by Paige Tyler
“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.”
Cassidy frowned. “Maybe I should have been nicer to her then.”
Trace 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, Cassidy decided she needed to be more careful with what she said while they were there. She didn’t want Trace 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 Trace 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.
Trace 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, Cassidy thought. But they didn’t seem interested in Trace, just her. “Now that we’re actually here, who do we talk to first?”
Trace jerked his head toward the other side of the club. “There’s a guy over at the bar I want to talk to. 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, Cassidy 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 doing homework, not mixing cocktails.
The bartender glanced up from the mixed drink he was pouring and did a double take as he recognized Trace. “Damn, Trace. 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.
Cassidy turned to Trace. “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 Trace.
“Long time no see, man. What have you been up to?” He glanced at Cassidy and raised an eyebrow. “Obviously not working hard.”
Trace chuckled. “Finley, meet Cassidy Kincaide. 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.”
Trace quickly filled the bartender in on Del Vecchio, explaining that the serial killer had come back from the dead to go after Cassidy, 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,” Trace 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?” Trace 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 Trace followed Finely along a meandering path through tables and chairs, Cassidy 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 back in the shadows Cassidy could barely see his face. She could feel his gaze on her, though. 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.
Trace 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 Trace.
“Sit,” he said quietly. “Please.”
Trace waited for Cassidy to slide into the booth, then sat next to her. He began to introduce them to the man, but a black, 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 Cassidy 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, Cassidy 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.
Trace 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 that Cassidy wondered if he even realized she and Trace were there, but then he lifted his head to look at her with rheumy, old eyes.
“Did you die, child?” he asked softly.
Cassidy 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?” Trace asked.
The other man nodded. “The glow. Only people who have seen the other side have it. She lights up this room like a wa
rm, cozy fire. Dead things are going to be attracted to her like a moth to a flame.” He looked at Cassidy. “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 myself. Anyone who has been to the other side. You glow like a jewel to all of us.”
Trace frowned. “Is that what brought Del Vecchio back from the other side?”
Mr. Borella shook his head. “No, son. Even a glow as bright as hers wouldn’t have been enough to call him across the great divide 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?” Cassidy asked.
“Love maybe. Or hate,” the old man said. “I’m personally leanin’ toward hate, seeing 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.”
Cassidy shivered.
“But wouldn’t there still need to be something on this side to create the gateway between that world and ours?” Trace asked. “A lock of hair or even a piece of fingernail?”
The man gave Trace 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.”
Cassidy’s brow furrowed. 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?” Trace 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.”
Trace 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 Trace stood, Cassidy 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 hand 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 Cassidy 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 would gladly wear it.
“Thank you. It’s very kind of you to give it to me.” If the old man had been wearing it, though, then 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.”
Cassidy promised she would.
As she and Trace made their way through the club, the people who had 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 Trace were heading back over to the bar when a big guy with long, dark hair and a beard caught her arm. Cassidy 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.
Cassidy looked at Trace. “What was that all about?”
“Lycan,” 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.”
Trace’s mouth quirked. “You’re prettier.”
Or his keen sense of smell had told him there was something different about her.
When she and Trace 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,” Trace 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.”
Trace 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.”
Cassidy should have known they couldn’t get out of the club without Ramona intercepting them. The dark-haired witch gave Trace a sultry smile.
“Leaving so soon?” she asked. “I suppose that means you got what you came for then.”
“We did,” Trace told her.
Ramona’s gaze flickered to Cassidy, before settling on Trace again. “Come back when you’re not so busy and we’ll catch up.”
Cassidy’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 Trace give Ramona a polite brush-off instead. Right now, she and Trace 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, Cassidy couldn’t resist giving the other woman one last glare over her shoulder as they walked out of the club. She’d never been a shrinking violet and she wasn’t about to start now.
Chapter Fifteen
Trace had some trepidation about taking Cassidy 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, however, he was damn glad he’d brought her with him. Not only had they figured out how Del Vecchio was able to track Cassidy down so easily, but they now had a new direction to go in as well. Trace 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 Trace’s contacts would hear something that would lead him to the person responsible. Until then, Cassidy 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. Cassidy 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 Cassidy had 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, Trace hadn’t been concerned, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if Cassidy had jumped at least a little. She’d kept her cool, though.
He’d been a little amused to see her claws come out when Ramona had started flirting with him, however. He was also kind of proud at how fiercely she had stood up to the other woman. Of course, Cassidy didn’t know Ramona was one of the most powerful witches on the east coast and could have cursed her with twenty different afflictions faster than she could say abracadabra. It was the thought that counted. Regardless of what Cassidy said to the contrary, he knew she was jealous of the witch. He didn’t understand why. Cassidy was more beautiful than Ramona could ever hope to be. That left only one other explanation—she had feelings for him. But that was crazy. Whatever Cassidy thought she felt for him was the result of the situation they were in, not based on anything real. When Del Vecchio’s ghost was gone and she was safe again, she’d go back to her old life and forget all about him and the bizarre paranormal world he lived in. While he knew it was for the best, he couldn’t help feeling a sense of emptiness that came with the realization she would walk out of his life after this was all over.
Trace was still trying to wrap his head around that when his cell phone rang. It took a moment for the sound to register and when it finally did, he frowned at the ringtone. He had a different ringtone for every fake business card he handed out and this one went with the card he used when he impersonated a cop. He didn’t get a lot of calls on that number because he didn’t use the identity very often. Who had he recently given that card to?
Only one name came to mind—Joyce Reynolds. Shit. What the hell did she want? He doubted it had anything to do with her precious, demented son Carson. More likely, she wanted him to come over to protect and serve. In other words, get rid of whichever serial-killer groupie had shown up at her door.
