by Mark Tufo
Rick attacked with the shovel, swinging at Larry's head. Larry ducked but fell backwards, firing shots wildly with both guns in hand as he went down.
Becky and Susan lunged at Larry, who was still shooting. One of his shots caught Susan in the arm and she fell to the ground.
As Larry got to one knee, pointing the guns at Michael, he was tackled from behind by Artie, who gripped him in a headlock.
Larry struggled, but Becky helped pin him down, yanking his multiple weapons from his body.
Jim Rutan stood and pointed at Michael. "Hurry, before he tries to jump bodies!"
Michael began shouting and chanting the words as Jim knelt in front of Larry and stared into his eyes. "You let me live. First mistake. Last mistake. Your prison will now become your permanent home."
Larry shook his head, struggling against Artie and Becky and watching in fear as Michael, his words now a shout, approached.
Jim grinned and put his forehead to Larry's own. "Come."
Larry went limp in Artie and Becky's grips.
"Now," Jim said through clenched teeth. "Kill me."
Becky pointed a gun at Jim's head but didn't pull the trigger.
"You have to shoot him or this won't work," Michael yelled, then went back to chanting, holding the rock above Jim's head.
Artie put a gentle hand on Becky's arm and stared at her, lifting the gun from her. "Allow me. I can justify this somehow."
Michael's cries rose, the rock glowing in his hands, and as he finished what he sensed was the proper and final word, he heard the gunshot.
Chapter Thirty Three
"I feel dirty," Artie said. He leaned against the window in the booth of the diner, next to Becky. His cold cheeseburger sat, untouched, on his plate.
"How else could we explain what happened? Jim told each of us what needed to be done, and what the outcome would be." Susan, sitting across from her mom, played with her French fries. "We couldn't exactly tell the truth without all getting locked up."
Michael agreed. When Jim had told him the entire plan, whispered in his head, he thought the boy insane. Now he knew Jim’s plan had been the only solution.
Rick had not survived, taking a bullet to the chest as they attacked. Susan still harbored an arm in a sling but the bullet had passed through her arm without permanent damage. Artie, though banged up, had played possum once they were outside, and used that to his advantage.
Larry came walking up and pulled a chair, sitting down at the head of the booth. "What did I miss?" he asked.
"Not much," Michael said. "You were a douchebag—as usual—and we talked shit about you."
Larry tried to smile but his mouth dropped. "Look, I'm really sorry …"
"Not your fault. Forget it." Michael bit into his cheeseburger. "Although, if you called me fat ass or Mikey one more time— Dir or no Dir—I would have punched you in your mouth."
"Fair enough, fat ass,” Larry mumbled and everyone laughed.
"What do we do now? Go about our boring life again?" Becky asked.
Artie shrugged. "What else can we do? The rock is secured and there's no way it will fall into the wrong hands again. Unfortunately for Jim Rutan's family, everyone thinks their son is a mass murderer who copycatted the tool shed murders. But that's the only way he was going to get out of this. When he touched my mind, there were some very disturbing images. The poor boy was going to be insane for the rest of his long life regardless. He took the heroic way out."
"You guys still have your Friday date night?" Michael asked, reaching under the table and blocking Larry as he kicked him.
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Dust to Dust:
Fangs For Your Memories
by Eden Crowne
Copyright Eden Crown 2012. All rights reserved
Published by CoolCats Publishing at Smashwords
Smashwords License Statement This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 1
Death, like love, has many subtle and varied layers.
Breathe, she had to breathe. Lungs burning, Tamsin fought through the resistance, through the limbo of life and death. The old memories came rushing past. Not hers, the other's. On their way out, the life that had been lived.
The pain was terrible. Like being born again. If she'd had a voice, she would have screamed. Finally, with one last, agonizing effort, she broke through the surface tension, into the body and back to the world of the living.
Tamsin gave a spiritual shrug as though trying on a new outfit that was a little too tight. Pushing herself into the edges, filling out fingers and toes. The body felt good. Not like some of the others. She focused on the heart, working the muscles, getting it to beat again. It took some effort finding the eyes. Ah, there they were. Opening them fully, she blinked her sight into focus. A man towered above her, looking down. Dark hair and darker eyes, his handsome face a mask of, what? Surprise? Horror? Horror, she thought, mentally nodding. Definitely horror.
She recognized him. Or the body did. Those last moments before death imprinted on this mind's eye. She tried to speak and only then realized her mouth was full of water. She spit it out.
“Oh,” she gasped, finding her voice. “I know you. You're the man who killed me.”
In one lithe movement he pulled a bright, silver blade from a sheath at his belt, crouched into a fighter's stance and began to back carefully away.
Coughing up more water, Tamsin dragged herself up to kneel on the cold, wet, concrete. She was inside some sort of bunker or something. No windows. A heavy steel door with a spinning handle, like on a ship, at one end. The only light came from a bright halogen lantern sitting on the floor near the door. There were a great many pipe outlets all steadily dripping water.
Though her muscles felt like jelly and the pins and needles of returning circulation had her gritting her teeth, Tamsin managed to rise more or less into a standing position. Swaying unsteadily, she gave her new body a quick glance, careful not to take her eyes off the dark-haired man for long. He watched her warily, still silent.
She was female. Thank God. Tamsin shuddered, remembering. Gender bending was not an adventure she would like to go through again. No blood that she could see on the body. Given the amount of water she had retched up and the large puddles still draining away, drowning had been the likely cause of death.
Running her tongue over her teeth she felt pointed fangs, rather long ones. What was she this time? Vampire? Demon? She tried to feel what she – or this body – had been. Though she, it, had never had a human soul, there was a spirit trail of residual energy bouncing around. The energy burned a little. Oh, ouch. Burned a lot. There seemed to be far too many hot, sharp edges. Metaphysically speaking. Perhaps she had not been a very nice whatever.
“I hope you had a good reason to kill me. I mean her,” was all Tamsin could think of to say to the big man staring wide-eyed at her.
He came at Tamsin with the knife so fast his body wa
s nothing but a swift blur of continuous motion. She stepped aside, only just in time. He whirled, snaking the knife into the space between them, grazing her ribs. She gasped at the swift, sharp pain. It was too soon. She could barely stand, let alone fight, no matter what skills this body had.
She put out her palms in a placating gesture, “Wait, wait, I can explain.”
Shoving her hands aside, he wrestled her down onto the hard floor with bruising force, the knife at her throat with one hand, the other holding her wrists above her head. His expression was fierce, implacable.
“Please,” she gasped. “If she is your enemy, I am not what I was!”
Drake looked into her eyes. Deeply. They had been red before, red as blood. He hated those eyes. Hated her and her foul darkness. Now he thought he saw the darkness slipping away like the water running down the drains, revealing something – someone – very different from the lethal Prime Vampire. Not just her eyes, her whole face was changing. Softening. He reached out with his Fae senses. Careful not to open himself too much in case this was all an act.
Her heart was pounding. Not in anger, he sensed. Fear.
Fear? Her?
Tamsin was feeling the body's strength a little more now. Her attacker had relaxed his guard ever so slightly, perhaps sensing the change in her. This body had fighting skills. She might be able to take him, but there was something about the big, dark-haired man. Different. She wasn't getting an evil vibe. Not at all. In fact something quite the opposite. Still, he did have a knife to her throat.
She was tired of being afraid. Sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith.
“Please!” Tamsin tried to put all the honest desperation she could into that one word.
Staring at her, his eyes narrowed until his thick brows formed an angry 'V'. He seemed to be thinking over her plea. The knife didn't strike. At least not yet. Both he and the blade looked enormous from where she lay. And both equally deadly.
Still straddling her, he gradually let go of her wrists, though the knife remained poised and ready. They stayed like that for what seemed like a very long time: Tamsin's heart pounding; him staring down at her. He had a rough, outdoorsman look. Strong jaw and cheekbones, broad shoulders. She could certainly attest to his strength. Thick brown hair fell in waves over his ears, just brushing his shoulders. The sensuous curve to his full mouth told a different, more subtle story to the man. Whoever she was, she must have been pretty dangerous. He was dressed for battle in a black, complex Kevlar-style vest that stretched up to cover his throat. Across it rested a bandoleer of knives and other sharp and very dangerous looking objects. A gun belt held more weapons.
“Who...who are you?” he asked at last, his voice deep, questioning.
She answered truthfully, staring back at him through this stranger's eyes, “My name is Tamsin and I have no soul.”
◦ Chapter 2
Transition takes a lot of energy. And coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.
The man set down a tray with a large espresso Americano and a plateful of warm ham and cheese rolls. Tamsin eagerly took a swallow of one and a bite of the other. Oh, bliss. Pure bliss.
“You can see, perhaps, I am not what I was,” she mumbled around a mouthful of food.
“Yes, I can now, much more clearly.”
She sat back in the chair, openly curious, “What's changed?”
“Well, for one thing, I have never seen a vampire so eager to find a coffee shop. Your eyes practically rolled back in your head when we walked in and the aroma hit you."
She moaned as another bite of the rich, salty, ham and cheese filled her mouth. “Is that what I am? Was? A vampire? It's been months, at least I think it has, since I had a body.” She did a tiny seated victory dance in the chair for the sheer joy of moving. How good to be alive. Again.
He had put her into his car, a black beast of a vehicle that rumbled with power, parked outside the drowning pool on a cold, windy backstreet. She begged for coffee, her throat raw. He'd driven away from the darkened warehouse district to this boulevard full of shops and cafes criss-crossed by canals and bridges. There was a wonderful, real-time energy here that had Tamsin buzzing. He asked her no questions and she was glad of the silence, absorbing the sights, sounds, and smells of being back in the mortal world. This was her first time in Chicago and she had no idea where they were, even though she had flown across the city many times by now hunting for a body.
Time and space did not take the same form in her world. As a spirit, she saw the magic – black, white and every shade of gray – overlaying the city's steel and concrete skin, blurring its contours. People, places and things glowed with an ebb and flow of pulsing energy that burned day and night.
The kind of seeing had taken a lot of getting used to when she first transitioned. No wonder people had a hard time contacting ghosts. The ghosts were floundering around somewhere up in the ether going, “Where the hell is this and how do I get downtown?” The thought made her smile.
“You need to put your fangs away.”
One hand flew to her lips, hiding her teeth. She gave the man a desperate stare, “Oh spit! I don't know how! What muscles control teeth?”
He seemed to be trying not to laugh, the deep lines around his mouth quivering with the effort, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Just don't smile.”
“What was her name? This vampire of yours.”
“She was not mine, though she considered me hers,” he said with a cryptic smile. “Angelique. Her name in this world was Princess Angelique Duprey.”
Tamsin couldn't help the snort of derisive laughter that escaped, though she remembered to cover her mouth. “How very inappropriate. Angelique indeed. She was never an angel and I've met a few."
He raised his eyebrows and gave her an appraising look.
"Not human either. Everything works inside, you know what I mean? Not dead-come-back-to-life works like a turned vampire. I think she just preferred blood. Of course you know that already, right? Why did you drown her?”
“Angelique was a Prime Vampire, not made, just as you said. Do you know about the Prime clans?"
She shook her head. Even on her accelerated supernatural learning curve there was still much she didn't know.
"Primes live in Fae. They are a race, not the undead. Related to Faeries. Elder Blood, and thus nearly immortal. Very rare in this world. Or they used to be. They can eat and drink like everyone else. You were right when you said Angelique just 'preferred' blood. Human blood to be exact. They absorb life essence from it. A small amount is all they require. Nothing like the insatiability of movie vampires. Unless they just want to kill someone that way. Which they do, of course. Rather often.” He paused to take a drink of his coffee.
Tamsin did not like the sound of these Primes. Not at all. Now she was one. Crap.
Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he continued, “They are the most powerful of all vampire clans. You can wound but not kill them with wood or silver. Daylight has no effect. Though it does give them a headache. Beheading works pretty well as a temporary solution. If you stitch the two parts back together, however, they will heal with uncanny rapidity.” He grimaced in distaste and Tamsin was sure her expression matched his. “Their progeny – those made, not born – are not as strong and much more like the creatures you are familiar with. Yet everything has a weakness. Primes are Elementals. Connected to the earth. Again, very much like Faeries. Their power, though, is also their downfall. One of the elements: fire, water, air – the lack of it – or earth can also kill them. The trick is to figure out which one.”
"And Angelique's was water."
He nodded.
“Well, I didn't know that. I haven't jumped into many vamps. Are you a vampire hunter?”
He picked up his cup. Cappuccino. Tamsin, or rather, Angelique, could smell the milk and cinnamon. He took a drink, not meeting her eyes. “I hunt a lot of things.”
“Are you 'the nameless hunter'?”
He grinned
at that, unable to hold it back. “Drake. Just Drake.”
“Well, just Drake. I am a hunter, too.” Her voice was light and joking, the joy of being alive again too much to contain. “First name Tamsin, as I told you. However, my parents could afford a last name. Tamsin West.”
She reached out one hand and Drake automatically took it. At her touch, a frisson of energy ran from her fingertips to his. Not vamp energy. No. Something entirely different. If it had a color it would have been silver. Shining and bright and eager. Tamsin did not seem to notice. She settled back in the chair, pulling Drake's heavy suede trench coat a little tighter.
Back at the bunker she'd shed some of Angelique's wet clothes – the woman seemed to have a thing for leather and spandex – slipping into the coat he left outside the door and one of his shirts. It was January in Chicago, he was wearing several under the Kevlar. His shirt hung down to her knees. She kept on Angelique's high black motorcycle boots, wet as they were. This body didn't feel the cold like a human's.
“May I ask why, not to mention how, you jumped into Angelique's body? Ghostly possession is one thing. You, are something entirely different.”
“I am, aren't I?” She laughed. “Well, let's see. I was human once upon a time. Now I'm tracking those who took my soul and left me to die. People I thought of as friends. Best friends." She shook her head, remembering the pain of that betrayal. “How ironic, you know? Wait, you don't know. How could you? The irony is I never even believed in magic. Or ghosts. And then, surprise! I was one.”
She took a big bite of the ham and cheese roll, talking around the mouthful. "Soul Eaters. That's what they call themselves. Sorcerers. I don't know if they are human or not. They certainly have very little humanity. They divided my soul into five pieces like birthday cake, turning my body to dust in a terrible ceremony and dooming me to wander forever as a lost spirit. No soul equals no afterlife, at least as humans imagine it. Shut the gates of heaven right in my face. And I am not just speaking metaphorically. I spent quite a while moaning and feeling sorry for myself until I noticed the world of the paranormal is actually quite a vast and diverse place. And not all evil. Another soul seeker, a woman, finally helped me. Showed me how I could jump into others with no soul right at the point of death and live again."