Lost in Shadow (A Shadow Walkers Ghost Novel)

by Cynthia Luhrs

  Letting his eyes wander over the patrons of the pub, Rawlins scanned the crowd for a delicious female or two to satisfy his hunger. His eyes came to rest on two redheads sitting in a booth in a dark corner of the pub, their heads close together whispering about what they’d like to do to him. Dressed casually, they looked like college kids on holiday, ready to celebrate Halloween, enjoying the weekend without a care in those pretty heads.

  Lust coursed through him as he listened to their conversation. All Walkers had preternatural hearing. He could hear every conversation in the pub. Rawlins would take energy where he could get it but especially liked human females, Americans were even better—always so willing, their aggressive energy tasting like a glass of strong ale.

  “May I buy you lovely ladies a drink on this festive eve?”

  “Oh my, you’re English not Scottish.” The redhead with brown eyes twittered. Her friend had blue eyes and wasn’t a natural redhead, not that he cared. She chimed in giggling, “Her name’s Marci, and I’m Mindy. We love foreign accents.” Slightly bowing to them, Rawlins leaned in close, “Then let me whisper sweet nothings in your ears milady’s.”

  Marci grabbed him by his jacket and started kissing him, pressing her body against his. He wanted to take her there in the pub, but it wouldn’t do to draw too much attention.

  The scent of electricity filled the air as Rawlins started to take the human’s energy. To the casual observer, it would look like the couple was merely kissing, the woman turned on, limp in his arms. If anyone listened closely enough, they would hear a low-level hum, the same noise heard near large electrical lines. The noise of the pub and stale scent of beer, sweaty bodies, and greasy food covered what was happening. Looking closer, a shimmer radiated between the couple like a mirage on the pavement during a hot summer day.

  The kiss turned deadly as Rawlins sucked her energy life-force into him. If he was careful, he would age the human a few years, not enough to be noticeable other than her looking tired. However, a taste whetted the appetites; he would take it all. As the air hummed and shimmered, the girl’s appearance began to change. The dark interior would hide anything amiss from curious eyes. If anyone did notice, it would be chalked up to one too many drinks. As Rawlins took her life-force his pulse hammered, blood coursing through his veins, energy building to a crescendo, making him stronger, energy filling body and soul.

  Marci’s skin began to change, becoming thin as paper, mottled with age spots, dull and leathery. Inside her organs aged, slowed down, and started to fail. Her hair began to turn, the gray flowing down her once-red hair like a rock landslide, until it was completely white. The skin on her face began to sag, wrinkle, and show sun damage. Once taut, young, flawless skin was now old beyond recognition, her lips cracking, thinning, and losing their youthful fullness as her energy life-force seeped from her. He took it all, dispassionately watching her youth and beauty fade like a summer green leaf, now brittle and worn by the passage of time, crackling to dust. Gasping her final breath, feebly trying to pull away, Marci’s heart slowed and pumped no more. Going limp, he supported her weight, easing her down on the banquette next to them. Any who happened to walk by would simply note a woman who’d had too much to drink, passed out in the corner. The darkness would conceal the theft.

  “Is Marci OK?” Mindy asked, slurring her words.

  “She’s fine, bit much to drink, she’s resting. Now come here luv and give us a kiss,” Rawlins purred.

  With a bleary smile, Mindy wrapped her arms around his neck. The air around them shimmered with energy and life, seeming to pulse in the air around them as Rawlins finished her off. Placing her next to her friend, the two of them looked like grandmothers, out for a pint at the pub, albeit dressed in college sweatshirts and jeans.

  To other humans, it would appear they’d had a heart attack. It wasn’t as if there was a checkbox listed on the police report for causes of death that stated “deceased’s life-force drained dry.”

  Sated, content, humming with energy and power, he turned back to the bar to order another whisky.

  Finishing off his coffee, Monroe MacDonald heard his police radio crackle. It was a little after eleven o’clock, he should be off shift; however, he didn’t sleep much anymore. This close to Halloween there were bound to be altercations, drunken brawls, assaults, you name it, and plenty of crimes committed. Throw in clueless tourists wandering the streets, and it was a recipe for long hours for the entire force.

  Was today That Day all over again? He had a bad feeling, twisting his gut into knots. Hell no, he wasn’t going there right now. Shut the fucking door in his head, throw away the damn key. Someday he’d revisit that bloody scene, Alice’s lifeless body lying in the remains of St Anthony's chapel within Holyrood Park. One day he’d find out who killed her and why, but today was not that day. Today he had a job to do.

  Monroe responded to the call. Hell, he could use a couple of dead bodies to distract him tonight. The thoughts eating his brain wouldn’t do any good other than causing him to down a bottle of whisky, ending up with a bitch of a hangover in the morning.

  A police officer for more than ten years, he loved the city. Born in Glasgow, his widowed mom moved them when he was in primary school. While he loved his birthplace and cheering on Celtic, he knew Edinburgh like a lover knows the scent of their beloved.

  All of her imperfections and flaws. He knew them all and carried a deep-seated need to protect his city.

  Scotland, like England and Ireland, relied heavily on cameras for security and keeping an eye on its citizenry. Looking around, he noted the pub conveniently didn’t have any cameras. There was one hanging by a frayed cord, useless. Sighing, he shoved his hands through his hair in frustration, stalking inside the pub to the crime scene.

  An officer approached the taped off area of the pub. “The medical examiner’s here, Shamus. You and Monroe ready for him?”

  “In a minute mate, Monroe needs a few.” Shamus turned to Monroe. “The ME’s here, finish it up. You know that dobber Fergus will have your ass in a sling if you muck about with his body.”

  Monroe jerked his head at his partner to show he’d heard and went back to studying the scene. He’d talked to the wait staff and numerous patrons. No one remembered seeing the women come in or serving them. It had been a busy night; the match was on the telly so most folks eyes were glued to the screens. A tourist on his way to the bathroom called it in. The guy noticed one of the women was wearing a UCLA sweatshirt, his alma matter. When he’d stopped to say hello, he saw they were dead. The guy didn’t notice anyone with them.

  “Thank you all for your time. Make sure the officer has your name and where you can be reached if we have further questions. You can go.” What a waste of time. He scowled. Not just one dead grandmother, two. Yanks by looking at them. They were propped up against the banquette as if resting. What was it with Yanks dressing decades younger than they were? He couldn’t fathom why you’d want to dress like you were twenty when eighty was fast approaching in your headlights, but hell, what did he know? He was lucky if he remembered to shave and put on clean clothes in the morning.

  Approaching the vics, his heart started pounding, beating out of his chest, as his nose picked up a long-forgotten scent, waking the animalistic part of his brain, causing it to sit up, sniff the air and roar in fury.

  That smell. Monroe would never forget the unmistakable scent. Burnt into his brain, imprinted into his nostrils, seared into every fiber of his being. This particular scent could only be described as sex in the morning overlaid with something burnt, sickeningly sweet. Not leaves or wood, almost the smell of an electrical fire but not quite. This was something darker, evil.

  Evil electricity? I must be losing my bloody mind.

  Putting his shaking hand against the wall, Monroe took deep breaths trying not to pass the hell out. This scent was exactly the same as what he’d smelled finding Alice murdered on That Day. How many killers smell like energy? It had to be the same
bloody bastard. He’d be damned to hell and back before he let the prick get away again.

  How he could have forgotten…didn’t matter it had been ten years, the smell was as fresh in his mind as if only a moment passed.

  “Oy, earth to Monroe. What the hell, mate? You know this bird?” his partner, Shamus asked him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  He had no bloody idea.

  “Naw, I’m pure brilliant. Bad curry at lunch or something.” Monroe pushed away from the wall and bent over the bodies without touching anything. The suits got their panties in a wad over that sort of thing, he bent to the hair. Why, when they were dressed so young, wouldn’t they dye their hair? Maybe white was in fashion. He didn’t know or keep up with the latest in women’s hair and fashion; after all, he wasn’t some navel-gazing emo ass. Still, something was eating at his brain; he was missing something important; it kept sliding around, slightly out of reach, if only he could remember.

  Shamus kicked Monroe with his boot. “Let’s go. Some Yanks at the Balmoral had their room ransacked and we’re closest, I told dispatch we’d take it even though we’re homicide not robbery.”

  Monroe nodded. There was nothing for him at home. The longer the day, the better in his book. His pathetic apartment was breeding dust bunnies, he’d run out of clean dishes since he never bothered to wash what was in the sink. Murder, robbery…all he needed was a nice assault to finish out the night. Then maybe he could grab a decent few hours’ sleep without the nightmares. Starting to rise, he stopped dead. There…amongst the white hair, coated on her earring…was the clue he’d been looking for these past ten years.

  Chapter 4

  “Let’s head up to the room, order some tea, and relax by the fire, I’m exhausted.” Kat yawned, watching Emily.

  Seriously, Kat was looking at her like she was some kind of rare, exotic bird about to fly away or as if she might run screaming from the room at any moment—well, it was a possibility. Emily sighed, “Really, I’m perfectly fine, the drink helped calm my nerves. I know what I saw. If it was a joke, then it’s not very nice. The blood looked awfully realistic. That guy was hurt. There’s something weird going on.”

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts. Odd phenomenon is almost always explained by science. I wish fairytales were real too, goodness knows I could use a fairy godmother but I’m worried about you.”

  “Well, that guy may not have been a ‘ghost’ but you have to admit it was strange.”

  Kat shook her head. “Absolutely, it was odd, but don’t let it mess with your head. That’s all I’m asking.”

  The sting of Kat’s words was taken away by her smile, and Emily knew she was silly for believing in fairytales. But if she gave up believing then it would be like admitting there was nothing else out there, which simply was not acceptable.

  “All I want to do is take a bubble bath in that amazing claw foot tub, sip a cup of tea and chill.”

  “Sounds like heaven.” Emily groaned, thinking of soaking in the gigantic tub, allowing the hot water to ease her sore muscles. Their room boasted a large, real fireplace, not one of those gas imitations they had at home, the sitting rooms gave off a cozy atmosphere with the plush velvet chairs positioned in front of the fire. From the sitting room there were two doors each leading to a bedroom decorated in deep indigo for her and burgundy for Kat. The bathroom décor matched the bedroom. The modern furnishings in the old building complemented each other. They had splurged, using all of their airline miles. Since they both traveled quite a bit for work, they had saved up a boatload of miles…might as well use them for first-class tickets and a five-star hotel. After all, this was a once-in-a-lifetime dream trip.

  Entering the room they stopped dead on the threshold, mouths agape. The room had been ransacked. While the fire crackled merrily, the rest of the room looked like a tornado had come through. Cushions were tossed on the floor, chairs overturned, all the lovely modern sculptures smashed into pieces, ground into the plush carpeting. The doors to their bedrooms were wide open. Through the open doorways you could see clothing thrown all over the room, dresser drawers tossed with abandon onto the floor, the bathroom mirrors shattered, and toiletries scattered on counter.

  Calling the front desk to report the break-in, Emily saw the worried glance Kat couldn’t hide. “Don’t flip out, I’m fine. What’s one more crazy thing to cap off our drama-filled day?” A discreet knock at the door interrupted her.

  “Mrs. Chandler, on behalf of the Balmoral hotel, we are dreadfully sorry. The authorities are on their way. Another room is being made ready. The room is one of our larger suites. Complimentary during your stay with us. Please accept our apologies for this dreadful unpleasantness.” The hotel night manager wrung his hands, fretfully looking around at the extensive damage to the once-elegant room.

  A smart rap on the door was followed by the bell hop ushering in two uniformed police officers. “Pardon me, Officer Monroe MacDonald and Officer Shamus O’Malley have arrived.”

  “Please show them in.” Standing in the center of the room, Emily watched the officers walk around the room. The one named Shamus was short and stocky with brown hair and eyes. His nose looked like it had been broken more than once. Other than that, he had clean-cut features. He was frowning as he noted the damage.

  “Monroe, you notice anything odd about this? Can’t put my finger on it but something’s off.”

  Walking around the room, Emily could see the one called Monroe didn’t miss anything as he took in the chaos. Clearing his throat, Monroe addressed Kat, “Ma’am is anything missing?”

  “That’s just it officer, nothing is missing, not my jewelry, iPhone, or anything. It’s rather strange, isn’t it?”

  Kat wrinkled her nose, “Maybe the thief was startled and ran away before he could take anything. Who knows? We just want to move to a new room, get a good night’s sleep and put this unpleasantness behind us.”

  Pacing around the room, Emily’s skin itched, stretched too tight across her back. Everything was off. She couldn’t stay still as she walked in circles in front of the fireplace, trying not to step on pottery shards, thinking. Very strange things had been happening since the accident. At the time, she’d chalked them up to the trauma and drama of everything, but now…she wasn’t so sure. She watched Monroe as he looked around their room talking to Kat. He had golden-blond hair and turquoise blue eyes that were at odds with his gruff voice, and a big screw-you attitude. The guy was big, maybe six-two if she had to guess. How strange the face of an angel was attached to a body that screamed big bad wolf. This guy would probably prefer to punch first, ask questions later. She took a step back from him. He must’ve had women lining up for a night with him. The combination of a pretty face and bad boy aura would draw every woman across Great Britain to his bed.

  “Are you missing anything, Miss…?” Monroe glanced at his notes.

  A dimple appeared in his left cheek when he was concentrating. It had a devastating effect on his face…forget the face of an angel; try the face of some long-forgotten god of old. Emily grinned, thinking he would hate being called attractive. There was something rough and ready about this man. Incredibly attractive, but while she could appreciate a gorgeous man, he didn’t do it for her. Rather like admiring a beautiful painting or sculpture—because you admired it didn’t mean you wanted it. Nope, a certain Scotsman named Colin did it for her.

  “Ah, Miss Laurens,” he said, finding his notes. Moving closer to her, he approached like he was walking on eggshells, worried she’d break down in hysterics.

  Rolling her eyes she told him, “Please, call me Emily. No, nothing is missing. Why would someone ransack our room then not steal anything?” Taking her hand out of her pocket to tuck her hair behind her ear, she felt like a guilty teenager lying to her parents.

  Monroe’s pleasant, bored expression changed in an instant, darkening, sending a momentary fission of fear through her as he caught sight of her clothing. “Miss Laurens, why is ther
e blood on your shirt and a rip in your jeans? Have you been injured?”

  “Um…well…oh. We were on a tour earlier of the South Bridge Vaults, and I fell. Guess that’s how I tore my jeans.” Cutting her eyes to Kat, she gave her a look, warning her not to say anything.

  Crossing her fingers behind her back, she told him this lie, backing up a step as he narrowed his eyes.

  “Miss Laurens, I don’t see any blood on your knee through the rip in your jeans so I’ll ask again, how did you end up with blood spattered across your shirt? Looks like you were too close to a knife fight and caught the blood spatter as someone was stabbed. That about right?”

  Stalling to come up with an answer, Emily could tell he’d had it with her. His words punched out like a hammer hitting nails. “Did. Someone. Hurt. You?”

  Pulling a chair upright, Monroe practically pushed her down as he examined the rip in her jeans, face red, hand clenched at his side. “Miss Laurens, some jerks think it’s OK to hurt a woman. I’ve seen it a hundred times. A woman goes on a date, things get rough, the dickhead hits her.” She watched him struggle to stomp his temper down while he scowled at her.

  Her mind was a big fat blank. She couldn’t think of anything to tell him that sounded remotely reasonable.

  In a low tone, Monroe actually growled at her, he was such a friggin’ savage.

  “Tell. Me. Now.”

  “Officer! That’s quite enough.” Coming out of her room, Kat reprimanded him. “Emily’s had a trying day as have I. This has gone on long enough.”

  Monroe didn’t acknowledge Kat. Just sat there staring at her. Eyes drilling into her, searching for answers.

  “Kat, it’s okay. I’ll tell him what happened. Go ahead and pack.” Feeling her face heat up, Emily tried not to break down and cry. Please, not in front of him. Get me though this; I swear I’ll never eat another brownie again.