The Cursed (The Unearthly)

by Laura Thalassa

  Oliver sighed. “Damn, this isn’t a dream.”

  “Seriously Oliver, what are you doing here?” I asked. I’d been so close to sleep. So, so close.

  He raised his hands in the air, baring himself like an offering. “Ta-dah,” he said. “I’m your Christmas present.”

  This wasn’t happening. All that is holy, please tell me this wasn’t happening.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “How, exactly, did you get here?”

  Oliver waved a hand dismissively. “Ley lines.”

  Ley lines. Of course. He probably trampled right through our crime scene. Fairies.

  Oliver’s eyes moved over my blood-spattered body, and then he whistled. “Geez Sabertooth, did you munch on someone?” He gasped as another thought came to him. “You dirty slut!” he squealed. “You lost your V-card, didn’t you? I did not peg you for the S and M type, but then again, you are—”

  “She got stabbed, Oliver.” Caleb’s voice sounded tired and surprisingly defensive.

  Oliver’s expression morphed into one of shock. “Oh … dear.” His surprise only lasted a moment, and then he moved into action.

  He came over to my side of the bed. “You haven’t even been able to clean up yet, have you?” he clucked. “C’mon sweet thing, let’s get you a shower.” He picked up my hand and gave it a tug.

  I moaned and resisted. At this point, I was willing to pass out in bloody clothes.

  “You sound like a zombie. Actually, you kind of look like one too …” Oliver turned to Caleb. “Are you sure she just got stabbed?”

  “Meanie,” I mumbled.

  Caleb folded his arms, and his eyes flicked to me. “Want me to kick him out? Just give me the word, and I will.”

  “Hey!” Oliver said.

  Painfully I pushed myself upright. “No, that’s alright,” I said to Caleb, “though I do appreciate the thought.”

  Oliver huffed, but he was wise enough not to say anything for once.

  Pulling my shoes off, I stumbled over to the bathroom, ignoring the men in my room.

  It didn’t last long. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” Caleb asked, leaning in the doorway.

  I bent down and turned on the shower. “I’ll be fine.”

  “What are we supposed to do with him?” he asked.

  I rubbed my forehead. “I have no idea.”

  The buzzing of my phone’s alarm woke me. I wanted to cry. It was morning already? The alarm had to be wrong; I swear I’d just closed my eyes.

  When I reached over and to turn it off, I felt a warm body brush against my back, and a hand squeezed my breast.

  What. The. Hell?

  I made a strangled noise, and the hand squeezed tighter.

  “Oliver!” I yelped, my face turning all sorts of red. Not cool. This was so not cool.

  “Huh?” I heard the rustle of fabric as his head lifted from the pillow. “Oh—ah, I’m … er, touching your boob—ew.”

  “Could you remove it, please?” I asked, my voice strained.

  Why me? I shook my fist at the ceiling.

  “What are you doing?” he murmured, removing his hand and eyeing my fist. He shook his head and lay back down. “You’re such a big weirdo.” His body shifted, and I felt something press into my back.

  I couldn’t help it, I shrieked. “Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod! Morning wood! And it touched me! Ohmygod. You don’t even like women.” I said this last part accusingly.

  Oliver squealed as well. “Geez Sabertooth, stop screaming. It’s freaking me out.”

  “It’s freaking you out? It’s freaking you out!” I was officially losing it. “Well I’ll tell you what’s freaking me out. My gay friend has a—”

  Oliver rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I was getting turned on by you, harpy woman. Get over yourself.”

  “You were copping a feel in your sleep!”

  Oliver opened his mouth, then closed it and paused, a horrified expression gradually passing over his face. “I was.” He sucked in a breath and glared at his hand accusingly. “But I don’t like boobs …” he whispered to himself.

  A knock on the door interrupted us. I scrambled out of the bed and opened it, eager to put as much distance between me and that incident as possible.

  Caleb stood on the other side, already dressed for the day. Morning people. “Is everything okay?” he asked. He took me in then eyed the room beyond me. “I heard screaming.”

  “That would be the banshee you’re referring to,” Oliver yelled from the bed.

  I cleared my throat. “Everything’s fine. Just finished getting my morning’s friendly frisk from Oliver.” I yelled this last part over my shoulder.

  “Want one?” Oliver called back to Caleb.

  Caleb pressed his lips together in an attempt to keep from laughing. “Tempting, but I think I’ll pass.”

  “Your loss,” Oliver replied, his voice muffled as he turned over.

  “Still haven’t figured out what to do with him?” Caleb asked almost sympathetically.

  “I can hear you!” Oliver shouted. A second later I heard him throw off the covers. He padded over to us, clad in only in royal purple boxers with yellow fleur de lises all over them. “And I have many uses.”

  Caleb’s eyebrows shot up. “You two slept together like that?”

  “I didn’t think I’d get groped!” I said.

  “It was an accident,” Oliver said, exasperated. His eyes flicked to Caleb. “But it will probably happen again—maybe I should switch rooms,” he said, eyeing my partner.

  “Or get your own, moocher,” I said.

  Caleb pulled out his phone to check the time. “Grigori’s going to be here in twenty minutes, so …” So you might want to get your asses moving. He was too polite to say that, but his meaning was clear.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I rubbed my face, now remembering why I had to get up at the buttcrack of dawn. I had to give my statement. Again.

  Just one more awesome event to add to my sucktastic winter vacation.

  Boo.

  I slurped down my third cup of coffee in one of the Politia’s conference rooms.

  “So do you know what type of supernaturals either of them were?” Grigori asked. Another officer sat next to him, but Grigori was responsible for taking my official statement.

  I rested my hands palms up on the table and stared at them. “No, I have no idea what they were.”

  Frustration and embarrassment welled up in me. I was too young and too inexperienced to be an expert on this case. At least, that’s what I told myself to feel better. A small part of me wasn’t buying it. I really wanted to prove myself wrong, and I hadn’t been able to yet.

  “But when you spoke into the mike last night,” Grigori continued, “you told us you thought one of those women might be a siren.”

  I nodded, playing with my coffee’s plastic lid. “At the time I thought she was. She glamoured the crowd last night. I thought only sirens had that ability, so I assumed that’s what she was. But her skin didn’t light up when she used it. And she smelled funny, like ash and roses.” Not that I knew what I smelled like. Maybe I smelled like roasted flowers.

  “Also,” I added, “she told me she wasn’t a siren.”

  Grigori scribbled something down on a notepad he had with him before continuing.

  “And the other women,” he said, “did she have any special traits or abilities?”

  My hands fisted. “Like me, she was immune to glamour, and she moved faster than any supernatural being I know of.” I stared at my nails, my mind far away. “Both women referred to me as ‘consort,’ and she also called me some name …” I trailed off as I tried to remember it. “It started with a ‘P’.” I frowned at the memory. The women were cle
arly fans of the man in the suit.

  It went like that for another hour as Grigori squeezed out every detail of the evening. As we were wrapping up, he asked me one final question. “Why do you think they wanted to talk to you?”

  I thought of the first woman’s interest in me and her strange reverence. I shook my head. “I have no idea.”

  While Oliver was out shopping and playing tourist in Cluj, Caleb and I spent the afternoon piecing together what we knew. So far, we had two random murder locations, two elusive murder suspects, and only the most obscure motive.

  “At least we know now why our victims showed no signs of resistance other than the wounds on their feet,” Caleb said.

  I pushed down the bile at the thought. They’d been glamoured into compliance, into offering over their lives.

  “Do you think that these victim’s could’ve given their blood willingly if they’d been asked to under glamour?” The question burned on its way out of my lips.

  Caleb hesitated. “Maybe,” he finally said. He glanced down at his notes. “You said that one of the suspects mentioned she was following orders. If that’s true, who do you think is giving them?” Caleb asked, tapping a pen against the table.

  “I don’t know,” I said. But I did—or at least I had an idea. The ritualistic manner in which each victim was killed, the way the siren wannabe bowed to me, the names I’d been referred to.

  “You’re not saying the obvious,” Caleb stated. When I glanced at him he held my gaze. “Gabrielle, the devil has to be behind this.”

  After a moment of silence, I gave him a sharp nod, conceding to his words. “I’ve sort of been in denial.”

  “I can tell.” Caleb stared at me for a beat longer. He seemed to decide on something before he spoke again. “And I know you can tell that I’ve been distant for a while now.”

  Oh boy, we were going to have this conversation.

  “It’s just that you were with the devil for an evening, Gabrielle, and you’re a vampire. I’ve been conditioned to see those things as threats to the supernatural community.”

  I shifted in my seat. “Can we just go back to talking—”

  “Good and evil are real things in our world, and genetically, you’re predisposed for evil.”

  “Gee, thanks Caleb.”

  He shrugged, biting down on the edge of his pen. Then his open features darkened. “On the night of Samhain—the devil had you for God knows how long. I can’t imagine all you went through. How you must have suffered.”

  An image of Leanne’s empty eyes surfaced. I pushed it away. “Caleb, I really don’t want to talk about this.” I hadn’t, not since I’d given my official statement. Only Andre and the officers recording my statement knew.

  Caleb leaned forward and captured my hand in his own. “I need you to know why I’ve acted the way I have.”

  I glanced down at the way his hand folded around mine. The gesture was relatively innocent, but his scent betrayed his feelings.

  I nodded for him to go on, pretending that I couldn’t smell his desire.

  “I worried that when you came back, you might’ve … changed. And I was worried that, as your partner, I’d have to report it to the Politia.”

  I froze. “You would’ve done that?”

  He hesitated. “Yes,” he finally confessed, “I would’ve.”

  My chest hurt. Of course I understood, but it was painful to think that he’d give up that quickly on me.

  “And how about now?” I asked. “You’ve kept your distance since that night, Caleb. Do you still worry that I might turn evil?”

  Caleb shook his head. “I’m not worried about you—haven’t been for a long time. But I am worried for you. The Fates themselves don’t seem to have full control of your destiny, and the devil wants you—something I’ve never even heard of before.”

  Neither had I. But now that I had met him, I knew he did covet material things, including a woman of flesh and blood.

  Caleb squeezed my hand and looked away. “I am scared for you, Gabrielle because I don’t think the devil will stop coming after you.”

  He wouldn’t. Not until he owned my soul.

  Chapter 11

  Even after Caleb left, I’d stayed at my desk, doggedly following the leads that we had. Two women, one that smelled like ash and roses, another who moved faster than a vampire.

  I was aimlessly flipping through the notes I’d copied back at the library, when I heard a soft whisper.

  “Consort …”

  I shivered and glanced out my window. Darkness had just descended, and the snowstorm that had everyone so worried was now in full swing. A curtain of snow obscured the tree line outside the inn, and even with my night vision, I could only make out the stark contrast of the white snow against the dark night.

  “Gabrielle …”

  I dropped the papers on the table and stood up. “Caleb? Oliver?” I felt ridiculous calling out their names since both were probably in the dining room grabbing dinner.

  When no one responded, I snatched up my coat and paused. What, exactly, did I think I was doing?

  “Death …”

  I cocked my head. The voice came from outside. It shouldn’t have; sound shouldn’t carry that way in a snowstorm. I glanced out my window once more. Deep within the tree line, a shadow flickered.

  Something was out there.

  I slid my coat on and left my room. Perhaps it was the woman from the club, come to finish whatever it was she started. Or perhaps it was someone or something else. Since I’d arrived, it seemed as though I’d been hearing and seeing things. Now was as good a time as any to look into it.

  I strode down the hall and through the lobby, noticing that Caleb and Oliver were in fact eating dinner in the dining room when I passed it. I don’t know if either noticed me, but no one tried to stop me when I crossed the lobby and opened the front door.

  As soon as I stepped outside, the storm assaulted me. I pulled my flimsy jacket closer as the wind tugged at my hair and snow got ensnared within it.

  What are you doing, Gabrielle? Planning on hunting down phantom voices?

  The thought had barely crossed my mind when it spoke again. “… awaits you.” The voice slithered over my skin.

  After a long moment where I stood on the stoop of the inn like an idiot, the voice spoke again. “Come to me.”

  I wasn’t an idiot. I knew that I should turn on my heel and forget what I’d heard, or at least grab someone.

  But I was more curious than I was sensible.

  I took one step, then another, heading for the tree line. It was the same place I’d seen the shadow move.

  I’m just going to check. That’s all. I moved out of the light of the inn, and my vampiric eyesight took over.

  I entered the wooded area and closed my eyes, relying on my sense of smell and sound to guide me. When I sensed nothing, I spoke. “Are you going to show yourself?”

  “You … should … not … live,” the voice hissed.

  I took a step back. Okay, I was an idiot.

  “Who are you?” I asked, edging my way back out of the forest.

  “Messenger. Deliverer.”

  My eyes darted around the darkened woods. There was no one here. No scent, no pulse, no steady breathing. Only this voice.

  “You … are … his.”

  I could hear the beat of my heart between my ears, the sound growing louder and louder. All my senses crackled, searching the darkness for this being, and my muscles tensed, as though readying for attack.

  “Gabrielle.” Andre’s voice cut through the night, and the noise inside my head silenced. He was at my side in a second, brushing my hair back. “What are you doing out here?”

  I blinked at him, as if waking from a daze. Conce
rn pulled his brows together. I touched the side of his face, where the moon illuminated his high cheekbones. I shook my head. “I thought I heard something.”

  Andre’s eyes moved between mine, and then his gaze flicked to the forest around us. He wrapped an arm protectively around my shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  It was only as we neared the tree line that the voice spoke one final time. “You … will … die … soon.”

  On the walk back to the inn, Andre brooded but stayed silent. I knew he had a million things he wanted to say, and I could feel the tension pulling his muscles taut.

  A small smile tugged at my lips. I wondered how long he’d last before he unleashed his thoughts. The front door of the inn? The lobby? I might be this man’s soulmate, but he was still as headstrong as all get out. Self-restraint was a new concept for him, one that he’d only begun to practice since he met me.

  He made it to my room. “What was that, Gabrielle?” He shoved a hand through his hair as the door clicked shut. The angry, smoldering look he gave me skyrocketed the tension in the room.

  I leaned back against the door. “I heard a voice.”

  Andre’s eyebrows rose. “A voice,” he repeated.

  I rolled my lips in on each other. “Yep.”

  “And you followed it.” I could hear the skepticism lacing his voice. “After everything that’s happened to you, you followed this voice.”

  I gave him an obstinate look. “I can’t just live in fear.”

  He folded his arms. “Of course not. You must go greet threats with open arms.”

  Be mature, Gabrielle, be mature. “Screw you, Andre.”

  Okay, I was still working on the whole maturity thing.

  I went to push past him, but he caught my arm and reeled me in. “That was not a very nice thing to say,” he said, his voice low and menacing. His eyes glinted. At the moment Andre was a hundred percent predator. “I am not asking you to live in fear; I’m asking you to be smart about these things.”