Of A Darker Nature

by Clay, Michelle

  She glanced up in confusion. “Yes?”

  The woman’s gaze flicked to the men, and she pursed her lips. She looked at Emily once again. “Can we speak in private?”

  “I guess we'll use your office if that's okay,” Emily informed Scott. It didn't appear to matter since the woman had already settled into one of the visitor's chairs.

  “Want me to sit in?” Scott paused in the doorway.

  Beau shuffled out of the small room, the corners of his mouth turned down in a frown.

  “Nah, it's okay.” Emily walked around the end of the desk to sit in Scott’s leather chair. “It probably has to do with the estate settlement. Liz and I have been arguing about it.”

  The woman sat with back rigid and hands clasped in her lap. The platinum hair looked harsh against her dark skin.

  “Starr Carter.” She said the name as if Emily should have already known it.

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Carter?”

  Starr's broad face split into an eerie grin. The woman's eyes were quite round and reminded Emily of a toad. “I've heard about your fantastic ability and wanted to meet you in person.”

  “How?” Apprehension skittered down Emily's spine.

  “You know how news travels.” She waved away Emily’s concerns. “I've never met anyone with your unique talent. You can read the dead?”

  Emily's mind whirled. Hardly anyone was familiar with her curse. “I'm sorry, how do you know this?”

  “That isn't important.” She brushed imaginary lint from her sleeve. “I'd like to put you on retainer. What are your fees?”

  “I don't think you understand how this works.”

  “Sure I do. You touch the dead thing, and you tell me what they saw. Can you read their memories too?”

  “Sometimes, but I don't do this for the public.” At least not since Arizona, and as far as Emily was concerned, that didn't count.

  “You should. You could make a lot of money.” Starr leaned forward, an intense expression on her face. “So can you help me?”

  “I'm not sure. I have to be in contact with the decedent directly. Is the deceased a relative of yours?”

  “No.” Starr's mouth pursed. “What do you mean by directly?”

  “I can't use a personal item or ashes. It has to be skin on skin contact. I suppose I could meet you at the funeral home of your choice.” It was alarming how she fell back into this old mindset. It smacked of the terrible things she'd done in Arizona. Frankly, it worried her. “Is that going to be a problem?”

  “Well yes, there's not going to be a funeral.” Cold deliberation crossed Starr's face. “Have you ever done an exhumed body?”

  “No.” Emily held up a hand to deflect Starr's rebuttal. “And I won't.”

  Starr leaned forward, a determined expression on her broad face. “But technically you could, right? I've taken care of everything. All I need is you.”

  “I don't think so, Ms. Carter. I don't feel comfortable with this. Besides, once someone has been deceased for a while, their memories just sort of fade away. I wouldn’t be able to read them.”

  Starr's left eye developed a tic. She seemed to struggle to find a smile this time. “We could do it tomorrow night.”

  Emily and Brenda already had plans for tomorrow night. They were going to have a girl's night in and watch movies. “Sorry, no.”

  Starr's eerie smile returned. “Do you know where Memory Gardens is?”

  Of course, Emily was familiar with the cemetery. Her parents were resting there. “How exactly did you get the okay to have someone exhumed?”

  Starr laid a small stack of bills on the desk between them. She nudged it forward with a blunt fingertip. “I figured I’d have to convince you. Just meet me at the cemetery. As I said, it all will be arranged.”

  That uneasy feeling just wouldn't go away. “I can't take your money.”

  Starr ignored Emily’s refusal and plowed on. “I understand you live on a sizable plot of land in Witcher Springs? My coven would like to worship on your land. You could join us if you'd like.”

  “Look, I'm sorry, but I'm not able to help you.” And who said she wanted to join a witch's coven? She didn't know the first thing about their rituals or beliefs.

  “I'd advise you to reconsider.”

  Scott entered the room and slipped a protective arm around Emily's shoulders. “Everything okay?”

  Starr glared at him. “This is a private matter.”

  Emily had enough. “I already gave you my answer. I'm not interested.”

  “I have big plans for my coven.” Starr leaned across the desk. Her chest, the size of two overstuffed sandbags, rested against the smooth wooden top. “I’d like your help with this. At least give me permission to use your land for worship. I'd be happy to pay you. I can get more cash if that’s the problem.”

  The fine hairs on Emily's arms rose in apprehension. Her heart hammered in her chest. “I’m sorry, Ms. Carter. I've made up my mind. I'm not interested in your coven or allowing the use of my property either.”

  “What about the reading tomorrow night? I'll double the money. It's imperative that it gets done.” She narrowed her eyes.

  “I have better things to do than cavort through graveyards at all hours of the night.” A little voice at the back of Emily's mind reminded that she hadn't had anything better to do in quite a while.

  “I don't like being told no.”

  “You’d better get used to it.”

  A wild expression flitted across Starr's face. “Please, Miss Cross. This friend of mine is very shy. We’re searching for an old friend and the man in the graveyard can help.”

  Scott interrupted her. “I'm not going to allow Emily to get in trouble if you and your friend dig someone up. Have you even filed the proper paperwork?”

  Not just anyone could have a body unearthed. What would Starr tell the authorities? A local crazy was going to do a laying of hands on it and discover whatever mysteries it held?

  “Please, won’t you reconsider? We need your help.”

  Emily opened her mouth, ready to reject the creepy woman again.

  Starr grasped her right hand. Her thumb pressed against the base of Emily's wrist and a sensation much like twisting worms crept up her arm.

  “What are you doing?” Emily attempted to jerk her arm away, but Starr held fast.

  “I'm sure we'll do business some other time then.”

  “Let go of me.”

  Starr leaned closer to Emily. “You ought to reconsider your stand on this. You don't want to be on the wrong side.”

  Emily tried to jerk free. She even used her legs to push away from the desk. Nothing helped.

  Starr grinned, her big teeth unnaturally white. Starr whispered, “Subsisto.”

  The witch jerked Emily forward again. This time the chair rolled out from beneath her, and she was forced to bend over the desk. She tried to twist out of the woman's iron grip, but found herself powerless.

  Scott grabbed hold of Starr’s arm and tried to force her away. She didn’t budge. With her free hand, she made a gesture and said a quiet string of words. Scott was pulled backward against the wall by an invisible hand. He tried to move forward, but was unable.

  At some point, Wren must have entered the office because she was now at Starr's back. She looked frightened or possibly ill.

  Starr's voice was low and malicious. “I'm not going to let some redheaded bitch stand in my way. Do you understand me?”

  Emily felt paralyzed. She couldn't speak nor could she extract her hand from the woman's grip.

  The fingers of Emily's free hand closed around an earthenware vase. She doused Starr with crisp daisies and yellowed water. It did nothing to deter her. Her grip tightened, making the bones of Emily's hand crack and pop. She muttered words that sounded like nonsense through gritted teeth. Memories from a year ago, the very ones Emily struggled to forget, flooded through her mind.

  Flashes of neon in the darkness and Liz’s face fil
led her mind. Emily tried to grasp her sister's hand, but the older girl frowned and cringed away.

  Emily rested against the seat. The red-eye flight from Tucson to Oklahoma City had exhausted her. After a tearful plea, her father agreed to pick her up at the airport. The rest of the family had insisted on accompanying him.

  The soft glow of the instrument panel lit her mother’s soft features. “I'm so glad you've come home. I've missed you so much.”

  The images in Emily's mind flashed like a strobe light. The picture was somewhat fuzzy as if she had trouble recalling the finer details. Her family's voices drifted in and out like someone turned the volume knob on a radio up and down.

  Emily's father turned stern eyes up to the rearview mirror. Disapproval turned his mouth down.

  Emily clutched at the purse in her lap and bit her bottom lip. Things would never be the same as before, but now that she was home she'd be safe and surrounded by loved ones. Maybe one day they'd find it in their hearts to forgive her.

  “I'm very disappointed in you, Emilia Ann,” her father reprimanded her. “What in God's name possessed you to run off with that boy? I told you he was bad news from the start. You're just lucky you didn't end up pregnant too.”

  Her mother cut him off. “All that matters is she's safe and we have her back.” To Emily, she said, “I didn't change a thing in your room. I knew you'd come home.”

  Headlights lit the interior of the car. Liz screamed, “Dad, watch out!”

  The screech of metal and squealing tires filled the night. Screams and shattered glass exploded within the car. The car tumbled from the bridge and plummeted as if tossed by a child's careless hand.

  They fell sideways into dense trees that stopped their descent.

  Beneath the wreckage, the river sang a deadly lullaby.

  Emily regained consciousness some time later. She lay against the door – broken glass, branches and leaves all around her head. Liz lay against her, both of her legs mangled in the twisted treetops that had torn away the door on her side.

  She could hear the frightened voices of those who had stopped to help somewhere above them. The wail of sirens drew near.

  “Mom? Dad?”

  She received no answer.

  She looked to her mother first. Her body hung limp and lifeless, suspended by the safety belt. Blood ran from a head wound. Limbs pierced her body. Her father was still alive, but just barely. The crumpled front of the car had shoved the steering wheel into his chest. His crushed sternum and collapsed lungs wouldn't afford him much time. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a bubble of blood and a hiss of air. His eyes grew glassy.

  The car shuddered and groaned as the limbs relinquished their grip. The family and their car fell into the dark river below.

  Finally, Emily managed to surface from the painful memories. “Get out of my head!”

  Her fingernails gouged at Starr’s cheeks and eyes. The hateful woman growled a curse and thrust her backward. Emily lost her balance, stumbled and banged against a shelf. Several books and framed pictures of Scott's family and friends tumbled down.

  “That's just a taste of what I can do.” The witch moved toward the door and tossed a wicked look over her shoulder. “You picked the wrong side, Ms. Cross.”

  Then she stabbed a finger at Wren. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the gathering. Don’t be late.”

  After Starr had vacated the office, the air returned to the small space and Scott was able to move again.

  Emily's right hand had a warm, oily sensation where Starr had gripped it. The bones tingled with the memory of being compressed. Shaken, she could barely form the words that tumbled from her mouth. “How the hell did she do that?”

  Scott darted into the hallway after the witch.

  Emily's stomach lurched. She lost her dinner behind the desk.

  Wren helped her stand and walk to the bathroom down the hall. “May Goddess help you, Emily. You're going to need it.”

  Marcus parked near the curb and climbed out of the low-slung sedan. Darla crawled out of the passenger side and slammed the door. One wrong move and her ample chest would spill out of the shiny latex top she’d squeezed into. She must have noticed Marcus looking because she pressed her breasts against his arm and attempted a smile. He knew she was scared, but did nothing to put her at ease.

  “Are you sure Starr stays here?”

  She exhaled pot-laced breath and laid her head against his shoulder. Her stiff, orange hair crunched against his shirt. The golden hue looked stark against her wan skin. “At least, some of her people do.”

  He draped an arm around the pathetic creature and practiced more patience than he felt. His backup, Jai Li, and Corey, had split up to scout the area. He’d given them the task of making sure the witch and her lackeys didn’t show up unannounced.

  Marcus and Darla moved across the concrete terrace. He guided her toward the row of run-down apartments. They strolled past discarded beer cans and whiskey bottles in the breezeway.

  He tightened his arm around her narrow shoulders. “There aren’t any surprises, are there?”

  Darla cast a worried glance at him. “I’m scared. Let’s go somewhere else.” Her voice was a shrill whine. She ran bony fingers down his arm and cast a pleading glance at him.

  “You and I have a little business to take care of before your friends come back.” He shoved her toward the stairs that led to the apartment in question. All pretense of friendliness was a thing of the past.

  “I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t kill me.” Darla licked her lips and dropped her watery gaze. She shrank back against the dirty brick wall. “Is this about the fire? I didn’t know they were going to set the mansion on fire. I was supposed to spy on you guys and tell them where you were hiding Isabella. I never meant for any of you to get hurt.”

  He gripped a handful of Darla’s crunchy hair. He pulled her head back to expose a scarred throat. Though she whimpered, her eyes radiated acceptance. She was a blood doll, a play toy for any vamp. Her wretched life would never amount to anything more.

  Once they were upstairs, Darla searched her cleavage for the key. It took two attempts to slide it into the lock.

  The apartment she shared with the others smelled of dirty socks, stale cigarettes, and sweat. Dirty clothes and take-out boxes littered the floor. Half eaten containers of food sat on the counters, and a moldy plate lay in the sink.

  “I guess the cleaning lady hasn’t been by?”

  “You’ve made a big mistake.” She wrapped her hands around her elbows and stared at him. “Ted and Ace will be back any minute and they’ll have friends with them.”

  Marcus smiled. “We’ve got a few minutes.”

  Darla swallowed audibly and stiffened beneath his touch. “Are you gonna kill me?”

  “It depends on how helpful you are.” He shoved her onto the couch. “Don't move.”

  A receipt for ten thousand dollars was amongst the papers on the coffee table. The memo line read: “Disposal.” He dropped it into her lap. “Who was this paid to?”

  She looked up at him with watery eyes. Clear snot ran from her nose. “I don't know.”

  “How often do they pay for disposal?”

  “I don't know.”

  He grasped her scrawny arm and dragged her through the other rooms.

  Trent and Pete hadn’t been here in a while. Their scent had faded, just a memory now. But the others, the ones who helped with the fire, were still here. As far as he could tell, two of those people had stomped his brain into mush a few nights ago. Starr might not stay here, but she visited those who did. Her woodsy perfume lingered ever so faintly.

  Marcus pilfered through the paperwork on tables, in drawers, and under the sofa. He even looked over their caller ID. “Other than Ted and Ace, who else lives here?”

  Darla moistened her cracked lips with a flick of her tongue.

  “There’s a new guy and a girl. I don’t know their names.”

  “Does
she have red hair?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” Her brow creased. “Wait. Ted mentioned a redhead the other day.”

  “Think real hard. What did he say?” He pulled her along with him toward the last bedroom. She fell onto the bed and watched him move around the small space.

  He turned to rummage the dresser, nightstand, and closet. A box filled with various silver items sat at the bottom. A retractable baton encrusted with what appeared to be dried blood and hair lay among them. The box also contained baggies of herbs and junk he didn’t recognize.

  “That’s for their spells.” Darla sat on the edge of the bed and watched him paw through the box.

  He ground the smelly herbs into the carpet with his heel. “Focus. What did he say about the redhead?”

  “Only that Starr had found her. She works at a funeral home here in the city.” Her eyes widened. “Do you think that’s who they paid to do the disposal?”

  “Could be.” He spied a yellow post-it note on the bedside table. Someone had scribbled an address in Witcher Springs across it. He pocketed it then moved toward the living room again. Darla followed without being manhandled.

  “She can supposedly read the dead. Starr wants her to help.”

  “Read the dead?”

  “Yeah, she touches whatever's dead, and it tells her what she wants to know. Starr thinks she'll be able to find the mistress of the city by making her read vamps.”

  Marcus's skin tingled with the memory of the redhead's contact. Had she read him while he lay on the table? He couldn't help but wonder what she had seen. His hand lifted to touch the area where her hand had rested against his arm. The faint memory of her warm skin was almost like a calling card. It begged him to seek her out.

  Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway and voices drew near. Marcus could smell their sweat and frustration.

  Darla grinned wide, exposing a missing tooth toward the back of her mouth. “Maybe they'll start with you.”

  A woman’s shaky voice outside the door said, “Guys, I don’t know about this. I mean, I don’t want to hurt her. She’s my friend. Can’t we find another way to get the info Starr wants?”