The Cursed (The Unearthly)

by Laura Thalassa

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Capture the killers, avoid the devil.

  “Can I see the files again?” Andre asked.

  “Sure.” I led us back to the study, where my book bag containing the files lay. Oliver and Caleb were already inside, Oliver texting like mad on his phone, and Caleb pacing the room.

  As soon as we entered, Caleb froze, his eyes scouring me as though he feared Andre had hurt me. I rolled my eyes. “Dramatic much?”

  “I was worried,” he said.

  Behind me Andre went rigid, and I heard the low growl he made. “Worried about what, shifter?” Andre said, his words even.

  I crouched in front of my bag. “Caleb—don’t answer that. It’s a loaded question. Andre, please don’t eat my friend.”

  Andre sighed, his anger morphing into exasperation. “I don’t know how many times we must go over this, Gabrielle, but I don’t eat people.”

  I stifled my smile and grabbed the file folders from my bag. “Here they are,” I said, standing up and handing them to Andre.

  “What’s going on?” Caleb asked.

  “Andre’s helping us on the case.”

  Caleb scowled at that, but said nothing.

  I turned my attention back to Andre. He opened the topmost file and picked up one of the photos from the second crime scene. From what I could tell, it looked to be a close-up of the altar.

  Andre made a small noise.

  “What?” I asked.

  “These aren’t just images of Hades and Persephone,” he said, shaking his head. His eyes scoured the photo. “These are images of the Eleusinian Mysteries.”

  “What are the Eleusinian Mysteries?” Caleb asked.

  Andre glanced up from the photos. “They were initiation ceremonies for the cult of Persephone and Demeter. These were secret religious rites that reenacted the abduction of Persephone.”

  All three men looked at me.

  I took a step back. “What?”

  “Nothing … Persephone,” Oliver said.

  I slitted my eyes at him. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Then what should I call you—Denial?”

  “How about Gabrielle?”

  Oliver buffed his nails on his shirt. “Well that’s just no fun.”

  “The cult is still around,” Andre said, “though I believe it’s now called the Eleusinian Order. And if I had to place money on it, I’d guess that’s who’s behind the murders.”

  Caleb cut in. “So if this cult believes that Gabrielle is Persephone, then we a big problem. Their goddess is still among the living.”

  Oliver’s eyes cut to me, and he raised his eyebrows. “Me thinks I know how this story ends.”

  I did too. If this murderous cult believed I was their Persephone, then they might take it upon themselves to unify me with my Hades.

  They might take it upon themselves to kill me.

  “So if the devil is behind these murders, then why two? And why in different cities?” I asked Caleb over breakfast the next morning.

  By then the storm had died down enough for travel, and we were up early to find out whether today we’d get back to work or be sent home. We’d already contacted Grigori and let him know about our findings, so our “expertise” would hopefully no longer be needed, and we could get the hell out of here.

  I didn’t have much time left in Romania, regardless; I knew that I couldn’t hold my protective boyfriend off for much longer. Last night Andre seemed ready to drag me kicking and screaming onto his jet and fly my ass out of the country. The only reason he hadn’t done so probably had something to do with the fact that his pilot had Christmas off.

  “Well, we know it’s not ley lines,” Caleb said, “and if the devil is behind this, then some meaningful pattern will eventually show up.”

  Hopefully this detail wouldn’t matter now that we’d essentially proved a cult was behind the murders. The Politia could just round up everyone in the cult and smack charges on them all.

  Something told me it wouldn’t be quite that easy.

  My phone went off. As soon as I saw Grigori’s name flash on the screen, I snatched it up. “Morning, Grigori,” I said, eyeing Caleb. He’d stopped spreading butter on his toast to hear our conversation.

  “Morning. Are you and Caleb ready to get back to work today?”

  My shoulders slumped. Not going home after all. “Of course. What’s today’s plan?”

  “While the storm passed through Cluj, our murderers struck again—twice.”

  My mouth parted in surprise. “Two more murders?”

  “In two cities dozens of miles apart from one another—and from us. Seems our killers were busy over the holidays.”

  I rubbed my brow.

  “The department is investigating your leads,” Grigori continued. “In the meantime, we’d like to take you and Caleb to the crime scene in Alba Iulia to see if it fits your theory.”

  I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Great. We’ll be ready to go in thirty minutes. We’re at Andre’s place.” I rattled off the address and hung up shortly thereafter.

  Another day, another murder scene. I sighed inwardly. The sooner Caleb and I did this, the sooner we’d get to go home.

  The snowstorm had let up, but the visibility was still awful. I stared out at the bleak scenery from the front seat of Grigori’s sedan, my mind far away. The car ride was quiet for miles, with the exception of Caleb’s quiet snores.

  Through the snowy haze, I watched Alba Iulia materialize. It was difficult to catch clear glimpses of the city as we drove through it, but from what I could tell, it had the same regal, Old World European beauty that Cluj had.

  The buildings began to thin out, looking a bit more decrepit, and I realized that we’d almost passed the city by. Eventually even those remaining buildings gave way to just a scattering of homes littering each side of the road.

  When fifteen minutes had gone by, and we hadn’t shown signs of stopping I stretched my limbs. “Do you know how much further we have?” I asked Grigori.

  “We should be there soon if the road continues to be as clear as it has been,” he said.

  I yawned, then blinked my eyes rapidly. Between dreams of the devil and the murder investigation, I hadn’t gotten much sleep since I’d been in Romania. Now it was starting to show.

  I grabbed the coffee Grigori had snagged me from the station and took a deep gulp, then another, wincing when the bitter black coffee hit my tongue.

  I frowned. Black like my soul.

  I kept the coffee in my lap as I stared out the window. The gentle rock of the car seemed to lull me, and my eyes drooped.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  I brought the coffee to my lips and drank deeply once more before setting the cup aside. If that didn’t wake me up, then nothing could.

  But even as I thought the words, my limbs and eyelids began to feel heavy. I fought to stay awake, but really, what was the harm? Grigori would wake me up when we arrived.

  With that final thought, I closed my eyes and drifted off.

  Chapter 23

  When Andre rose, it was with a smile. How my enemies would laugh at me, to see me now, he thought. For one like him, humanity came with a price. So did love.

  They were weaknesses to exploit. He knew that because he’d so often exploited those weaknesses in others.

  Before he met her.

  Now his wrath was a charade he had to keep up, his viciousness a cloak that hid something soft beneath it.

  He moved through the windowless chamber of the guest room he’d stayed in, wondering when he’d let Gabrielle see him sleep. She’d learned and accepted so much, but there was still so much of their world she hadn’t seen, hadn’t experienced.

 
And damn him, but he wanted to shield her from it for as long as possible.

  At the thought of her, he stilled.

  Where was their connection? He should’ve felt her energy pulling at him, beckoning him to find her. Now it was dim, nearly nonexistent.

  True and terrible fear coursed through him. Where was she?

  Not in the house.

  He began moving at once, prowling his halls like an animal. His servants stayed out of his way. They knew to remain scarce when he was like this.

  Andre glanced out the window. The snow was still coming down, not as heavy as it had been during the last couple days, but enough to deter one from going outside or venturing onto the road.

  Had she gone back to the inn? He ignored his twinge of hurt at the thought. I am the king of vampires; slights are met with anger, not sadness.

  Instead he made his way to his room, running a hand through his hair. He saw the rumpled sheets of his bed where she’d slept, ignoring the pang of lust that came with the image of her wrapped up in them. His woman in his sheets.

  His eyes fell on Gabrielle’s luggage.

  She hadn’t gone back to the inn.

  That realization should have brought relief, but instead fear and anger clawed away at him. She hadn’t gone back, yet she wasn’t in his house.

  Andre pulled his cell out of his pocket and dialed her phone. The call went straight to voicemail.

  Bloody hell.

  A courageous servant came up to him. “Sir, your guests—”

  “Get a car ready,” Andre said, unzipping her luggage, and praying that Gabrielle left those files behind.

  “But sir, the snow—”

  “Damn you, I said get a car ready!” he bellowed.

  He didn’t know where he was going yet, but he had an idea.

  I woke to a deathly chill and the smell of brimstone and decay. My eyes were covered and a cloth had been forced between my teeth.

  My shoulders throbbed from where they were wrenched behind my back, and my wrists were raw where they’d been tied together.

  Someone had kidnapped me and tied me up. A wave of frustration passed through me. Damn vampires couldn’t do this the easy way.

  But as I sorted through my most recent memories, dread replaced frustration. It couldn’t have been a vampire that had taken me. It had been broad daylight when I was last awake. Caleb, Grigori, and I had been heading to one of the most recent crime scenes. We’d never arrived.

  I remembered passing through Alba Iulia, curious as to why we hadn’t stopped when the murder supposedly took place there. I’d assumed that it had occurred just outside the city.

  I strained to remember what had happened after that. I’d been tired, so I’d downed my coffee, which only seemed to make me sleepier. There’d been an unnatural heaviness to my limbs.

  I swore, the sound muffled by the cloth in my mouth.

  The coffee had been laced with a sedative. I’d been drugged.

  Andre dug through Gabrielle’s clothes, searching for those damn files. Instead he came across lacey lingerie. His nostrils flared at the sight. Still, he snarled and threw the bag aside when he didn’t find what he was looking for.

  He grabbed the next bag, her laptop case. He almost shuddered out his relief when he saw the familiar manila folders sticking out.

  The coven, and not the Eleusinian Order, could be behind this. He dialed Vicca.

  “Hello Andre,” she purred.

  “Has the court decided to detain Gabrielle again?” Andre asked as he made his way down the hall.

  “Last I heard, she was under your roof. You know as well as I do that no one would try to kidnap her if she was staying in the royal quarters under your watch.” Vicca paused, and when she spoke again, her tone dripped with interest. “Has the little siren vanished under—?”

  Andre ended the call before she could finish. Vampires weren’t behind this. He’d figured as much.

  Like a madman he stalked to his office, throwing the folders down on his desk. If the Eleusinian Order was after Gabrielle, then he was going to have to figure out where the killers would take her. If it wasn’t too late.

  It couldn’t be.

  He opened the files and began thumbing through them. Stashed in one of them was a map of Romania. On it the crime scenes had been circled.

  My brilliant queen. He grabbed the phone and dialed the Politia’s offices in Cluj. “This is Andre de Leon, and I need to speak to Ivan Serban,” Andre said in Romanian.

  As usual his name elicited no questions. With a click, the line was transferred, and after two rings Ivan picked up. “This is Chief Constable Ivan Serban.”

  “Evening Ivan, this is Andre. One of my subjects, Gabrielle Fiori, is in Cluj working on one of your cases.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of this. What is it you want?” the chief constable said.

  “She was supposed to meet me this evening, but she never showed.”

  “What makes you think this concerns the Politia? This sounds like coven business.”

  “You misunderstand,” Andre said, anger sapping his voice of inflection. “I have reason to believe that she left my mansion when the sun rose with one of your men—Inspector Grigori Vasile.” The inspector’s name had rolled off Andre’s tongue from memory. Gabrielle might think her business with the Politia was hers alone, but Andre had made a point to make it his as well. “She has not come back since the sun has set, which means that her safety falls under your jurisdiction.”

  When his words were met with silence, Andre went on. “I will lay it out for you, Ivan: I am not only her king, I am also the person standing in as her sire. And I’m dating her. So you could say that I have a lot of vested interested in her.”

  The supernatural community didn’t know much about vampires, but they did know they were territorial creatures with a penchant for violence.

  “I will go to great lengths to protect her,” Andre continued, “and if harmed, I will go to great lengths to avenge her. So do me a favor and place a few calls. Find out what happened to her, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Ivan cleared his throat. “Call me back in ten minutes, and I will give you whatever information I can find.” Ivan’s tone was gruff when he spoke, as though he had control of the situation. As though he hadn’t simultaneously just been threatened and bribed within the same breath.

  As though he hadn’t just been bought.

  “Make it five.” Andre glanced down at Gabrielle’s map. “Oh, and while you’re at it, give me the names of the cities where the two most recent murders took place.”

  Someone had taken his soulmate. His. And now they would pay.

  The realization that I’d been drugged followed quickly with an even grimmer one. Grigori must’ve done it.

  The betrayal left a bad taste at the back of my mouth. Literally—that coffee was awful.

  My thoughts turned to Caleb. He’d been asleep while we were traveling. Had he been drugged too?

  I scented the air, searching for his familiar smell, but it was absent. Oh God, where was he?

  Pull it together, Gabrielle. You can’t help him until you help yourself.

  I wrestled with the bindings around my wrists. Someone had tied them together with rope, lots and lots of it. I tugged, trying to break the bonds, but I was weak from being drugged. Even my blindfold seemed to be immovable, no matter how many times I rubbed my shoulder against it, trying to pry it free.

  I gave up trying to loosen my bindings for a moment, relaxing my body against the soft mattress I’d been laid out on. I was on someone’s bed. Tied up. That meant that one, someone probably had carnal deeds on the mind, and two, only my cursed luck would land me into a situation where this wasn’t kinky. Just twisted as hell.

 
Soft, fluttery material brushed against my legs when I readjusted myself on the mattress. I froze at the sensation. It felt distinctly different from the wool sweater and jeans I’d been wearing.

  Had someone dressed me?

  Across the room a door opened, and I pushed myself upright and onto my knees.

  “Proserpine,” a female voice said, “we meet again.”

  Andre added the locations of the last two crime scenes to the map Gabrielle had started.

  He knew what he was looking for, already knew what he was going to see. Still, he let out an oath at the sight of those four dots arcing across the map.

  Not a ley line, but still a pattern of sorts. An incomplete one.

  What did four crime scenes dozens of miles apart have in common with one another? Nothing, unless he penciled in a fifth dot as he did now.

  He drew lines between them, joining each of the dots until a star formed. A pentagram.

  Andre was the one who had reassured Gabrielle all those months ago that pentagrams weren’t evil signs. Not unless they pointed down as this one did.

  Symbolism. Unholy symbolism.

  The other Satanic versions usually had the Beast’s face inside, the tips of his horns represented the two topmost points of the pentagram. On the map those points were the cities of Cluj-Napoca and Bistrița-Năsăud, where the first two murders had taken place.

  Beneath what would’ve been the devil’s chin rested the fifth point of the star, the dot that Andre had added in.

  Andre leaned on his knuckles against the desk and stared at it. A crime hadn’t occurred there yet, but if he did nothing, then tonight one would. And his soulmate would be the last victim.

  The woman’s footfalls crept closer to where I crouched on the bed. I recognized her voice from the club; she’d been the second attacker that night in Cluj, the petite one who’d shanked me.