He shifted his weight when I whispered, “How convenient,” under my breath.
The butler’s deep-lined brow revealed frustration. “I do believe Professor Colton kept a small album inside the desk.”
House fire my ass. “I looked in every drawer—” I stopped myself. Nothing like admitting my intrusion to Pop’s devoted butler.
“I believe there’s a secret compartment in the bottom left.” Dougal stared beyond me as if he noticed a book out of place.
My eyes followed his gaze, certain his interest centered on the red leather book or secret passageway. Had to be one or the other. I returned to the desk and reached inside the bottom drawer. My fingers slid along the edge until I felt and pulled a lever to release a secret compartment.
A thin album measuring four-by-six fell into my hand. Amazed and disappointed by its small size, I opened it with care, making sure not to disturb the loose pictures. Scant photos of me and Ariane as babes, toddlers, kids, teens, and young adults filled the few pages. Minus birthdays and photos taken outside the mansion, it held only pictures of different stages of our lives inside windowless, gray walls. The enclosed room, unrecognizable anywhere else in the mansion, had to be the secret lab.
“Odd,” I said, flipping through the pages. A loose photo fell to the floor. I put the album on the desk to pick up the snapshot of Pop with Wayde and Chambers taken at the university. I flipped it over. Nothing written on the backside, so I twisted in place to ask the butler a question and found the room empty. “Dougal?” I reached for the album next. My hand swept through a fine mist. “Bloody hell,” I swore, crushing the photo in my hand. The search for memories had taken a serious nosedive. No haunting memories, just a meddlesome butler.
Two hours passed since I scoured the entire estate for Dougal and the album. Miserable, I sat on the porch to wait for Ariane to return. Minutes later, patience rewarded me. Off in the distance, tires rolled across the rough gravel. I stood to greet her with an earful of the strange events.
The rental pulled in the usual spot in front of the garage. Ariane carried a shopping bag in each arm. She slowed, stopping beside me with a scowl that disfigured her face. “What’s wrong?”
Why the frown? As usual, she was too quick to assume I had effed up the day. I grabbed one of her bags and followed her inside. “Dougal’s gone missing, along with the only family album.”
Ariane almost knocked over the rifle leaning by the kitchen door. “Whose rifle?”
“No idea.” Didn’t recall seeing it when I went outside. My gaze met hers.
“Family Album?” she asked. “Where did you find it?”
“Stashed inside a secret compartment in Pop’s desk. Dougal showed me where and then he conveniently disappeared. There one minute, gone the next. The album’s also gone.”
Ariane’s gaze switched to the bags of groceries. “What do you think happened?”
My eyes narrowed. “The ghost happened.”
3 3 3
Unable to explain Dougal’s disappearance after she combed the entire mansion, Ariane searched outside next. The garage and tool shed were both empty, his vehicle gone. Did Brian overreact? Her brother’s relentless talk of ghosts wore Ariane’s patience thin. It snapped in half this morning when she found him bloodied and passed out on the bedroom floor. Her first instinct was to scold him, but he was shaken and mysteriously bloodied. Not his own. Afraid to ask, unwilling to venture into his darker side, she ordered him to take a hot shower.
Over breakfast, Brian asked why her bedroom wasn’t pink and frilly. “I’m not a girly girl,” she said. Ariane shook her head. Where’d that come from, dear brother? Although she loved him dearly, his crazy antics reminded her of a rollercoaster: up, down, up again, swerve left, and so on. She hated the soul-jerking ride. Coaxing him to join her for a walk through the gardens would be next to impossible while in this morbid frame of mind. Instead, she left him to sulk by himself.
Whiffs of autumn drifted in the air, the path lined with Scottish Bluebells, Ragwort, and hydrangea blooms of pink and red. Draped overhead, branches dotted with orange and yellow leaves glowed from the sun sitting low in the sky. Ariane weaved along until she reached the hedged labyrinth. A six-foot-high wrought iron fence bordered the entire garden of green walls that towered a few feet over the enclosure.
At the gate, Ariane hesitated. Her hand caressed the cool metal. She glanced around to see if Brian joined her. Deep within her psyche, intuition warned her of another presence. She despised having to rationalize the eerie sixth sense, especially when it was time to take an anti-vamp pill.
Worse yet, she hated unpruned, overgrown gardens. Without a full staff, the maze had grown rampant since their father’s death, now an untamed clutter of twisted, tangled branches. She glanced behind her and already regretted leaving the rich carpet of green as she meandered along the thick labyrinth. Every so often, a low-hanging branch caught her sweater.
Anxiety over getting lost in the maze increased. How big could it be? Her cautious side took over, a side she wished her brother would use more often. Every ten feet, she snapped a dried twig of hedge and placed it in the middle of the walkway to mark her path. She continued along until she reached the epicenter of the dense maze, evident by the neglected marble bench. Vines the color of overcooked spinach snaked up its sides, forming a veined network that covered the mildewed marble. The bench as the only prize awarded for such a long walk disheartened her mood.
Ariane jumped when her cell beeped. She pulled it out to read the text. Lost in thought, technology possessed her better judgment as she backed up to sit on the bench. Instead of hard marble, she sat on a man’s hip and groin—cushioned yet firm. She screamed a curse and leapt off the bench, skipping away as if she had sat on a blazing fire.
“Ouch,” a male voice called out. “Perhaps you should lose some weight, Ariane Rose.” His voice grew huskier as he pronounced each syllable of her name.
For a fleeting second, Ariane saw a man sprawled lengthwise across the bench and then no one. She didn’t get a chance to see his face because of the blond shock of hair covering his eyes. “Oh my God! The ghost. You’re real.” She ran blindly through the maze. Curses slipped from her lips, her hysterics mounting every time she missed seeing one of the marker twigs. Near the last junction, she stopped and cocked her head. The sound of a vehicle’s revving engine set her into a panic. “No! Brian, don’t leave me now.” She ran faster.
At the entrance of the maze, Ariane skidded to a halt. The first marker twig she dropped pointed to the left. Either the ghost forgot to remove this one or he was toying with her. She trembled all over and whispered a few curses. All this time, Brian’s ghost, yes, his freaking ghost was real.
Ariane brushed herself off as she stepped out of the labyrinth. Her sight followed the narrow path of color to the driveway. Her shoulders slumped when she spotted the empty parking spot. For a month now, she believed Brian had been out of his mind for claiming to see this ghost. Now she saw the apparition in the light of day. Her poor brother, even she had failed him. Nevermore.
Before Ariane slipped inside, she turned toward the garden and stared at the hedges. A numbing breath of frosty air blew across her face. Her eyes formed slits. “Go away,” she yelled. “Leave us alone.” Apprehension chilled her bones.
Determined to find out where her brother went, she marched upstairs to his room and noticed the envelope addressed to Brian Ross Colton minus a return address. The note was jammed inside, her brother probably impatient. She read the handwritten invitation to meet someone downtown. No wonder her brother crushed it—no signature.
Did Wayde send it? Or the ghost? Ariane flicked the letter from her hand as though it burned her fingers. Be careful, Brian.
7
GHOSTBUSTERS
T he full moon overhead lit the dark alley. On my way to the Scotsman’s Lounge, still off kilter from the bout of nausea that almost knocked me on my ass during the ascent up Arthur’s Seat, I pa
used for a breather. Although it happened hours ago, the aftermath of having my innards wrung inside out stuck to me like glue. The vertigo whirling inside my head forced me to end the hike early. I feared it might be another bout of psychosis on the rise.
The spells occurred randomly and without warning. No rhyme or reason. I wished for answers, but nothing came easy. Maybe it had something to do with me rationing the anti-vamp pills. Maybe, I should give them up altogether. Let Ariane have the rest. The topic had tired me, so I shook off the lightheadedness and continued down the street.
In front of Hunter Square, I gazed skyward at the silhouette of Tron Kirk’s steeple. Across the way, adjacent to Cockburn Street was the Scotsman’s Lounge. Typical of the numerous shops along the square, the building’s three arched insets, two windows and one door, were trimmed in cobalt blue. Above it, the sign advertising the lounge was painted the same color with gold letters. As I stood opposite the pub, I glanced at my phone. One minute after midnight. On time for a change.
The request to meet me here could only be from the ghost. Shifting from one foot to the other, I stared at the pub, ready to bolt at the first sign of foul play. This included anything ghostlike or suspicious that moved my way. A quick sprint would deliver me back to the rental.
The tavern door swung open and filled the quiet street with music, laughter, and singing. A lone man walked outside, waving off several women inside the pub. By his age, trendy clothes, and spiked hair, the young man was probably a university student.
The market square fell silent again when the door closed. The stranger stepped beneath the street lamp and slipped into a long leather duster. His blond highlights caught my eye. My pulse began to race, and my engines revved when the man removed his sunglasses. The all too familiar sensation flooded my entire being. Who wears sunglasses at night? The answer terrified me.
My resolve to confront the so-called ghost won over good sense. I stepped off the curb to cross the street and ended up pausing midway. I took out my phone, raised it to waist level, and snapped a picture—proof to show Ariane.
The blond immortal stared at me, long enough for a hint of red to twinkle from his eyes. He smiled, his white fangs glistening from the reflection off the streetlights. “Who are you calling?”
Ghostbusters. I choked down a nervous chuckle, my joke too silly to repeat aloud. Before I found the words, I slipped the phone into my jacket. “Took a picture of the pub.” Cut the crap. Man up. “What do you want?” I asked hoarsely. Bolder yes, but I could do better. My stomach churned. “Who made you? Duncan?” I silently cursed myself for venturing beyond bold.
“The name’s Sabree.”
So, no Zanyael? The way he pronounced his name with such reverence made me wonder. The ghost definitely admired himself.
Cocking his head to one side, Sabree said, “Walk with me.” His icy tone sliced the night air. The wind picked up. He spun on his heels without waiting for me to follow. His coat bellowed when he marched onto Cockburn Street and veered into the nearest alley.
“Wait.” I ran after him, my rapid breaths catching the familiar sweetness of roasted caramel. Either the guy had a sweet tooth, or he wore a strange aftershave. I leapt down a flight of stairs and staggered on my landing to catch up. My hand reached for his arm and pulled back. It felt solid. “Hey, you’re flesh and blood like me.”
Sabree whirled around and hissed. “I am nothing like you.” He removed his shades to expose his eyes; both compassion and loathing clashed in a winless battle. The violet hue offered warmth while the red rims warned me not to venture further.
A chill shot through me as I lowered my gaze to the cobblestone. The shapes, color, and size of the stones matched my jumbled thoughts. I dug up the courage to look him in the eye. “Well, if you’re not a ghost, then you’re a creature like me.” How this Sabree appeared and disappeared at will made my heart race. “Did Duncan Colton change you into a vampire?”
Sabree choked, his facial muscles tensing at the mythical name. “You and your sister are humans tainted with Fallen code. I am pure.”
None of what he said made sense. “How do you disappear?”
“Like this.” Sabree vaporized slowly and hovered in a ghostlike state for several seconds before his body, expensive leather and all, vanished completely.
“What the—” From behind me, someone tapped my shoulder. I spun on my heels. Flamboyant and full of himself, this immortal hardly resembled a creature of the night except for his ashen complexion and unusually sharp eyeteeth. If I wasn’t mistaken, his weird eyes kept changing colors, now green and wide with mischief. Still, his ability to vanish and reappear intrigued me the most. “Why are you stalking me? What do you want?”
“My clan ordered me to keep an eye on you and your sister.”
Clan? More of them? “We don’t need watching.” Maybe my father had nothing to do with creating this mysterious creature after all.
Sabree’s mouth formed a twisted smile. “I must keep an eye on you until it’s time to destroy you.”
The threat sounded serious enough, but I refused to let it get to me. Stay on the offensive. My brows knitted together until a voice not my own rang inside my mind. You are immortal. Nothing can kill you. Aye, I could go along with that advice. I cocked my head to play along. “I’m doing fine on my own.”
“Au contraire,” Sabree said. His French accent sounded richer when he spoke with the same reverence as before. It started to grow on me. He reached inside his duster and pulled out a note and unfolded it. “I have in my hand, tomorrow’s headline of the Edinburgh Evening News.”
“Aye, right.” What a jokester. How’d he get ahold of tomorrow’s headline? I snatched the note and read aloud, “Dougal McCourt Found Dead—His Body Bloodless.” The knot in my throat tightened as I glared at Sabree. “You killed him?”
“I saved your sorry ass. Duncan’s devoted butler aimed a rifle at your skull while you had your nose in the album.”
A rush of memories brought on by the eye-opener flooded my mind. Why the album and Dougal vanished. Why someone left the rifle in the kitchen. “Wait. Did you take the album?”
“Yes, as evidence. It must never fall into the wrong hands.”
Already in the wrong hands in my opinion. I made a promise to myself to steal it back at the first opportune moment. Right now, I needed answers foremost and repeated the first question. “Did Duncan change me and my sister into vampires like you?”
“You are nothing like me,” Sabree spat. “No such creatures, these vampires.” He pressed closer until only an inch separated our faces, the condensation from our combined breaths fused. “You are a ghoul.”
“Ghoul? What the fock is that?”
“Aye.” Sabree mocked my Scottish brogue. “You were not infected by one of the Fallen. The joint clans had forbidden that repulsive act a millennium ago. No, you were mutated by human technology; therefore, a ghoul in my book.”
“Which is why I can remember only bits of my life. Did we die in order for the transformation to take effect?” I couldn’t remember anything except for the BS my father and his colleagues fed me. Pop never revealed how he performed the transformation. Never mentioned our mother. I was a bleeding idiot for not reading the journal when offered the chance. It might have revealed the answers I sought.
Turquoise eyes darkened. “I have no idea. You’re different. You’re man-made.”
“How were you created?”
“I belong to a legion of Malakhim banished on Earth. I’m over five thousand years old. The Fallen are immortal and cannot perish by normal means.”
Unable to stop myself, I whistled. “Aye, you’re older than dirt.” Certain Sabree didn’t mean for me to see it, I caught a glimpse of his upturned lips. At least the stuffy immortal had a sense of humor.
“Young for the Malakhim—the Fallen,” Sabree said flatly. He stepped aside.
“If you’re looking for answers, stay at my place.” In truth, I hoped the invite woul
d work to my advantage, so I could squeeze more information from him. Without giving him a chance to refuse, I jogged up the alley in the direction of the rental. In effect, I robbed him of control.
Sabree paused over the invite. “Too bold for a ghoul. No prayer of you surviving long in this world.”
I called out again. “Better hurry. If you’re going to keep an eye on me, you might as well have a front-row seat.”
8
KEEP YOUR FRENEMIES CLOSER
T he drive back to the estate gave me plenty of time to ask the questions that whirled inside my mind. Ariane would have valid reason to question my judgment. She always did. Even so, I never imagined the ghost would agree to stay at our estate. A quick glance confirmed he still sat next to me, his unblinking eyes staring out the windshield.
Eager to show off our guest to Ariane, I drove over the speed limit. Ariane would never believe he was the ghost. If so, she’d have me committed for bringing him home. I had good reason though. How did the saying go? Keep your friends close but keep your frenemies closer. So, Mr. Sabree, are you a frenemy or enemy?
A long-winded sigh ended the uncomfortable silence. I glanced sideways. “I sensed you were nearby long before you appeared. In fact, I’ve sensed you many times. How’s that possible?”
“Beings like us are connected by blood. Yes, even ghouls. While close by, we can detect each other. It has something to do with the blood-tie. Our sense of smell can distinguish human from ghoul or from one of the true Fallen.”
I sniffed in Sabree’s direction. The usual caramel filled my lungs. So much for aftershave or cologne. The immortal was a living, breathing candy store. My fangs grew until they poked my bottom lip. I ached for the taste of sweet blood, but the hunger meant it was time to pop another anti-vamp pill. To clear my mind, I asked a previous question with the hopes of getting an answer this time. “How do you disappear at will?”
Amongst the Fallen Page 5
