by Anthology
“Life.”
He studied her a minute more before turning back at the fountain. “Life is long and last I saw you, you were full of happy and love and hope.”
“You want to say I-told-you-so, feel free.”
“I’d never be so crass, love.” He caressed her arm until he placed his hand on the back of hers. “Besides, to what would I be referring?”
She blinked, then blinked again. “He wasn’t who I thought he was.”
Ah. “As I said, life is long. If he’s the one who took your spark and dimmed it, I might have to challenge him, you know.”
She pulled her hand from his. “You’d have to find him first and he’s not worth it. I’m not the only one he let down. He went off to Europe and no one ever heard from him again and life went on. Time passes, time changes and we adapt. I’m no longer a bright-eyed girl looking for stars and sparkles. Now I see all the darkness and fight it when it comes.”
“Hmmm.”
“What?”
“Just imaging you with a sword.”
“They’re nice, though I prefer daggers.”
“Sexy,” he said, leaning in.
“And I know how to use them,” she smiled.
“I should hope so. You would be ruining my image of you if you didn’t.” Her in black leather pants and boots and a jacket. A gleaming dagger or short sword and…
“I don’t need to dress in leather. I’m rather proficient with a gun.”
“My fantasy gets better and better.”
Her gaze met his again and she blew out a breath. “I didn’t come to give you fantasies.”
“You don’t have to be here for that, love. I have them anyway and you’re usually involved.”
She shook her head. “I came here because there’s a soul thief. Immortals are ending up dead. We know it’s a female. I think she—Bianca—is the one who’s killing the immortals, Francisco,” she whispered.
He’d assumed that was where she was going with all this, but still, to hear that name. The damn witch had killed his own mentor and several friends, even his best friend, Orrin, who had been a werewolf, and Orrin’s whole family. That was what had made him hunt the bitch a couple of centuries ago.
He cleared his throat, noticing the flagstones were damp with the night beneath them, a blade of grass speared up between two of the squares.
Taking another sip, he calmed the anger churning within him. “Why? There are others who could learn the arts of power transference. The old texts are hidden, but they surface or copies of them do from time to time.” He hoped to hell the bitch wasn’t out.
“Others could, yes.” She stood. “Photos from an old dragon shifter in Seattle showed a ‘B’ cut or burned into his forehead.”
He stood and paced from one end of the courtyard to the other. Not nearly enough space to pace. This had been a sanctuary for him but now, it felt confined. He pulled at his collar, then turned and said, “Tell me everything.”
“We’re hoping you can tell us.”
“Us?” he snapped. “Who is us?”
“Dark Light Unlimited. The company I work for. As the world has grown and sped up, it’s often harder to find the immortals or those who harm them. We investigate things from time to time.”
He blew out a breath. “Who all works for you?”
“Not me. Theo Lancaster. I think he’s a warlock or a shifter of some sort. Not sure, never asked, won’t ask. He’s the boss. He rounded the rest of us up. Ended up working with my ex’s brother, which is interesting. Grayson and I fought a lot in the beginning, but then, we just called a truce. I think we both realized he either doesn’t want to be found and is exploring the ancient cities of Mali or something, or he’s in Faerie. Though many have tried to find him, no one has.”
“He could be dead,” he stated flatly.
She nodded. “Yes, he could. At this point, it hardly matters. He left. Life’s gone on.”
“Before or after you were bonded?”
She tilted her head and took another drink. “Does it matter?”
It shouldn’t. “I suppose not.”
“Before.” She shrugged. “In any case. I started working for Theo sometime after, and have stayed on ever since. We do good work. I enjoy it.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He knew of Dark Light Unlimited. He’d used them to track a few people.
For a moment neither said anything.
Devon cleared her throat. “With this case, I thought of Bianca and figured I’d look you up.”
“Who else has her mark on them?”
She’d remembered what he’d told her all those years ago about the soul eater, about how the witch loved to brand her initial on their foreheads, or on their chests. He remembered. He’d never ever forget. The worst was Orrin’s child the thief had taken as well. So many lives lost, so many souls taken. To where, no one knew.
4
Bianca hissed.
Blood ran down the man’s arms from where she’d hung him from his own kinky harness.
He was so close to death and yet, he didn’t find it.
“Do you know what I am?” she asked him softly as she leaned in. Clad in a leather corset and pants, spiky boots, she hadn’t had to work very hard to get the old warlock.
“I knew the moment you walked in,” he said hoarsely.
“Really?”
“You’re the same, Bianca.”
“Do you think so? I have to say spending so much time in the dungeon wasn’t great on my skin, but then lack of sunlight will do hideous things to a being.” She smoothed her hair down.
He grinned through bloody lips she’d bitten.
“Just kill me.”
“But you and I both know that’s not what I want to do at all. I have to keep you alive.”
“We both know,” he coughed, blood spitting out at her. “We both know you enjoying seeing the pain of others.”
“Of course.”
“It didn’t have to be this way, you—you know.”
She frowned. Yes it did. The old texts talked about how pain, fear, even joy could increase power. If their power was increased then so was hers. She’d just developed a taste for the darker not the lighter. She preferred fear to joy, terror to laughter. Horror to sadness.
She brushed her fingers along his cheek. “Ah but I’ve found the darker emotions give a stronger punch.”
“Evil begets evil,” he muttered.
She laughed. “Of course it does. What’s the point otherwise?”
She’d toyed with him for quite some time. Not days. Not like the one in Seattle or had it been Denver? It had taken her a bit to track Henri here. But if she found Henri, she knew she’d find Francisco.
“You won’t get him, you know,” he said as if reading her. He probably could. Warlocks had certain powers and often they were mind readers. She’d have to work on blocking. She was still more rusty after all these years than she’d have liked to be. Her time in the dungeon and even before running from those who sought her, had taken its toll on her. She had to find power sources more often now. She no longer could call down rain, or storms. Now the best she could do was some fog upon occasion and the power drain was enough it was rarely worth it.
Thankfully, most did not know how limited her powers really were. It was why she’d lain low for so long and had hunted slowly those who had once hunted her, rather than hunt them all at once as soon as she’d been free.
“How did you get out?”
She smiled at the question. “What does it matter to you?”
“It doesn’t. I’m merely waiting for you to kill me.”
She frowned again. “You’re not doing this right.”
He merely stared at her. “I’ve lived a long, long time and I’m ready to go.”
“Go where? I’ll have your soul.”
“Maybe,” he conceded. “I suppose we’ll find out.”
“He’s here isn’t he? In this town? You always followed him.” She didn’t und
erstand their friendship.
“He saved my life. I’ve made certain I’ll save his.”
She laughed. “Oh really?”
This time he grinned. “Kill me and find out.”
She wanted him scared, wanted him begging for his life. She didn’t mind them begging for death once she’d had her fun with them, but that wasn’t the case here. She turned from him and stared at the soft blue walls. The entire room was soft blue and gray. It was almost feminine, rather than masculine. He was a warlock and rumor had it he’d been a priest once upon a time. Which one he’d been first she didn’t know or care.
Probably the priest. Most went back to what they knew at some point in their life. The large cross intricately tattooed over his back proclaimed his deep held beliefs.
“Your god can’t save you.”
He didn’t answer her, just stared at her with dark green eyes. His blond hair was matted with blood and sweat to his forehead.
She tilted her head to the side. “If you really knew who I was, if you honestly recognized me, why did you invite me back to your house?”
This time he did smile, but it held no humor.
She glanced around, saw the cameras in the corner but those were already deactivated. So what was the reason?
He continued to stare at her.
“You knew I was coming,” she whispered.
He shrugged, or tried to, the movement limited from his shackled position.
She studied the bedroom. What had she missed? She wasn’t sure. Something.
Whirling she strode over to him and cupped his face between her palms. Chanting she tried to bind him but nothing happened.
She frowned, and chanted again.
Nothing.
His stared at her. “You can’t take what I won’t give.”
She laughed now, and she knew it held little amusement. “Darling, I can take anything I want.”
He muttered something in a language she didn’t know and then smiled. “No. No you can’t.” More blood trickled from his mouth. “You aren’t as powerful as you’d have many believe.”
This time she slapped him, hard enough he swung away from her in the bindings. Anger heated through her. “There’s still plenty I can do.”
“Probably,” he agreed.
If only she had more time. She could break him. She’d broken many, many others. “Men stronger than you have tried to beat me, and they lost,” she growled.
“I may lose the battle with you, but you won’t win the war.”
She reached over to the side table and picked up the ceremonial blade. “Oh really?”
“I’ve seen your blood spill. I know you don’t win the battle.”
She pressed the tip of the blade against his throat. “Did you see me die?”
He blinked.
“I didn’t think so.” She pressed harder and whispered words of old in a language time had forgotten.
His blood ran down the blade and onto her fingers. She leaned over and licked it, surprised it tasted off. Not as coppery as the others. Not as heavy with power.
She didn’t care though. He’d serve his purpose. As soon as that bastard vampire heard what happened to his friend, he would come. When he did, she’d be waiting on him. Waiting on him and she would draw him away to finish him off as she’d wanted to do since she’d fallen for the man so many centuries ago. It was always the ones who got away. Or who betrayed. Francisco had done both. She’d do whatever she must to make him hurt.
“Good bye, Henri.” She pressed the blade deep and cut.
Hot blood spurted out, dark red almost black. She stared at his face, kept chanting.
Nothing happened.
His gaze dimmed, he blinked and then his gaze shifted to something behind her. She saw nothing. Nothing at all, yet the air chilled.
The man hung there, a small smile on his lips as he looked beyond her. “Light. Love.”
At least she thought those were the words he spoke.
Again, she gripped his face between her palms, but he sighed, his eyes going glassy. Bianca stared at the man. It didn’t matter; he was dead. He hadn’t lasted long for as long as he’d been alive. You’d have thought he’d put up more of a fight.
What was with the light and love bit and where was the rush of power? Her fingers didn’t tingle; there was no hum under her skin. Though she breathed, she didn’t feel each breath as if there were a living thing in her lungs.
“You devious man,” she muttered, her anger dampening at his cleverness. “You already gave your power away didn’t you?”
Clever, clever Henri. How had he known? She remembered before, many others from long ago had been able to see the future. Others had dreams. Some were called prophets. Seers.
Henri had been old. Not as old as she, but old none the less. He’d been a Viking once upon a time. He was still tall, though he had aged some. Gray streaked through his light hair.
She glanced again around the room noting for the first time a chain hung from around his neck. Peering more closely, she saw there were strands of hair through the links of the chain, light and pale. A woman?
Love?
Sighing at the waste of it all, she patted his cheek. “Wanted to go did you? You should have just said. I could have just killed you. I wanted your power though. When did you give it up, I do wonder. No man gives up who he is, not even for a woman. Or a man, or whomever he loves.”
This time, she stripped and walked to the shower in the bathroom. She didn’t really like blood on her. The hot water washed his blood away and off her dagger.
What had he meant he’d seen her death? Had he really or had he just been talking?
Both?
Neither?
She didn’t know, didn’t care. She needed a disguise and she knew just the one to use. One that would surely bring the man she hunted straight to her. She’d done her research. She hadn’t just chosen New Orleans for fun. She’d known he was here. She’d just hoped he hadn’t moved on before she’d arrived.
Henri was still here. Chances were, Francisco was as well.
Paybacks were a bitch.
And it was time he paid.
Once done in the shower, she traveled through the house, checking out all the closets until she found one with clothes, a little big for her, and not her usual style, but then she needed to head to her hotel before coming back here.
She stopped at the front door, feeling the push of power against her as she tried to leave. A ward? One to keep her in rather than out.
“Clever, Henri, but not strong enough.” She pushed through it, felt it suck air from her lungs. Perhaps it was slightly more powerful than she’d originally believed.
Outside the midday sun beat down, even as cotton clouds danced in the blue sky. It would rain tonight. She might not be able to control the weather anymore, but she knew when it was going to rain, or snow, or if the winds would blow long and hard and dry.
Tonight there would be rain. And blood, though it would not be hers.
She whistled as she strode down the sidewalk to the corner and hailed a cab.
5
They talked for hours. Devon was exhausted, and so was Frankie. She could see it in the darkening beneath his eyes.
She finally told him where she was staying, in a major hotel on the other side of Canal. He would not hear of it.
She had forgotten how protective Frankie could be. Exhausted herself, she didn’t have the energy to fight him, so she’d gone with the bouncer—George, a cat shifter—to retrieve her things from the hotel. Mainly the thumb drive and her laptop. There were photos on there from crime scenes of the dead immortals. At least the ones they had.
Texting Theo for whatever information they had on the victims had been easy. His questioning replies had not been so easy to dodge, nor had his phone calls. She’d have to answer him sooner or later with more than she was following a lead. Otherwise, he would send one of the boys down to check on her. Frankie wasn’t the only over
protective other she knew.
Now they were upstairs in Frankie’s office. The converted attic was dark with no windows and only the added light from the fixtures. Drove her nuts. She enjoyed sunlight but knew he didn’t want burns, not that she could blame him. She was on edge and moody and needed some rest.
“So there are fifteen deaths stateside we know about.”
“Why do you assume there are more?” she asked, writing down something else he’d said.
“There are always more where Bianca is concerned. She never does anything in moderation. She a soulaholic.”
Devon stopped and looked at him. “I don’t think that’s a word.”
“It fits. She loves nothing more.”
“But it’s not the souls or she’d be happy with just any. It’s the power, right. So I think she’s just a power hungry witch. A powerholic.”
He rubbed his eyes. “I should have checked on her. I really should have. Kept contingencies in place.”
“Probably, but didn’t you leave it so others could check on her?”
He nodded. “Yes, those of the Order who basically police our kind. Part of the council. I’ve traced three of them all dead in the last century or so.”
“I do know who the Order is, thanks.”
He tilted his head. “I guess you would with the work you do.”
“Then again, you helped to capture her.”
“I might have helped to bind and imprison her as well. I don’t know if there are others like her. If she was the last. We didn’t really hear anymore about soul thieves after she was imprisoned. Nor did we find another one.”
“Well, if the Order—and why couldn’t they have come up with a better name? Would it hurt them to sound more modern?”
“New world child and all that? They tend to stay on their side of the pond. Most are snobs and embrace traditions.”
She rolled her head, trying to stretch her neck. “So of the Order whom you helped in Bianca’s capture, three are dead?”
“Yes and relatively recently. Not last year or the last decade even, earlier than that.”
“Let me see.” She looked at the list he was making. “It’s not like you could have known. Why was she walled up? Why wasn’t she just killed or burned or whatever they do to really powerful witches?”
