Lure of Obsession (The Muse Chronicles Book 1)

by Lisa Kessler

  LURE OF OBSESSION

  Book #1 of the Muse Chronicles

  by

  Lisa Kessler

  Lure of Obsession Copyright © 2016 by Lisa Kessler

  EPUB Edition

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Visit Lisa’s website: Lisa-Kessler.com

  Sign up for Lisa’s newsletter: goo.gl/qaIIiS

  Edited by Double Vision Editorial, Danielle Poiesz

  Cover design by Fiona Jayde Media

  Interior Design by BB eBooks

  Vase Icon made by Freepik from www.flaticon.com is licensed under CC BY 3.0

  Manufactured in the United States of America First Edition August 2016

  ISBN: 978-0-9976274-0-4

  Other Novels by Lisa Kessler

  The Muse Chronicles

  LURE OF OBSESSION

  LEGEND OF LOVE

  The Night Series

  NIGHT WALKER

  NIGHT THIEF

  NIGHT DEMON

  NIGHT ANGEL

  NIGHT CHILD

  The Moon Series

  MOONLIGHT

  HUNTER’S MOON

  BLOOD MOON

  HARVEST MOON

  ICE MOON

  BLUE MOON

  Stand Alone Works

  BEG ME TO SLAY

  FORGOTTEN TREASURES

  ACROSS THE VEIL

  Dedication

  This one is for my stepmom, Vivian, who has spent most of her life as a teacher inspiring the next generation to reach for their dreams.

  Thanks for always loving me and my kids like your own.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Other Novels by Lisa Kessler

  Dedication

  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

  Thank You

  Other Novels by Lisa Kessler

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Mel stepped out of her car and froze. Damn. The condo was dark. Pitch dark. Nia never turned off a light, let alone all of them. Ever.

  Worst-case scenarios played across her mind until she wanted to jump back in her car and drive away. Mel rubbed her hand up her arm, quelling the goose bumps rising on her skin. She forced herself to try to be optimistic. Maybe Nia went out earlier in the afternoon and, by some freak chance, didn’t leave any lights on?

  No way. That was horseshit, and Mel knew it. She’d lived with Nia for two years now. The girl was incapable of facing the dark.

  Mel took a deep breath. Coming up with positive scenarios was difficult for her. The day she turned eighteen, the Muse of Tragic Poetry blossomed inside her, and with it came a penchant for tragedy. The glass was not only half-empty in her mind, but it could shatter at any moment. The awakening of her muse also caused her to have crazy dreams about a run-down theater and a group of women like her, who had a higher calling.

  Now, ten years later, she’d found her soul sisters, her fellow muses. Although they were mortal women only embodying the original Greek muses, each of her sisters had been chosen as a vessel—for reasons that were only clear to the gods themselves—to inspire the next generation of mankind. Together they’d worked and saved and pooled their money to buy the theater before it was marked for demolition, and together, they would restore it. The Theater of the Muses, Les Neufs Soeurs, would once again bring together the thinkers and artists and dreamers of the world.

  But in spite of the progress toward their ultimate goal, she still struggled against a part of herself that continued to live in a perpetual state of angst.

  Standing in the dark street where she could be hit by a car or abducted by an ax murderer wasn’t helping.

  Before she slammed the car door, she leaned in, snagging her messenger bag from the passenger seat. Her students’ English papers still needed grading. This is probably nothing.

  With the bag slung over her shoulder, she locked the car and crossed to her front door.

  Even the porch light, Nia’s twenty-four hour beacon, was off. A chill slithered down Mel’s spine like a viper. Her roommate, the reborn Muse of Astronomy, didn’t have energy conservation on her radar. She was all about stars and beacons of light in the darkness.

  Talons of dread sank into the muscles on Mel’s shoulders, and her chest constricted. The silence magnified each click as she slid her key into the lock. She opened the door slowly, her hand searching for the switch on the wall beside the door.

  Light flooded the room, and her heart stopped. Nia’s lifeless blue eyes gazed up from the floor at the base of the stairs.

  “No!” Mel collapsed next to her, pressing her fingers against Nia’s neck in search of a pulse. No sign of a heartbeat but her skin was still warm. Her head was at an impossible angle, a small halo of blood framing her blond hair like a shadow.

  “No,” she breathed. “Nia, no.” Mel blinked back hot tears, turning toward the staircase and looking it up and down. What had happened? Had she fallen?

  With a trembling hand, Mel reached over to close Nia’s eyes. Then she scrambled back, her stomach twisting. While her mind was always quick to envision the worst, this was the first time reality had lived up to her expectations—maybe even beyond. She made it back outside to the porch before she lost her dinner over the railing. Coughing, she fumbled for her cell phone in the pocket of her blazer and then dialed.

  “9-1-1 what’s your emergency?” the voice on the other end of the line asked.

  “My roommate. She’s—” Her voice cracked on a sob.

  “Is she injured?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, she was.” Mel squeezed her eyes shut, begging her brain to engage. “She’s dead. I think she fell. I don’t know. I just got home.”

  The operator managed to coax her address from her and kept her on the line until the first police car pulled up, lights flashing. She wasn’t sure how many others followed.

  Mel was vaguely aware of the officers jogging toward her and then disappearing inside while she sat on the steps, lost in a fog of shock, oblivious to the cops and medics going in and out of her condo. But one thought gnawed at her, refusing to be ignored: the lights had been off.

  Nia wouldn’t have come down the stairs in the dark. Not in a million years. The Muse inside of her thirsted for light. She didn’t even sleep in the dark. So who had turned them off?

  “Are you Melanie Jacoby?”

  She flinched at the sound of the stranger’s deep voice and blinked to find herself staring up at a broad-shouldered man dressed in navy-blue slacks and a white dress shirt. His cuffs were rolled up, exposing chiseled forearms. A tie hung loosely around his neck, the top button unfastened.

  “Mel,” she muttered, lifting her gaze to his face. He had a strong jawline and bright green eye
s, almost gray, in stark contrast to his dark hair. “Call me Mel.”

  “I’m Detective Malone.” He paused, giving me a second to keep up through the fog of shock. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Am I a suspect?” she blurted out.

  He cocked a brow and pulled a small spiral notepad from his pocket. “Should you be?”

  Under different circumstances, she might have found this guy attractive, but right now, her inner muse had her too wired with tragic twists to focus on much else. Wasn’t it enough that her roommate was dead? Couldn’t that be enough tragedy for one night?

  “No.” She sighed. “I wasn’t here when this happened, so I don’t think I’ll be much help with your questions. None of this makes sense.”

  He studied her for a moment and then slipped his pen back into his pocket. “We can do this later.” Detective Malone walked past her to the door and stopped. “Do you have family nearby? Anyone I can call for you?”

  “My sisters. Well, not really. Friends, I guess. Like sisters.” She shut her mouth, saving herself from more incomplete sentences.

  He mumbled something to another officer about the medical examiner signing off on something, but she couldn’t make out his words. A black van pulled up, and her vision blurred with another wave of tears. They were coming for Nia. No, not for Nia.

  For the body.

  Detective Malone came around in front of her, blocking the view of the medical examiner’s vehicle and its occupants while they unloaded a gurney.

  She wiped her eyes and looked up at him. “Am I free to go?”

  He held out a travel-sized pack of Kleenex. “I’m not sure you should be driving. Why don’t you come with me to the station? We can talk, and I’ll treat you to a bad cup of coffee.”

  “You make it sound pretty tempting.” She tugged out a tissue and stood up while she returned the almost-empty pack. She wiped her eyes and nose, and the tissue filled her lungs with his masculine scent, a combination of the ocean and something else that pulled at her. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

  But for a split second, it almost made her forget…

  Mel focused on his face instead of on the people with the latex gloves who were passing behind him. “Make it Starbucks and you’re on.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked, hinting at a smile that might make her knees weak if her friend wasn’t lying lifeless a few feet away.

  “You got it.” He tipped his head toward the street. “Let’s get out of here and let them finish up.”

  He grabbed the arm of another plainclothes officer, talking to him in low tones. They both glanced her way. Subtlety didn’t seem to be a priority at the moment. Detective Malone returned to her. “My partner will stay and gather evidence. Let’s see if we can find you some coffee.”

  She followed him to his car and got in. Through the window, an officer roped off the stairs to her front door with yellow crime-scene tape. Mel gnawed at her lower lip, fighting to keep it together. As Detective Malone pulled away from the curb, she closed her eyes and wished this nightmare were just a dream.

  He watched them drive away before stuffing his black leather gloves into the backpack. His hands still trembled with adrenaline.

  His first kill.

  Murder hadn’t been as difficult as he’d imagined. The Muse of Astronomy had been wearing her iPod, humming on her way out of the bedroom with running shoes in hand. He’d been waiting in the spare room, blade at the ready, but when she’d passed him on her way to the staircase, he’d recognized his chance. One firm shove and gravity had done the dirty work for him.

  She’d cried out once before her head struck the stairs, snapping her neck. He wondered if she’d seen his masked face before her world went dark. He hoped so.

  Urania—the first muse to cross off the Order’s target list.

  Of course, he’d hoped to finish both muses tonight. He’d been waiting in the kitchen, expecting her roommate to rush to the phone. Instead, she had surprised him by running out front and vomiting. She’d made her 911 call from the porch on her cell, and he’d been forced to slip out the back before the police arrived.

  No matter. He would find her again soon enough.

  Once the golden mask of Kronos was tucked safely inside his pack, he hooked it over his shoulder and walked away from the condominium complex.

  The Order of the Titans was a step closer to victory.

  And the glory rested squarely on his shoulders.

  Detective Nate Malone watched Mel pick at the cardboard sleeve of her latte cup. Under the blue fluorescent lights of the police station, her pale skin revealed a light dusting of tiny freckles along her nose and cheeks. He didn’t mean to notice them, but it was too late now. He also didn’t mean to notice her deep-brown eyes that opened the window to an old soul.

  He caught himself wanting to see her smile. What would her laughter sound like?

  Shit. What was wrong with him? He’d sat across the table from witnesses hundreds of times and he’d never felt so…drawn in. He shifted in his chair, struggling to stay focused on his purpose in bringing her here.

  To protect her.

  The thought jarred him further. He popped his ballpoint pen. “I need to ask you a few questions about your roommate.” She nodded but didn’t make any eye contact. “Was she depressed? Any mention of wanting to hurt herself?”

  Her eyes met his, a brief flash of anger sparking in them. “This wasn’t a suicide. Nia had big plans.”

  “Good to know.” He didn’t miss the fire in her stare. In spite of the evidence pointing to an accident, she was still convinced someone hurt her friend. He jotted a note and set his pen down. “Can you trace your steps for me from this afternoon until you found her?”

  She sipped her latte. “I teach poetry and classic literature at Crystal City High. I finished my last class, survived another staff meeting about the importance of standardized test scores, and then I gathered my students’ papers and left.”

  “Did you make any stops on your way home?”

  She nodded, fiddling with the sleeve on her latte again. “I got gas and stopped at Bartlett’s for a cup of soup. Nia was heading to the theater tonight. I thought I’d be on my own for dinner.”

  There was no logical excuse for the surge of desire to comfort her, but recognizing that it was irrational didn’t lessen its power. What the hell was wrong with him? Keep it professional, Malone.

  “What theater is this? Did she work there?” His pen was poised over his notepad, waiting for her to answer.

  After a beat, she said, “We own it. When we finish, it’s going to be a recreation of The Theater of the Muses in Paris. My sisters and I bought it last summer. It still looks pretty crappy, but we’re fixing it up.”

  He raised a brow. “So you and your roommate were related?”

  She sipped her drink and shrugged. He tried not to watch her wet her lips with her tongue. “Not blood related, but we’re all close, like sisters.”

  Nate rubbed at the back of his left shoulder, over the birthmark shaped like a half moon. It had never bugged him before, but now it was staring to itch like a son of a bitch, and his skin was hot all of a sudden. Pushing up his shirtsleeves, he continued his interview; taking notes until he felt sure the crime scene techs would be finished at Mel’s place.

  “That’s enough for now,” he said after ten more minutes of questions. “Is there a friend or family you can stay with tonight?”

  “I’ll call my friend Callie when I get home.” She rubbed her temples. “You still think it was an accident, don’t you?”

  He closed his notepad, tucking it into his pants pocket. “There were no signs of a forced entry. I didn’t see any defensive wounds, either. The medical examiner is leaning toward an accident unless we find something to the contrary…”

  “But there were no lights on.” Her dark eyes met his, pleading. “Not even the porch light. I know it sounds crazy, but it was always on. Nia was all about light
. She never turned them off.”

  He got up, crossing to her side of the table. “Maybe it burned out. I’ll check it out when we get back to your place.”

  “Thanks.”

  She didn’t look convinced, but what could he do? All the evidence pointed to an accident. No one broke in, and judging by the interview with Mel, her roommate hadn’t been depressed. But none of those facts changed the outcome.

  Her friend was still dead.

  He led her back to the parking lot and into his unmarked sedan. The dispatch radio provided background noise to cover the heavy silence as he drove. Every time he glanced over at his passenger, her attention was focused out the window. Most likely she was lost in thought and shocked that life could end so suddenly, or maybe she was wondering how she’d make the rent without her roommate.

  As a detective, he’d witnessed many stages of grief, but something about this woman got under his skin. Seeing her in pain had him wanting to get involved, to help her. It made the case feel personal. Not good.

  He parked at the curb and guided her up the walkway and under the police tape. She unlocked the door, and Nate stepped into the thick darkness first. Running his hand along the wall, his fingers brushed a switch.

  An image flashed in his mind—a large gloved hand touching the switch—before the porch light blazed to life, blinding him for a moment. He flinched at the image before he could stop himself. What the hell? He rubbed his eyes, blinking.

  Maybe he imagined it. But it sure looked like a man’s hand turning off the porch light.

  “It wasn’t burned out,” Mel said softly, taking a step back. “Someone turned it off. I told you. Someone else was here.”

  “The accident happened during the day. She may have accidentally bumped the switch and turned it off.”

  Mel shook her head, rushing between the light switches, turning them all on until the shadows were banished from the downstairs living area and hallway. She looked up at him, fear lining her eyes.