Souls Collide: Book 1 of The Soul Wars

by J. D. Blackrose

  Kara strode over, bending on one knee beside Adelaide, feeling somewhat relieved that the woman’s voice was still strong.

  “What happened?” asked Kara, brushing some hair from Adelaide’s forehead, making sure to avoid the red marks.

  “It’s the ghosts, Kara. The ghosts.”

  “Which ghosts?”

  “The ghosts of the slaves who died in the slave pens that existed on this estate and Gaspard’s.”

  “Restless ghosts did this to you?”

  Adelaide laughed, then winced at the pain. “Look at my back, Kara.”

  The older woman struggled to sit up. Kara guided her the rest of the way, sat on the couch, and lifted the woman’s light blouse to see a swath of white bandages.

  “Take one of the bandages off, Kara.”

  “That will hurt you.”

  “You need to know.”

  Kara chose a bandage toward the top of Adelaide’s back, near her right shoulder. She pried the bandage off, gasping at what she saw. Adelaide let out a hiss of pain.

  “This is a real whip mark!”

  “Yes. It is the whip of the slave owners on a slave’s back. A ghost came to me last night and told me his story. It is a terrible story that brings shame to my family. These ghosts aren’t just restless. They have been gathering energy for over a hundred years, seething with their need for revenge. They have manifested, Kara. Manifested. And they mean to cause a massacre.”

  Kara helped the woman back down on the couch, chewing on her lip, not believing what she was hearing. She dragged a chair close to the couch and asked, “They are the reason our construction won’t stand?”

  “I suspect, yes.”

  “They are the reason for the excessive deterioration of this house?”

  “Yes, again.”

  “And they are now strong enough to do this to you?”

  “They are, and they mean to avenge their treatment and murders by killing as many people as they can.”

  Kara considered this for a moment. “I think it is time for you to come to Gaspard’s house. You need care and we have a lot to talk about,” Kara said, expecting an argument.

  To her surprise, Adelaide nodded. “Yes, I think that is a good idea.”

  Kara arranged to have Adelaide moved to Gaspard’s mansion and indicated that Adelaide would need ‘round the clock nursing care. She then called Gaspard and told him what happened.

  “Ghosts did this?” he exclaimed.

  “I think by now we can call them specters. They have gained access to the physical world and can manipulate objects.”

  “Adelaide says there were slave pens on these grounds, too?”

  “Yes, and she thinks that is what is causing the buildings to fall. You have placed them right on top of the slave pen remnants.”

  “What if I move them?”

  “My bet is that by now it will not be enough.”

  “You are bringing her here, yes?”

  “Yes. We’ll see you soon, and Gaspard?”

  “Yes?”

  “None of our security measures are prepared for this type of assault.”

  12

  Lisette held onto the kitchen counter, hands shaking, knees trembling. She was trying to fight the addiction, but like any addict, her body craved its poison. She held on, gasping for breath. Her chest was tight and her body was hot, burning from the inside. I’m dying, I’m dying, she thought. She bit her lip and held on a few more seconds.

  She could stand it no more. She’d made it five minutes. One more minute than last night.

  Reaching for the mug of tea near her right hand, she uncorked a vial with her left, dumped it in, and drank it all down in one long swallow. She threw the mug across the room and felt a sense of satisfaction when the ceramic exploded into shards.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and turned at the sound of a knock. Anxiety clawed her throat as she walked to the door. What if Gaspard had changed his mind and wouldn’t supply the blood? What if he wanted her back? Both thoughts made her stomach churn.

  She put her eye to the peephole and saw a man, well-dressed, trimmed beard, wearing a cravat instead of a normal tie, backlit by the outside light.

  “Yes?” she said through the door.

  “Mademoiselle, I wish to speak to you,” the man said.

  “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “I will explain when I come in. I promise that I will not hurt you.”

  “You swear?”

  “I do.”

  The way he made that promise was different. Something about his manner of speaking gave the word weight.

  “What is it that you want to talk about?” she asked.

  “I believe you have had some association with Gaspard Bessette, have you not?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Yes…”

  “I, too, have known him, and I believe you and I share the same experience. Mistreatment, negligence, carelessness. I believe we have mutual interests when it comes to Monsieur Bessette.”

  Lisette opened the door.

  The man was taller than she’d thought. His cravat was silver and paired with a crisp white shirt and gray suit. His shoes were immaculate, gleaming with the polish only money could provide. Whoever he was, he was loaded.

  “I will stand here on the step and speak to you. At this moment, you cannot come in.”

  “Ah, you see me for what I am.”

  “A vampire, yes. I’ve known quite a few. You forget to blink.”

  “My tell, I’m afraid.”

  “What is your business with Gaspard?”

  “I owe him some recompense. I saw his servant deliver blood to you. You require his blood now?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “True, but it makes us allies, I believe. You are addicted to his blood, through no fault of your own, I am sure, and I owe him for some…challenging moments of life.”

  “What did he do to you?”

  “Left me for dead.”

  “Gaspard wouldn’t do that.”

  “Ah, but he did. This would be easier if we were inside.”

  “Tough. When was this? What happened?”

  “It was some years ago, but to me it seems like yesterday. I was buried, alive. Gaspard walked away. I was near death when a vampire found me. He heard my heartbeat, faint as it was, and turned me. My body suffered severe injuries, and it took two excruciating years to recover.”

  “Vampires heal fast.”

  “Not when their spine is crushed. That takes some time.”

  Lisette eyed the vampire. “What is it you want?”

  “Revenge, of course. I want him to feel what I felt. I imagine you might, too. If we work together, perhaps we even the scales.”

  Lisette considered this for a moment. She recalled the nausea, the shakes, and the self-loathing of a few moments before. The thought of Gaspard feeling that same way was like a sugar rush, electric and elating.

  “You may come in.”

  “Thank you,” the man said, entering her home. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Henri.”

  13

  Confusion. That is what Gaspard felt. It was such unusual feeling that he took a moment to recognize it. Certainty was his normal state, the settled feeling in the gut that said you were correct and that everyone would do as you commanded. This quivering gelatinous mass that was his stomach now was unfamiliar and unpleasant. It made him resentful.

  The pencil holder on his desk fell over and hit the floor. The room cooled by several degrees, and he could feel the presence of the specters. The ghosts on Gaspard’s land became even more active after Adelaide moved in. The gazebo and guest house still would not stand. Things within the house developed minds of their own and shuffled around. The kitchen, where slaves had labored to provide food for their owners, was unusable.

  A scream from the kitchen caused him to pop up and run. As he entered the hallway, he smelled smoke and realized the kitchen was on fire. The
smoke alarms blared, and a security officer grabbed him by the elbow.

  “Sir, we have to leave now.”

  He shook him off. “Is anyone in there?” he yelled.

  “Not sure, sir, but we have to go now.”

  A sword whizzed through the air missing his face by less than a quarter inch and buried itself in the kitchen door. It impaled a diaphanous figure who now hung by the chest screaming a blood-curdling shriek. Kara ripped the sword out, swung upper right to lower left, and the figure disintegrated, flowing away like ash.

  “Run!” she screamed, shoving Gaspard forward. The security officer pulled Gaspard along, pushed him out the front door, and collapsed. Firefighters, summoned by the alarms and an urgent call from the guard house, gave the officer oxygen and pulled everyone back to a safe distance.

  A cloud of spectral bodies whirled about the front door, unable to go any farther. They whispered promises of death. A shining sword tip slashed through them, slicing them to ribbons.

  The Valkyrie emerged from the ash, fire raging behind her. Gaspard couldn’t believe what he saw. She was wearing full body armor, held her sword in her right hand and her shield in the left. A nimbus of light encased her, and Gaspard could have sworn she’d grown taller.

  There was a shout from upstairs that caught his attention, and Kara’s. Sarah, the sanguineer who lived at the mansion with her son, was leaning out the window.

  “I’m afraid to come down the stairs! There is so much smoke!”

  “Stay there!” yelled Kara, and then she whistled.

  Rikassa came running, one minute not there, the next, in full shining white glory. Kara mounted the horse in one fluid leap, turned, sheathed her sword and shield, turned the horse, and backed up several yards. Then she sent the horse running at full speed, yelling to Gaspard, “Be ready to catch!”

  The horse raced toward the house. Kara stood up on the horse’s back, and as they approached the mansion, Kara vaulted off of the horse and flew through the air to land on the balcony below the one that held Sarah. She then leapt up, a vertical leap of several feet, and seemed to hang in the air without falling. She used those moments to grab the boy and drop him to Gaspard, who waited below.

  To Gaspard, time stopped. His reflexes were preternaturally quick and the secret, he had learned, was slowing down time in his mind. He saw Kara grab the boy, watched her hang in the air for an impossibly long time, and saw the boy fall in slow motion. His feet are down, he thought. I’ll have to catch in a vertical position. Moving fast but what felt slow to him, he positioned himself underneath the boy, held out his arms, and readied himself as the boy fell, fell, fell, like a feather in a rainstorm, and caught him just as he would have hit the ground. The boy was wailing, and Gaspard handed him off to the EMTs.

  Kara returned to the balcony and leapt a second time, pulling Sarah off the balcony and again, dropping her to the vampire beneath. Sara made the same long fall, but Gaspard caught her with both arms and placed her on the ground. She gave him a peck on the cheek and ran to her son.

  Kara jumped, alighting on the ground with the grace of a cat. Gaspard couldn’t help but think, ten from the Russian judge, but he didn’t dare joke out loud. Not at this moment. Rikassa came over and nuzzled Kara to make sure she was okay. Kara sat on the ground, watching as the firefighters got the fire under control.

  One foot in front of the other, legs heavy and heart full, Gaspard approached her, and then with her look of permission, sat next to her on the grass.

  “That was amazing, what you just did,” he whispered.

  “I couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t been there to catch them,” she murmured back. “No one else could have caught them from that height.”

  He wiped soot from her face and said, “I guess we make a good team.”

  His heart leapt when he was rewarded with a smile.

  Gaspard had no way of knowing that a shadow lingered in the distance, observing, studying, and planning.

  14

  Henri walked Adelaide’s property, feeling the unrest of the entombed spirits. The ghosts didn’t appear to him, but he could feel their anger, churning, hot, and most of all, self-righteous. He drank their fury in, enjoying the rush.

  The darkness welcomed his wicked thoughts, and he released the fly on his pants, reaching in to rub himself. It wasn’t enough, so he shimmied his trousers lower and let the night breeze caress him as well, using both hands to fondle himself up and down in long strokes.

  The physical friction still wouldn’t bring relief, but the memory of his last conquest got him to the right place. She’d been studying at the library and had the misfortune of staying until close. She was waiting outside the building for her boyfriend, or maybe her father. She was about twenty-five but so slim, so petite, she could have been younger. He’d loved the way her straight, black hair tickled her neck. It was enthralling.

  He relived the night as he rubbed, getting faster and faster, pulling at the tip, coming so close, so close. He encased his balls with one hand, still pulling with the other and sank into the memory.

  She’d been scared and begged him in rapid Japanese, not English. She was slight with tiny breasts, like little rosebuds on white snow. Her shirt lay on the ground, ripped and discarded, and she was holding her arms over her chest, trying to protect her modesty. He let her turn and run a bit, while he climbed a fire escape so he could watch her from above. Once he was sure he had given her the impression of freedom, he leapt down, landing in front of her. She shrieked, and he relished how her tiny breasts bobbed up and down with her screams.

  He couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed her, cradling her to him, pulling her tiny body to his own. Dipping his head, he sucked at one of those glorious nipples and bit her right above her left breast. He let his fangs go full length, slipping them through the ribs, and sucked her heart’s blood as it pumped faster to stave off her death. It had been glorious, and just as he remembered the sensation of drinking from a beating heart, he orgasmed so hard he sank to the ground.

  Encased in his own afterglow, he lay on the cool lawn and rolled onto his back. With his pants still at his knees, he lay in the darkness and reveled in the memory of his conquest.

  The spirits around him quieted as if they disapproved of what he’d done to the girl. “What’s it to you?” he yelled at the specters. “You wish to cause death! Why can’t I?”

  Amos materialized out of the shadows and stared at the half-naked vampire. We wish death for our tormentors. You wish death on anyone.

  Henri scrambled to his feet and fixed his trousers.

  “You might warn a body before you do that!” he said, facing the translucent ghost.

  Why are you heah?

  “Revenge takes time to plan.”

  Amos cocked his head in an inquisitive look.

  Revenge? What for?

  Henri kicked at the earth like a five-year-old boy being punished for stealing a cookie.

  “For my death! My suffering! And my rebirth! You know the vampire who lives on the adjoining estate, Gaspard?”

  Only by name. We ain’t got no quarrel with him, but methinks other ghosts up that hill do.

  “He left me for dead, left me to suffer.”

  Well, you are dead.

  “Not that kind of dead, you fool! I was mortal then. I wanted my father to turn me, not Gaspard, but he wouldn’t, claiming that I wasn’t suited to being a vampire. I never learned what he meant by that because he’d wave me off any time I asked. Then he turned Gaspard and made me call him brother.”

  How didya become vampire?

  “I was buried under a heap of rock, crippled but not dead. My so-called brother walked away. I lingered like that for days, starving, parched, and praying for death or for my brother to return.”

  Amos paced back and forth, and Henri noticed that he left a physical imprint on the grass, creating a line of trampled greenery where he stepped.

  “How do you do that?” Henri asked, pointing to
the worn path.

  We are old ghosts, fueled by the need for justice. It gives us strength.

  “Ah, then you will understand my story. We are the same. Aren’t revenge and justice two sides of the same coin?”

  No. And we’s not the same as you. But let’s all heah more.

  “Can you give me your hand?”

  Mebbee.

  “Try.” Henri held out his left hand, and although he was non-corporeal, Amos was reluctant to take it, given where it had been a moment before. But a white man was giving him an order, and despite himself, he obeyed.

  Amos’ translucent hand floated into Henri’s solid one, and the part of them that shared a living death connected them like a live wire. The two hands melded into a space that lay in between realities, merging their minds, erasing them as individuals and creating something new.

  Henri tried to shake loose but could not. He felt the rock on top of him all over again, the weight of it on his back and shoulders. Blood streamed into his eyes from the gashes on his forehead. His legs were numb, and he couldn’t wiggle his toes. He wondered if his toes were even there. Maybe they were crushed into little bits, pulverized and smashed into a delicate pattern of blood, skin, and bone on the ground. He couldn’t tell.

  Pain crept forth an inch at a time and blossomed into a tornado of agony, screaming along the nerves in his upper shoulders and neck. His arms were useless, and all he could do was turn his head from the left to the right, his nose scraping the ground each time he shifted. Part of him blessed the pain because it let him know he was alive, but as the first hours passed, the pain mocked him. It became a physical thing dancing in front of his vision, and he spoke to it.

  “Why are you tormenting me? Stop hurting me.”

  The pain intensified.

  “Stop! Stop…stop…”

  A stinging sensation raced down his arm to his elbow, where it discontinued into a numbness scarier than the pain.

  “Just let me die.”

  A passing breeze stole through a crack in the rocks and blew dirt in his eyes and nose. He spat some out on the dust in front of him and then had to lay his head in his own saliva. Parched, he reached out his tongue to lick his own wetness from the dirt, only to swallow more dirt that scraped his throat and increased his misery.