by T. G. Ayer
Demon Kin
SoulTracker Book 2
T.G. Ayer
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
The SoulTracker Series
Skin Deep - A SkinWalker Novel #1
Skin Deep Ch1
Skin Deep Ch2
Skin Deep Ch3
Skin Deep Ch4
Retribution - Irin 1 Sample Chapters
Retribution Ch 1
Retribution Ch 2
Retribution Ch 3
Also by T.G. Ayer
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About the Author
Copyright
The DarkWorld: The SoulTracker Series
The DarkWorld: SoulTracker Series
The SoulTracker novels is a companion series set in the same world as the DarkWorld: SkinWalker books - Skin Deep & Lost Soul. Mel Morgan’s story can be read as standalone to the SkinWalker books. Both Mel & Saleem, as well as a few other characters, also appear in the SkinWalker books so if you wish to read Kailin & Logan’s story first clink the links and enjoy.
DarkWorld: SkinWalker: Skin Deep ~ Lost Soul ~ Last Chance ~ Blood Promise ~ Scorched Fury ~ Demon Hunter
DarkWorld Origins Novellas: Pyros
DarkWorld: SkinWalker: Blood Magic ~ Demon Kin
In the DarkWorld the things that go bump in the night are most likely true. And the problem is they are probably not sticking to bumping around in the night. They are everywhere. Your work colleagues, your teachers, even your friends. They’ve been living that way for a long time. And you haven’t noticed because they don’t want you to.
You’re much better off not asking any questions.
Chapter 1
SometimesI wondered what the point was of being able to track and find missing people for a living when I'd failed all these years to find Ari.
Find Ari.
Even that was a laugh. I should probably be looking for my little sister’s body, or her bones, but when I thought about her, it was in present tense, as if some part of me still hoped and believed that she was alive and when I did finally track her down, she'd be happy and well.
I smiled, unamused.
I was beginning to think like my clients. Not that I was always negative. I'd seen miraculous recoveries years after someone had been taken. I'd saved enough of the missing. The truth is, you can't predict whether you will find them dead or alive.
Or at all.
Arianne had been taken from me when I was twelve on the same night my parents were slaughtered. I’d been left more than an orphan, fighting cops who didn’t believe me, and a power growing faster than I could learn how to handle.
I'd never promised my clients anything because I knew what it felt like to have fake promises and assurance thrown at you. Giving families false hope was criminal. So I assured those stricken, dejected, worn out people that I would do my very best, because the last thing I’d want to do is promise to find their loved one alive only to end up recovering a body.
Or worse, nothing.
I lifted my hand and hurled the stone at the lake. It hit the calm, glassy surface with a slap, its flat bottom, and the speed with which it flew, giving it enough momentum to bounce off the water, skipping along the lake half a dozen times before it sank into its black depths.
The lake was my little secret.
Not even Drake knew I came here to think. To find a little peace in my frenetic life. Now, the afternoon sun glinted on the surface of the water, and sparkled like diamonds on the ripples caused by my stone.
Enclosed by conifers and gigantic evergreens on the opposite shore, and a white sandy beach on which I now stood, the water was almost always still. The lake was Dark Water, used by people to travel across the Veil to other realms, either on their own skill or when using a portal key. Which is why I was always careful about being here.
Those using portal keys tended to prefer to do so unseen.
Other than the realm travelers, the lake was mostly deserted. And Dark Water tends to kill the marine life, so fishermen went elsewhere. The gravelly shore was an accident waiting to happen with its dagger-sharp pieces of glass and shattered shell fragments which kept the families and holidaymakers away. The grass gave people mysterious cases of poison ivy when no such plant existed on the shoreline. And the birds dive-bombed visitors, making it dangerous for kids and babies.
Sometimes it paid to be paranormal.
Altogether, the magic kept people away, which meant the lake could remain my haven. Maybe I yearned for the silent peace it offered. Or maybe, as Drake would likely say, the glassy surface served to reflect my fears back to me, so I could wallow in my own sticky misery.
My cellphone rang, shrill enough to disturb the birds in the nearby trees sending them flapping into the air to seek a safer perch further away. They found branches and landed, each glaring at me, mortally offended at my disrespect.
Not having the luxury of ignoring the call, I ignored the birds instead, and answered.
"Morgan." A private number so I kept it professional.
"Morgan? You are Morgan?" The cool voice sounded piqued. And male.
I suppressed my irritation, instead of reminding the guy that he had phoned me. I responded. "Yes. I'm Morgan. How may I help you?"
The man sighed, frustration, and desperation reaching through the phone despite his irritation with Morgan. "You're the tracker?"
A question and a statement at the same time. I wasn't sure how to respond.
Clearing my throat, I said, "Yes. I'm the tracker. How may I help you?"
I withheld the truckload of profane words swimming around in my head. He'd expected Morgan to be possessed of a certain appendage which would be like some magical verification that he - Morgan - would be perfect for the job. Now that said Morgan clearly lacked said appendage, Mr Caller was attempting to make a decision.
He began to speak, his voice crackling in my ear. Then he hesitated.
I couldn't take it anymore. "Look. If you want me to take you on as a client, tell me what you need. If not, please don't waste my time. I have people to find."
He made a strangled sound then cleared his throat. "You have a decent success rate?"
The man liked his question/statement approach.
"Better than the cops, if that's what you mean." I rolled my eyes. "I'm the best in the country." So stop wasting my time. I left that unsaid, but my tone made it clear.
He grunted, and the sound of crackling plastic drifted into my ear. Was he squeezing the life out of his phone? Bad sign. Man had anger issues. "Fine. I need your help." He sounded reluct
ant. Perhaps in relation to the missing appendage?
"Do you need my help in finding someone?" I asked carefully. He had sounded pompous enough to want me to find his stolen diamonds or his cheating wife or his stolen ruby-encrusted Maserati - if that was a thing.
A long sigh. Depending on what he said next he was either staring at the ceiling in annoyance or running his fingers over his face in despair. "My daughter. She's missing."
Despair, then.
"How long?" I got down to business.
"Two weeks."
"Cops?"
"They're treating it as a runaway. Some of her things were gone."
"And you're sure she wouldn't have taken off for some reason?" Again I spoke carefully, kindly. However much of a pompous ass the man was, he was still a father with a missing kid.
This time the sound he made was a strangled sob. Pompous but expressive. "No. She'd never do that. The girls . . . they lost their mother a few months ago. We're all still grieving and Gia . . . she’d never leave us. She is our rock."
He fell silent. I knew what he was feeling. The throat closing over words you want to say. The tears heating the backs of your eyelids that threatened to turn you into a sniveling mess. I could just see him - wiping his eyes or swallowing really hard. Or making a tight painful fist in order to keep his emotions in check.
I nodded automatically even though he couldn't see my face. "Okay. I'll need details." I paused. "A name?"
A self-deprecating laugh. "My apologies. My name is Carlo Santiani." This time he paused and waited as if he expected me to recognize the name. I didn't. He cleared his throat again and when he spoke his voice was calm and businesslike. "My daughter, Gia, is fifteen. She went missing two weeks ago."
"I'll need to meet to make an assessment."
He grunted.
"I also need you to obtain copies of the case files from the cops."
"I already have them."
"And I'd need your utmost discretion. You cannot tell the cops that I'm considering your case. And if I do decide to take the job, you cannot tell them I’m working on it. They tend to make things more difficult for me."
"So you have a problem with the cops?" Suspicion simmered in his voice.
I smiled. "No. But they have a problem with my success rate."
"Good." Approval echoed in the word.
I was honored.
"Okay, there's a diner a few miles out of Chicago city limits." I preferred to meet potential clients away from the prying eyes of the CPD and their snitches. Not to mention my favourite Detective Fulbright, who seemed to turn up unexpectedly even when I wasn't on a case.
But the location didn't sit well with Santiani. "No. We'll meet at my home. You'll take the case."
I raised my eyebrows. "I will?" Presumptuous much.
"I apologize. I mean . . . it's legitimate. There isn't any reason you would decline. And . . . I need your help. I can't lose my daughter as well. This family . . . we just won't get through."
I sighed softly so he wouldn't hear. That I could understand. And it was probably the most influential part of tracking that kept me going. The fact that people needed my help.
The fact that Santiani still wanted me to take the case, missing appendage or not, said it all.
I opened my mouth to respond but he must have sensed my extended silence as reluctance because he cut me off. "I'll pay double your rate."
"Double?" I asked, a little confused. I wasn't out to extort my clients.
"Yes. I have more money than Midas. Money isn't an issue for me. I can even triple it."
"No. That won't be necessary. The normal rate will be fine." I cursed myself as I spoke. Part of me had really wanted to say I'd take triple thank you very much. The money would help. Our roof was leaking, and the plumbing was acting up. Not a surprise in our old Victorian. But I wasn't a leech.
"No. I'm paying double like I said." Arrogant again. "And I'll pay all your expenses until you find her."
"All?" Pompous as he was I was finding it hard to refuse his money. What the hell was wrong with me?
"Yes. Gas, food, accommodation, utilities. Just send me the receipts and I'll reimburse you."
"Look, Santiani. If this means I have to be exclusively on your case, then that's not possible. I sometimes work two or three cases at the same time and I can't justify ignoring leads on other missing people just for one client." At the moment I was actively trying to recover a certain Djinn Queen as well as looking for leads on Ari's disappearance. There wasn't a client in all the worlds who could tell me to stop.
"Of course not. I wouldn't expect that." Haughty now. "I'll foot the bill no matter what you do with your time. As long as you're investigating Gia's disappearance and giving me daily updates."
"Okay," I relented. Who was I to complain if Midas was throwing money at me? "I'll need an address."
I didn't even blink when he rattled off an address in The Glades. The houses up on the ridge were four million dollars a piece at minimum.
Definitely Midas.
Chapter 2
Sitting in Tara’s kitchen had always given me a sense of peace. Probably more to do with the effect my Fae friend had on people than the room, considering its battered sixties decor.
With the Santiani case on my mind, I’d stopped over at Tara’s to pick up a weapons order. Who knew when or if I’d need it. Nothing special though, just standard demon ammo that could take down even the strongest of demons. I never knew what type of demon waited for me around the corner.
Demons were the usual suspects when it came to missing people. Whether to feed on humans, to use them for rites or spells, or as captive slaves, they were generally responsible for death or abduction. My need for weapons were precautionary only as I usually scrammed as fast as possible and avoided them.
Of course, I could throw a mean left hook. Among other things.
Plus my Fae friend, who also happened to be the daughter of the Iron Queen, was going on an extended sabbatical of sorts, returning home to her family as her mother was called back to court. Which made my visit a farewell.
I’d been there a few minutes when Tara received a visitor. As the dark-haired girl walked toward the kitchen table, I looked up, shoving my own hair away from my face. I returned her smile, happy to see Kailin Odel again.
“Hi, Mel,” she said, the panther shifter’s wide grin reaching her bright green eyes, changing her subdued beauty to something stunning.
We’d first met when Kai had needed to track down her sister Greer. Sadly, though she’d brought Greer home from the Graylands, the girl had met an awful end at the hands of her rabid shifter boyfriend.
Strange bedfellows make for strange deaths.
Despite the horrible end, I’d been uplifted at having met the girl, comforted in the knowledge that there were more women out there like me, doing what they could to help others. Kailin Odel was an Alpha, which made her vastly more valuable as a friend.
We’d hit it off the moment we’d met, even though that day had been filled with tension. I’d found her sister, although I doubt Kai had been comforted by the knowledge that she was stuck in the dead lands.
Thankfully, my shifter friend hadn’t held it against me.
Kai held out a hand, the action making me want to laugh. We’d past the stage of such formalities a long time ago.
Rising, I grinned and leaned in for a hug. “Kai. How are you?”
“I take it you two are acquainted?” Tara smiled as she sorted ammo into their boxes.
I nodded, giving Kai a soft, sad smile. “Yes. I worked with Kai not long ago,” I said to Tara, then glanced back at the shifter. “I’m really sorry about your sister, Kai. If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
I’d missed Greer’s funeral as I’d been in Dastra, the demon plane, but even if I’d been able to attend, I’d likely have missed it. Funerals weren’t my thing.
Kai’s head jerked up and down. “Thanks. S
ometimes I think it was Greer’s time and sometimes I just think it’s all a cruel joke.”
I glanced at Kai, sadness - both empathetic and sympathetic - filling my heart. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”
Emotion overflowed in my throat and I puffed out a sigh as I wiped my hands on the front of my jeans and focused on Tara. She’d already packed the ammo into my rucksack, and I helped to load up a couple of pistols and a rifle. I lifted the heavy bag, hiding my reluctance to leave. Three women of like minds in a room but none of us were in the least bit carefree.
I pasted a grin on my face wanting this farewell to be one befitting royalty, as Tara was. “I’ll get going and let you two catch up. Thanks so much, Tara, and don’t stay gone too long, okay?”
Tara, Fae, metalsmith, daughter of the Iron Queen, could offer only a sad smile her eyes oddly dark and colorless. “I’ll try. No promises.” She wiggled her fingers at me as I swung the bag onto my shoulder.
Striding to the doorway, I said, “Take care, Kai. And don’t forget; let me know if you need any help. I’ll be there in a flash.”
The room filled with laughter as I moved to the storefront before jumping home.
Chapter 3
I'd been to the restroom in O'Hagan's Bar too many times. Teleporting without checking if it was occupied was a bad idea. I'd once jumped straight into the stall and landed directly behind the pasty white ass of some guy humping the daylights out of a woman, in such throes of pleasure, that she'd barely opened her eyes to notice there were three people in the cubicle instead of two.
I'd teleported out of the place so fast I was sure they'd gotten the scent of astral tires burning on the ether. Ever since then I used a bit more care, projecting first to ensure the coast was clear.
Thankfully this time it was, and as I materialized, I studied my reflection in the mirror. Old, brown and cracked, it should have been replaced a decade ago, but I suspected O'Hagan preferred the decrepit ambience it gave the place. Even the sink had brown water stains that made one wonder how they'd actually gotten there. Water ain't supposed to be brown, even in this day and age.
