by Isabel Wroth
The candles were all white, the fixtures gold, the furniture a sturdier Regency reproduction meant to be sat on and enjoyed.
The photographs on the wall were in black and white, and on every table sat at least one gold vase full of black dahlias.
“Look around; I’ll just be a second.” Kerrigan smiled at him, disappearing behind white fringe curtains separating the front parlor from the back room.
He noted with some amusement that a stuffed white peacock sat perched atop a black pillar, like a guard at the door.
On the shelves, he found what he would consider a typical display of witchery: tarot decks of a dark variety, a few angelic decks tossed in for posterity.
Candles in many colors for summoning magic infused with a special announcement in an ornate gold frame that all the herbs were grown on-site by the Blossom Shrine.
There were crystals, talismans, herbs, and other paraphernalia organized by intention. The bookshelf was stocked with all sorts of books pertaining to the afterlife and working with spirits. There were three shelves devoted to breaking or making curses and self-help books for dealing with one’s non-corporeal enemies.
“You have a book called Animals in the Afterlife. Do you have clients seeking the spirits of their deceased pets?” His incredulous question was met with laughter.
“A surprisingly large number, yes.” Maksim abandoned the books in favor of wandering through the lace curtains to the back.
Kerrigan was in the process of taking random items from a large trunk to a smaller basket. She held up an ornate glass jar filled with what looked like ashes, examining it before adding it to her supplies.
“Why call your business The Last Word?” Maksim called out, tilting his head to read the titles on some of the books.
“My father used to tell me I always had to have the last word, and it was never a compliment. When I was putting it together, I thought about the sort of clientele who would be interested in my particular brand of magic. Most everyone in the history of summoning always has questions for the dead. They want to have closure. The last word.”
“Very clever. And a thumb to the nose for your dad. How is he, by the way?” Maksim had spent many a tortured evening plotting all sorts of revenge on both of Kerrigan’s parents, sure his Bride wouldn’t mind all that much considering what they’d put her through.
Kerrigan collected some white sticks of chalk and a few crystals, shooting him a wicked little smile.
“Suffering the indignity of indentured service to the obscenely cold, ball-busting woman I hired to run the family winery after I financially ruined my parents. Glenda has turned the place into a raging success—something my father would never have been able to do—and a fact Glenda reminds him of daily, at my behest.
“Dad has no idea I’m the owner of the winery, but the reports I get of his attempts to tell Glenda how to run things and the brutal verbal rebukes she delivers give me great joy.
"Glenda forces him to accompany her to important functions, and those business partners daddy was so concerned about keeping up appearances with all attend. She introduces him as her flunkie.”
Maksim licked his lips and pulled his hand down his face, the surge of lust he felt so intense it boiled through his veins.
His stomach knotted with hunger, still not satiated after his prolonged starvation; the thirst made that much worse by the ungodly pride he felt in being able to say the magnificent creature in front of him was his.
His Bride. His clever, stubborn, vengeful Bride.
She looked up at him through the fringe of her lashes; her red lips curved in a wicked smirk. “Glenda is the offspring of a Nymph and a Fury. Odd combination, but she’s really into wine and busting balls. Great combo, if you ask me.”
“Your retribution is both cruel and satisfying, love. I would simply have destroyed them and missed out on a feast of misery.”
Kerrigan beamed, and all around them, the candle flames speared up to mirror her happiness.
“Speaking of feasts, are you hungry? I’m all rested up, and the tank is full.”
She tipped her head with an inviting smile, and it was all he could do to keep from falling on her like a fledgling.
As it was, he crossed the distance between them and buried his hands in her hair, the scent of her arousal flaring as soon as he got a good grip.
He saw her pupils dilate, heard the excited flutter of her heart, and felt her relax in preparation for whatever he was about to do.
The absolute trust she placed in him was unbearably humbling. He bent and pressed the gentlest of kisses to her soft lips.
Maksim only meant to take a sip, just enough to tide him over for a little while longer, but her murmur of need did him in.
He sank into her, taking kiss after kiss until he couldn’t think about anything but the tight clasp of her arms around his shoulders and the desperately sweet sounds she fed him.
He had to struggle to remember she needed to breathe, but despite the space between their lips, she held on with surprising strength, refusing to let him get away from her.
“How strenuous will your summoning be tonight?” he asked, unable to keep from touching kisses to her flushed cheeks, feeling the heat of the blood pooling just beneath the delicate skin.
Maksim felt how she trembled, taking one hand from her hair to wrap securely around her waist.
“I’m… I’m not sure. It depends on how long it takes to find a fragment of the spirit I’m after.”
“Then I will wait until you have completed your work.”
“But if you’re hungry—”
He cut off her protest with another careful kiss, his gums having retreated to allow his fangs as much room as possible to sink into her fragile throat.
If he kissed her too forcefully, Maksim knew he would slice open her lips.
“If I am on the brink of starvation, love, I will retreat to the house and fetch myself one or two of the blood bags I saw in the refrigerator.” As soon as he said it, his tongue curled with disgust.
Maksim preferred live donors, but he’d taken many a meal from a bag before and got along just fine. After one taste of Kerrigan’s blood—her special, unique blood—the liquid in the plastic bags truly tasted of sour milk.
He wasn’t even sure it would nourish him anymore, but he might have to make an attempt if the hunger pangs got too great.
He hadn’t shared enough blood with Kerrigan yet to ensure her system was constantly being replenished by what he would take from her.
After seven to ten exchanges, her body would produce an excessive amount of blood, to the point where she would feel like an over-filled balloon if he didn’t feed from her daily.
“You’re sure?” she pressed, searching his face with a pinch of concern forming between her brows.
Maksim kissed the wrinkle away. “I will be fine until after you’ve finished. Do you have what you need?”
A bit dazed, she smiled at him with a dreamy nod.
“All I need is you.”
The declaration warmed him in places that had been cold for too long and gave his pride a nice shot of heat.
“I meant for your spell work, love.”
“Oh, um, yes. We’ll ah… have to walk back up the lane to my folly.”
“Your folly?”
“Mmhm. It’s where I do my big work. The place is warded to the hilt because the girls aren’t big fans of having stray ghosts show up to mouth-breathe at them from the end of their beds.”
“I can’t say I’d be a fan of that either unless you’ve discovered a streak of exhibitionism?”
Kerrigan turned scarlet, stammering and spluttering adorably.
“I haven’t! And even… even if I did, I certainly wouldn’t want some… some ghost watching us together.”
Her scandalized reaction was precious. So charmingly innocent, he had to tease her.
“You never know, love. It can be quite erotic to have unseen eyes upon you during your most in
timate of moments.”
“Is that so?” she asked with a prim little sniff, passing by with her basket hooked over her arm. “And just how many unseen eyes have been upon you during your most intimate of moments?”
Even he wasn’t stupid enough to answer that question.
“My mind is fuzzy on the details. Age, you know, it affects the best of us. Let me take that for you.”
Kerrigan let him take the basket, going up on her toes to hiss in his ear.
“Nice try, old man.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The first year after Kerrigan followed Rowena out to her family land in a podunk town in the middle of Nowhere, New Hampshire, Kerrigan struggled to find something to do when she wasn’t summoning ghosts or tracking down obscure books relating to vampires.
Kerrigan felt like she’d been to every antique occult bookstore in the world, and on pure chance, she’d driven through a tiny town on the coast of Maine, where she spotted an antique store advertising rare books.
From the look of it, Kerrigan hadn’t anticipated finding anything special or anything that would help in her search for Maks, but she’d needed to get out and stretch her legs.
The inside of the shop smelled like musty cupcake-scented mothballs and salt, a typical antique store aroma, and everything around her seemed to have a vaguely nautical theme. Lots of lobster cages and primitive pieces of furniture.
The collection of books for sale were scattered throughout the shop, and Kerrigan diligently looked at every single one, just in case.
The only book worth anything was a first edition copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. She’d had it in her hands when she walked out into the back yard, stunned by the collection of junk surrounding the most beautiful collection of arched Gothic windows made of white limestone.
The store owner told her they were remnants of an old church that had been demolished to make way for a housing development.
There were eight windows in total, eight feet wide, ten feet tall, and after purchasing them, the woman told Kerrigan where she could find a plethora of stones that had also come from the church.
Getting the truckload of stone delivered had been almost as expensive as the stone itself but worth every penny. Kerrigan used magic to place each piece, fusing them together with a handy spell, binding them to the ground to ensure the folly would stand for centuries.
The completed folly was thirty feet in diameter with a shallow pool of water inside to act as both a barrier and a conductor, with a large disk made of black granite at the center of the pool.
Maksim walked the perimeter of her workspace, studying it with an expression of appreciation that made her glow with pride.
“This is beautiful, love.”
Kerrigan beamed as she placed fresh crystals at each of the five stepping stones, lighting candles as she went.
“Thank you. It’s all that’s left of a Catholic church.”
Maksim’s laugh echoed through the night, clearly enjoying the sweet irony.
“So what—or who—are you attempting to contact tonight?”
Kerrigan paused in sketching out sigils on river rocks, considering how to answer that without completely violating the NDA she’d signed.
“A woman who was killed around 1689. I can’t exactly tell you all the particulars, I um, signed a non-disclosure agreement. I’m sorry.”
Maksim shrugged off her apology, slipping his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt.
“That’s quite alright. Can you tell me what all these items are for?”
“Of course. Her spirit is in fragments, so I’ve been going on a bit of a fishing expedition. Every fragment I collect, I’ll put in this sapphire.” Kerrigan held it up to let the moonlight dance across the faceted surface.
Maksim gave an appreciative whistle, crouching down to get a closer look at the gem.
“You said only vampire spirits fragment after death.”
“I did say that,” Kerrigan answered with a smile. It thrilled her to know her work was important enough for him to remember such details.
“So you’re going on a hunt for the fragmented pieces of a female vampire’s spirit, who died around 1689.” Kerrigan couldn’t answer, but he hadn’t actually asked her a question. “Are those her ashes?”
She touched the ornate apothecary jar and wrinkled her nose. “Yep. It’s a first for me, most times I get a necklace or a hairbrush, but it’s made things easier.”
“How so?”
“I’ve been mixing the ashes with anointing oil to paint sigils on my hands. It attracts the fragments the way a candle flame attracts moths.”
Maksim nodded, watching her step out onto the black granite. “Is this what you did when you went searching for my spirit?”
“I didn’t have anything of yours to work with, so it made things difficult, but essentially, yes. I tried so many different combinations and methods. This has kind of become my specialty.”
Her investigative skills weren’t too bad, though she’d rarely had the opportunity to use them for anything other than hunting down random spells or ancient books and items that might help her in her quest.
But, without the obsessive force driving her to find Maksim, she was free to do something else.
Or not, as she had the money now to ensure she never had to work another day in this lifetime.
“You don’t seem pleased to have a niche.” Maksim’s speculative comment made her shrug, instead, focusing on scooping vampire ashes into a small bowl to mix with oil.
“How many vampire souls have you successfully pieced together and summoned?”
“Just one,” Kerrigan admitted.
“Anyone I know?” he asked teasingly.
“Yes, actually.”
“Who?”
“Your maker.” Kerrigan slid a glance sideways while mixing the oil and ashes, seeing the naked shock on Maksim’s face while she pretended not to be looking at him.
“I’m honestly not sure how I did it, other than pure desperation to find any part of you I could. He wasn’t at all helpful, and he kept stringing me along, promising answers in exchange for blood.”
All traces of amusement were gone in the way Maksim stiffened, dropping to one knee so he could reach out and take her chin in his fingers, gentle but firm in the way he made her turn to look at him.
He searched her face, the candlelight beautifully accenting the sharp angles of his cheekbones, reflecting off his pale green eyes.
“Tell me you didn’t give him what he asked for.”
“Of course not,” Kerrigan assured him gently, turning her chin to press a kiss to his palm. “My blood belongs to you.”
Maksim’s intense stare turned hot and sexy in an instant. His lashes fell to half-mast; his lips parted to reveal the bare tips of his fangs.
The absolute picture of sensual decadence.
Kerrigan really didn’t want to work this damn summoning and waste the heat in that look.
“Besides, he was a complete prick, and you should see what happened to the last prick who came around here trying to shake his balls around.”
“Do tell,” Maksim invited with a purr.
“The short version? A forest god came by with the intent to hurt Ivy, lost his head, and got turned into a tree. A really ugly tree that Ilex and his crew pee on practically every day.”
Maksim brushed his thumb across her cheek before dropping his hand. “I am deeply intrigued to hear the rest of that story later.”
“Later,” she agreed and got to work.
*****
The descent was always the same, a grand staircase in her mind that led down into a thick veil of fog and into a quiet, empty space beyond. It felt like walking through a cloud; damp, cold, and almost effervescent.
Unlike traveling the stars with Astrid, sinking into the world below felt more like walking down a dark alley with gargoyles perched high above, watching Kerrigan make her way down the street.
The alley always m
ade her think of a valley. The valley, passing through the shadows of death and all that.
A transition to get to purgatory. Nothing more than a gray desert that stretched endlessly on without a single star overhead to guide her.
The only landmark in sight was a replica of her folly, something she had painstakingly created in her mind to keep focused and prevent her from getting lost.
With a thought, Kerrigan could change the setting around her, like a backdrop on a stage to be rolled and spun until the correct scene came into view, but unless she was standing in that folly, in that fixed point, she would be lost to wander with the rest of the misplaced souls down here.
As everything she did here happened within the confines of her mind, Kerrigan didn’t consider this an out of body sort of experience.
If she concentrated, she could feel the weight of the sapphire she held in her hand and the coldness of the granite beneath her butt where she sat in the real world.
This was something of a mind palace. Her consciousness traveled to whenever she went in search of a spirit. She couldn’t count the hours she’d spent in this place, hunting for Maksim, reaching out with every metaphysical bone in her body for a single glimpse of him.
Now he waited for her, watching over her while she worked, and honestly, Kerrigan wanted this to be over as quickly as possible.
She had other things in mind for tonight, and expending all her energy trying to draw another piece of Cecilie to her was at the very bottom of her list.
She’d told Etienne it would take time, and he wouldn’t know any different. Tonight, she’d give it a token try, and if she didn’t pull a fragment out of the etheric hat, Kerrigan would call it a night.
Stepping up onto the white granite disk in the center of her spirit realm folly, Kerrigan drew in a deep breath and focused on the ether that spun all around her.
Souls flickered in and out like fireflies, a bright light here and there, or a flash of hazy darkness if the soul was nasty.
Despite the constant bluster of high winds, there was little sound, which made things interesting when she spoke. She might as well have been shouting into the microphone at a soccer stadium, which was fine because it meant her words were impossible to miss by passing spirits.