The Paranormal Research and Rescue Institute Books 1-3: Books 1-3 in the Paranormal Research and Rescue Institute Series

by Lora Edwards

  “Yes, my lady?”

  Teagan sighed, having given up on trying to get the household staff to call her by her given name. “Could you please ask the cook to send me up a tray?” Teagan felt bad for this indulgence, but she was still a bit worn out and not ready to see others. She had probably done more socializing in the past few days than in the previous six months combined.

  “Yes, my lady.” The maid hurried out of the room to do her bidding.

  Teagan sat on the settee, wrapped herself in a blanket, and looked down at the leather journal that sat next to her. If she picked it up, would she find more observations of herself in those pages? Was he the man that had stared at her from across the room at the party?

  Another soft knock at the door and the maid returned with a plate of amazing smelling food. Teagan took the tray and thanked her.

  She would eat and then peruse a few more entries in the journal and afterward, she would go in search of Ovidia and Bran to check in on the plans for the day. Having a plan always made her feel more in control. Teagan tucked into her breakfast and tried not to think about the journal.

  Popping the last bite of food into her mouth, she set the tray aside and wiped her hands on the linen napkin, to prevent causing damage the fragile pages of the book. Picking it up, she began to again immerse herself in the thoughts of the Ripper.

  The show in Paris will be wonderful. New hunting grounds sound fabulous and being there for the gallery showing is such a good disguise. I will able to hunt a new class of depraved females—why give the English whores all my attention? It is well known that France is crawling with these unholy women as well. Someday, my greatness will be known and I will be thanked for removing such rubbish from the world. I should not be vilified in the newspapers—they should be thanking me for removing one more diseased whore from the streets. It is almost time for my debut..the man he was a means to an end. I have been waiting patiently, but the darkness grows and demands ever louder to be fed. Enough time has almost passed.

  Teagan flipped the page to the next entry, dated for that day.

  Yesterday I forced myself to go to another one of those garden parties the Ton so loves to throw. All those lovely ladies dancing and prancing all around, the predatory matrons out to bag a rich husband for their darling daughters. Among all that pretension, though, was the shining jewel, the exquisite Duchess Draconus. Her laugh, her dancing eyes, her wit—I almost swooned. Then that dratted Duke got in my way and whisked her off. For a moment, I thought she saw me, the real me, but alas my lovely lady was distracted. I will have her for my own and that Draconus will pay for putting his hands on my jewel. I will whisk her away, and she will thank me for it, and we will live in harmony. She will understand my work, my purpose, I can feel it.

  Teagan shut the book and laid it down, her heart pounding. He had been there the night before at the party, watching her. Was it the painter? He referenced a show in Paris—how many painters had shows in Paris? It was the center of culture and art, so there had to be more than one artist with an upcoming show there; how many of those painters were at the party? Bran had said that one of the other men said Duke Somerton had been there that night, and there was that man watching her from the shadows.

  Teagan turned to the rope and pulled hard. She needed to dress and go find Ovidia and Bran. She needed to inform them of this new development.

  “Teag, you really think it could be Duke Somerton,” Ovidia asked as they sat in the sitting room. Teagan had explained her theory to Bran and Ovidia then had shown them the entries in the journal.

  “There was more than one patron of the arts at the party last night, as well as more than one artist. Paris shows are common, and it could have been anyone. There is no way of knowing if it was him,” Bran said.

  “We have to be on guard for anything, Teag, but I agree with you, he does seem to fit the profile,” Ovidia said thoughtfully.

  “I think it is time to step up the investigation. Tonight, we venture back to Whitechapel to make ourselves familiar with the area and find the rest of the murder scenes. That way the next time we can go straight to them and not wander around in the dark like a bunch of bumbling idiots.” Bran stood as he spoke. “We can leave tonight after dark, and we can go out as the three drinking gentlemen again. What are your thoughts ladies,” Bran asked, arching an eyebrow in their direction.

  Both ladies nodded. “We’ll be ready,” Teagan confirmed. They needed to catch this man before his obsession with her turned deadly.

  The next few weeks flew by in a flurry of parties, along with undercover trips to Whitechapel. By the time the night of the next murder was upon them, their suspicions around Duke Somerton had grown and they could navigate Whitechapel in the dark with their eyes closed. They were ready; The Ripper would not escape them again.

  “Tonight, could be the night ladies. All of our work could lead us right to him in the next few hours.” Bran smiled, his dimples making a brief appearance, causing Teagan’s stomach to shiver. They had danced around their attraction for the past few weeks, spending some heated moments together, but she was still not sure if she was not just an available distraction. The possibility of her being his soul mate had not been discussed since the garden party.

  “That would be nice—I am very over wearing corsets, petticoats, and long dresses,” Teagan reported with a smile.

  “I don’t know why you object to looking like a woman Teag. It is all this dressing like a man that is tedious,” Ovidia responded, looking down at her fine three-piece suit.

  “Vid, you are just upset because that suit does nothing for your figure,” Teagan said, laughing.

  “I will not dignify that with any comment, though I do miss my wardrobe at home.”

  The carriage rocked to a stop and the three “gentlemen” spilled out onto the, now familiar, streets of Whitechapel.

  The street was quiet due to the early hour. The next victim, Annie Chapman, was thought to have been killed around 5:30 AM. Most of the occupants of Whitechapel were already hard at work in the factories that kept them poor, while some were still sleeping off the previous night’s activities.

  Bran led the way through the twisting streets. We will get to this one, save her, catch the Ripper, and go back to our regular lives, Teagan thought to herself as they rushed through the filthy streets.

  “You there, stop.” The three of them stopped and looked behind them. A bobby came striding up, his signature lamp casting a small glow of light in front of him. The dawn had started to creep up in the night sky but it was still quite dark in the maze of Whitechapel.

  “Officer, how may we be of assistance,” Bran asked in a friendly manner, shooting a look behind him to indicate that they should keep quiet. If they opened their mouths, they may give themselves away as women, and they did not have time to explain. Precious seconds ticked away toward the death of Annie Chapman.

  “What are you gentlemen doing out at this hour?” The bobby looked skeptically over at Teagan and Ovidia and they immediately leaned against each other and attempted to look inebriated.

  “I came down here to fetch these two rascals. They let loose with a hard night of drinking and did not return home. I promised my mother I would come down here and retrieve them, bring them back to dry out before her precious ball this evening.” Bran smiled, trying to pour all his powers of persuasion into the statement.

  “All right, but off with you.” Bran sighed in relief and turned to gather up his companions. The three of them quickly started down the street again.

  “Wait, you must be turned around—if you go that way it will take you deeper into the slum. Here, let me show you the way back,” the bobby called after them.

  “There is no need, officer. We do not want to pull you away from your important work, and I have a carriage waiting just down the street.” Bran smiled at the officer again as he tapped his fingers impatiently on his pants.

  “All right, you gentlemen enjoy the morning,” the bobby
said with a wry smile as he turned around and started back on his beat, his distinctive shoes making a clop, clop sound on the pavement, the small circle of his lamp fading as he turned the corner.

  “I thought we would never be rid of that beastly man! If we’re going to make it, we better hurry. We may catch him in the act as it is,” Ovidia said, starting to jog in the direction of 27 Hanbury Street where Annie Chapman’s body was found.

  As they drew closer, they heard shouts in the streets. They quickly rounded the corner and saw a small crowd had gathered around something on the ground, murmuring in shocked whispers.

  Teagan’s shoulders slumped—they were too late. Bran walked around to the back dooryard, the two women close behind him.

  On the filthy, damp ground lay the body of Annie Chapman. Her throat was slashed deep to the bone, the same as Mary Nichols, although the mutilation of her body was more savage. Her abdomen had been slashed open and her entrails sat upon her shoulders as if she wore a grisly shawl.

  “We do not need that bobby to find us here, we must go,” Bran whispered in Teagan’s ear.

  Dashing away a stray tear, she nodded and walked back toward where the carriage awaited them. “How does this keep happening? We know when the murder will happen, we know the time, date, and place—how did we not get to her in time!” Teagan’s voice was shaking with anger.

  “Teag, this happens sometimes. These women were fated to die. Fate, the universe, the timeline—whatever word you want to use—is righting itself. Bran and I have experienced this over and over in past missions. No matter how many times you try, some people are not meant to be saved.” Ovidia’s voice was laced with sadness, and Teagan knew there was a story to be told there.

  “How do you know? Maybe if we go back and try again, let it reset, we can save them?” A desperate quality snuck into Teagan’s voice. “These women did not deserve to die this way. Their lives are hard enough, do their deaths have to be that way too,” Teagan asked, a pleading tone joining the desperation in her voice.

  “Bran, it is time. We need to tell her the story of our first mission,” Ovidia said, her voice devoid of emotion.

  Bran nodded. “At the townhouse—I need whiskey if we are going to rehash that mess.”

  The trio walked through the streets quietly, each contemplating their own thoughts as they made their way to the carriage and during the ride back. Arriving at the townhouse, Bran strode into the study and grabbed the decanter of whiskey, pouring three glasses, while Ovidia lit the fire.

  Teagan sat down in one of the leather chairs and took the offered spirit. Ovidia sat next to her in an opposite chair and Bran chose a large leather armchair across from them. “On our first mission, Ovidia and I encountered a child. He was young and funny. He did errands for us, having no idea we were from the future. We were hunting a supernatural, a dangerous, mentally unstable one who was moving through the timeline killing anyone who crossed his path. Our small errand boy just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and, by the time we found him, it was too late. Ovidia held him as he passed from this life to the next. We attempted to jump back and fix his death several times, but things would never go right and we were always too late. After five attempts, Armand pulled us into his office and ordered us to stop. Fate had decided his death and no matter how many times we tried to change it, the outcome would be the same. Although heartbreaking, some deaths have a purpose, even if we cannot see that purpose.

  “This situation with the Ripper murders seems to be the same way. It does not mean we stop trying and if we can save even one of these women, the effort is worth it, but sometimes it is just not meant to be.” Bran’s voice caught on the last sentence and he drained his whiskey, rising to grab the decanter to pour another.

  Teagan looked over as Ovidia began to speak. “There have been others on other missions. It has happened enough times for us to recognize the signs. Teag, this can sometimes be a heart-wrenching and dangerous job. We would understand with the deaths of the two women and the possibility of not being able to stop the rest, along with the Ripper’s journal entries mentioning you, if you feel like you do not want to participate anymore, if you want to go back, it would be okay. Bran and I can finish the mission alone.”

  Teagan stood from the chair, slugged the whiskey back, and slammed the glass down on the table. “Quit? You think I want to quit now? Think I can’t hack it? You think I am too much of an academic and can’t handle the emotional side of it? I have studied Jack the Ripper backward and forward, have given numerous lectures on the murders, and have felt something akin to obsession about finding his identity. I am not leaving. I am not stopping. There is always the possibility that we will rescue one of them. If that is not meant to be, if we just stop him, then we save any victims he would have killed after the canonical five. He will not stop. As for his obsession with me, I can take care of myself, and I have the two of you for backup. I am staying and this is not going to be a topic of discussion again, understood?” Teagan waited until the other two nodded their heads before she turned around and left the study.

  Back in her room, she began ripping her clothes off, leaving them in a pile in the middle of the room before stomping to the armoire. She grabbed her leggings and sweatshirt, pulled on warm socks as well then started the fire in the grate with an angry wave of her hand. She sat and stared at the leaping, crackling flames. Did she not have what it takes to complete the mission? Did they think her weak because she had compassion for these poor women? In her opinion, compassion made you strong, able to continue on through awful things, to stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves. Concentrating on the fire, lost in her own thoughts, she did not hear Ovidia slip into the room.

  Looking up, she found her standing there, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. “Teag, I brought you some tea. Can we talk?”

  Teagan nodded her head and gestured to the chair next to her. “I did not mean to offend you, I was just thinking what it was like the first time for me. I felt as if there was not another option for me but to keep going, doing more missions. I wish someone had offered me an out. I would not have taken it, but it would have been nice to at least have the option. That was all I meant by it.”

  “I do not want to back out, I want to be part of this. Since we started this whole crazy thing, I finally feel like I am whole, like all the parts of me are there; now, after a lifetime of feeling like there was something missing. I can handle the sadness. Even though it is hard I would rather deal with that than go back to feeling as if something is missing. I feel that solving this case and catching the Ripper is something I was meant to do.”

  “I completely agree Teag, so we’re good?”

  “We’re good, thanks for the tea.”

  Ovidia stood, reaching down to hug Teagan as she walked by, then slowly closed the door.

  Teagan let out a deep breath, leaned back, contemplated the fire, and sipped her tea. A few moments later, she heard the door open again. “Vid, I told you we are good.”

  “It’s not Ovidia,” said a deep, masculine voice from behind the chair.

  Teagan turned around and looked into Bran’s face. “Sorry, Ovidia was just here. You do not need to apologize, Bran. I get where you guys were coming from, but I am not leaving. I need to finish this. I am strong and I am capable—I can help.”

  “I know that. You are so beautiful, strong, and capable. That is not why I came here tonight, Teagan. I am here because I am tired of fighting this attraction I have for you. The smell of your hair and skin seems to linger with me long after you’ve left a room. I find myself awake at night in my bed, unable to sleep for thoughts of you, here in the next room. You are like a fire in my blood. I do not know if we will burn each other out or if it will bank down into a slow burn that will last a lifetime, but I am tired of pretending I don’t have this need for you.”

  Teagan slowly stood, her mouth hanging open as he wrapped his arms around her and brought his lips to hers, sof
tly at first, until he felt her arms lift and wrap themselves around his neck. The kiss turned fierce then, his mouth slanting over hers again and again until Teagan could not find the will to care. She would give in to the attraction between them and let the fire engulf them both. She knew the consequences—she might come out the other side burned, but it was worth the risk. She quit worrying about the future and relaxed as the dragon’s heat engulfed her.

  Chapter 16

  Teagan snuggled under the covers and tried to bring back the delicious dream she had been having. Moving around to get more comfortable, she froze. What the hell is that? There should not have been muscular warm flesh in her bed.

  Opening one eye carefully, she slowly turned her head. Bran’s handsome face, relaxed in sleep, filled her vision. The night before came rushing back, the night where she had thrown out her inhibitions to let her feelings for Bran override her common sense.

  What the hell had she done? What was she going to do now? Was this supposed to be a one-night stand? Frantic thoughts ran through her head as real panic started to set in.

  “Teag, really, it is too early to think that much. Quit panicking, we will work it out,” came the gruff, just-woke-up voice from Bran.

  He hadn’t even opened his eyes—how did he know she was freaking out?

  “Because your heavy breathing is shaking this whole bed.”

  Holy, what? Is he reading my mind?

  “No, I am not reading your mind, but I am a dragon, meaning I have acute hearing, so I can hear your breathing change and the frantic beat of your heart rate.” Rolling over, he gave her a killer smile and said, “Hi.”

  Teagan could feel herself melting into a pile of hormones. “Hi back,” she said, shyly pulling up the sheet to cover more of herself.

  “I really enjoyed myself last night.”

  “Really, that is what you’re going to say,” Teagan asked as she turned her back to him, grabbing her robe and wrapping herself in it.