the suggestion of jeans, maybe cowboy boots.

  The solitude had been nice while it lasted.

  Then he caught it, the slight hint of sourness…

  Vampire?

  No, it couldn’t be. What the hell time was it? He glanced at his empty wrist. Right. He didn’t have a watch, couldn’t even remember what time he’d left L
ondon. What was the time difference? They were five hours ahead? He couldn’t remember, couldn’t concentrate enough on it because he’d spent the entire flight trying not to rip apart the people around him so he could soak in their blood.

  What had he been…? Oh right, sourness.

  He could still smell it, just a hint. Not a vampire, not strong enough to be a vampire. He should have realized that, of course, but he was tired. Someone who had been attacked? Another In-Between? No, that couldn’t be right either. He wouldn’t be able to smell another In-Between.

  Who was this guy?

  Better question: what was this guy?

  “What’s up?” Charlie said.

  “Sour.” Sebastian pointed. “In the stalls.”

  “So the guy has digestive issues. So what?”

  “Not that kind, you idiot.”

  Charlie spread his hands. “Then what are you talking about?”

  Sebastian reached the corner. He couldn’t keep talking out loud to Charlie, not without the guy hearing him.

  Vampire. He mouthed the word and pointed.

  Charlie’s mouth opened in an O.

  Sebastian peered around the corner. The white tiles of the floor reflected off the brushed metal of the stall doors. They trailed away from him, lining each side of the aisle. Even without looking he knew most of those doors would be hanging just a little bit ajar, open and ready for the next person to use them. Only one stall was occupied.

  By someone with a slight sour scent to them.

  The only question was, could that person smell Sebastian?

  He had to assume they could.

  He clenched the strap of the khaki bag as he stepped into the center of the aisle. He didn’t have any real weapon. There was no way to smuggle anything into an airport these days. He didn’t even have a silver cross around his neck.

  He wasn’t much fond of silver for wearing. It made him itchy.

  Just another reminder of how close to the edge he was. Sometimes he wondered if he’d ever slide over and not even realize it.

  He moved with care, each foot lifting and setting down, quiet, the rubber soles not making a sound as he crept forward. With each step, he grew more certain this was someone he would have to deal with. The sourness grew in the air until he pinpointed it.