Nine Lives (Lifeline Book 1)

by Kit Colter

  Erin dreamed of a full moon beaming over a mountain crest. Shaking hands splattered with dark, glittering blood. A circle of robed men and an explosion of searing white light. A stone bell tower reaching up toward the heavens. Shadowed blades of bloodstained grass trembling in the wind before her right eye, the star strewn sky stretching out above her left. Tendrils of spectral light gracefully draping themselves around a skeletal human figure, its cavernous form illuminated from within, its eyes so dark and depthless there could be no end behind them.

  Annexus Mons.

  * * *

  After a three hour nap, Erin was awakened by an announcement. It took her a moment to become alert enough to understand the words: the plane was about to land in Minneapolis for the first layover. Erin felt a surge of anxiety and sat up. She scrolled through the possibilities in her mind. The cops were waiting for her. A demon was waiting for her. Whoever was sending demons and sun-proof vampires was waiting for her.

  Or nothing. She only had forty-five minutes to find the right gate and get on the next plane. She didn’t have time to worry about anything but boarding the next flight.

  Erin tightened her shoelaces and buttoned her jacket. She took one last glance at her ticket before shoving it into her jacket pocket. Then she made her way through the crush of passengers and into the chaos of Minneapolis-St. Paul International. Erin asked the first employee she found for directions, then jumped onto a conveyer belt walkway and practically sprinted to the other end of the airport. Her flight was already boarding, so made her way straight onto the plane and sat down in the seat next to the window rather than the middle seat indicated by her ticket.

  After a minute or two, an older woman wearing bangle earrings and tortoise shell glasses took the seat next to her. She gave Erin a friendly smile before retrieving a paperback from her handbag and flipping through the pages until she found her place. Erin simply waited, trying not to think about what she was doing or how crazy it was. She pulled Sirian’s picture from her back pocket. She held the photograph face down so that her gaze fell upon nothing but the black square backing. She didn’t want to look at his face. She just wanted to know it was there.

  “I usually don’t read this kind of thing,” the woman with the tortoise shell glasses said, glancing fondly at the book cover, which featured a woman in a red dress and converse sneakers holding a large, smoking scythe. “But my friend got me hooked on this series.” She tapped one finger on the author’s name. “Jones really puts a twist on things.”

  Erin nodded.

  “Is this your boyfriend?” the woman asked, gently taking Sirian’s picture from her hands and looking it over. “He’s very handsome.”

  “Oh— No, he’s just ...”

  “Don’t worry, honey, I know exactly how that goes,” the woman said. She returned the picture and gave Erin a knowing look. “And I’m telling you this now, from someone who’s been there, don’t overthink it. If he looks like that, and the chemistry is there, just enjoy the ride while it lasts.”

  Erin nodded.

  * * *

  Erin slept for most of the eight hour flight. The next layover was at the Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris. This time there would be a three hour wait before the next flight. Erin was nervous about the down time, but ready to stretch her legs and walk. So, when the plane landed, she made her way to the next boarding gate, just so she knew where it was, then backtracked to the merchandising area and wandered through half a dozen shops. When the crowd and noise became overwhelming, she found the darkest and least populated restaurant and chose a seat in the back where she could watch the entrance. Other than the French words floating around, and the French on the menus, the place was exactly like any other sports bar back home. When the waiter came around, she ordered by simply pointing at a plate sitting on another table. Five minutes into her meal, a man sat down beside her.

  Erin stared at him.

  “American, yes?” he asked with a thick French accent.

  Erin remained silent. The man had light brown hair, a square jaw, and pouty lips.

  “Yeah, me too,” he said, dropping the accent and laughing. “I’m here with the guys,” he said with a lazy gesture toward the bar.

  Erin didn’t even look. “How’d you know I was American?” she asked.

  He laughed again. “Your elbows are on the table, babe,” he said. “French women don’t do that.”

  Erin frowned.

  “Kind of a cold fish, aren’t you?” he said with a grin. “What’d you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t,” Erin said.

  “Guess I’ll just have to call you Sexy, then,” he said, leaning across the table toward her. “My name’s Dave.” He flashed a congenial smile, and Erin could smell the alcohol on his breath. “And don’t worry about the cold fish thing; it kinda turns me on.”

  “I guess French women don’t tell people to screw off, do they?” Erin said.

  “Well—”

  Erin raised her eyebrows. Without another word, the man stood and walked back to the bar. A few seconds later, another man sat down at Erin’s table. She didn’t even look at him.

  “Sorry about my friend,” he said.

  Erin didn’t say anything.

  “So, uh, what are you doing here in France? Just sight-seeing or what?”

  Erin sighed in irritation. “What do I have to say to make you idiots leave me the hell alone?”

  “Oh, the basic begging for mercy—please don’t kill me, I’ll do anything, etcetera. Then again, I’ve gotten that before, and it didn’t stop me for a minute. So, I suppose you’ll just have to come up with something of your own.”

  Erin looked up and felt a jolt in her chest. She had been so eager to avoid eye contact, she hadn’t noticed—hadn’t even suspected. Gazing at the stranger, she recognized something in his eyes.

  “Who—”

  “That’s what this guy said,” he added, dusting off the shoulder of his stolen body, “and you can see how far that got him.”

  “You’re a—”

  “You sound like a fourteen-year-old girl,” he said with a contemptuous grin. “It’s not like you haven’t seen one of us before. I know you have.”

  Erin took a slow breath, suppressing a surge of panic.

  “You’re going to be rather fun, aren’t you?” he said, gracefully leaning forward, his crystal blue gaze sweeping across her face. “Something a bit interesting about you, isn’t there?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Erin said.

  He laughed smoothly. “So, love, tell me what it is,” he said, studying her. “These human eyes are clouding my vision.”

  Erin leaned back and scanned the room for an escape.

  The demon leaned further forward, searching her face. “It feels like ...”

  Erin grabbed her fork and jammed it down into his hand. “None of your business,” she said, trying to hide her surprise when he didn’t even flinch. The demon casually removed the fork, then wrapped his hand in a napkin.

  “You’ve stumbled right into my hunting grounds, whatever you are,” the demon said.

  “The airport?” Erin asked.

  “Travelers go missing all the time. All kinds of things can happen. How long does it take their families to realize a three week trip ended a week ago? Two weeks ago? How long would it take your family—if you have one—to realize you’re missing?”

  Erin scowled. “I don’t care who you are or what you think you’re about to do. I’m tired and hungry and I’m sick of this shit,” she growled. “So, do what you’re going to do or get lost.” She grabbed the bloody fork, wiped it off on her pants, stabbed a piece of chicken and put it in her mouth.

  An icy smile slipped across his mouth. “Indeed. Then we’ll be seeing each other soon.”

  “Yeah,” Erin mumbled around a full mouth.

  He moved to his feet. “Mademoiselle.”

  Erin ignored the demon as he walked away, chewing savagely and gla
ring at the empty chair he had occupied. When he disappeared through the doorway, she spit the chicken back onto her plate and put the fork down. She was nauseous. Her pulse was thudding in her ears. Her palms were sweating. She felt like a bug light for supernatural predators. Like she was magnetizing them somehow. Erin took another slow breath, telling herself she just had to make it to the hotel in Vienna and wait until the twins arrived. That’s all she had to do.

  * * *

  Erin wandered the airport for the remainder of the layover, staying in the most crowded areas possible just in case the demon was still following her. She could barely believe her luck when she made it onto the final flight without another incident. The trip from Paris to Vienna was short, a little under two hours. It took Erin an additional thirty minutes to make her way off the plane and through the airport. She felt incredibly nervous. Though the airport itself looked like any other airport, this airport was different; it was filled with people speaking German, filled with signs written in German, and outside of it lay the great country of Austria, waiting quite indifferently for her naive arrival. She didn’t even have an English-to-German translation book. All she had was the name of a hotel scribbled on a piece of torn, lined paper and a notebook with the translated story of a goat and a peasant girl.

  This was going to be interesting.

  Erin tightened her pony tail and made her way through the crowd to the nearest exit. Snow swirled against the sliding glass doors in a miniature whirlwind, and as the doors opened cold air swept across Erin’s face and snowflakes tangled in her hair. She caught the attention of the nearest taxi driver, who ushered Erin into the back seat with swift gestures and loud German words she couldn’t hear over the wind and snow. When he slid behind the wheel, Erin did her best to pronounce the name of her hotel.

  “Hotel Satch-er.”

  The driver craned around in his seat to look at her.

  “Sat-kar?” she said, then handed him the crumpled piece of paper with the hotel name scribbled in Derek’s messy handwriting.

  He laughed and smiled. “Zah-kur. Great place.”

  “You speak English?” Erin asked.

  “A little,” he said with a nod.

  The driver glanced at the rearview mirror, squinting for a moment, then pulled onto the road. Erin leaned back in her seat and watched the scenery slide by. The roads were laced with snow and icy slush, and stretching out in every direction were snow covered fields. Within a few minutes, the taxi was surrounded by buildings and trees. Then the trees disappeared, and Erin found herself amidst some of the most incredible architecture she had ever seen. Many of the buildings were enormous, close to ten stories tall, with ornate stone faces and curved, decorative windows. They looked like cathedrals. Palaces. Imperial fortresses intended to awe and intimidate. There were stone sculptures of men and women. Horses. Angels. Children. Overhead, white Christmas lights cascaded from one building to another in endless rows broken only by what appeared to be enormous lanterns shaped like chandeliers. Everywhere, Christmas decorations lined the streets, windows, and doorways.

  The driver pulled up in front of an enormous building with two balconies—one above the other—overlooking the street. Both balconies and the entryway were laced with garlands and lights. Several lit Christmas trees stood beside the glass double doors. Hotel Sacher was printed above the entrance.

  Erin gave the driver thirty-five euros, then climbed out of the taxi and walked through the slush to the front doors, which were flanked on both sides by statues of what appeared to be centaurs. A doorman in a long red coat and black hat opened the door for her, and Erin stepped into a foyer with a glistening, white tile floor. A large chandelier hung directly over a circular, marble table at the center of the room. The table seemed more like a sculpture than a piece of furniture, with an elaborately carved base that looked as though it was built into the floor. As Erin approached the desk, the concierge smiled.

  “Guten Tag. Sprechen Sie Englisch?” he asked.

  Erin simply handed him a piece of paper the twins had sent with her. He read it, then swiftly typed several commands on the keyboard behind the counter. A moment later, another man in a red jacket and black hat stepped up beside Erin. The man gave Erin a polite nod and gestured toward her backpack.

  “Darf ich?” he asked. “May I?”

  Erin shook her head, trying to smile politely, then followed him down the hallway to the elevator. The attendant took her to the fourth floor, room 416, and opened the door.

  Erin stared.

  The hotel was a palace. The room was enormous and furnished with gilded wingback chairs and red velvet. A king size bed was piled with pillows and a goose down comforter. Above it, another chandelier. The massive window stretching almost the length of the room showcased a view of the skyline punctuated by spires and sculptures mounted on rooftops.

  The attendant smiled at her. Erin dug ten euros out of her jacket pocket, hoping that was an adequate tip, and pushed them into his hand. The attendant smiled again and left the room. Erin gently placed her backpack on the table and grabbed the nearest chair, wedging it under the door handle, then made a quick survey of the room. Enormous marble tub. Marble floors. Gilded tables, chairs, and picture frames containing real oil paintings of important looking people and places. Velvet drapes. A tower of chocolate candies wrapped in gold foil. Erin shook her head, walked back to the center of the room, and threw herself face down onto the bed. She kicked off her shoes without moving the rest of her body, listened to the sounds of the street outside, and drifted toward sleep.

  * * *

  Erin blinked up at the gold chandelier hanging over the bed. It took her a moment to realize she had been awakened by hunger. The last thing she ate was a pack of peanuts on the plane—she had slept through both meals—and before that, back at the truck stop when her face wouldn’t stop bleeding. Two chicken sandwiches for a dollar. She pulled out her cell phone and glanced at the time: 5:53 p.m. She stood and trudged into the bathroom, flicking on the light and inspecting her reflection. Touched her face here and there, where Seven’s makeup was starting to rub off and the split skin was beginning to show through. Erin smoothed out her hair, then sat down at the table where a menu waited. She flipped through it, unable to make much sense out of any of the items, then picked up the phone and dialed room service.

  Someone on the other end picked up and a man’s voice spoke in German.

  “Hi,” Erin said. “I can’t read the menu, but I’m really hungry.”

  “Oh. English. Would you like someone to bring you a menu in English?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll eat whatever you want to make. Just whatever you think is good.”

  The man laughed. “Okay. I will choose for you. It will be very good.”

  “Thank you,” Erin said in relief.

  “The wait should be short. Please call back if you require anything more.”

  “I will. Thanks again.”

  Erin hung up the phone and gazed out the window. With the setting of the sun, all the white Christmas lights gleamed in the growing darkness. It seemed every door and window was wreathed in lights, garlands, and hanging ornaments. Despite the cold and slush, crowds had formed and people of every age and ethnicity were wandering along the sidewalks. Erin watched in fascination and envy—she had always wanted to travel, to visit places just like this—but now that she was here she had to stay in her room and wait.

  That was when she saw it, an inky silhouette, that smoky, three dimensional darkness. Just standing there amidst the crowds, snowflakes whirling around it. Erin didn’t know why it surprised her. She’d seen them before and knew she’d see them again. Just seeing one now, in a different country, made her realize they were everywhere on earth.

  That she would never not see them again.

  Erin moved away from the window, unzipped her backpack, and retrieved the twins’ taser, which looked much more like a speargun than anything else. Taped to the barrel were Derek’s direction
s for use: Pull The Trigger.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Erin gazed through a peephole. A young woman with strawberry blond hair stood in the hallway with a push-cart. Erin gently stuffed the gun into the back of her pants—it was too big to fit comfortably—then smoothed her jacket over it. She opened the door.

  “Guten Abend,” the woman said with a smile as she wheeled the push-cart into the room. She quickly transferred the meal to the table, then returned to the hallway. Erin gave her ten euros, then locked the door the instant the woman turned her back. She quickly replaced the chair beneath the door handle, then crept over to the window and gazed down at the street.

  The demon was nowhere in sight.

  Erin returned to the table, pulled the gun out of her pants and placed it on the table, then uncovered her meal. She had no idea what it was, but it was beautiful. Like a piece of art, with each piece of food arranged at the perfect angle and dowsed in a lacy web of burgundy colored sauce.

  Erin finished the meal in seconds. Then she stretched out on the bed with the taser clasped to her chest and stared up at the chandelier until she fell asleep. When she woke up, it was still dark. By the greyish hue in the air, she knew the sun would be rising soon. Erin didn’t move. She didn’t go back to sleep, either. She just lay there, waiting.