Death's Ethereal Enemy: Mystery (January Chevalier Supernatural Mysteries Book 4)

by Ruby Loren

  January felt like slapping her own face. She’d forgotten all about the bar! “That does need sorting out,” she confessed.

  “It doesn’t matter. We should be able to take care of ourselves and look out for each other. You shouldn’t have to be around to tie everyone’s shoelaces!” Miri said, sounding impassioned.

  January took a moment to get a good look at Miri. She seemed a little younger than her - perhaps in her early twenties - but January could already tell she was ambitious and mature. She was also clearly alert to undercurrents. The only thing that made her look a little younger was the bright pink flash of colour that peeked out from beneath her dark blonde hair. January knew it was the current trend.

  “I can tell you who the followers are and you can deal with them, if you want, but it’s more complicated than that…” Miri continued. January watched the intricate leaf tattoos on her arm jump when she tensed her bicep.

  “Morgan’s involved, isn’t he?” January said, helping her out.

  The other woman nodded.

  “It must seem a little odd, right? Someone who’s reporting to the Official Board conspiring against the pack leader?” Morgan’s identity was supposed to be a secret, as per Board rules, but it didn’t take a genius to see that he stuck out like a sore thumb in the group of shifters. Why else would a tiger shifter want to join a pack?

  “I think that’s why some of the pack think he might be doing the right thing,” Miri confessed, looking more uncomfortable by the second.

  “Morgan has quite a history,” January said, knowing that whilst she wouldn’t be surprised if Morgan had been loose-lipped about his role working for the Board, she knew for a fact he wouldn’t ever admit to his part in the destruction of the packs he’d previously worked with. She’d known what he’d done, and he’d still struggled to admit it to her. Still, it was about time that somebody else knew the truth about Morgan. She knew words would be far more harmful to someone like Morgan than violence.

  “That sounds about right,” Miri said, once January had finished telling her the truth about the newest pack member. “I’ll tell the others, don't worry,” she promised.

  January nodded, pleased. She glanced down at her egg whites and realised she’d have to start again. They’d sort of collapsed in on themselves.

  When she looked up again, she noticed that Miri was hesitating. “Was there something more?” she asked.

  Miri nodded. “I’m not sure if I’m right, but I have this feeling that Morgan’s not planning on doing this alone. I think he’s getting help from outside of the pack.” She tilted her head. “I don’t know how to explain it. He strikes me as a politician, rather than someone who’d actually take action. I think he’s pretty good at getting other people to do things for him.”

  “I think you’re right,” January said. She’d considered that the axe throw had been Morgan, but had discounted it. She’d seen him in his tiger form. He had all the natural power that a tiger possessed, but there was a softness to him. She could sense it when she was in her other form. He was not made of the right material to be the leader of anything.

  Miri on the other hand…

  January hid a smile. She was getting ahead of herself.

  Whilst she knew Morgan wasn't the axe thrower, she wasn’t as sure about the pit. Again, she couldn’t imagine Morgan digging it himself, but there were plenty of shifters in the pack who were capable of shifting earth and cutting bamboo into spears. She could easily imagine Morgan being the overseer of something so indirect and cowardly. What if another shifter, or even a human, had fallen into the trap? She wasn’t the only one to walk through the forest. She frowned. Come to think of it, the trap had been along a route she had walked a few times before. Someone who was scared of her, but wanted her gone, might have thought there were reasonable odds that the trap would get her.

  She felt the air crackle around her with energy as she nearly lost control for the first time in ages. Having someone challenge you to your face was one thing. She couldn’t stand those who aspired to take control, but had to skulk around to achieve their aims.

  Miri watched her, anxiously.

  January did her best to give her what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “You’re a bear, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, a grizzly. My ancestors were from America,” she explained.

  “What do you do for a living?” January asked, trying to be casual.

  The young woman twisted her hands together and looked unnerved by all the questions. “I help my dad with the garage he runs, but… I want to be an artist.” She blushed, clearly embarrassed that she’d confessed this ambition to the pack leader. “I have to work, though. I need to save, if I ever want to be able to do what I want to do.”

  January felt like her own past was staring her straight in the face. But this time, she was the one with the power to change a life.

  She very much hoped that Miri’s relationship with her soon-to-be employer wouldn’t end the same way.

  “How would you like to run the bar for me?” she asked.

  Miri’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t know the first thing about running a bar!”

  “You’ve watched the way your dad runs his business, right?” January asked, and the other woman nodded. “Then you probably have a fair idea of how it all works.”

  January made eye contact with the first real candidate she’d had for a pack second since Ryan and Bella had left. “Don’t worry, you’ll pick it up along the way. I’ll be there to help you, but I really think you can do it.”

  She thought back to the help The Clan had given her when she’d been learning the bounty hunting trade. It had come in the form of a leather bound book with the title How to Kill a Vampire. January thought she could do better than that.

  “Look, you can learn how to do pretty much any job by looking it up on the internet,” she told the daunted bear shifter. “You’ll do just fine. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you could do it.”

  Miri’s mouth flapped open and shut a few times before her jaw set in place. Her hazel eyes met and held January’s gaze.

  “I’ll do it,” she said.

  10

  It was only two days later that she received a phone call telling her to come to Paris.

  For once, the voice on the other end of the phone had neglected to tell her how to dress. From that, January grasped that it didn’t matter because she wasn’t meeting anyone that could be impressed.

  She was going to be meeting The Clan themselves.

  All the same, she wasn’t going to turn up in a t-shirt and jeans. One of the dresses she’d bought for when she’d been performing with James Phoenix would do the trick. They weren’t the top of the range, showy designer dresses she’d purchased for the tiresome meetings, but she liked them, and knew she could move in them… should the need arise. The thought had crossed her mind, but then she’d snuffed it out, knowing that it was ridiculous to even consider attempting something without a proper plan in place. A plan, of any kind at all, had not yet materialised.

  “Paris. All this time they were in Paris,” she said, over and over again.

  Already in a bad mood, she selected a black and gold sequinned skater dress and pulled it off the hanger.

  “Not the best choice,” a voice said.

  January managed to control her urge to flinch. She would not give Emerson the satisfaction of making her jump. “Why is it not the best choice?” she asked, hoping she sounded suitably bored.

  “Here’s something better,” he said. There was a flash of light and a package of clothing materialised on her bed in a fiery summoning circle. January frantically patted her smouldering duvet.

  “Do you mind? Couldn’t you have just had it couriered to me?”

  Predictably, Emerson smiled.

  She opened the package. “Am I entering a reality TV show challenge?” she asked, taking in the red and black jumpsuit. The fabric was stretchy, but tough. She knew it would cling to ever
y curve without impinging her movement. It was the sort of outfit that showed every last slice of cake you’d ever eaten. It was the sort of outfit January avoided wearing at all costs.

  “You’ll find out later. I hope you’re ready,” Emerson said, looking at her, fondly.

  January found it set her teeth on edge. “Ready for what?” Why was there a need to be so cryptic?

  “You’ll find out tonight. We’ll see if the life of luxury has dulled those killer instincts of yours, or not.”

  January glared at him. It was as much as she could do against him right now. “I don’t suppose you fancy giving me one of those magic lessons you promised me? Maybe you could let something useful slip…” She took a step closer to the solid-looking, but ethereal form of Emerson. She doubted she’d ever want to get this close to the flesh and blood version. “No one would know,” she whispered, her lips only an inch away from his.

  He lifted a dark eyebrow. “I’d say your killer instincts are just fine. It should be quite a show,” he said and dissolved into particles of light.

  January kicked the ruined duvet in frustration.

  Great. Emerson was all-too willing to turn up and bug her, claiming he found her interesting and implying that his tightlippedness was the only reason she was still alive, but when it came to actually helping her to skew the odds in her favour, he vanished in a puff of smoke!

  She shook off her annoyance, settling back into the professional mindset of an experienced bounty hunter.

  What did she know?

  She knew that she was meeting The Clan because Leah had told her.

  She knew that the meeting was somewhere in Paris because Max had told her.

  And she knew that she was being forced to wear a stupid outfit and put on some kind of a show.

  Her expression soured. The tough, yet flexible, fabric and armoured elbows gave away the kind of show it was likely to be. She held it up to the light and then put her hand inside the suit, before withdrawing it with a shiver.

  That was so wrong! How could they expect her to wear this thing? She looked at it using witch sight and noted the threads of silver spell that had been woven into the very fibres of the outfit.

  They’d spelled the jumpsuit, so that she couldn’t change into a unicorn when wearing it. It was akin to walking around in a prison. She thought about ripping the magical binding out of the outfit, but knew the whole thing would come apart. The Clan had specifically made this outfit for her. It should give her a clue about what they were planning, but she was still in the dark.

  Now more than ever, January missed her friends.

  In the end, January wore the stupid outfit, but she wore jogging trousers and a pullover on top of it. She’d reasoned that there was no need to feel ridiculous before it was absolutely necessary.

  As always, Gregory had remained dead to the world during the journey. The Old Ones always arranged couriers to collect his new light-tight sleeping compartment and send it the same way January travelled to any location. It was a good thing they always used a private jet, or there’d have been a few raised eyebrows about the coffin travelling up in business class.

  She knew Gregory couldn’t prance about in daylight the way The Clan vampires and Leah could, but she still found herself resenting the poor company he made on their trips together.

  She bit her lip as the black Mercedes passed through the centre of Paris and continued towards the nature reserve, where she’d first met the Parisian wolf pack.

  It was strange to be back in the place where she’d thought she belonged. It was only now that she realised she’d got it wrong. Paris had been a sanctuary, but Hailfield was her home.

  When the final flickers of light disappeared on the horizon, Gregory unlatched his carrier from the inside and climbed out into the car.

  “Where are we this time?” he asked, sounding as disgruntled as January felt.

  “I think we might be meeting The Clan. All of them,” she said.

  Gregory groaned and rocked his head back against the seat. Then he looked across at her. “What are you wearing?!”

  January lifted up her pullover to show him. “I think I’m going to be starring in The Hunger Games tonight,” she told him.

  It turned out, that wasn’t too far from the truth.

  “How much farther to go?” she asked the silent driver of the car. He held up a hand to indicate they were five minutes away from their destination.

  It was long enough for January. “Gregory, you need to tell me what’s bothering you right now,” she said.

  The head vampire looked at her, his storm grey eyes surprised. Once upon a time, she’d have been delighted if she managed to surprise him. Now it just made her worry.

  “I don’t know what’s bothering me,” he confessed. “I just keep feeling worse. I’ve tried to conceal it from you, but it’s as if none of this matters anymore, and I should just give up.” He hung his head and then looked up, sharply. “I sound like a whiny teenager,” he observed.

  “You do,” January agreed, looking at him, curiously. “I’m not sure that it’s your fault, though.” She looked at him with her witch sight, but nothing glowed. She should have known better. Emerson wouldn’t be that obvious. All the same, she was convinced he was responsible in some way.

  “As soon as whatever this is finishes, we’ll do something about it,” she promised Gregory.

  He nodded, meekly, looking as depressed as ever. January bit her lip. She couldn’t believe she was thinking it, but she missed the old Gregory.

  Maybe there’s something… she thought and began to twist her magic around. It would be good to practice, anyway. The suit she was wearing inhibited her shifter’s abilities, but it didn’t seem to affect her magic. Soon, a web of bad-stuff reflecting light floated around Gregory. If anything was pushing negativity towards him, it should keep it at bay.

  “Hey, I feel better,” he said, lifting his head, experimentally.

  January was about to celebrate when she saw something strange happen. A darkness crept across her glowing pink and black bubble of joy. It looked like a horrible mould.

  “Wait…” Gregory said.

  January tried to reinforce what she’d done, but the mould just spread faster, until her shield crumbled into nothing. She clenched her fists. Gregory looked at her, mournfully. Emerson was hell bent on making everything ten times harder than it should be! She could almost feel him laughing at her and saying ‘you didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?’.

  “Don't worry. I’ll find whatever he’s done,” she said, still furious that she hadn’t noticed what was happening, right back when it had started. She was supposed to be looking out for her friends. After all, it was because of her they were in this mess. Instead, two were missing without contact, one was having his memory wiped several times a day, one was being kept a prisoner at the place they were on their way to, and Gregory was borderline suicidal. She would understand if no one sent her a Christmas card this year.

  “We’re here,” the driver rather unnecessarily announced three minutes later.

  They’d driven down a small side road, that looked like the kind of thing only a tractor could get down. The driver had pressed a button and January had felt the car rise up, presumably engaging something that made it possible for it to drive along the rutted road with ease - although, that hadn’t meant it was smooth sailing riding along in the back.

  By the time they'd cleared the thick woods, and the trees had parted to reveal a surprisingly military-eqsue style base, January had felt pretty queasy. There were wire fences topped with vicious looking razor wire, but no sign of life. January knew better than to assume the compound was unguarded. It made sense that the Old Ones didn’t have their own private army. Hadn’t she and Gregory found it impossible to locate the first vampires, or even confirm their existence? In contrast to the pomp and show of the people who tried to impress them, hoping for a favour in return, the first vampires kept their own company.<
br />
  January wasn't sure it was company she wanted to share.

  “Out,” the driver prompted when she sat there for too long. Unlike at the chateau outside of Bruges, there was no one here to meet them. Even Emerson didn't turn up, ethereal or corporeal. January looked at the concrete and steel building and suppressed a shiver. This was the kind of place that would survive an apocalypse.

  When she and Gregory approached the entrance, a steel door slid up with an automated whir. January felt the urge to turn tail and run for the trees, but she could sense spells - and worse - woven around them. You wouldn’t get far if you tried to flee.

  She wondered if this was the location of the prison that could hold her.

  She wondered if they were going to lock her up tonight.

  “Keep your eyes open,” she said to Gregory, who shrugged apathetically. So much for that then.

  January made a conscious effort to remove all rebellious thoughts and replace them with ardent adoration for her wonderful benefactors. She’d not forgotten that Max was a mind reader, and she still wasn’t certain what the others could do. Cadence had once materialised on her doorstep. Did she possess powers identical to those of her brother, or were they different? Finding out would help, but it was so frustrating. She knew she wasn’t even close to learning enough to be able to end The Clan once and for all.

  She and Gregory walked down a corridor, lined with steel. It sloped downwards, and January sensed they were below the ground and getting deeper. Being a shifter, she was definitely an outdoors person. All of her instincts were telling her to fight or run, but the suit suppressed her ability to do that, and her common sense told her to quit it, too.

  They rounded a sudden sharp corner and were met with the most beautiful doors January had ever seen. It looked like a million, or so, gemstones had been melded together to create a stunning stained glass scene. The panels of glass were interwoven with intricately carved wood. On first inspection, the piece appeared to be abstract, but January thought it felt familiar. It looked the same way the world had when she’d momentarily glimpsed all of the mental signatures connecting with each other - the way Emerson saw the world, every day.