The Jewel of Darkness [Celestial Jewels 2] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by J. Annas Walker

  The lioness inside roared. She was angry and took a metaphysical swipe at the man. Sabrina reacted by mimicking the move without thinking. Her hand landed on his cheek with a hard smacking sound.

  Deep scratches dripped blood down his face as though her hand had been a paw. He touched the red fluid with the tips of his fingers and licked them. The wounds healed, leaving behind no trace of their existence. He gave a deep chuckle. He reached for her.

  The pendant warmed. Dark rainbows and hazy shadows formed a barrier between the two of them. Each time his fingers touched the edge of her protective field, a static charge flashed. It reminded her of the colored light globes found in the novelty shops.

  “Oh, you are interesting,” he commented, tracing the field with his fingertips.

  “I am nobody’s property. If you want to talk to me, I suggest you be a gentleman about it and quit the cloak-and-dagger nonsense,” she scolded. Both hands landed on her hips. For a moment, she thought of how Eleanor always struck the pose when annoyed and let one hand fall to her side.

  He watched her for almost a full minute. He gave her a wink, vanishing. His voice came out of thin air before time resumed.

  “Fine. Have it your way, then.” His voice echoed and diminished until it, too, disappeared, leaving no trace of himself behind.

  * * * *

  From the backseat, Brandon watched as the city slipped past the car’s window. Drug dealers, pimps, and hookers littered the streets in this part of town. The park teemed with the homeless looking for a place to crash for the night. He knew some of them would never see the light of day.

  Hadrian tapped Farrell on the shoulder. “Pull over here,” he commanded.

  “Yessir!” Farrell replied. He stopped the Mercedes CLS, hopped out, and opened the back door. “You want I should keep the motor running?”

  “Thanks, Farrell, you do that,” Hadrian said.

  Brandon slid out to stand behind the emperor. When a van pulled up behind the car, he motioned for the two men inside to join him. Tonight’s pickings look slim, he thought.

  “Hey, mister! You got a quarter?” A man shuffled toward them, his hand out. He stank of old sweat and filth. The knees of his pants were ripped. He wore two different socks. On one foot he wore a sneaker missing the toe cap. The other foot donned a woman’s pink bedroom slipper. A heavy black coat two sizes too large covered up the rest of him. His matted hair stuck out from beneath a holey knit cap.

  “Sure,” said Farrell, cheerfully. “You go tell your friends that there’s free coffee at the back of the van. Make a line.” He clapped the man on the shoulder.

  “Thanks, sirs. God bless you, sirs,” the man said and shuffled back to his buddies. He returned with nine others, lining up at the rear of the van as instructed.

  One by one, young and old alike, they took a free cup. Each accepted the offering with mumbled thanks. As they sat on the curb or leaned on the nearest building, they slumped forward or slid down the building’s face, ending in a heap on the sidewalk.

  The van’s driver and passenger quickly loaded the drugged men into the back. They shut the door and took their places up front. The driver gave Hadrian and Brandon the thumbs up sign as he pulled away from the curb.

  Brandon watched as the van vanished in the dark. He thought about Sabrina. Somewhere in the night, she wandered with an actual demon from the ninth level of Hell and a werewolf bodyguard. Concern nagged at him. What if someone did that to her? How could he face the endless nights?

  He watched Hadrian climb back into the car. The elder vampire lived centuries without knowing his daughter existed, pining for his lost love, Aradia. It was not a fate Brandon wanted to endure.

  The nagging concern turned to worry. He needed to know she was safe. Taking out his cell phone, he used the speed dial. One ring. Two. Three. The voicemail picked up. Butterflies filled his stomach.

  Hadrian paid him no attention. He talked to someone on the other end of his own phone call. This was purely business.

  “Yes, as promised. We can’t take more at a time.” Pause. “How am I supposed to explain a flood at the blood banks coinciding with a huge number of missing homeless?” Pause. “You got what you paid for. Might I remind you this is an election year? Your finances are crippled. There aren’t enough cops to police everything. You wanted the streets cleaned up, and we’re doing it.” Pause. “Go ahead. Everyone will think you’re nuts and records will surface showing a very mundane connection to the missing socially undesirable.” Pause. “That’s what I thought. It’s been nice doing business with you this evening.” He hung up.

  “I tried to call Sabrina, but she didn’t answer,” Brandon admitted. He clenched his jaw, trying not to say more than he should. His fangs pressed into his lips, nicking them. The nicks healed instantly.

  “Let the girls have their evening out. The distraction will do her good,” Hadrian said. He turned to the window. “I’ve known Delilah for a really long time. That’s not to say I trust her completely. She is a demon and for sale to the highest bidder, but she has experience handling unknown factors. Don’t worry just yet.”

  “Mr. Thorpe, sir? Camilla’s with them. She’s good. I’ll bet they’re just someplace loud,” Farrell reassured him. In a way, it sounded like he needed to convince himself.

  “Thank you, Farrell,” Brandon said, “We need to pick up this week’s take at the bars and clubs.” A certain amount of nervous edge filled his voice. He heard it and knew Hadrian had.

  His father-in-law sat beside him, pretending this night was no different than all the rest. He wore no expression, other than boredom. His usual suit and tie combo still looked crisp and well-pressed. Of course, these days, harvesting people as blood donors did not require his physical involvement. He simply lured the downtrodden in with a fancy car and expensive suit under the guise of a free handout.

  The first club took only a few minutes. The manager, a fairly new vampire, kept neat records and the money sat bundled on his desk. His strippers seemed happy and the crowd pleased with their service. He waved them off with a cheerful wish and went back to work.

  The next stop was a dive of a bar in a bad neighborhood. Brandon said little to the manager, other than to fix the bathroom. The guy produced good returns, as long as he felt left alone.

  The last stop for the evening happened to be a new club. Thumping bass and flashing lights from the dance floor distracted the patrons. The smell of sex, booze, and drugs filled the air.

  The manager, a half-banshee human hybrid, sat at the end of the bar drinking like a fish. He looked unprepared for Brandon’s visit. Downing the whiskey in his hand, he rolled his eyes and headed into his office. A moment later, he returned, pulled an envelope from his pocket, and handed it to Brandon. With it came a business card and a note to call the number on the back.

  Brandon read it twice. For some reason he could not explain, the name on the card refused to stick in his head. He tucked the envelope in his jacket and made for the door.

  Back in the car, he turned over the envelope to Hadrian. Hadrian opened the thick, manila package and pulled out a stack of bills. He flipped through them, stopped, and threw the banded wad at Brandon.

  “Did you not look at it in his office?” Hadrian asked.

  “No. It’s always been right before. Is there a problem?”

  “I’ll say. There are a few bills on either end but the middle is full of newspaper,” Hadrian said with a deep growl. “Farrell, take us back to the club. We need to have a chat with the manager.”

  “Yessir!” Farrell made a sharp U-turn through an intersection and sped back to the club. He pulled around to the back alley, flipping the headlights up to bright.

  The manager scrambled to get back in the club, but he found himself locked out. There was no knob on the outside of the door. Beating on it yielded no results.

  Hadrian turned to Brandon. “You’ve been distracted all night. Now get your head back in the game, and go deal with this,”
he ordered.

  Brandon exited the car in a hurry. He sprinted to the rather round man, who screamed as Brandon grabbed his shoulder. Without saying a word, Brandon let his fear and frustrations pour into his bite. His fangs ripped into the smaller man’s flesh. The blood tasted acidic but drinkable.

  The manager screamed and flailed. The high, piercing shriek hurt Brandon’s ears, but he did not let go. Fists beat his body. The blows lessened in severity and frequency as the manager lost blood. At last, Brandon drained him almost dry. The body fell like a pile of useless rags at his feet.

  Blood ran down Brandon’s chin. He took a handkerchief extended in his direction. “Thanks,” he said without looking.

  “You’re welcome,” an unfamiliar voice said.

  Brandon spun, taking a combative stance. He faced a man similar in height and weight, wearing jeans, a casual white tee, and a pair of sneakers with a swooshing logo. Making an effort to watch the man’s eyes for tell-tale signs of an attack proved pointless. Each time he tried, he found himself looking away. He felt sure magic forced him to give up his best chance for anticipating an attack. A surge of annoyance made him frown.

  “Oh relax, Mr. Thorpe,” he said in an easy drawl. “I came to ask your permission to call on you and your charming wife.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a business card like the one attached to the light envelope. Placing it in Brandon’s hand, he gave a friendly smile. “I will see you tomorrow just after sunset.”

  Brandon shifted his weight to look less aggressive. Distrust made him cautious still. He kept his center of mass balanced for a sudden movement.

  “Why would I invite you to my home, Mr…” He glanced down at the card. The name refused to register.

  “Mr. Morse, and I have a business proposition that might interest you. It was your wife who suggested a short time ago that a planned business meeting might be in order. That is an interesting necklace she is wearing, by the way,” he said.

  The moment the stranger spoke his name, everything became clear. Brandon could look at his face. His dark, nearly-black hair set off his deep red eyes. He worked hard to keep a cool level head.

  “When did you meet her?”

  “Tonight at the mall. Lovely woman. Head full of blue-black curls. Fiery temper. She was with a demon of the ninth level and a werewolf,” Mr. Morse admitted. He brushed past Brandon, making his way to the fallen manager. He placed his index finger in the center of the man’s forehead.

  In the blink of an eye, the man slipped from his body. The manager became see-through. His lips mouthed words but produced no sound. He looked at Mr. Morse with wide eyes, became a thin mist, and disappeared. Moments later, the body vanished, as well.

  “Who are you and what were you doing with my wife?” Brandon’s case of the nerves returned.

  “Put it this way. The demon is good, but some things in this world can’t be avoided. I suggest you be home with a clear schedule when I arrive tomorrow evening.” He faded into nothingness as if the night inhaled him body and soul.

  Chapter 9

  Sabrina stayed rooted in place. Everything around her seemed to sync up as time resumed. The aroma of myrrh and olive oil hung in the air. At no time during the last two encounters did she pick up the clove present in the bedroom. The difference left her puzzled.

  “Sabrina?” Delilah called to her. “You haven’t finished your drink.”

  Returning to her seat, Sabrina played with the ice in the glass. The pendant still felt warm. Taking some money from her purse, she flopped down a pile of bills, got up, and left.

  Camilla trailed a few steps behind. “Sabrina, what the hell? Where are you going?”

  “Did you not just see a man standing right beside you talking to me?” She wanted to scream. The point of leaving home was to confuse her magical signature. She chained herself to the pendant for the same reason. Now she found herself face to face with a dangerous man not once but twice. The more upset she became, the more the lioness prowled in her mind, looking for an excuse to lash out again.

  “No. I saw you sitting at the table. The next thing I know, you’re standing there staring off into space. Then you try to do a runner,” Camilla said. Her tone grew sharper as the seconds ticked by. “I know you don’t like being made to take security out with you, but your husband, my boss, insisted. Your choices were me or two goons who wished they could have been fanged Special Forces.”

  Delilah joined them, tucking an oversized wallet into her micro-sized purse. A corner seemed to be stuck. She snapped her fingers, and the wallet fell in as if more room suddenly opened up inside. The top snapped closed.

  She leaned toward Sabrina and drew in a lungful of air. Her eyes widened. “I smell old anointing oil and earth. You’ve had a visitor.” Without skipping a beat, she shifted the conversation. “Look, it’s almost ten. The mall will be closing soon. We have to find someplace else to be.”

  Camilla shot Delilah a stern look. “You’ve thought of something. What?” She nudged Sabrina along to get them moving back to the parking lot.

  Lowering her voice as much as possible, Delilah plastered a really big smile on her face. “Well, Wolfie, it’s like this. The owner of that earthy holy oil smell isn’t someone you are of any use against. I’m not even sure I would stand a chance. What I do know is this. Since we’ve been here, no fewer than five demons have passed close by and none of them have stopped. The hocus pocus I did to mask her is working. There’s no way that many of us are up in one place by accident. The mall is not exactly a hotbed for demonic activities. They’re hunting something or someone. Three guesses who and the first two don’t count!” She flipped her blonde hair. Under her breath she spoke. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Camilla led the way back to the valet parking area. Delilah stayed a step or two behind Sabrina. The night air felt great after the stuffiness of the mall but being under guard left her stifled.

  The valet looked at the ticket and stared blankly at them. He pulled out his radio and asked for the lot manager. A fat, bald man in his late thirties waddled out of a nearby security office door. He seemed nervous as he approached. He adjusted his tie twice and smoothed out the wrinkled dress shirt. The fresh mustard stain on his pocket stood out on the otherwise white fabric.

  “I’m sorry ladies, but we can’t get your car,” he apologized.

  Delilah crossed her arms over her chest, took a deep breath, and let it go slowly. “And why not?”

  “There’s been a body found behind it. Some club manager from downtown they say. Don’t worry about blood. They said he bled out somewhere else and was just dumped here,” the portly fellow explained.

  “They who?” Camilla prompted. She took a menacing step closer.

  “The police. Since you didn’t park the car and we have a time stamp for your arrival, they aren’t interested in talking to you. However, I can’t remove the vehicle until they’re finished,” he said, sounding contrite. He fidgeted with his hands, as if afraid of them.

  The lioness paced. She wanted to strike out at the man. His agitation blended with his fear, making him seem more like prey. A hunger rose. Instead of lashing out at the man, Sabrina wanted to hunt him. She imagined him running in terror as she pounced. The lioness made a noise of approval.

  Thirst burned her throat and mouth. A gnawing began in her belly. Images of sinking her fangs into his neck tempted her. She found herself honing in on the sound of his heartbeat. The bounding vein just under the skin called to her. A sharp pain on her arm broke her concentration.

  A girlish giggle filled with ice finished pulling her out of her stupor. “Forgive her. It’s been a long night! Sabrina, honey, let’s just call someone and have them pick us up. Okay?”

  A low whisper came from Camilla’s direction. She caught Sabrina watching her and turned away. The phone dropped into her purse a minute later.

  “Okay. I’ve got the ride home covered. We need to go to the other side of the mall. All this attention is causin
g a traffic jam at this entrance,” she told them.

  The edgy manager reassured them their vehicle would be safe in the lot overnight. Each of them received a business card with his name and phone number on it. His head snapped to the sound of another man calling his name from the office door.

  “They found the missing guy’s body,” he announced.

  Delilah gave a soft scream and covered her mouth. Closing her eyes and turning away, the manger patted her hand and apologized profoundly for the insensitive employee. When he walked back to the office, loudly chastising the other man, Delilah opened one eye to check that he had left. She took Sabrina’s hand and whispered, “Look shocked. Be distraught. Walk quickly and get the hell out of here. I have a feeling that missing employee and dead club manager are related and a message.”

  On the other side of the building, a speeding black Mercedes came to a screeching halt in front of them. Camilla held the door, keeping a watchful eye on the rest of the parking lot. Delilah gave Sabrina a nudge to hurry her into the back and slid in beside her. Camilla took shotgun.

  Brandon sat on the far side by the door, sandwiching Sabrina between him and the demoness. A deep relief filled her. Her knight in shining armor rode to her rescue.

  “Step on it, Farrell,” he commanded.

  The usually timid man stomped on the gas as if driving the getaway car for a heist. Once on the highway, he slowed to match the pace of traffic. His right hand left the wheel, finding its way to Camilla’s.

  The werewolf briefly closed her eyes and gave a satisfied sigh. She continued to check the side windows and mirrors. She gave a low growl.

  “I think someone is following us. Three cars back and one lane to the right. Black SUV with blacked out windows,” she said as a matter of fact.

  Brandon turned as if he were talking to Sabrina, but his eyes shifted in the direction of the SUV in question. “I think you’re right. That’s not one of our cars, and I didn’t call for backup. Farrell, you know what to do,” he said. He shifted back to sit properly in his seat. He took hold of the armrest and braced himself.