Karma

by Nadine Nightingale

  I step back. Gray. Cold. Laughing. Groaning. This isn’t possible. Isobelle couldn’t be—but the summoning spell took ages to work.

  Fuck it, they didn’t. They wouldn’t. They hold them in dog kennels, rape them, and kill them. But would they really trap the soul of a ten-year-old in—

  “Purgatory,” I snarl through gritted teeth as reality hits me like a bolt of lightning. Those fucking assholes trapped her soul in freaking Purgatory. Supernatural creatures like demons and evil witches are trapped there once they meet their end, but it sure ain’t a playground for the souls of little kids.

  “Isobelle.” It comes out harsher than intended.

  She looks up, hope flickering in those big eyes. “Can you get me out of there?”

  I honestly don’t know. But what I do know is she must have seen something that could blow their covers. Why else would they kill her and trap her soul in the realm of monsters? “If you want to get out of that place, you need to show me what you saw when they held you captive,” I explain.

  “But—”

  I shake my head, unable to handle objections. “Remember the other kids?” I ask. When she nods, I continue, “They will do the same to them if you don’t help me.” I hold out my palm. “Give me your hand.”

  Her black eyes ogle me. “I don’t trust you.”

  I laugh. “Story of my life, honey. But right now I’m your only shot at getting outta there.” I point my chin at my hand. “So what’s it gonna be, love?”

  Weighing her options, she tenses. “What if he finds out?”

  There are a million things a bocor could do to a spirit, but if I want her to trust me, I have to do what I do best. I have to lie. “You’re dead, Isobelle. What else can he do to you?”

  She curls her toes and sighs. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Take my hand and focus on the one thing you were supposed to forget.”

  She looks confused. “What? How…”

  I smile, or at least I try to. “Just trust me, okay?”

  She nods and reaches for my hand. The second her fingers brush my palm, my head starts spinning.

  ****

  Isobelle’s hands were clenched around the cold iron bars. Her face soaked with tears; she tried to find a way out. But the steel was too solid, and no matter how hard she pushed and pulled, the bars didn’t move. Katniss would find a way out, she thought. But she was neither as brave nor as clever as her heroine.

  Hugging herself, she focused on the creepy chanting that floated through her prison. Although the words were alien to her, they still raised the hair on her arms.

  “Francois, are you down here?” a male voice echoed off the damp walls.

  Isobelle pressed her face against the iron. If the man saw her, he would surely free her, or at least tell the police.

  Footsteps resonated through the dungeon, and seconds later expensive leather shoes stopped in front of her kennel. “Francois?” the man in the black suit hissed. “Where are you?”

  The chanting died. “I’m right here, my friend.” Scorpion Man’s bare chest came into view. A weird symbol composed of lines, arrows, and circles covered most of his torso.

  Isobelle glared at the creepy tattoo and wondered what it meant.

  “Do you have it?” the other man asked impatiently.

  “Absolument,” Scorpion Man said, handing over a CD.

  The man shoved the CD into a black leather bag that had the words Love Kids And Support PCAC embroidered on it. “Is that all?” He didn’t sound happy.

  “Oui, but,” Francois cleared his throat, “we will have more. Bientot.”

  “You better,” the other one snarled, heading toward the exit.

  Panic rushed through Isobelle. She couldn’t let him go. He was her only hope of getting out. “Help.” Her voice was weak, and she knew she had to grow some balls and raise it. “Please, help me!”

  But he kept walking, never looking back.

  ****

  So the bastard’s real name is Francois, and the symbol on his chest happens to be the same one Hedwig had drawn on the floor. Call me crazy, but I don’t believe in coincidence. My head swims with information. The symbol. Francois. PCAC. God, I feel like I’m missing something.

  Isobelle tugs at my jacket. “Amanda,” she whispers. “Don’t send me back to that place.” The black of her irises changes to a light brown and eventually to blue. “Please,” she begs.

  I don’t think she deserves my pity after killing me, but no matter how hard I try, I just can’t be mad at her. “We’ll figure something out,” I promise and mean it.

  “Enough!” Tattoo Guy gets in my face. “I don’t give a fuck about this stupid brat. Get me outta here now.”

  Is he for real? I don’t mean to grin, but his stupidity doesn’t give me much of a choice. “Get you outta here? Dude, you’re dead.”

  The other spirits move closer. Shock transfixes their faces, or in half-face’s case, what’s left of it.

  Tattoo Guy wraps his bony fingers around my neck. “Liar!” he yells, chocking the death out of me. “I’m not dead. But I will be if I don’t deliver D’s package.”

  “You stupid fuck,” I croak as his fingers dig into my neck. “Your goddamn package is probably the reason all of you are here in the first place.”

  A flash of memory flickers across his face, and his grip loosens. “The shooting,” he mutters. “I was on my way to D when they started shooting from the car.” He lets go of me and runs a hand over the tattooed tear beneath his right eye. “Julio,” he screams. “Fucking bastard shot me.”

  I raise my brows. “Do I look like I give a shit?” Isobelle is trapped in Purgatory, and I’m a dead witch. I couldn’t care less about a fucktard who’s responsible for the death of innocent people.

  His eyes darken. I hate when spirits do that. “Get me outta here.” He sounds so inhuman, even Isobelle steps back.

  Jeez, where are the ghostbusters when you need them?

  “And how am I supposed to do that, genius?” I cross my arms. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m just as dead as the rest of you.”

  The expression on Tattoo Guy’s face changes into something incredibly dark. “You,” he shouts, approaching me like a freaking beast. “Will.” His fingers penetrate the skin on my chest and push toward my heart. “Help me.”

  Excruciating pain forces me to my knees. If I had known death would be this unpleasant, I’d have come up with an everlasting life spell by now.

  Wait a second. I’m dead. I shouldn’t even feel pain.

  Isobelle’s eyes widen as I flicker in and out of existence. “Amanda,” she cries, but her voice sounds less like her and more like Alex.

  “Amanda!” Wait that’s Alex’s voice.

  What the fuck is happening?

  Tattoo Guy continues to glare at me, but the morgue blurs. Shadows turn into light. Colors swirl around me like shooting stars, and the charged air electrocutes me.

  “Amanda, open your fucking eyes.” Alex sounds more desperate than ever.

  “Step back.”

  Is that Dr. DaSilva?

  Another burning sensation jolts through me, and I gasp for air.

  Am I breathing? I draw more air in. Oh my God, I’m actually breathing.

  “We have a heartbeat.” Dr. DaSilva’s voice thunders in my ears.

  “Manda? Open your goddamn eyes!”

  I’m dead. Didn’t he get the message?

  “Manda?” Alex’s warm hand rests against my cheek. “If you can hear me, please.” He trails off. “You can’t die.”

  Now he cares? I focus all my willpower on my eyelids, but they weigh a fucking ton.

  “Agent Bishop.” Dr. DaSilva gently slaps my cheek. “Can you hear me?”

  “Alex?” My throat is dry, my voice barely a whisper.

  “I’m here.” His hot breath beats against my cold face.

  I blink my eyes open. “What happened?”

  Eyes locked with mine, he rests a h
and on my forehead. “You almost died.”

  “Actually,” the doc says, his eyes drifting to the clock above the sliding door. “You did die.” He wipes the sweat off his forehead. “Three minutes, Agent Bishop. That’s a pretty long time without a heartbeat.”

  I push myself up on my elbows and look around. “You reanimated me on an autopsy table?”

  Dr. DaSilva frowns. “It’s not like we had much of a choice.” A smile tugs at his lips. “Besides, who doesn’t want to be resurrected on the autopsy table?”

  Covering my bare chest, I make a face.

  “Easy,” Alex says as I sit up. He looks me over. “You scared the living shit outta me, Manda.” He takes off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. “Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?”

  Wiping the dried blood off my mouth and nose, I shrug. “Please, Alex. As if you care if I live or die.”

  His eyes darken. “Is that all you have to say?”

  I shake my head and face the amazed doc. “The gang shooting downtown,” I mutter.

  “Yes?”

  “Tell the cops to look for a guy named Julio.”

  “How do you know—”

  “Just do it,” I hiss as my feet connect with the floor.

  Alex puts an arm around my waist to steady me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “The paramedics should be here any second,” Dr. DaSilva announces.

  I fake a smile. “I don’t need the paramedics.”

  “Agent Bishop,” he says, groaning. “Do I have to remind you your heart stopped beating?”

  I hug the fabric of Alex’s jacket closer to my chest and let my gaze drift over the body bags. “No, Dr. DaSilva. You don’t.”

  “Amanda,” Alex whispers. “What are you doing?”

  I linger on Isobelle’s lifeless body. “Whatever I have to.”

  Chapter 17

  “How are you holding up?” Alex asks, unlocking my room at the Hacienda Hotel. We could be halfway back to Bakersfield by now, but the only way he let me dodge the paramedics was promising we’d stay here the rest of the night.

  “Would you stop it already?” I get that he’s worried, but he must have asked me that question a million times in the last hour, and frankly, I’m beginning to lose my patience. “I’m fine, Alex. Really.” And that’s the truth for a change. My spell backfired, I got a glimpse of Limbo, and Dr. DaSilva brought me back. No biggie.

  Hand clenched around the doorknob, his gaze roams my face. “You don’t look so good, Manda. Maybe you should have listened to the doc.”

  Great idea. “And spent the next few weeks in the hospital for no other reason than being labeled a medical freak? Yeah, I don’t think so.” Pushing past him, I switch the light on and stagger into the bathroom.

  Alex leans against the doorframe. “What if your little trip to the otherworld generated permanent damage? Or worse, what if the bleeding comes back?” For a guy who claims he can shoot me in an instant, he wears a pretty depressing gray aura at the prospect of my final exit.

  I press both hands against the sink and stare at my fucked up reflection. Alex is right; I look more dead than alive. There’s still evidence of the blood that cascaded from my nose and mouth.

  “Amanda.”

  I face him.

  “Did you even listen to me? You could die. Again.” His gravelly voice sounds determined.

  After a shitty day like this, I don’t have the nerves to handle his overprotective, always-the-hero streak. Tilting my head to the side, I meet his intense gaze. “This wasn’t your fault, Alex, so stop actin’ as if you fuckin’ killed me.”

  A faint pink infuses his aura, signaling I’m on the right path. “Sure it was,” he says, looking worried. “You almost died because I forced you into this.”

  I laugh. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m here because fate wanted me here.” His lips part, but I keep going. “And I almost died because Isobelle blames me for her death, and you know what?” My voice breaks, but I regain control quickly. “She has a point. I should have known the bocor would sense me. I should have protected her. Instead, I took off because I was too weak to handle her emotions.”

  “Manda, this—”

  “Don’t.” I hold up my hand, stopping him before he can finish what we both know will be a lie. “I’m a big girl. I can handle the truth, Alex.” Turning on the faucet in the sink, I glare at the mirror. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like some alone time.”

  He’s reluctant, but knows better than to push me. “I’ll be outside.” He closes the door behind him.

  Washing the guilt and blood off my face, I return to what’s really important: freeing the kids, saving Jesse, and getting Isobelle out of Purgatory.

  First thing’s first.

  Isobelle is safe for now. I haven’t reversed the spell, which means her spirit is still in Limbo. Of course, Alex doesn’t know that. Letting a vengeful spirit roam around won’t exactly sit well with a hunter. But until I figure out how her soul can move to a child-approved afterlife, Limbo is where she’s going to stay.

  Jesse and the kids are a different story. Despite the visions, I still have no clue where to look for them. Since there’s no such thing as a location spell, and I pretty much suck at dowsing, I’m seriously running out of magical options.

  I dry my wet skin with a towel, glare at my trashed appearance, and think of the vision I had before Dr. DaSilva pulled me back. PCAC… PCAC… Why the fuck does that sound so familiar? When I thought the bocor had killed Isobelle because he was afraid she could blow their covers, I figured she had a location. That was wishful thinking, though. All she saw was a guy in a black suit with PCAC embroidered on his bag and the sigil on the bocor’s chest. I’m trying real hard to see the bigger picture, but can’t shake the feeling a piece of the puzzle is still missing.

  I throw the towel in the sink and yank the door open. “Alex?”

  A picture of misery, he’s sitting on my bed. “Yeah?”

  “Have you ever come across PCAC?”

  The are-you-serious look on his face, he arches a brow. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

  “Do I look like I’m jokin’?”

  Running a hand over his stubble, he pulls a face. “Harpers Ferry? Mayor? Ring a bell?”

  Oh. My. Gosh. Jamie. I smack my forehead. How the hell could I have forgotten that? Rushing toward the bed, I grab my iPad from the nightstand and double-click the home button.

  “What’s going on?” Alex asks, voice thick with worry as he stares at my trembling hands.

  “Not sure yet.” But if I can trust the thrilling sensation that roars through my guts, I would say I’m onto something. “Siri, Google Harpers Ferry Mayor Death.”

  “Searching Google for Harpers Ferry Mayor Death.” What can I say? Siri is a girl’s best friend, especially when her hands are way too shaky to type.

  Alex, now behind me, peeks over my shoulder. “Would you please tell me why you’re looking up the death?”

  I ignore the question and follow a link that leads me to the same Harpers Times article Alex held under my nose a couple of days ago. Like a freaking machine, I scan the words. “Damn, I knew it!”

  “What?” Alex’s face is a canvas of confusion.

  “Look at this,” I say, pointing to the article.

  His gaze flies over the words. “The popular mayor and founder of the Prevent Crimes Against Children (PCAC) Foundation, James McKenzie, 41, died earlier this week at his idyllic Harpers Ferry home.” Still at sixes and sevens, he looks up. “Why am I reading this again?”

  I turn the iPad around. “Was bleeding from mouth and nose,” I quote. “Doesn’t that sound familiar?”

  A wave of annoyance floods the room. “What are you getting at?”

  Hugging myself, I shake my head. “Isobelle was killed because she saw a guy in the dungeon who had PCAC embroidered on his bag. PCAC happens to be the organization founded by a pedophile, who happened to die in the exact sa
me unnatural way as Isobelle. This isn’t coincidence, Alex. It’s a freakin’ pattern.”

  “Or,” he sighs as his hand fists around his wild hair. “You used the same spell on the mayor as the bocor did on Isobelle. And the PCAC thing is just happenstance.”

  Even when the facts are laid out in front of him, he’d rather blame me than consider the option I’m not a cold-blooded assassin. Hell, why am I even surprised? To Alex, I’ll always be the evil witch-bitch.

  My blood boils. “I didn’t kill the freakin’ mayor.”

  “Look, Manda.” His gaze drops to the floor, and he draws a deep, long breath. “I want to believe you, God knows I do, but wherever you go, death follows.” Unable to look me in the eye, he shakes his head. “Our deal stands. Help me find my brother, and I will let you walk. Even if you did kill the guy.”

  I jump the first four stages of grief and fall right into crazy-ass rage. “What is wrong with you, Alex?” I advance toward him like a psychopath. “Does your hate for me run so deep it corrupts every sense of reality?”

  My quick heartbeat and the raw anger that bolts through me makes the world around me swim. Feeling nauseous, I stumble back, tripping over my own feet. “Whoa!” Alex shouts, grabbing my elbows and catching me just before I fall. “What the fuck, Amanda?”

  I try to pull away, but his grip is too firm. “Don’t you fuckin’ what-the-fuck me.”

  Cupping my elbows, he leads me to the bed. “Sit.”

  “I don’t want to—”

  “Now,” he orders, forcing me down.

  I feel miserable. My vision is blurred, my head hurts, and my heart celebrates Carnival in Rio. Maybe I should have seen a doctor after all.

  I use the back of my hand to wipe the cold sweat off my forehead as Alex sits next to me. “All right.” His eyes lock with mine. “Let’s say I believe you.” I give him a look, but he ignores it and continues, unimpressed. “Then what you’re saying is PCAC is a cover up for a child pornography ring. That right?”

  I haven’t really thought that far, but it sounds pretty damn reasonable. “Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  His aura radiates suspicion. The faint traces of blue in it, though, suggest he’s trying to keep an open mind. “There’s just one huge flaw in your theory.”