Stolen Soul (Yliaster Crystal Book 1)

by Alex Rivers

  “I’m okay now,” I said, my voice steady. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “Let’s get Tammi back to… back home.”

  Kane parked the car a few houses down the road. There were no police cars at the home of Tammi’s adoptive parents. But the light inside was on, although it was past three in the morning. I spotted a shadow of movement there. They were waiting. Waiting for news, waiting for a call, waiting for their daughter to come home.

  “You’ll have to take her,” I told Sinead. She sat in the front passenger seat. I was in the back, Tammi’s head in my lap, my hand on her hair, a gentle touch. I tried to etch that memory in my mind, that sensation of my daughter sleeping in my lap. It wouldn’t happen again.

  “What? No way. You should do it, she’s your… you saved her.”

  We both refrained from saying anything that could be repeated later. It was impossible to guess how much Tammi heard, how much she’d remember. It was best if she didn’t have details to tell her parents, and the cops.

  “Her mother will recognize me.” They saw me every day, walking my dog.

  “Tammi didn’t seem to recognize you.”

  “Because she was scared and exhausted and confused. But her mother will, I’m sure.”

  “I can glamour you,” Kane said.

  “What does that mean, exactly?” I asked suspiciously.

  “They’ll perceive you differently. It’s like a very good disguise. And when they try to recall your face later, they won’t be able to. It’ll only last ten minutes or so, but that should be enough.”

  “Okay.” The truth was, I wanted to stretch my time with her, just for a few more seconds.

  I got out of the car, standing on the sidewalk. We were far enough not to be seen from the house in the darkness. Kane opened his own door, sliding out. He walked over to me, stopping only inches away. He gazed at me, his eyes intent and focused, and then he began chanting.

  As always, his words were alien, strange-sounding, some of the syllables completely foreign to the English language. Each word had its own tone—some rising, some falling—and I instinctively knew that the tone was important, that it was an integral part of the spell. Mystical energy began to prickle my skin, mixing with the tingling I felt from his close proximity. His fingers began to brush my face, like a lover’s caress, their tips shining with a pale blue light. He touched my cheeks, my forehead, and my eyelids. Then one finger slid down my nose, brushing my lips, and I found myself parting them slightly, wishing for it to linger there. But it kept going to my chin and throat, and by that point I was completely taken by the touch, wanting it to dip even lower. My breathing became husky, thick, my mind a turmoil of sensations and heat.

  And then he stepped back, and stopped chanting.

  “Why did you stop?” I whispered.

  “It’s done,” he said, and pointed to the car’s side mirror.

  I glanced at it, and saw… someone else. I couldn’t say who it was, or what she was like. As soon as I looked away, I couldn’t recall any of her features. Her hair was… brown? Or maybe blonde? Her eyes were definitely rounder than mine… but then I thought they were actually narrower, almond-shaped. Her mouth…

  It was impossible to keep that face in mind.

  “You have ten minutes, perhaps just a bit more,” he said. “Be quick about it.”

  I opened the back door and touched Tammi’s cheek gently. “Tammi? Sweetie? We’re home. Let’s get you to your mom.”

  She sat up, blinking woozily, and got out of the car. I picked her up and strode down the street, to her home.

  Even before I reached the house’s front yard, I heard someone inside cry, “Oh my God! Frank, it’s Tammi!”

  The door flew open and Jane ran outside in her nightgown, her face swollen and stained with tears. I put Tammi down, and she rushed to Jane’s arms. “Mommy!” She was sobbing, as was Jane. I blinked a tear away, lowering my head.

  For a long moment Jane just crouched, hugging Tammi. Her husband, Frank, ran out of the house. He had been sleeping. I hated him for being able to sleep when my daughter, who was in his care, had been kidnapped. I hated Jane for loving my daughter so much that she had stayed awake, constantly looking out the window, waiting for her. I hated them both for everything they had that I didn’t.

  “Thank you,” Jane said to me. “How… Where…”

  “The detectives will explain tomorrow, ma’am.” My voice was flat and pleasant. “But she’s safe, and unharmed, and the men who took her will never trouble anyone again.”

  She wasn’t even listening. Maybe it was Kane’s spell, morphing my words to ambiguous platitudes, or maybe it was just because now that she had Tammi in her arms, she didn’t really care.

  “Thank you for bringing my daughter back.”

  I wanted to say, “She’s not your daughter.” Or, “In return, I want to spend time with her every day.” Or, “She just came to say goodbye, she’s going to live with me now.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am. Have a good night.” I turned around.

  “What’s your name?” Frank called after me.

  “Smith,” I called back. “Officer Smith.”

  Sinead would have been displeased with my unimaginative response. But it was all I was capable of.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Isabel’s eyes filled with tears the moment I stepped into her small room in the hospital.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her usual soft, low voice replaced by a trembling squeak. “I’m so sorry.”

  She looked so out of place, her usual colorful clothing replaced by a hospital gown, her golden skin pale and bruised, her braids disheveled and scattered, some unbound. Only her pink flamingo lips were freshly done. I knew that Sinead stayed by her almost constantly, applying the lipstick again and again whenever she felt it had faded.

  It had taken me a day to find the resolve to come and visit her, and a sliver of anger shot through me when I first saw her. Then it faded, replaced by sadness.

  “It’s fine. I’m fine. Tammi’s fine.” If I put a bit of emphasis on my daughter’s name, that couldn’t be helped. I’m not a fucking saint. I wanted Isabel to remember the cost of her actions.

  But it was clear that she did, and a second later I felt shitty for my vindictiveness. Sinead, who sat on a chair by Isabel’s bed, gave me a furious glare.

  I sat down on the other side of the bed. One of Isabel’s braids was falling apart, the rubber band that held it torn. I gently removed it, and tied the ends together. Then I unwound the entire braid, carefully separated the three sections of hair, and began to braid them together again patiently. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I think if you had said, ‘Hey, Lou, bringing the box to Breadknife will usher in Armageddon,’ I would have probably listened.”

  “I didn’t know that. All I could see was darkness. And the darkness originated with the box that you took. I didn’t know what would cause the darkness to erupt. And almost all the paths I saw to the future were dark. Even telling you.”

  I thought about it. What would I have done if Isabel had told me? She hadn’t known that the danger was the box itself. Assuming she could have convinced me that bringing the stolen box to Breadknife would end in disaster, I would have probably done just what I did—forged the crystal and handed the forgery to him when he came for it. He’d have left and opened the box once he was back home, unleashing the monstrosities inside. She was right. Telling me about it wouldn’t have prevented the box from being opened.

  I held the braid tightly and looped the rubber band around the end a couple of times.

  “Lou, I would never—”

  “It’s okay, Isabel. I understand. Don’t worry about it.”

  And I did. She had done what she had to do; there was no other way. And saving the world was a pretty good incentive, too.

  But I also knew that when I saw her next, a small part of me would remember that her actions had put my daughter in danger. That she had betrayed my trust. What she
’d done had resulted in a tiny fracture between us, and I could only hope this fracture would eventually heal.

  I cycled slowly down the dark street, my mind heavy with worry. The damage Breadknife’s goons had done to my shop had been extensive. Though the safe was still as I’d left it, most of my alchemy tools had been shattered, the ingredient jars smashed, the store’s shelves bashed and knocked down. The front door’s lock had been destroyed. I’d managed to save most of my ingredients, but it would take a lot of time and money to restore the shop to a reasonable state. Time in which I should be working. Money that I lacked.

  It would be nice if I could sell the dragon scale. But doing that right now was tantamount to suicide. It was more than probable that most of the potential “buyers” for the scale would be bounty hunters, hired by the dragon to find the thieves who had taken his scales. It could take years to sell it safely.

  Sinead had dismantled HHT’s offices, leaving a bunch of confused and angry hippo hunter wannabes. She claimed she had managed to stay a few thousand dollars ahead, and had shared some of it with me, saying that it was a “participation bonus.” So I could fix the door and pay this month’s rent. But the future was a desperate and worrisome thing.

  It became even more worrisome when I stopped a few yards from the shop’s door. A man leaned on the door, his arms folded.

  Or rather, a vampire.

  Maximillian Fuchs looked at me with gleaming eyes. A smile stretched across his face, hinting of long fangs beneath.

  My legs tensed as I prepared to cycle away, the chain on my wrist already unwinding, feeling my need. My palms began to smoke, the heat making the rubber on the bicycle handles grow soft.

  “You know you can’t outrun me—definitely not on that ridiculous thing,” he said, his voice crisp and cold. “And I hope you don’t think you can burn me to a crisp, the way you did to your old boss.”

  I had to buy time, come up with a plan. “How did you find me?”

  “I’m very, very good at what I do.”

  “So am I.”

  “Yes, you are!” His smile brightened. “I must congratulate you. The security footage for the entire week before the burglary had been erased from our servers; I have no idea how. You left no fingerprints behind, no useful witnesses.”

  “Then how…”

  “Never underestimate a vampire, Lou Vitalis. You left behind your scent.”

  I wanted to punch myself. Of course!

  “It was all over the safe. And then I remembered that clumsy waitress, her scent quite similar. Tracing her back to you wasn’t easy… you cover your tracks well. But someone did help you get the job. And he was more than happy to give me your name. I barely had to rip off three of his fingernails. I didn’t even get to his teeth.”

  Sinead’s man. Wasn’t he from the Secret Service? I guess that wasn’t enough to deter a vampire. “He didn’t know that I was about to steal anything. He just helped a friend.”

  “I know everything. Like I said, I’m good at what I do. Don’t worry. He’ll recover. Well, he’ll recover physically. I don’t know about mental scars. Mortals are quite fragile.”

  “So what now?” I asked, letting the chain on my wrist snake into my palm. I would throw it at his feet, immobilize him, then burn him. Vampires burned, I was sure of it. “Are you going to take me to Ddraig Goch?”

  “That’s a good question.” He narrowed his eyes. “I could do that. You would tell me where the box and the crystal are. And, of course, those six precious dragon scales. And then I’d take you to the dragon.”

  “What if I don’t talk?” I could throw the chain around his neck. Would it cut through his neck if I tightened it enough?

  He rolled his eyes. “Everyone talks. They think they won’t, because they don’t understand how real pain feels. But when they find out, they talk. There could be another solution, though.”

  I didn’t take the bait, didn’t ask what the solution was. Instead I watched him calmly, my thumb running against one of the chain links.

  He seemed irked that I failed to play my part. His smile lost some of its smugness. “You are quite a capable woman, Lou Vitalis. I wouldn’t have thought stealing from a dragon was possible. Already, to Ddraig Goch’s chagrin, your deeds are becoming a legend.”

  “Yeah, I’m awesome-possum. The best thing since sliced bread.”

  “Indeed, and—”

  “Totally bitchin’. The bee’s knees.” I searched my mind for something else. “The cat’s pajamas.”

  “Are you done?”

  “Yes.”

  “And it occurs to me—”

  “Oh! Peachy-keen. Sorry, it was on the tip of my tongue.”

  “It occurs to me that we could work together.”

  I nodded. “Would working together include me not being tortured and later incinerated by an irate dragon?”

  “I think we can agree on those terms.”

  “Then I’m your girl.” I smiled a wide, insincere smile. “Won’t your boss be angry you didn’t find the person in charge of that spectacular, legendary, peachy-keen job on his vault?”

  “Let me worry about my boss. You can worry about keeping me happy.”

  “And how do I do that, exactly?”

  “Baroness Fleurette van Dijk had an interesting… scent. I assume she was working with you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m thinking you do. Rumor has it that you’re quite the alchemist. Did you make her blood smell and taste that way?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I need more of what you gave her.” His eyes had a sudden, hungry look. “Not whatever made me sleepy and stupid. But what made her blood so… peachy-keen.”

  “You almost killed her out of excitement,” I said sharply. “If I make you some of that vampire Viagra, won’t it end with a bunch of dead people?”

  “Why is that any of your concern?” He frowned. When he saw my jaw clenching, he added, “Oh, relax. I never would have killed her. Do I look like some teenage vampire who can’t control his impulses? I just want something that will improve my meals. Is that too much to ask? Should I remind you that the alternative is that you die, your friend the baroness dies, those servants of hers die… a lot of death for refusing me some food seasoning.”

  “Fine.” I raised my hands. “I make you some seasoning, and you leave me the fuck alone.”

  “No.” He laughed, a steely edge in his voice. “You make me some seasoning, and our budding relationship blossoms. And when I need something else, I’ll come visit.” He pushed himself from the door and turned to leave.

  “I need some money for ingredients,” I said hurriedly.

  He groaned, and turned around. “Mortals,” he muttered, as he took a checkbook from his pocket. “How much? Will ten thousand dollars be sufficient?”

  “That,” I said, my voice becoming slightly high, “would be a good start.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The drill vibrated in my hand, and I leaned into it, pouring my frustrations into the materializing hole in the wall. Pieces of plaster and wall dust were scattered all around me, on my clothes, and in my hair.

  I’d finished cleaning up my store, and was now installing the new shelves. There was a complex process. I’d measure the shelf, and mark the places I needed to drill. Then I would pray to the gods of drilling that my drill would not hit a water pipe or an electricity line. I would drill the holes, four for each shelf. Then, when installing, I would realize that one of them was not properly aligned. I would create a new, fifth hole. I would install the shelf, and see that it was crooked, and that the extra hole was very much visible and ugly.

  And I’d decide it was good enough and move on to the next shelf.

  Magnus was nowhere to be seen. The drill’s noise had scared him half to death, and I suspected he was hiding under the bed, head on his paws, waiting for the nightmare to be over.

  I was working on the fifth hole of the third
shelf when a knock on the door made me stop and turn around.

  “Kane!”

  He stood in the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. He’d showered recently, his hair still glistening with that post-wetness sheen. I glanced at myself. I wore a black tank top—well, originally black, though now it was gray with wall dust. I was sweaty with the hard work of the morning, and since I often wiped my face with my grimy hands, I was probably thoroughly smudged with dirt. In the past week, I had twice tried to see him after showering, dressing nicely, and putting on makeup, only to find his office empty. And now, this was how he saw me. The female version of Bob the Builder.

  “I… I thought you went back to New York,” I said. “I came looking for you.”

  “I did go back.” He nodded. “Went to see my sister, and take care of some business.” He looked around at the shop. “Renovating?”

  “Yeah. Breadknife and his goons did a number on this place.” I put the drill on a nearby shelf, which wobbled slightly. “So you returned to Boston?”

  “Yeah. I encountered some promising leads about my sister here, and I want to investigate them. Actually…” He seemed to hesitate. It was the first time I’d seen him struggle with what he wanted to say. “I was hoping for your help.”

  “My help in what?”

  “Finding my sister’s soul.”

  I stared at him, feeling confused.

  “I’ve been looking for years. With no success. I don’t know where it is, and even if I did, I have no idea how to get it back. And I saw what you can do. Those things you create—”

  “I’m just following recipes,” I said. “I’m a good cook, nothing more.”

  “No! That’s not true! There’s magic in what you do, true magic. I knew it from the moment I first saw those distilled children’s dreams. You’re special.”