Blood Curse (DarkWorld: A Soul Tracker Novel Book 3)

by T. G. Ayer

  Blood Curse

  SoulTracker Book 3

  T.G. Ayer

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  The SoulTracker Series

  Also by T.G. Ayer

  Skin Deep - A SkinWalker Novel #1

  Skin Deep Ch1

  Skin Deep Ch2

  Skin Deep Ch3

  Skin Deep Ch4

  Retribution - Irin 1 Sample Chapters

  Retribution Ch 1

  Retribution Ch 2

  Retribution Ch 3

  Free Starter Library - Join my Newsletter

  About the Author

  Copyright

  The DarkWorld: The SoulTracker Series

  The DARKWORLD Series Timeline

  SkinWalker/SoulTracker

  SkinWalker 1 - Skin Deep

  SkinWalker 2 - Lost Soul | SoulTracker 1 - Blood Magic

  SkinWalker 3 - Last Chance | SoulTracker 2 - Demon Kin

  SkinWalker 4 - Blood Promise | SoulTracker 3 - Blood Curse

  SkinWalker 5 - Scorched Fury | SoulTracker 4 - Demon Soul

  SkinWalker 6 - Fate’s Edge

  The DarkWorld: SoulTracker Series

  The SoulTracker novels is a companion series set in the same world as the DarkWorld: SkinWalker books beginning with Skin Deep which appears first in the timeline.

  Mel Morgan’s story can be read as standalone to the SkinWalker books. Both Mel & Saleem, as well as a few other characters, also appear in the SkinWalker books so if you wish to read Kailin & Logan’s story first clink the links and enjoy.

  DarkWorld: SkinWalker: Skin Deep ~ Lost Soul ~ Last Chance ~ Blood Promise ~ Scorched Fury ~ Demon Hunter

  DarkWorld Origins Novellas: Pyros

  DarkWorld: SkinWalker: Blood Magic ~ Demon Kin ~ Blood Curse ~ Demon Soul

  In the DarkWorld the things that go bump in the night are most likely true. And the problem is they are probably not sticking to bumping around in the night. They are everywhere. Your work colleagues, your teachers, even your friends. They’ve been living that way for a long time. And you haven’t noticed because they don’t want you to.

  You’re much better off not asking any questions.

  Chapter 1

  The truth is, pretending everything is okay can get a girl in far more trouble than actually admitting that shit is going seriously wrong.

  How can anything be okay when I know my sister is alive but I have no idea where she is or how it’s even possible for her to be alive?

  How can anything be okay when my head pounds every second of the day, when every morning my pillow is streaked red and I can’t tell if the blood came from my nose, or my ears, or my eyes?

  Guess my head is pretty much a bloody mess.

  And how can anything be okay when I’m beginning to see things?

  Yeah, Mel Morgan, astral traveler, is finally developing foresight.

  Only thing is, I know for a fact it isn’t as simple as a vision of the future. This thing that haunts me, that dogs my every breath, my every move, is beginning to affect my mind.

  My sanity.

  I stood in my frigid, steam-filled bathroom—all white ceramic tiles and dull copper—drenched in the harsh white glare from the fluorescent vanity light.

  My spine remained stiff, my neck taut as I stared at the open closet door, gritting my teeth so hard that they’d probably be ground smooth over time if I kept up the habit.

  Though wrapped in a giant bath towel, a wave of shivers wracked my body. Tendrils of wet hair escaped a haphazard bun, and my skin was still covered in droplets of water from a super-fast shower, snaking down my neck and shoulders in icy rivulets.

  My fingers curled like claws into the front of the towel, pressing it hard to my chest, some illogical part of me suddenly afraid of standing naked in the bathroom.

  I took a shaky breath and narrowed my eyes, studying the inside of the closet. The shelves were filled with towels, toilet paper, detergent and other supplies, only they were an absolute, sodden mess.

  Toilet cleaner and shampoo, bleach and toothpaste, mouthwash and detergent, streaked every single towel and cloth, soaked through every toilet paper roll, Kleenex box and cotton puff. It looked like a detergent bomb exploded inside there.

  The smell was a heady perfume of peppermint and ammonia, chlorine and lavender.

  Just lovely.

  Reaching out, I caught the edge of the closet door with two fingers of my free hand and swung it shut.

  Then, I held my breath.

  A few seconds passed and I swallowed down a bout of hysterical laughter as I watched the damned door swing open of its own accord.

  Shifting my gaze, I avoided the fogged-up mirror because I knew what I’d see; a hazy form, just the barest shape of something—of someone—reflected there, standing beside me.

  Watching me.

  I’m not normally a scaredy-cat. I’m the type who would usually go in guns blazing, happy to kill demons or whoever else stood in my way of retrieving those who have been stolen.

  But this evil spirit now attached to my essence, was sucking up my energy.

  Someone had cursed me with this poltergeist, an evil African Black Magic spirit meant to devour my soul.

  Who would do such a thing? I didn’t know, but I had to find out before the curse succeeded.

  I could feel it . . . slowly killing me.

  Not that I could tell anyone.

  Not that I would tell anyone.

  My fisted fingers of my right hand gripped my ochre amulet as if it was a lifeline, and in my case it probably was.

  I forced my fingers to release their death-grip and slipped the cord over my neck. The charm—oddly shaped, the surface bumpy with the implied curves and proportions of the human form—came courtesy of Natasha, my white-witch friend.

  An African ward against African magic.

  She’d said it would afford me some form of protection. Maybe it wouldn’t save me, but I wasn’t about to decline any reprieve, however small—from the haunting of the tokolosje.

  African black magic.

  Who would have thought it possible that someone would be practicing what could be considered a dead art, and within a world already filled with an unending variety of currently-practised magic?

  I’d considered a visit to a warlock, or even handing myself over to the High Council with a plea to save my sorry ass.

  Not that I would have done so, but such ridiculous thoughts had actually crossed my mind.

  More than once.

  Enough of a reason to believe the evil spirit was succeeding.

  I inhaled sharply
. I refuse to be beaten.

  More than that, I refuse to be beaten by something that didn’t even have the courtesy of drawing breath.

  I shut the closet door, my knuckles white as I gripped the brass handle a little harder than necessary.

  As soon as it clicked closed, I spun on my heel and scurried out of the bathroom as fast as I possibly could.

  My heart slammed against my ribs as I escaped the humid confines of the bathroom and shut the door behind me, the weak morning light shining in through the window, greeting me like a comforting smile.

  Early morning showers—anytime showers actually—were way too dangerous these days.

  I leaned against the closed door, shutting my eyes with relief. I released a very tense, very stale breath and relaxed a tiny bit. Just enough to feel the wave of frustration threaten to wash over me.

  It had only been a few weeks now since I’d discovered that I had an invisible, yet terrible, companion.

  And I’d told only Natasha about him so far. Steph knew something odd was happening to my power, that my projections and jumps were making me weak and clumsy, but I’d held back the specifics.

  And of course the Djinn Queen Aisha, who’d informed me of the spirit’s existence a few weeks ago, also knew.

  I’d told nobody else.

  Not even Saleem.

  The less people knew the better.

  I knew the tokolosje would follow me wherever I went but he tended to be less conspicuous when I was around other people.

  I laughed to myself. My friends must be wondering what was up with me wanting to be in their company so often, especially considering I’ve always liked my privacy.

  My phone buzzed and I checked the caller ID, not surprised at the unfamiliar number. I answered with a sigh, partly out of habit, partly out of responsibility.

  My job required service twenty-four-seven, and a 6am call wasn’t out of the ordinary.

  “Mel Morgan.”

  “Hello? Miss Morgan?” The feminine voice was raspy, likely a garbled attempt at a husky, sexy tone.

  I shook my head. Of course it’s Mel Morgan. I just answered as Mel Morgan. “Yes?” I kept my tone neutral and polite although I was unable to stop my eyes from rolling.

  The woman cleared her throat. “I’m Elise Garner. I need your help to find my son.” Straight to the point. I liked that.

  I found myself nodding. Maybe a case would help me get my mind off things.

  “I do have some time available this week if you’d like to meet to discuss?”

  After a recent last encounter with a client who’d wanted to pay for my exclusive time, I’d begun to make it abundantly clear to new clients that I always had cases going on concurrently.

  “Oh?” she hesitated, “are you too busy?”

  Her low tone made it sound like she was hurt that I didn’t have time for her. I rolled my eyes again, wondering if I was going to be dealing with a diva. Then I straightened. It shouldn’t matter, especially considering she’s likely got a missing family member that needed finding.

  And I knew exactly how that felt.

  I cleared my throat. “Not at all. I manage the cases I have as efficiently as possible and I don’t take on more than two cases at a time.”

  “Oh. Very well. But I’m unable to meet you in person.” When I didn’t respond she gave a small tinkling laugh. “I’m in Hong Kong, you see. I have a few meetings here, but even if I headed back immediately I’d only be able to meet you in two days, and I’m afraid my case is urgent.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Can you tell me briefly what the case entails?”

  She was silent for a long moment and just as I was about to suggest a video-conference call, she cleared her throat. “I have to speak to you in person. The . . . situation is a strange one, and what I have to tell you is quite sensitive.”

  With a sigh, I said, “Fine. I can arrange to meet you in the next couple hours. When are you available?”

  “Oh? Are you also in Hong Kong?”

  I scrambled for a response. “In transit in Taipei. I can meet in two hours if I change my flight, but only if you’re certain this is urgent.”

  Don’t waste my time. The unspoken words hung in the air.

  Elise Garner laughed, the sound low and reverberating within her throat. “Don’t worry, Miss Morgan. If you feel this case isn’t for you, I will happily reimburse you for your flight and for your time. Is 9pm Hong Kong time good for you? The Meridian at The Garner-Royal Sun Hotel?”

  That was a mouthful.

  I agreed, and she rang off, but not before thanking me profusely. She left me wondering at the power held by people with money, resources and contacts at their disposal.

  So many missing people would never be found because their family lacked the kind of money Elise Garner and Carlo Santiani had.

  Still, I couldn’t be negative about Santiani. He’d included me in his will—which I’d found both surprising and amazing. A letter had come with a short note which the man must have dictated to his legal team while on his deathbed.

  He’d put half of his estate into a trust that issued me with a generous monthly allowance. Enough to maintain the house and provide myself, Steph and Drake with a regular income.

  My only regret was that I’d received the letter after his death, hadn’t been able to thank the man.

  Technically, I hadn’t found his daughter. Not alive, anyway.

  Poor Gia Santiani had been dead a while before her father had come to me. But at least we’d managed to free her sister Gina from the demon who’d been systematically killing off Santiani’s family.

  Gina was still catatonic, hidden away in an up-state care facility, but the doctors had hope she’d pull through. Just not with enough intellectual function to run her father’s multinational billion-dollar business.

  I still held out hope though. The impossible almost always tended to be possible in the end.

  Take me for instance. I’d never have thought it possible to lie to someone I was in a relationship with.

  But, here I was, lying to Saleem every single day—and with his mother’s blessing no less.

  We’d been gathering our resources for a mission to Mithras, the djinn plane, to look for his brother Rizwan.

  Although Saleem had been resistant to me accompanying him on the mission, he’d accepted my involvement in the preparations. Probably just accepting my nosiness as proof of how much I cared. The problem was, I knew way more about his brother’s situation than Saleem himself did.

  Saleem—the guy I was crazy about, the guy I’d been keeping my distance from, was a djinn prince whose mother, Aisha, Queen of Mithras, Plane of the Djinn—had sworn me to secrecy with the truth of her family’s precarious situation.

  Back home in Mithras, Rizwan was under the control of Omega, one of the three paranormal investigative agencies within the paranormal world, and the only one accused of a whole host of nefarious, illegal and abominable activities—including abduction, wrongful incarceration, blackmail and mind control.

  I could go on, because truly, the list was almost endless.

  Not long ago, my shifter friend Kai Odel had discovered her mom being experimented on by Omega. Saleem and Logan Westin—Saleem’s commanding officer at Omega, and Kai’s boyfriend—had begun to distance themselves from their employer since.

  The Supreme High Council, overseer of all things paranormal across the planes, had reacted in a far more subtle way—by creating the Elite; a secret investigative agency for which they were head-hunting specific, talented mages and supernaturals.

  I’d received the invitation.

  And I’d been putting it off.

  My excuse would be that I had way too much on my mind, but it was just that—an excuse.

  Chapter 2

  I sighed and hurried downstairs, smoothing my pants as I descended the stairs.

  The black high-waisted silk pants and shimmering white blouse was a lovely, elegant combination. Completed w
ith light make-up, freshly-styled glossy black curls and gold hoops, I figured I looked professional enough for a dinner at any high-class restaurant. Even one all the way on the other side of the world.

  The footwear had been a hard sell though—worlds away from my usual serviceable boots—and I’d eventually settled for six-inch-heeled knee-length boots. As was my habit, I’d tucked a dagger into each of the boots, but with heels ad deadly had these, I could likely use them as weapons if the need arose.

  Excellent thinking, Morgan.

  I passed the empty kitchen and followed the glow of yellow light pooling in the hallway outside the study.

  Popping my head into the room, I found Drake arranging the secret weapons-repository we’d constructed behind the closet. He turned as my heel hit a loose floorboard, and gave me a lackluster smile.

  Wow. Guess I don’t look that fabulous then.

  He must be distracted as my attire hadn’t even received a raised eyebrow. “How you doing?” I watched his face, dark complexion, obsidian eyes.

  Not that I really needed to ask. His glamor shivered around him in a pale haze, revealing his struggle to concentrate on keeping it up.

  He didn’t need to hide his real form, not while inside the house. Usually he was happy to walk around bare-faced, his blue-toned skin and black faded tattoos bare for all to see.

  Today? Not so much.

  Drake’s mouth formed a thin line as he nodded, then returned his attention to the demon rifle—which looked familiar—that he was positioning within its slot.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Your boink-buddy.”

  I snorted. “You know full well he isn’t.”

  “Not yet,” Drake murmured as he closed the door and walked back to the study desk. He was doing inventory, but I suspected he was performing the task just to fill time. “You two suck at romance.”

  “You should talk,” I sank into one of the chairs bracketing the desk, “How is our favorite white witch these days?”

  Drake had been helping Natasha out with the repairs to her property after a demon-witch wrecked it. I’d begun to suspect that despite Natasha’s outward display of superior iciness, she kept Drake around for reasons other than physical labor.