Demon Kin (A SoulTracker Novel #2) (DarkWorld: A Soul Tracker Novel)

by T. G. Ayer

  "What plans?" Drake snapped a confused gaze toward me, his expression clearing only when he realized who I was going to see. "What do you need her for?"

  Drake had never appeared to like Natasha, and I had never been able to put my finger on why. Perhaps it was because my white witch friend enjoyed making him sit outside while we talked, keeping him at arm’s length as if he wasn't welcome.

  "Got to go, Drake." I headed out the door trailed by the two men. Downstairs, I grabbed my phone, sent off a quick text to Natasha, threw my bag over my shoulder and turned for the door when a loud whistle almost ripped my eardrums apart.

  I spun on my heel, palms against my ringing ears. "What the hell was that?"

  "How are you going?"

  "I'm jumping, of course." I spoke too quickly, forgetting that my nose had turned into a bloodletting device not so long ago.

  "No, you aren't." The gargoyle and the djinn spoke in unison.

  "Okay. Fine. I'll take the truck."

  "I'll drop you off. You need to rest."

  I opened my mouth to decline when my phone buzzed. Natasha telling me she's visiting a junior leyline mage at Storm's place so I could meet her there anytime this afternoon and that she'd wait for me.

  I glared at Saleem. "If I can't jump, how do you propose I return home after you drop me off? They haven't yet finalized plans for the city teleporting cab service you know." My sarcasm had all of the power of a baby's left hook.

  Saleem snorted. "Meet me at O'Hagan's after seeing the witch."

  I gripped the strap of my bag tighter and swallowed my annoyance. I hated being babysat. "Fine. Can we go?"

  The guys exchanged knowing glances. Amazing what happens when men are pitted against women.

  They band together like emotionally scarred brethren with a mutual cause.

  Chapter 17

  Saleem dropped me off inside the living room of Storm's building. Two teens pored over a couple of textbooks in the corner by the window, while another sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, sketching something with smooth, graceful strokes.

  She gave me a gap-toothed smile as I materialized, before bestowing Saleem with a very appreciative glance.

  Saleem let go of my arm, fondled my ass with way too much familiarity, and disappeared leaving me annoyed, and leaving our poor witness pouting in disappointment.

  I smiled apologetically at her and hurried out and into the corridor heading for the offices. Natasha sometimes came to Storm's to make use of his office space. Not all her clients enjoyed having to drive all the way out into the countryside to see her. The effect of her house with its charms and magical adornments was definitely lost when meeting her in a plain bland office with standard furniture and no magic whatsoever.

  A good number of mages borrowed Storm’s rooms, and he'd had to set up a system with a whiteboard and names of the mages on site with the room number noted. Storm's apartment building could house way more than those he had offices for, so it wasn't unusual to find someone located in one of the apartments upstairs. Today was such a day.

  I turned on my heel and headed for the elevator, punching the button for the first floor.

  My mind still reeled with the queen's revelation and I hoped I had time to fix it before I ended up losing the fight.

  The elevator door pinged and I scurried out and down the short hall. As I neared the apartment, the door swung open and I smiled. Natasha was a true witch with an incredibly strong power. She usually knew when someone was coming to her home before they got within a mile of the property. I quite preferred her brand of security.

  The apartment was tiny, a small living room with one sofa and a flat screen tv, a round wooden table with two chairs and a little L-shaped kitchen were all contained in a small front room. A single room and a bathroom occupied the back half of the apartment. Simply furnished, it was the best that Storm could do with the funds he had. And the kids appreciate it. I know I did when I'd lived in a room just like this.

  Natasha had pushed aside the spindly-legged seventies coffee table and sat cross-legged on the floor, her colorful flower-printed skirt billowing around her. Give her bobby socks and a ponytail and she'd belong to the sixties. Heaven knew how old Natasha was though. I'd never asked.

  The consequences of asking a woman's age were probably multiplied with witches.

  She threw her bright white hair over her shoulder and got to her feet. Natasha's greetings to her friends were always over effusive. The first time I'd met her my personal space had issues with her constant need to be in it. Now, I relaxed into her embrace and grinned at her as she stood back and examined me.

  "You bleeding again?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Once a month like clockwork."

  She snorted loudly, a distinctly porcine sound. "Avoidance behavior does not negate the problem, as you well know."

  I sighed. People just don't seem to want to let it go. "Yeah. I projected earlier. Got thrown back too fast I think. I don't get nosebleeds when projecting. Until now, it was only the jumps that did it."

  Natasha pursed her lips and tucked her hair behind her ears, the tips of her silver-polished fingernails glinting. The white witch was a delicate, feminine flower when she was in a neutral mood.

  "So, tell me what happened to throw you back that fast?" She watched me closely, and I knew she was looking for the slightest indication of a lie. Then she'd pounce, like a rattlesnake.

  I set my bag beside me and sank to the floor opposite her seat. She followed me, lowering herself gracefully to the floor in front of me. I leaned against the sofa. "I projected into a magically warded compound. A client wanted me to find his mother."

  Natasha nodded, encouraging and calm.

  "I was taking my leave when she told me something." I shivered.

  Natasha leaned forward. "You’re afraid." Not a question.

  I tilted my head and looked at her. "You cannot see it?"

  "See what?" she asked, perplexed.

  "The woman I spoke to was powerful. She can see through the Veil. And she saw something about me."

  I paused again and Natasha gave my fingers a squeeze.

  "Something on me."

  Natasha let go of my fingers. "Oh."

  I nodded. "Yeah. My reaction."

  "Tell me."

  "She said there is something on me, a spirit or entity. She wasn't sure if it was demonic, or magical in creation but she said it's hitched a ride and isn't going anywhere until I find out who put it there and how I'm going to get rid of it."

  "Dear goddess."

  "I don't think the goddess had anything to do with it."

  Natasha snorted again. She got to her knees and shuffled closer. "Now, be still and let me see what I can find."

  She held my hands and closed her eyes and I watched, as her skin began to glow a soft silver.

  After a few moments of extremely tense silence, she sighed and sat back. "Right."

  "Right?" I squinted at her. "How long do I have to live?" I was only half joking.

  She sucked in a harsh breath. "I'm surprised you haven't seen it before."

  "What is it?"

  "It's something like a poltergeist."

  "Ghost, I can handle."

  "No, it's not a ghost. It’s an ancient spirit. An evil one."

  "You’re telling me I'm possessed."

  "In a manner of speaking."

  This conversation was weird.

  "So what exactly is this spirit, and who the hell did this to me?" I leaned forward. "I'm assuming this has to be done to person?"

  She nodded. "Yes, most definitely. It needs to be invoked through a ritual. The spirit would need to be summoned."

  "So do you think you can undo the summoning?

  "I would if I could, but it’s not anything like the magic I possess. It’s way too dark for me."

  "Dark?"

  "Yeah, the summoning would have required the sacrifice of a life."

  "So what is this thing then?"
r />   "It's called a tokolosje."

  "African black magic?" I asked, shocked. Shaking my head, I frowned, scanning my memory for someone I may have crossed who could have had access to African black magic. I came up empty.

  "I'm afraid so. You're going to have to find a sangoma to help you get rid of it. Thing is, I know it’s going to be difficult. It’s been attached to you for a while now."

  "How long?" I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

  "A few months perhaps."

  "And the purpose of it?"

  "Drain your power, weaken you. Maybe, access to your spirit or soul."

  We both stared at each other in shock. "Nosebleeds." We spoke in unison.

  "You know something messed up?" I asked.

  "What?"

  "I'm actually relieved."

  "What?" her eyebrows rose.

  "At least I know it wasn't something I did, or wasn't something to do with jumping or projecting. There’s nothing wrong with my powers."

  "There's just something wrong with you and we have to fix it."

  She sounded so sombre, I just had to ask. "What's the urgency?"

  "If we don't have it removed it will suck the life force out of you. You will die."

  "Erm so . . . how long do I have to live?" No longer joking.

  The expression in her eyes was enough to confirm that it was not a laughing matter.

  "If we don't remove it, and fast? Five . . . maybe six . . . eight months at most."

  Chapter 18

  If it hadn’t been for Drake and Saleem's combined insistence on no jumping, I would have left Storm's place in peace.

  Instead, I gritted my teeth as I stopped in my tracks to avoid walking straight into Det Pete Fulbright. He stood on the sidewalk in front of Storm's apartment building, his girth successfully blocking my way. Thankfully, I managed to stop just in time to avoid smooshing my face into his generously pillowed chest. The man seemed to have increased in size and softness over the last few months.

  Taller than me, his already generously rounded face had developed an additional chin and eyes that seemed to have sunk deeper into his face. His faded blue, ketchup and coffee stained satin tie was sorely in need of a priority position in the nearest trashcan. The front of his shirt struggled to stay buttoned, the fabric stretching so much that his pink hairy chest could be seen clearly through the gaps.

  Not that I had a problem with hairy chests. Only when they belonged to Fulbright.

  "Detective." I used my polite voice. He hated it when I was uncontentious. The man had dogged my steps since I was a kid, had gone from odious and troublesome, to a veritable stalker.

  He studied me for moment as the light from the street lamp bore into my eyes. It lit his profile, giving him a haunted look despite his heavy jowls. I wished I could figure this man out, understand what it was about me that made him haunt my movements with such passion.

  "Morgan." He made my name sound like profanity.

  The silence between us stretched uncomfortably.

  Clearing my throat, I straightened my spine and said, "How can I help you, Detective?" I glanced at my watch pointedly.

  He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "You could explain to me how you've become involved in the Santiani disappearance."

  I shrugged. "Not sure how that pertains to you, detective." I lifted a brow. "Jurisdiction and all that."

  Fulbright smiled. "It’s called interdepartmental cooperation. My counterpart at the Glades Precinct gave me the heads up that you've been brought onto the case."

  "And how does that impact on them? Or you?"

  Fulbright leaned backward, sliding his hands into his pockets, bringing his ample belly a little too close to me. I took a tiny step backward to avoid the collision. "It's the issue of your interference."

  "Not sure how I'm interfering when people come to me to help them find their missing loved ones."

  "You could say no. In fact, you should say no because it really is none of your business."

  My eyes narrowed as I felt my blood pressure rise. "I should say no? You really think I'm going to say no when it’s possible that I can find the missing person before they die? Just because the cops don't want it to look like they're not doing their job?" I wanted to mention specific details on how lax the investigation into Gia's disappearance had been, but it occurred to me that Fulbright could just be on a fishing expedition.

  Fulbright shrugged again. "One of theses days you’re going to regret poking your nose where it doesn’t belong."

  I let out a chuckle. "Really, Detective. You seriously think I'd be scared off with idle threats?"

  "What makes you think they're idle?"

  "Abusing your authority, I see?" I asked with a cold smile.

  "No need to abuse authority when I have the authority."

  I sighed and hitched the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder. "You have no reason to stalk me, to force me to stop helping people in need." I took a step closer, ignoring the press of his stomach against mine. Stabbing a finger into his chest, I said, "Remember that it’s your job that I'm doing. You give up on people, send them away with a pat on the hand and a little sad face on their missing persons' report. They come to me and I help. If it makes you look bad, then tough shit."

  Fulbright grunted. "I don't have a problem with you finding the people we can't find."

  I raised both eyebrows and let out a huff of disbelief.

  "It's just that it’s too convenient. You find them almost always. And that’s all good and well. But how is it you can find them and we can't?”

  I folded my arms. "Probably because you're a bunch of incompetents."

  He shook his head calmly and smiled. "Even if we were, it’s a little too convenient that you’re always able to locate them." He took a step closer, bending his head to look at my face. "How do you do it?”

  I said nothing.

  "You psychic or something?"

  I shook my head sadly. "I feel sorry for you, Fulbright. Chasing old wives tales." I felt sorry for me too, about having to lie to the man's face, about having to hide that technically he was right, although humans would have to figure out how to handle the breadth and scope of what they thought 'psychic' meant.

  He straightened, puffing out his shoulders. "I see what I see. And I see you."

  "How very efficient of you, Detective. At least you know your eyes work. Saves throwing your money at an optometrist."

  Fulbright cheeks bloomed pink, his neck following suit within seconds. He hated having his buttons pushed. Pity I loved pushing them. I'd had little success getting him off my back. He seemed stuck there, like a limpet. It felt good taking my frustrations out on the cause of them.

  "You have a smart mouth."

  I nodded sagely. "Yeah. It's my mom's fault. She always encouraged me to speak my mind."

  Mention of my mom made Fulbright stiffen, but I ignored him. "It was great catching up. We should do this again sometime soon, but I've got errands to run."

  I moved to walk around him, already expecting the hand that flashed out to grip my forearm. "I'm not done yet."

  I gave his fingers a pointed glare but he ignored it.

  "I bruise easily. Leave a mark and I'll be happy to make a report. A restraining order would certainly make things more peaceful for me, wouldn't it . . . Detective?" I'd reached the end of my tether with this conversation, that was going absolutely nowhere. Less than nowhere if my evil companion had its way. Fulbright would be happy when I finally died from possession.

  My gut twisted. I was trying really hard not to think about death and it’s uncomfortable proximity.

  Fulbright dropped my arm as if it had turned into a poisonous cobra. "No need to get your panties in a bunch, Morgan. I'm just here to give you a message. Det Camden from The Glades PD said to tell you that Carlo Santiani has been hospitalised."

  "What?" I frowned. "And it took you this long to tell me?"

  He shrugged. "Not too serious. He's b
een stabilized and is under observation at Centennial. Nothing to worry about."

  I groaned. "See? It’s attitudes like that which lead to all those unresolved cases I keep getting thrown my way."

  He grinned coldly, his skin a taut mask on the bones of his face. "Just passing on the message."

  And then he turned and disappeared off into the night, leaving me to wonder why the Glades precinct had not called me directly, and why Gina hadn't bothered to let me know what had happened to her father. Perhaps she didn't think I needed to know? Or was it something far more sinister than that?

  I glared at Fulbright's disappearing back, realizing that I hadn't asked, or been told, what my client's ailment was either.

  Typical.

  Chapter 19

  Centennial Private Hospital was more secure than the Pentagon.

  Or so I assumed.

  Saleem dropped me off and said he’d be back in half an hour and would wait in the car. I'd had to sign in and surrender all my weapons, have my beg inspected as well as my credentials checked. After a ten minute wait the guard then made a call up to Santiani's room, where I assumed he confirmed with my client that I was actually working for him.

  Receipt for my weapons in hand, the guard guided me inside the facility and up to the three levels to the suites. Seemed a little over the top to me, what with all the solid oak furniture, plush pile carpets and gleaming objet d'arts. Nice to have a little peek into how the other half live, even if I wasn't sure this really was the reality of the lives of the wealthy.

  In my limited imagination, I'd assumed they'd have added security, and maybe a room to their own, not a space that resembled a deluxe room at the Hilton. But then again, what did I know?

  My guide dropped me off at Santiani's door, knocking first and announcing my arrival before leaving me to enter alone.

  Santiani lay on a queen bed, occupying the center of one large wood-panelled wall, his pale skin almost lifeless against the pearlescent white of the satin sheets. He offered me a weak smile in greeting, then waved a raised finger, pointing at a pair of black leather wing-back chairs beside the bed. The armchairs flanked a glass coffee table bearing two glasses and a gleaming silver water flask, beads of condensation dripping to a plate beneath. The sight of which reminded me of the parched condition of my tongue and throat.