by Mark Tufo
She and Drake looked at each other, then back at Desmond.
Taking a bite of the pastry still clutched in his tail, the animal signed to Drake with his long, clever paws.
“What did he say?”
“Says you're a charmer.”
Tamsin waved away the compliment. “Oh, that's really sweet. What about the dogs, though?”
Desmond rolled his eyes and signed faster.
Drake laughed. “Not charming, a Charmer! Your little Bo Peep persona charms animals and people as well. She must have been in animal charming mode when she died and you just picked it up and ran with it. Literally.”
Tamsin felt the blood drain from her face. Sometimes it was hard to think about the life lost even though it allowed her to live again. Whatever she had been, this body had a life. Places to go and people to see.
Drake put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead. “I know Tamsin, I know. It's hard.”
The big dog made a sound that was like a human clearing his throat. Apparently he hadn't finished speaking.
She watched as the beast rocked back on his hind legs, uncurling all the claws from the thick pads on both front paws. He moved the claws and his tail in swift, strong gestures.
Tamsin waited quietly as the two had their 'conversation'.
Drake stood abruptly and the Capelthwaite jumped back to the sidewalk. “Come on, we've got someplace to go.”
“Does it involve getting naked? Very soon?” she whispered, her lips brushing the lobe of his ear.
“No.” He lifted her to her feet and jumped over the railing as lithe and silent as the great beast. Sweeping her up and over, he set her on the sidewalk, pulling her close. His lips brushing her ear now, he said just as softly, “I mean, yes. We will arrange that quite as quickly as possible.” He pressed against her so she could feel her affect on him.
It was her turn to give him a sly smile. “Naughty man.”
Hand in hand, they followed Desmond down the street.
“Well, then, does it involve food?” She asked hopefully.
“Are you never not hungry?”
She shook her head.
“No, it does not involve food.”
She made sad sounds of disappointment.
"Knightly?"
"We've got a lead."
They walked briskly on, Tamsin trotting to keep up with Drake's long strides, her wide skirts swishing. Up ahead she saw the Capelthwaite stop by a row of brightly-lit shop windows. His twisty tail was standing up behind him curled into what looked like a question mark, head cocked to one side, watching them. Though he was in shadow form, she could see clearly through the glamour now.
Drake stopped as well and taking Tamsin's shoulders, turned her to face him. “What we have to do first and foremost is this.”
He paused and she looked up at him expectantly.
“Get you a new hat.”
And she laughed.
To be continued...
Want more of Prime Vampires and Lost Soul, Tamsin West's adventures? Here's a preview of the soon-to-be-released second book in the Dust To Dust series: Witch You were Here.
It's paranormal party time in Chicago and lost soul Tamsin West is on everyone's guest list: Prime vampires, spider witches, necromancers, even the head of a government task force on terrorism are all dying to get their hands on her. Literally!
Jumping into the body of a young faerie witch, Tamsin has to solve the girl's murder while trying to prevent her own at the hands – claws ? fangs?– of the Witch's coven.
Tamsin's enemy, the Soul Eater Bartholomew Knightly, has himself become a playing piece in one of the Prime Vampires complex games. Forcing Tamsin and her Fae lover, Drake, onto opposite sides of the magical mayhem by unbreakable Vampire bargains.
The afterlife bites.
Dust To Dust 2: Witch You Were Here
By Eden Crowne
Copyright 2013 by Eden Crowne. All rights reserved
Chapter 1
The necromancer gave Tamsin a come-slither stare from across the crowded room. He was devilishly handsome. Or maybe handsome devil was a better description. Mahogany brown hair and eyes the color of an alpine lake. The artful shadow of stubble on his face highlighted strong cheek bones, a fine-shaped jaw and dimpled chin ever so slightly off center and his beautifully-cut tuxedo set off the tall, strong lines of his body to perfection. Unfortunately the aura he projected was gray as old dry bones.
Tamsin, or rather her new body, knew what he was. Unbidden, she had been able to see his energy turn from gray glow to a thick soup of fog as she approached. Faces peered out, young and old, features twisted in silent screams. Definitely a necromancer; carrying his dead with him.
As their eyes met, a cold shiver of dread slid down her spine. She did not like necromancers and their obsession with death. Which was kind of ironic, considering she was dead.
Giving her white knit cap a coquettish tilt – and making sure it covered the little spiral rams horns on either side of her head – Tamsin swished and swayed her way through the champagne-drinking, art-buying group of men and women, masked and costumed for the gala Charity Auction Ball. She ramped up her charm-o-meter as she passed the dance floor, wondering if it worked on sorcerers.
Charmer magic certainly worked on humans. Without exception, every single man and woman turned to smile as she passed, their eyes sparkling with interest behind bejeweled masks, raising their glasses in greeting. A tall man reached out from the graceful whirl and twirl of the waltzing couples trying to pull her into the dance. She narrowly eluded his grip and wished she'd had access to some of this magic before she was murdered.
Tamsin was currently inhabiting the body of a Charmer. A type of Witch containing the power to beguile just about anything with a pulse: human, animal, and those whatever in-between. She'd only been in this body a few days and was still learning its secrets. The Witch was not human. Well, not Mortal World human. Otherwise Tamsin wouldn't have been able to jump into the body upon the woman's death. One of the strictest rules of transition after losing your soul and turning into a swirl of spiritual dust was you could only jump into the fresh corpse of a non-human supernatural. Otherwise the body just spit you back out again.
Tamsin was still wearing the clothes she transitioned in. A frothy confection of layered petticoats, skirts, and overdress, laced bodice and short cape, all in a cascading palette of pastels. Her feet in old-fashioned eyelet ankle boots. She had more hair then several women combined, pearly white, piled and curled on her head. The up-do was looking a little disheveled since Tamsin was not particularly skilled in the artful arrangement of ringlets. Luckily the outfit was not out of place here in the costume ball.
She'd meant to get a change of clothes except her Fae lover, Drake, had been so busy getting her out of her skirts, petticoats and stockings at every opportunity following their long separation, there just hadn't been time. Or energy. An image of his strong, hard body, the black, dagger-like tattoos ringing his waist and emphasizing the sharp cut lines of his hips popped into her mind's eye and she felt her legs go wobbly.
Dead or alive, this whole love thing was very intoxicating.
She bumped into one of the uniformed serving staff nearly knocking over a tray of Beluga caviar topped crackers.
And distracting.
The sorcerer licked his lips at her approach.
Earlier in the day someone rang Drake's mobile from a blocked number. They were in his borrowed, fortified bolt hole on Chicago's rough east side. Drake's cell phone ringing was not unusual. Exiled from Fae over a century before, he had carved out a new life as a Hunter. Tracking all sorts of odd things for all sorts of odd people. He had a website. Who didn't these days? Though it was only accessible through the heavily encrypted Dark Pages network.
A computer-generated voice over the phone said only to go to the door as an invitation was being delivered. Grabbing a hastily assembled and somewhat odd assortment of clothing to brave the
morning chill, they discovered a pair of enormous ravens standing on the step, a scarlet ribbon dangling from the shiny black beak of one. At the end of the ribbon hung a square white envelope pulsing with magic. After passing on the missive, the ravens looked her and Drake up and down with a critical eye before turning and flying away.
The paper was heavy with the scent of power. Whoever sent it would have to be very strong indeed to get even this close to the threshold wards surrounding the little one-bedroom hideout. Nervous, both of them stood on the scarred stoop, scanning the envelope with several revealing spells to no effect.
It was cold, it was early and, frankly, in this part of town, neighbors did not look too closely at what anyone was doing. Tamsin insisted on laying out a magic circle right there in the street and opening the envelope within. That way any magic would be trapped inside.
Trapped inside with her, Drake pointed out dryly.
Tamsin waved away his fears and made the circle with cedar ash from Drake's stock of goodies. To a mixture of disappointment and relief, nothing paranormal popped out and tried to bite as she tore open the envelope.
Inside was a gilt-edged invitation to the Art Auction Charity Ball and a handwritten note in elegant silver script. 'The Charmer is in possession of something promised to me.' It said. 'I would like it back. In exchange I have information regarding the sorcerer Knightly. Please attend me at the Ball tonight sans bodyguards.' Instead of a signature, hidden within the resonance of the magic was an image. Unmistakably the man now standing in front of her.
He turned his head ever so slightly in acknowledgment. “You have something that belongs to me.”
Raising her eyebrows, she gave him a quizzical look but said nothing.
“That body you have stolen was promised to me upon her death.”
Gulp. Play it cool, Tamsin. “Was it indeed?”
“Yes. For services rendered.”
“Yours or hers?”
The screaming faces surged closer and Tamsin took a step back.
She didn't know how the young Witch died. The unmistakable pulse of death energy had echoed up through the ether and Tamsin just dived in. Opening the body's eyes, she found she was lying on her back in a scorched crater of earth. The trees, grass and shrubs ringing her still smoldering. Around the rim of the crater lay a number of charred corpses crumbling to ash in the chill wind of a March night. Impossible to recognize who or what had been involved in the battle. Her new body was not burned. Nor was she bleeding or broken. Transition's magical prestidigitation healed all wounds remarkably quickly. Nevertheless, Tamsin could usually figure out the cause of death. Not with the Charmer.
Even her outlandish clothes were untouched by the inferno. Tamsin hadn't lingered at the time, grateful there was no one about to jump her with a knife. That's what happened in the body before this when Tamsin opened her eyes and nearly got sent directly back into the dust of the spirit world.
That body had belonged to Angelique Duprey, a Prime Vampire Princess, drowned like a rat by the man who had become Tamsin's lover, Drake. It had been a close thing and only his inherent kindness and her desperate, honest plea saved her.
She wished he was next to her now. When the Necromancer said come alone, he meant it. Neither Drake nor their new companion, the giant, gray-furred Faerie hound Desmond, had been able to cross any entrance to the Grand Ballroom despite all their efforts. The borders remained firm; sparking and crackling with green spectral flames. Over Drake's strong objections, Tamsin insisted on going alone. She needed this information very badly.
A band of murderous Soul Eaters ripped her soul from her, stealing her life and afterlife. The sorcerers divided souls – including hers – between them, using soul energy to power their spells of eternal youth. Reborn in body after body, Tamsin hunted her murderers and the five pieces of her soul. Over the course of many years and more bodies, she had managed to recover two pieces. Knightly held another precious portion. The two of them had fought almost two months ago when she came to Chicago searching for a powerful rune that could aid her. That was when Drake became part of her quest. And her life, such as it was. Unaccountably, unexpectedly, unbelievably.
Unfortunately, Tamsin's pride had led to a trap set by the sorcerer just for her. In a battle to save Drake from the sorcerer's control, she lost her body and been forced to wander, searching for a new host. During that time, Knightly seemed to have completely disappeared. She could not just walk away.
Facing the necromancer's dead, she wasn't so sure she made the right choice ignoring Drake's warning.
“So you killed her?” This man was probably more than capable of dispatching a Witch without a mark, Tamsin thought.
“No. I did not.” His deep voice had a slow drawl to it, lingering on the vowels. Almost like he was from the South. Which was odd since he wasn't even human. Drake said the magical signature of the invitation had a distinct Faerie edge to it. “For my spells to work I can have no physical hand in the body's death.”
“That doesn't mean you can't set it up.”
He said nothing, letting his eyes speak the truth for him as he sipped his champagne.
Tamsin was feeling in need of a little liquid courage herself and motioned to one of the waiters to bring a glass of bubbly. The necromancer waited as she took a drink, favoring her with a slow, sly and somehow disturbing smile as he looked her appraisingly up and down.
“What an intriguing manifestation you are. Death becomes you, Miss...”
“My name is not really relevant.”
“As you wish. Death is a process I know very well. You are certainly not a ghost. Nor are you a demon.” He sketched a sigil in the air that glowed with a pale green light.
Tamsin brought up her hand, ready to sign a protective ward.
“Just checking,” he said by way of explanation, waving the mark away. “No. No demon in there. Good. They damage the body. Sometimes beyond repair. I have gone to rather a lot of trouble to secure her in mint condition for my client.”
Even though Tamsin did not know the young witch who's body she jumped into, she felt, now that she was inside, somehow protective of her. Thinking of the nasty hands of the necromancer working black spells over the girl made Tamsin unaccountably angry.
“You're going to have to wait a little longer. What do you know about Knightly, he seems to have disappeared rather effectively.”
“Ah, the Soul Eater. What a pompous little man,” he made an exaggerated face of distaste.
“He belongs to me.”
The necromancer raised his glass as if in a toast, “And your body belongs to me. So our common ground is death. Assuming you wish to kill him, of course.”
Tamsin met his eyes in an unwavering stare, “I have killed other Soul Eaters and I will kill him.”
“More power to you then. They remove one of the prime spiritual organs worth trapping in a human body. That ephemeral piece of real estate contains vast reserves of power.” He waved one hand languidly up and down in front of Tamsin. “As you well know. Too bad this one has fled.”
“Knightly?” She prompted again.
The necromancer looked over her head, staring at something behind her, his lips flattening out into a hard, thin line. Tamsin shifted uneasily. Stealing a glance, she saw only the crowd of people, their features hidden by masks. At this moment, her magical senses were focussed very much on the man in front of her. Hard to zero in on anything else through the white noise of the dead swirling around him.
He shifted his attention back to her, narrowing his gaze, blue eyes glowing just a little in the dim light. “I do not care about Knightly or the antics of Soul Eaters. My employer wants you and I want that body.”
Setting the drink on a side table, he reached out as fast as a cobra striking to wrap his fingers around her wrist, cutting into the soft flesh as his nails lengthened into talons. With a whispered incantation that coiled around her and squeezed, he pulled Tamsin towards the dancers. On the marble floor
, bright drips of scarlet from her arm marked their path.
Couples were waltzing, stepping gracefully in time to the music. Laughing, smiling beneath their masks both fanciful and grotesque. He forced her onto the dance floor and she followed, unwilling to make a scene yet, matching him step for step. At first they twirled in time to the rise and fall of the music, then faster and faster until the colors of the elegant dresses and sparkling jeweled masks became a bright, continuous blur. The necromancer's dead danced with them, gray hands reaching through the fog, screaming faces pressing closer. The room disappeared as she and the necromancer fell into the slipstream of supernatural speed where you can live a lifetime in the blink of a mortal eye.
The necromancer let his glamour drop, his face changing, growing long and narrow; pale and gaunt. Glamour worked by rerouting electrons across the surface – skin – of the user via crystal resonance. Scientific magic or magical science, however you chose to look at it. His eyes became enormous, his ears lengthening ever so slightly to points. Faerie in form now. The dead, too, came horribly into focus. Men, women and children. Their black eyes staring from faces gray as ash. The rotting smell of the grave reached out with them and Tamsin gagged. They clutched at her with bony, hungry hands, wanting to seize the life and rip it from her.
Tamsin struggled to free herself from his hold. Laughing, he held tighter, sharp nails pushing deeper into her flesh. They whirled around and around, rising up, the floor falling away beneath them.
Tamsin was not inexperienced in the wily ways of sorcerers and the black arts on the flip side of light magic. She had been in many bodies on both sides of that magical divide. Before even entering the ballroom, she prepared several nasty spells empowered with her own blood and held ready on her tongue. Hidden within her, they had been able to cross the necromancer's threshold magic.
She spit the first of the deadly barbed words directly into his face. There the symbols sprouted clawed arms and legs and raked the smooth, beautiful features of the necromancer. Screaming in anger and pain he let go with one hand to swipe at the nasty magical things. That was all Tamsin needed.