Nope, all those thoughts blew out of my head as if whooshed away with all the force of a hurricane roaring in off the open sea.
Corb’s mouth moved across mine with a silken skill that left me breathless, his siren magic cascading over my skin and calling up images of swimming naked in the ocean with him, of the waves washing against my skin and his lips following the path of the water.
He groaned into my mouth as one hand trailed down my neck, across my collarbone, down my arm, and then skillfully found its way around to the small of my back. He slid his hand under my shirt so he could press his palm against my bare skin.
I pushed myself against him, going onto my toes so I could get even closer. My hands found their way under his shirt, sliding up over his perfect abs to his chest, feeling every inch of him.
His skin was hot under my fingertips and I let my hands drift lower, closer to his belt buckle. Another whispered groan slid from his lips as he grabbed my ass and lifted me to sit on the kitchen counter.
“Better,” he growled as he tugged me to him, our bodies fitting all too well. His hands were at the edge of my shirt, and he pulled it up over my head. His shirt swiftly followed. Pressed together as we were, skin on skin, I couldn’t think past the feeling of his magic rolling through me, or maybe that was my magic answering his. I couldn’t be sure.
What I knew was that this felt like nothing else.
Our mouths barely left each other as we kissed harder and deeper, more frantic with each passing second, his magic pulsing harder through my veins, driving all sense out of my head. I wanted to roll around on him naked in the sand at the water’s edge, wanted to feel the waves wash over me while he pushed into me. A whimper slid out of me, and he kissed it away as I twisted where I sat, feeling him hard against me in every sense of the word.
Nothing mattered but Corb in that moment, him and his body, him and his touch and kisses that were slowly drowning me.
Not Gran.
Not almost dying.
Not finding out that there was a spell that could ruin the world . . . and I might know part of it.
That realization was what slowed me. It was no small thing to pull myself out from under the waves of desire.
And that was why I pulled back. If his magic was making me forget why we were there, then that wasn’t right. I put a hand on his chest, his heart hammering under my palm. My own heart was beating so hard, I could feel the pulse in my neck and other areas that were definitely below my belt.
“Corb, stop,” I whispered even as I planted another kiss on his lips.
He leaned his forehead against mine, kissing his way along the side of my face. “Bree, you undo me.”
A shudder slid through me, and I wanted nothing more than to take him to bed and find out where this tidal wave would carry us—if I could truly undo him. If this feeling of drowning while still being able to breathe would rock my world.
Part of me whispered yes, please.
The other part said I was a fool to even consider it. A romp, it would be nothing more than a romp. He flitted between relationships, and I would just be another notch in his belt. Maybe not right away, but at some point . . . I would just be another past tense girl.
I didn’t need my heart trampled on, not in the middle of a life-or-death situation. I needed to be smart, and that was hard when my body felt like a Niagara Falls of hormones.
Smart. I was smart.
I put both hands on his bare chest and gently pushed him back, much as the rest of my body protested. “I need to sleep. So do you.” His eyes lifted to mine, and I shook my head. “In our own beds. Alone.”
I slid off the counter and my legs barely held me up as I my feet touched the floor. Corb put his hands on my waist, helping me steady myself. Again I brushed them off. “Goodnight, Corb.”
I mean, it was first thing in the morning, but I wasn’t about to say good day. I grabbed my shirt from the counter and pulled it back on, inside out and backward, so the tag fluttered with each breath I blew out.
I grabbed my bag, then made my way through the house until I found the room that Gran had always liked. It felt like her. I opened the closet and, sure enough, I recognized a few of the tops on the hangers. “Hey, Gran,” I ran my fingers over the deep purple satin top, a color she had loved. “I’ll find you.”
Throat tight, I went to the attached bathroom, closed the door, and leaned against it. I just needed a minute.
I made myself move lest I end up in a crying puddle on the floor. I stripped out of my clothes down to my bra and underwear, and let myself back out into the bedroom and put my leather hip bag on the bedside table.
A whisper of cool air alerted me to Alan’s presence before he spoke.
“Made out with Corb, did you?” he said with surprisingly little venom.
I slid under the covers. He sat at the foot of the bed, his shoulders slumped and his belly hanging slightly over the edge of his pants. If he’d been kind to me, if he’d loved me the way I’d needed to be loved, I wouldn’t have cared that he was balding. Or had a pot belly. But he’d belittled me for every perceived shortcoming, and it had made his own imperfections glaringly obvious. I sighed. “Yes, I made out with Corb. You have something to say about it?”
He shrugged. “He always got the girl, Breena. You should keep that in mind.”
I yawned and put the back of my hand to my mouth. “Why would that bother me? I’m the girl, remember?”
Alan shook his head. “Do you see him sticking it out with you? You think you could put up with him cheating any more than you could handle it with me?” Alan snorted. “I mean, I didn’t know he was a siren. I knew he always got the girl, and then the next girl, and the next. He’s not made for monogamy. And if I know anything about you, it’s that you are. You are a one guy kind of girl.”
I frowned and closed my eyes, rolling my back to him.
“Just like old times,” he muttered.
I held up my hand and flipped him off.
“Again, just like old times. Real mature of you,” he said as he began to pace the room. Not that he made any sound with his feet, but I could sense him moving around. The swirls of energy as he passed me made me want to swat him.
Instead, I sat up, grabbed a t-shirt from the closet and slid it over my head, then snagged a pillow and a blanket, and made my way down to the first-floor sitting room. The house was quiet, everyone else was sleeping, and I just wanted . . .hell, I didn’t know what I wanted.
I wanted to see Crash. I wanted to know if anything I’d felt with Corb was real.
More than that, I wanted my gran back. I wanted to lean on her strength and ask her how in Hades we were going to get through this mess. I wanted to hear her laugh and see her smile, and yes, she was already dead, but this was like losing her all over again.
I put my head in my hands and a few tears slipped out. I missed my gran, and I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to bring her home. NOLA was no small city to take on, especially when you were looking for a ghost. There was probably a ghost on every damn corner.
I rubbed the tears away, but they kept coming as I stared out into the gloomy streets feeling sorry for myself.
The sun may have come up, but the clouds had stuck around and a steady drizzle coated the outside world with a gray tint. I think I drifted in and out of sleep, my eyes only closing for ten minutes at a time. Unable to really sleep, and unable to really be awake.
How to find Gran, that was the question that kept swirling through my head.
I snapped my fingers and hurried upstairs.
Back in my room (okay, Gran’s room), I dug through my bag and pulled out the folder with the case files for Gran’s, Alan’s, and my parents’ murders.
I spread the papers out, trying to see a link between them beyond the obvious. Alan leaned over my shoulder, sending a cold wash of air through me.
“What are you looking for?”
I flipped through the pictures, few as they were. “I
’m not sure exactly.” Then, swallowing my pride, I asked, “What would you suggest from a lawyer’s perspective?”
He leaned closer and motioned at the stack. Without a word, I spread the papers out farther so he could see them all individually. My bed was covered with the three different files.
As Alan studied them, frowning, I studied him. “Alan. You died here, is there anything at all you can remember about why you were here?”
He stepped back and frowned, brows creasing deeply. Rubbing at his forehead, he was quiet a moment before answering, “A business deal? I think . . . someone hired me?”
Holy schnitzel. “A client was here in NOLA?” This changed things.
Alan paced the room. “Yes, I don’t remember anything else like a woman—”
“And we both know that you hate anything supernatural, so this would not be your chosen vacation destination,” I said as I started yanking clothes on. Simple clothes from the closet, jeans and a tank top. From the looks of things the closet had clothes in a few sizes for whatever woman came through the safe house. The jeans were tight and the tank top loose, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Alan nodded furiously. “I remember . . . there was a large house, something very big like a mansion on a street corner. Three stories, I think?”
That wasn’t going to narrow it down for me, not here, but I kept my mouth shut as I laced up a pair of runners. I didn’t want to set him off. A ghost remembering anything about their death was a freaking miracle. “What else? Any detail could help.”
He blew out a long breath. “A sign on the house? I thought it was strange to meet there. Just a feeling.”
So maybe a tourist spot? That only slightly narrowed it down. “Color of the sign? Or a specific word that stood out to you?”
Alan left the room and started down the stairs. “I think I can find it.”
I followed him, leaving the files spread out on the bed. Before opening the door at the base of the stairs, which Alan had already glided through, I scrawled a note on one of the sticky notes on the foyer table. That went on the inside of the door, and away we went.
Going with Alan to do recon.
Yeah, like that wasn’t going to freak everyone out.
But Alan was jogging now, and I couldn’t lose sight of him. I hurried after him as he made his way off the coven’s property and deeper into the city.
I was quiet and let him take the lead. He’d stop at an intersection, sway a little like Robert, and then burst into action again, taking a left here, a right there, straight across. Because it was still so early in the morning, the streets were relatively quiet. The few people I saw? Well, I wasn’t even sure they were alive.
In fact, more than one person we passed had terrible wounds that bled onto their clothes, even though they were just going about their days. Ghosts.
I blinked, and more of them swirled into being, rising from the ground as I passed. Some wore modern clothes, others clearly had on clothing from long ago, history coming to life in front of me with hoop skirts and top hats.
I jogged through them, the coolness of their specters washing over me. I shivered and nearly lost sight of Alan.
But then I saw him, stopped in front of an oversized mansion with a big plaque out front that was supported on two wooden struts.
“Here. I was in here. He said it was fitting that we should meet here,” he whispered, turning to face me. I saw the fear in his eyes. “Bree. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to remember.”
I grimaced. “Who said it was fitting?”
“I don’t know.” His voice was softer yet.
I reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, about as comforting as I was going to get with my ex. “I don’t have my bag for you to hide in. Can you . . . can you wait outside for me?”
He gave me a tight nod and turned his back on the big mansion. “I think that’s best.”
“If I’m not out in fifteen minutes, go back to Penny’s and tell them I’m in trouble. Okay?”
Another nod, but his jaw was tight and I didn’t want to point out that his eyes looked pretty shiny. This place scared him.
That alone would have put me on edge. Plus, I knew he’d died here and someone, probably his murderer, had said it was a fitting place for them to meet. No question about it, I was walking into a bad situation.
I walked up to the edged pathway and finally took a good look at the plaque.
Madame Lalaurie Mansion.
I frowned. A whore house maybe? Was Alan killed for trying to get a freebie? I wouldn’t put it past him, but that didn’t explain the fear that had him shaking and glassy-eyed. Nor did it explain the connection to Gran and my parents.
I walked up the front steps of the mansion, the wood creaking beneath my feet. Now that didn’t bother me, not really. Old houses sounded like old houses, simple as that. But the door swinging open on its own? That was a bit creepy.
Because I’d had similar things happen before, with the blood-born demon at the Sorrel-Weed house in Savannah.
Mouth dry, I made myself go into the old house. I wasn’t a chicken shit, and this could not be worse than a blood-born demon. “Anybody home?” I called out, hating how shaky my voice was.
The reply was immediate and full of laughter and menace.
“Always.”
12
The door to the Madame Lalaurie Mansion slammed shut behind me, and I yelped as I leapt toward it, grabbing the handle. No amount of jiggling loosened the lock.
“Seriously?” I hollered, and from outside I heard Alan yell, “You want me to get help?”
“YES!”
I turned and plastered my back to the door. Slowing my breathing, I stared into the brightly lit room. There was an abundance of sconces, every last one filled with glowing candles. From somewhere deeper in the house came a distant scream followed by begging.
Begging not to be hurt. I blew out a breath. This place was ugly, but there was no feel of demons here. Just ghosts. Lots and lots of ghosts.
I swallowed hard and took a step forward. “My ex-husband was killed here.”
“He was,” the voice said.
Okay, okay, I could work with this. Ghost hunter it was today. “Can you tell me who did it?”
“The tonton macoutes killed your man.”
I blinked a few times because my head immediately went to Star Wars with the Tonton. “Can you tell me who you are?”
The ghost of a woman about my age stepped through the wall. She wore a dressing gown and had deep-set dark eyes and dark hair pulled off to the side. “I am the owner of this place, though they have made it far less grand than my home.”
Her eyes swept over the floor, the black and white marble seemingly insulting her. She sniffed. “What do you want ghost talker?”
Ghost talker? Was that what I was? I felt like it was close, but not quite everything.
Around me came the whispers of other ghosts, heard but not seen.
Run away!
“My husband was killed by tonton macoutes?” I repeated.
She smiled. “That bald fellow out there? Yes, I remember. I remember every death that has happened here. You are not afraid of me? That is strange.”
My eyebrows shot up. “You’re a ghost, which I suppose for some people would be terrifying, but me . . . well, I’ve seen my fair share of scary shit. Demons. Werewolves. Men with no faces.” I shrugged. “You get numb to it.”
Her eyes narrowed, and I could see she did not like my answer. A fluttering of what I knew were fairy wings tugged at my ears. I looked up to the ceiling, fully expecting to see Kinkly.
And while it was a fairy, this one had dark red hair and an outfit that matched. Her face was twisted up with what could only be called rage.
“Get out of here, mutt!” She zinged toward me, a three-inch sword in her left hand. She swung it at my face, and I sidestepped as the weight of the sword pulled her past me. Shooting a hand out, I grabbed her by the wings.
<
br /> She stopped struggling immediately. Wings were a delicate thing, and easily ripped, which we both knew. I held her up.
“Do I know you?”
The ghostly woman let out a snarl. “I will not be ignored!” A crack rent the air, and a sting shot through my shoulder, slashing my T-shirt and opening a slice in the skin underneath it.
I yelped and tossed the fairy into the air.
The fairy squeaked as she fought to get her wings going, but I turned from her to stare at the ghost, who now held a long bull whip in her hand.
I pointed a finger at her and snapped one word, putting some serious bite into it. “Sit!” Whatever power I had over the dead seemed to ripple between us and the woman sat, her eyes wide and her mouth open in a big O. Take that, you nasty piece of work.
The fairy chose that moment to take another literal swing at me.
The tip of the sword cut across my cheek, opening up a thin line, and I stumbled back so I didn’t lose an eyeball. I wanted to smash the little ducker, but the fae were with Crash and I didn’t want to hurt his people.
“I’m part fae, you dumbass!” I yelled as the fairy danced and dodged around me.
“Not enough fae for our king!” she yelled back. “You are mud, you are nothing! You stole him from our queen and now—” She screeched and went flying backward as a second fairy joined us.
Kinkly swept between us, her own weapon raised. “Scarlet, being a bitch as usual?”
I did a double take when I saw what she was packing. A freaking battle axe? I mean, sure, it was miniature, but who would’ve thought Kinkly had an axe just sitting around?
Scarlet shot upward and out through an open window. Kinkly looked at me. “I’m going to chase her a bit, you good?”
I nodded. “Anyone else coming?”
“Penny.”
Good enough.
Kinkly shot upward and out the window. I turned back to face the ghost, who was now sitting in a crumpled pile of her skirts on the floor. Skirts now, no longer a dressing gown?
Her eyes locked on mine. “I own these souls, you won’t take them from me.”
Run, run, run, run.
“A married couple died in New Orleans thirty years ago, do you remember them? They would have died the same way as my ex-husband,” I said, hoping I was right.
Midlife Ghost Hunter: A Paranormal Women's Fiction (The Forty Proof Series Book 4) Page 10
