When Darkness Falls - Six Paranormal Novels in One Boxed Set

by Shalini Boland

  “Charles is not why I’ve been ‘MIA’.”

  “Charles?” Lauren asked. “Now there’s a sexy name! Well, out with it. You have to give me the spoon!”

  The scoop. I slipped around to the other side of the booth. “Let me get my lunch first.”

  I hated keeping secrets from Lauren, but I didn’t have much choice.

  Jack swooped by the table with Lauren’s previously-ordered salad. He stood at the end of the table, pencil tucked behind one ear. I never understood why he carried a pencil around, since he never wrote down anyone’s orders. “You ordering, Sophia?”

  “I’ll get it,” I said. The diner was short-staffed enough, with Jack having to tend the tables while I took my lunch.

  “Do I need to redefine ‘break’ for you?” Jack winked.

  Not being hungry, I opted for a strawberry milkshake and thanked him before he hurried back to the kitchen.

  Lauren leaned closer. “Sooo? Are you going to spill the rice about your big, mysterious night out?”

  “I hate to disappoint you, but there isn’t much to tell.” Other than that whole ‘almost killed by a Cruor’ thing.

  “Well, which club did you go to?” Lauren kept her eyes on me as Jack breezed by the table, dropping off my milkshake.

  I smiled my thanks to him and returned my attention to Lauren. “Which club?” I repeated. I cleared my throat. “Oh, some club in Denver. Hush, or something.”

  “Hush?” she asked, shaking pepper onto her salad. “I can’t believe you went to Hush.”

  “Well, believe it, because I did.”

  Actually, I’d never been to Hush. I felt terrible about all this lying I’d been doing lately. I couldn’t even blame my parents, because Mother had never lied on purpose.

  Delusions don’t count.

  Growing up, Mother always encouraged me to tell the truth. The truth will set you free, she said, and she’d reinforced the idea by letting me off the hook for anything I did wrong, so long as I was honest about it.

  But I still grew up to be a liar, even if I hated doing it. Whenever possible, I opted for evasion instead.

  “You okay?” Lauren asked, concern-lines creasing her brow. “You look a little green.”

  I was starting to feel a little green. “I’m fine.”

  “So, this guy—er, Charles? You met him there?” As she spoke, she waved her fork around dangerously. “He doesn’t look like the type that frequents Hush.”

  “Yep, he was there, I was there . . . we were both there.”

  “And?” Lauren crunched on a piece of iceberg lettuce and smiled. “Give me the details.”

  “We chatted for a bit, then I went back to Ivory’s house.”

  “That’s no fun.” She impaled a cherry tomato. The salad was under attack. Or maybe I felt under attack from Lauren’s barrage of questions. “When are you going to see him again?”

  “Honestly, Lauren—it’s nothing. We’re just meeting for coffee. We aren’t even friends.”

  “Then why are you two meeting for coffee?” she teased. “I should go with you. Make sure things don’t get too serious.”

  Pins and needles tingled my fingers. I’d been gripping my milkshake the entire time without realizing, numbing my hand with pressure and cold. I sipped my drink and pushed the glass away—far away, to the land of ketchup and mustard bottles.

  “I’ll manage. Jack will still be around. I’ll call you afterward.”

  Lauren must have sensed my discomfort, because she immediately dropped the subject and began talking about henna hair dye and organic nail polish.

  I was glad for a friend who knew me well, but there was still something about me that neither of us knew:

  I was a horrible judge of character.

  {ten}

  WITH SOME TIME LEFT before I planned to meet Charles, I ran a search for Basker Street on the break room computer—one of Jack’s few modern-day indulgences.

  Nothing at all.

  Not one street by that name anywhere in the world. Not even some place in Indonesia or France or anything. Growling, I closed my search and stuffed my red work shirt and apron into my workbag, showing off the mandala print top I wore underneath.

  When I returned to the main dining area, I spotted Charles seated in booth seven. The only other customers were paying their checks at the register.

  Finally. Time for answers.

  Charles stood and swept his arm toward the table. “Please, sit.”

  I obliged, cramming my bag and coat into the corner of the seat.

  He slid back into the booth. “Ivory said she told you everything.”

  Good—right to the point. “She didn’t say why you left me, but she told me more than enough.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “I’m trying not to think about it,” I said. “Why didn’t you say you knew her?”

  “I wasn’t concerned with her while dancing with you.” His gaze lifted, grazing over my body to settle on my face, and my stomach fluttered in response. He grinned. “You’re blushing.”

  Thanks for pointing that out.

  I picked a menu from behind the napkin holder and pretended to read, trying to ignore the increased warmth in my cheeks. “Hungry?”

  “Sorry,” he said, looking down to his own menu. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I thought if you were aware, you could stop.”

  “Stop blushing?”

  “Stop thinking about me that way.”

  That was a bit straightforward. It wasn’t like I wanted to be attracted to him. “Did you already order?”

  “I was waiting for you.” He turned to the hot beverages and side dish selections. “If I’m wrong, please, tell me otherwise.”

  So much for changing the subject. “I recall the attraction was mutual,” I said with all the confidence I could muster. Which wasn’t much.

  He smirked, lifting his eyes to mine, and a shiver trembled down my spine, straight through to my toes. “That is not why I’m here,” he said. “I’m here to ensure you receive whatever answers you need to get on with your life.”

  One of the new waitresses, Tina, walked up. She was dark-haired and all hips with a flat tummy. Everyone at the diner—customers and employees alike—loved her. She served two tall glasses of iced water with two straws. “Know what you want?”

  She wasn’t really asking us. Just him. Charles nodded toward me. “Ladies, first.”

  Tina’s shoulders sagged as she turned to face me. “Well?”

  Unable to think, I ordered coffee, then I started folding the straw for my water into a tiny plastic accordion—anything to get her questioning gaze off me. I know! I don’t drink coffee! Everyone who worked at the diner for more than five minutes knew that. I was starting to think Jack had made it part of the training. Over here, you’ll find the silverware. And, if you look to the left, you’ll see Sophia. She doesn’t drink coffee.

  “I thought you don’t—” she began.

  “Coffee,” I said firmly, glaring at her. No wonder people in town thought I was crazy.

  With a shake of her head, she turned to Charles, who ordered his coffee in a tone of voice much lighter than the one he used with me.

  When Tina was out of earshot, I lifted my gaze to Charles.

  “About the other night . . . ”

  Charles plunked his straw into his water. “The less I tell you, the better.”

  Better for who? “You left me.”

  He placed one of his hands over both of mine. I’m sure he meant it to be calming, like trying to relax a child on the verge of a tantrum, but instead his touch sent tingles up my arms.

  “I didn’t leave,” he said.

  Tina returned, and Charles released my hands. She poured two fresh cups of coffee and set a dish of creamers between us. I tapped my foot under the table. Hurry up!

  “Let me know if you need anything else.” She waited expectantly, staring at Charles, who busied himself stirring h
is coffee.

  “That’s all,” I said. “Thanks.”

  She continued staring at Charles, smiling. “Are you sure?”

  He looked up. “We’re fine, thank you.”

  She frowned and headed back to the kitchen.

  At least I wasn’t the only one hopelessly attracted to him.

  Charles cleared his throat. “Sophia,” he whispered. “Stop staring at that poor girl.”

  “Tina?” How was she a ‘poor girl’?

  “Why are you staring at her?”

  “I wasn’t. She was staring at you.” I immediately regretted my catty remark.

  Teal eyes, dark beneath the shadow of his tangled eyelashes, centered on me. A smile crept onto his face. “You’re jealous.”

  “I’m not. I just . . . noticed.”

  “She doesn’t hold a candle to you, if that makes you feel better.”

  I was so not talking to him about this. “This isn’t why we’re here.”

  “Of course it isn’t.” Something in his tone suggested he was mocking me.

  He wrapped his hands around the ceramic mug and rubbed his thumb across its smooth surface. My gaze drifted to his forearm, to the way his muscles flexed each time he moved, but I forced my attention back to his face.

  I needed to stay focused. “You were going to tell me about why you abandoned me in the woods.”

  “I didn’t,” he said. “I changed.”

  “You changed?” I lowered my voice to a harsh whisper. “What? Your clothes? That’s your excuse? You better be joking.”

  “I’m an elemental.” He spoke quietly enough. Even if anyone else had been in the diner, they wouldn’t have heard.

  Or had a clue what he was talking about.

  I blinked and pulled back. “You’re one of the Cruor?”

  “I didn’t say that,” he snapped, but then his expression softened. “I’m a water elemental. Some refer to us as the Strigoi.”

  Earth elementals, water elementals . . . there had to be others, but the more I learned, the more I thought I’d be better off not knowing. I recalled the mythology books I’d read in high school, but I didn’t remember them referring to the Strigoi as elementals.

  “You turn into an owl and prey on infants?” I asked. “Their internal organs or whatever?”

  Same thing, right?

  “Sometimes we turn into owls, though it’s the Stryx who transform into owls exclusively,” he said. “Unfortunately, the Strigoi have somehow been tied in with the Stryx legends.”

  “So you prey on infants or not?”

  “No. Not infants.”

  “Then what?”

  “Animals.”

  “Infant animals?”

  His gaze hardened. “Is this what you want to know?”

  No. I wanted to know what happened to my ancestor and how to cure the whispering curse. Instead, I’d been thrown into a world of elementals.

  I added several creamers to my mug until the coffee thinned and clouded. I swirled my spoon in the mug. Click. Clank. Swirl. Click. Clank. Swirl. I’m not sitting in this booth I’ve wiped a hundred times, listening to a strange man tell me he can morph into an animal.

  I found my voice. “What else?”

  Charles leaned back and gave the edge of the table a tap of his fingers. “What do you mean . . . what else?”

  “I mean, what else exists? Santa Claus, the Easter bunny?”

  He smiled from behind his mug and took another sip. “You’re taking this better than I expected.”

  “I get that a lot. My ‘time to panic’ meter has always been out of whack.” I stared into his eyes, but his gaze never wavered. “This doesn’t explain why you left.”

  “I thought I could return in time, but when I got back, you were gone.” He looked out the diner window and frowned. “You’ve asked enough questions now. It’s not safe to know these things.”

  “It’s not safe for me to not know, either,” I said. The last moments of the attack whisked through my mind. “The . . . eagle?”

  “If I had chased him off in time, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

  “But a bird?”

  “In our animal form, our attacks are more potent to their kind.”

  “So what took so long?” I asked.

  “Shifting can take a while. Then I had to find you again.” His jaw tightened. “You didn’t stay where I left you.”

  “Forgive me for wanting to stay alive.”

  He nodded solemnly. “Everything happened quite quickly.”

  As my trembling hand stirred my coffee, I stared at the milky swirls. “I don’t know what to say.”

  My logical mind didn’t want to accept the revelation, but I would worry about making sense of everything later. Charles took the final sip of his coffee, then he reached across the table to still my hand. The clanking stopped. I lifted my gaze to meet his, and my nerves settled.

  “I’m not going to say anything,” I promised. Not that anyone would believe me anyway.

  “I wouldn’t have told you if I thought you would.”

  “So you trust me?” I asked. “Why? I don’t trust you.” I bit my lip, immediately regretting my blurted sentiments.

  His grin slipped, and he shook his head. “You’re a good person. You deserved to know.”

  “You don’t know what kind of person I am.” Why was I arguing? It’s not like I wanted to convince him I was horrible.

  “Sophia,” he said, leveling his gaze at me. “This is part of who I am. As a Strigoi, I can read auras. You will not leave me quickly fooled.”

  “I don’t have an aura, re-mem-ber?”

  Charles raised his eyebrows at my immature over-enunciation. “All elementals have their gifts,” he said. “The Strigoi’s ability to read auras was intended to detect and hunt the corrupt Cruor. It’s said those who don’t have an aura come from a pure soul.”

  Seriously? I was a liar and a thief. How was that ‘pure’? “If that’s the case, then why did you think I was following you?”

  “You could have been under Marcus’ influence. Or starting down a bad path. I gave you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “So your kind hunts the corrupt Cruor. Does this mean you can get rid of Marcus?”

  “We’re intended to hunt them. We’re not mindless robots. We haven’t all become hunters.”

  “Can you get rid of him or not?”

  “I understand your concerns, but no, I cannot ‘get rid of him’. While it was inexcusable for him to break into your house, I have no authority to intervene. As it stands, the Cruor can’t afford to draw any attention to themselves with menial tampering in humans’ lives, and if I went after him, it would only make things worse for us both.”

  “I can’t risk it,” I said. “I need to do something. What can I do?”

  “I suppose you will stay with me.” He sighed wearily.

  Gee, don’t sound too enthused.

  “I have a spare room,” he continued, “and my location is safe. I would be right down the hall if you needed me.”

  “I can’t,” I said, partly because I barely knew him and partly because he obviously didn’t want me to stay with him. “Are there any other options?”

  His sharp gaze cut through me. “It wasn’t a suggestion, Sophia. Unless you wish to further expose yourself to the unsavory of my kind, you will stay with me.”

  The idea crashed into me. My come-what-may attitude was being tested, but I refused to let Charles witness any weakness in me. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I will escort you to my home and gather your things,” he said. “Now, why don’t we get out of here? You’ve been here all day.”

  Just like that? He wanted to move on with the afternoon, as though he hadn’t just tried to make my decisions for me? As though my whole world hadn’t changed over the course of our conversation?

  Things had changed. Like a flash flood in the canyons. It started as a thunderstorm, but the water rushed down from the high plai
ns, quickly turning a three-foot creek into rampaging water. That was where I stood now. Right in the path of the oncoming torrent.

  “By all means, don’t make haste for my benefit,” he said.

  Fresh air would be better than dwelling on supernatural creatures. “Sure. Let’s go.”

  While I slipped into my coat, Charles paid our bill. I left a couple dollars under my mug before meeting him over by the door. He placed his hand at the small of my back as he held the door open and ushered me outside, and my whole body warmed at his touch. The mixed signals—his as well as my own—were driving me crazy.

  As soon as we were outside, his hand dropped away, and he rubbed his hands together against the cold afternoon air. Cars whooshed past, and, in an alley across the street, a garbage truck hoisted a dumpster.

  We walked down a side street. Wind slapped my cheeks with scents of rusted metal and Cantonese takeout. Snow crunched beneath our feet, and the late September sunlight reflected so bright off the white sheet it made the day appear warmer than it was.

  I glanced down the road, to the forest obstructing the mountains on the horizon.

  “What were you doing in the Belle Meadow woods that night?” I asked.

  “A couple of weeks ago?”

  “Was there some other night?”

  He focused on the middle distance as we walked. “I’m there a lot of nights. Hunting.”

  I dug my hands into my coat pockets. “Hunting?”

  “You saw when you were leaving.”

  I shuddered, thinking of the lifeless animals strewn across the forest path. I slowed my steps. “You need blood? Like the Cruor?”

  “Cruor can never eat human food. While the Strigoi can, we still need blood to survive.”

  My hands, hidden inside my coat pockets, trembled. Outwardly, I maintained my calm. “Gross.”

  “Without blood, we can’t read auras to tell good from evil.” He reached over and grazed the scar I’d gotten the night I found the animals in the woods.