by Paige Tyler
“Of that Elvira knock-off? Definitely not. But if you did, I’d have to question both your taste and your sanity.”
“Then you’ll be happy to know that both my good taste and my sanity are still intact because I’ve never slept with her,” he said. “I’ve worked a few cases she was involved with in a peripheral way and she thought I was interested in her. I wasn’t.”
That was a relief. “Let me guess. She’s some kind of demon-possessed creature from the seventh pit of hell or something, right?”
“Nope. Just your run-of-the-mill witch with a good business sense. She specializes in potions and spells, mostly of the dark variety. She’s dangerous for sure, but not demon possessed.”
Damn. “Maybe I should have been nicer to her then.”
Logan shook his head. “Nah. With someone like Ramona, it’s better for her to know you’re a strong-willed, territorial woman like her rather than a shrinking violet. Besides, she knows if she tried to do anything to you, she’d have to deal with me.”
While that was reassuring to know, Presley decided she needed to be more careful with what she said while they were there. She didn’t want Logan getting into it with any of the club’s patrons because she insulted them.
She looked around the club again, concentrating on the people in it instead of the decor and music this time, and was surprised to see they looked as human as she and Logan did. When he’d first told her about the place, she had envisioned everything from vampires flashing their fangs to demonic sacrifices at stone altars. She wouldn’t give most of these people a second glance if she passed them on the street. The club’s patrons on the other hand, male and female alike, were eyeing her as if she was the last hors d’oeuvre at a dinner party. She supposed she should take it as a compliment, but for some reason, she didn’t think they were looking at her because they thought she was attractive. They were looking at her for another reason and it was making her very uncomfortable.
Logan must have noticed the attention she was getting, because he said, “Don’t worry about them. They’re looking at us because they sense we’re human and wonder what we’re doing here, that’s all.”
Maybe, Presley thought. But they didn’t seem interested in Logan—just her. “Now that we’re actually here, who do we talk to first?”
Logan jerked his head toward the other side of the club. “The guy tending bar. If we’re lucky, he might be able to point us in the right direction.”
Taking her hand, he led her around the perimeter of the room and over to the crowded bar. As they squeezed between a tall, willowy brunette with violet eyes and a heavyset, bearded man, Presley caught sight of the curly-haired bartender and blinked in surprise when she saw how young he was. She didn’t know if an underground club that catered to paranormal creatures had to adhere to the same rules as everyone else, but the kid couldn’t be a day over fifteen. He should be doing homework, not making cocktails.
The bartender glanced up from the mixed drink he was pouring and did a double take as he recognized Logan. “Damn, Logan. Haven’t seen you in a while. Hold on. Let me finish up this drink.”
The young man swirled the drink in the shaker, then dumped a shot glass full of some clear liquid in it before setting set the whole thing on fire with a cigarette lighter. As the concoction whooshed into flames, he quickly walked down to the end of the bar where a waitress was waiting for it.
Presley turned to Logan. “We’re asking an underage bartender for help solving a problem that has you and every other hunter you know completely mystified? You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m not expecting him to help us. But if there’s someone out there who can, Finley will know them. He knows everyone.”
She opened her mouth to ask him how he knew the kid, but the bartender came over before she could say anything. He held out his hand to Logan.
“Long time no see, man. What have you been up to?” He glanced at Presley and raised an eyebrow. “Obviously not working hard.”
Logan chuckled. “Finley, meet Presley. She’s a client and she’s in some trouble. I’m hoping you can point me toward someone who can help us out.”
“A client, huh? I should have guessed.” He sighed. “Okay, tell me your situation and I’ll see what I can do.”
Logan quickly filled the bartender in on Del Vecchio, explaining that the serial killer had come back from the dead to go after Presley, but that his ghost didn’t behave as any other ghost he had ever encountered.
Finely let out a low whistle. “Crap, that sounds bad. I’ve never heard of anything like that. A ghost that can go through walls, but still cut people to shreds? Shouldn’t be possible.”
“No kidding,” Logan muttered. “That’s why we’re here. We need to find someone who can tell us what the hell kind of ghost he is. Know anyone like that?”
Finley thought a moment. “I think I might know exactly who you should talk to. A Voodoo priest known for raising more than a few cadavers in his day. He’s pretty much retired now, but he still knows his stuff. He could probably help you out and if he can’t, he can point you to someone who can.”
“Got an address on him?” Logan asked. “And please tell he’s somewhere close and that we don’t want to have to fly to Haiti or someplace like that to talk to this guy.”
Finley laughed. “You don’t have to fly anywhere, except down the hall. He’s a regular here. It’s why I know him so well. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
Nodding to the other bartender, Finley came out from behind the bar and led them around the dance floor, then through a door and into a back room. This part of the club was even more dimly lit than the main room and the scent of tobacco and cigar smoke hung thick in the air. Apparently, Ramona the witch hadn’t gotten the memo about the citywide ban on smoking in public places.
As she and Logan followed Finely along a meandering path through tables and chairs, Presley caught some of the people seated there eyeing her with the same keen interest the club’s patrons had out in the front room. Their open curiosity was disconcerting and she avoided their gazes as she passed them.
Finley stopped beside a booth in the back corner of the room. It was occupied by a lone man sitting so far in the shadows Presley could barely see his face. But she could feel his gaze on her. Finley leaned in and whispered something in the man’s ear. After a moment, the bartender turned to them.
“Mr. Borella has agreed to talk to you,” he said.
Logan nodded. “Thanks, Fin.”
“No problem. I hope everything works out okay.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to get back to the bar. Stop by before you leave.”
As Finley walked away, the man at the table motioned to her and Logan.
“Sit,” he said quietly. “Please.”
Logan waited for Presley to slide into the booth, then sat next to her. He began to introduce them to the man, but a dark brown, weathered hand rose up to stop him.
“No need for introductions,” he said, leaning forward to give them a thin smile. “Young Finley was good enough to tell me your names.”
To say Mr. Borella wasn’t quite what Presley had expected was an understatement. When Finley had said he was a Voodoo priest, an image immediately popped into her head of an imposing, intimidating man with piercing eyes and wild hair, but this man was neither. As the glow of the candle on the table illuminated his wizened face, Presley decided he looked more like someone’s kindly, old grandfather.
“What he didn’t tell me was what predicament has brought you to my table,” he added.
Logan once again recounted what had happened. “Unfortunately,” he added when he’d finished, “I can’t seem to find any corporeal link that explains how the bastard’s ghost is tied to our world.”
Mr. Borella sat there staring at the candle on the table in silence for so long Presley wondered if he even realized she and Logan were there, but then he lifted his head to look at her with rheumy, old eyes.
“Did you die, child?�
�� he asked softly.
Presley was so caught off guard by the old man’s question that for a moment all she could was sit there and stare at him. “Yes, I did,” she said when she finally found her voice. “H-how did you know?”
He leaned forward to give her a toothy grin. “Because of the glow.”
“Glow?” Logan asked.
The man nodded. “The glow. Only people who have been to the Edge of Darkness have it. That’s why most of the ghosts you see have a glow. From bein’ that close to the power that comes out of the Darkness.” He held up his hand as if shielding his eyes. “But she lights up this room like a warm, cozy fire. She must have gone all the way across and then fought her way back. Dead things are goin’ to be attracted to her like a moth to a flame.” He looked at Presley. “I’m sure you’ve seen how some of the creatures in this place stare at you. Vampires, demons, necromancers, even old Voodoo men like me. Anyone who has the Sight will be able to see you. You glow like a jewel to all of us.”
Logan frowned. “Is that what brought Del Vecchio back from the other side—her glow?”
Mr. Borella shook his head. “No, boy. Even a glow as bright as hers wouldn’t have been enough to call him across the great divide that exists between our world and Darkness. Not on its own. His ghost is probably using it to track her, but her glow didn’t bring him back.”
“Then what did?”
The old man shrugged. “Don’t rightly know. I never heard of a ghost like this. I raised my fair share of them in my younger days, but this ain’t no simple shade brought back to answer questions from beyond the grave or to make a dead body dance and wiggle. This is somethin’ more. It’d take somethin’ stronger than my old Voodoo to give a ghost this kind of power.”
“Like what?” Presley asked.
“Love maybe. Or hate,” the old man said. “I’m personally leanin’ toward hate, seein’ as this here ghost is fond of carving his women up. Hatred can be a mighty powerful thing. Keep a man alive when he has nothing to live for. Maybe even bring a dead man back from the grave if he felt he wasn’t done with what he had to do.”
Presley shivered.
“But wouldn’t there still need to be something on this side to create the gateway to Darkness?” Logan asked. “A lock of hair or even a piece of fingernail?”
The man gave Logan an appraising look. “You’re pretty smart for a hunter. Normally you boys just run around shootin’ things. As far as an anchor on this side, I agree there has to be somethin’. But if it’s somethin’ from this Del Vecchio’s body, I can guarantee it’s more than a lock of hair or a piece of fingernail. Like I said, this ain’t no wispy shade. This thing is more alive than dead. It took a mighty big piece of that boy’s body to make it work—a hand, a heart, maybe the head. But even with one of those things, it took some dark magic to pull this off. Strong, dark magic.”
Presley shuddered. Why the hell would someone bring Del Vecchio back from the dead?
“Do you know of anyone who might be able to do something like this?” Logan asked. “Maybe heard someone bragging about having his or her own personal serial killer?”
“Sorry, boy, but I’m afraid I don’t know anyone who could do this. It pains me to say I couldn’t even do it myself, not even when I was younger.”
Logan sighed and held out his hand to the old man. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Borella. If you hear anything, will you let us know? You can get word to me through Finley.”
“I will, boy.”
After Logan stood, Presley started to slide out of the booth, but the old man reached across the table and caught her hand. She jumped, startled by how cold his was.
“Hold on a second there, girl. I might not be able to help you find out who’s doin’ this, but I can help you in another way.”
He reached into his shirt and took off the necklace he wore. It was a simple, brown leather cord with a nasty ball of something that looked like a miniature hornet’s nest on it.
“This will hide your glow, so he can’t see you no more,” the old man told her.
He motioned Presley forward so he could put it over her head. The touch of it made her skin crawl, but if it helped conceal her from Del Vecchio, she’d gladly wear it.
“Thank you. It’s very kind of you to give it to me.” But if the old man had been wearing it, that meant he must have been trying to hide from someone or something, too. “But what about you, Mr. Borella? Won’t you need the necklace?”
He smiled. “I’m an old man, girl. Ain’t much glow left in me to hide. Besides, you need its protection more than I do. Wear it always. Don’t ever take it off.”
Presley promised she would.
Before she slid out of the seat, she turned back to ask one more question, one she couldn’t leave without an answer to.
“Mr. Borella, you said I must have gone all the way across to Darkness, then fought my way back.” She swallowed hard. “Does that mean I was going to Hell?”
The old man looked at her for a moment, then laughed, low and long.
“Oh no, child. I’m sure you weren't meant for that place. Take it from one who knows it well and will be returning there again very soon.”
“But you said I went to Darkness. Isn’t that…Hell?”
He shook his old, gray head. “No. Darkness and Light are two sides of the same coin and the tunnel that leads to both start at the same place—the Edge. But for those who are marked for the Light, the Darkness holds no allure, and they never see the Darkness. It touches them, but it doesn’t get to have them.”
Presley nodded, feeling somewhat reassured. But not completely. “You said I fought my way back. If I was going to the Light, why would I fight so hard to come back?”
Mr. Borella turned to look at Logan. “Maybe you had something to come back for?”
Presley had a lot more questions, specifically wanting to know why the man was helping them, if he was so sure he was going to Hell. But the old man had leaned back into the shadows and she knew he was done answering them.
As she and Logan made their way through the club, the people who’d been eyeing her curiously before were looking at her even more strangely now. She wondered if that meant the charm the old Voodoo priest had given her was working. Were they confused because they’d seen her glow before, but couldn’t see it now?
She and Logan were heading back over to the bar when a big guy with long, dark hair and a beard caught her arm. Presley stiffened, but the man only leaned over to sniff her hair. His drew back and looked at her, his brow furrowing in confusion. After a moment, he leaned over again and sniffed at her a second time, then walked away as if his behavior had been completely normal.
Presley looked at Logan. “What was that all about?”
“Werewolf,” he explained. “Essentially, he sniffed your butt to see if he knew you.”
She lifted a brow. That was definitely a first. “He didn’t sniff you.”
Logan’s mouth quirked. “You’re prettier.”
Or his keen sense of smell had told him there was something different about her.
When she and Logan walked up to the bar, they found Finley mixing another cocktail, this time something light blue with shimmering silver flakes floating in it.
“Was Mr. Borella able to help you out?” he asked.
“Enough to point us in the right direction. He seems to think Del Vecchio didn’t come back on his own but had help from someone,” Logan said. “You haven’t heard any rumors about a necromancer, Voodoo priest, witch. or warlock who’s been bragging about raising a serial killer from the dead, have you?”
Finley shook his head. “Afraid not. But I’ll keep my ear to the ground.”
Logan nodded. “Thanks.”
The bartender poured the drink he’d made into a martini glass, then added a cherry. “I’ll give you a call if I hear anything.”
Presley should have known they couldn’t get out of the club without Ramona intercepting them. The dark-haired witch g
ave Logan a sultry smile.
“Leaving so soon?” she asked. “I suppose that means you got what you came for then.”
“We did,” Logan told her.
Ramona’s gaze flickered to Presley, before settling on Logan again. “Come back when you’re not so busy and we’ll catch up.”
Presley’s eyes narrowed. She would have said something sarcastic in return, but she was afraid the other woman would put one of those nasty spells on her, so she wisely kept her mouth shut and let Logan give Ramona a polite brush-off instead. Right now, she and Logan had enough to worry about. They didn’t need to add a vindictive witch to the list. The woman would probably try to turn her into a frog or something.
Even so, Presley couldn’t resist giving the other woman one last glare over her shoulder as she slipped her hand into Logan’s. She’d never been a shrinking violet and she wasn’t about to start now.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LOGAN HAD SOME trepidation about taking Presley to the underground club. Even with Cruz and his fellow Pyreal demon buddies for security, things could sometimes get rough there. Since their visit had been both uneventful and successful, he was damn glad he’d brought her with him. Not only had they figured out how Del Vecchio was able to track Presley down so easily, but they now had a new direction to go in as well. Logan had been so focused on finding Del Vecchio’s mortal remains he hadn’t even considered the possibility someone had brought him back from the grave. Based on what the old Voodoo priest Mr. Borella had said, there weren’t many people who had the power to raise the serial killer from the dead in the fashion it had been done. Sooner or later, one of Logan’s contacts would hear something that would lead him to the person responsible. Until then, Presley had that ugly-ass necklace to help keep her hidden from that bastard’s ghost.
He glanced at her as he steered the Hummer onto the bridge along with the rest of the traffic leaving the city. Presley was leaning back in the seat, her face half turned away as she gazed out the window. He was impressed by how she’d handled herself back at the club. Going into a place filled with vampires, demons, witches and the like made most hunters he knew nervous, but Presley acted as if they were walking into any other nightclub in New York City. She hadn’t even freaked out when that werewolf had stopped to sniff her. Having seen the gesture before, Logan hadn’t been concerned, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if Presley jumped at least a little. She’d kept her cool, though.
