Reaping Havoc: Kiara Blake Book 1

by Kinsley Burke

  I gripped the hilt of my sword. “Infernum.”

  A blue flame lit the length of steel.

  “Good.” He stepped back. “Now if you want to send a ghost to Hell, all you have to do is plunge him with Hell’s flames.”

  I studied the bluish fire licking along the smooth surface of my blade. “These are the flames of Hell?”

  “The sword was forged in its deepest pit.”

  I noted how he’d moved a safe distance away from the tip of my blade, and I had to wonder if only ghosts should be concerned with the afterlife once this flame was within their sight. “So I plunge?”

  “As long as the blade is lit.”

  “Does it work on just anyone?”

  He grabbed his shirt and finally put the dang thing back on. Not that his newly covered chest was going to put a stop to the sculpted abs invading my dreams that night. He walked toward the stairs, his graceful movements not even slowing as he called over his shoulder, “Your job is to send the marked ghosts to hell.”

  “So it’s only ghosts I can send to Hell with this sword?”

  He didn’t answer. Suspicion was strong he never would.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I stared at Miss Prim and wondered at the embellishments to her story. Because surely there were some. We were seated outside the Modern Cafe where I sat sipping my coffee while absorbing her explanation of the ghostly realm. A shot of Baileys may or may not have been snuck, poured, splashed or smuggled into the brew I drank. I would never confess, even under extreme duress. Tossing something—anything—to help take the edge off after a stressful day would earn me a single label from my oh-so-perfect mother: drunk. AA meetings would be in my future. So with that understanding, I most certainly wouldn’t be confessing the coffee was just an excuse for covertly drinking the Baileys. Covertly because one judgmental ghost, who was as bad as my mother, had committed another unauthorized tag-a-long.

  But perhaps I could make use of her existence by pissing her off until her air conditioning unit cranked up to full blast? Because coffee was too dang hot to be drinking while wearing a jacket in summer heat, and my skin screamed for cool air. Damn sword. How had Olivia withstood her red coat?

  Miss Prim’s face tilted back, seeking the late afternoon’s sun even though she’d explained how muted her senses were to all Earthly things. The plane of existence that she technically lived on was gray and dull, and her reasons for the dead to desperately cling to their past Earthly life finally made sense.

  “Do the Praedators hunt in your realm?” My voice was low, and silent pleas of no persons listening to the self-talking crazy lady shot out into the universe, begging to be heeded. I wasn’t in the mood for strange looks and hasty departures. “Is it easier or harder for a Praedator to find their mark there?”

  “Praedators don’t go there,” Miss Prim said. “Everyone they want is on Earth.”

  “Why? What does Earth have to do with it?”

  Miss Prim leaned close. “Is it gross?”

  “What’s gross?”

  “That stuff you’re drinking. It smells awful. My father always drank the stuff. His had an awful stench, too.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never drunk coffee?” I shook my head. “It depends on what you put in it. Right now, it tastes perfect.”

  “Perfect? I doubt it. Nothing that smells so strong could taste perfect.”

  “Why are we talking about my coffee?”

  Miss Prim shrugged. “Why haven’t you found me a man?”

  Leaning back in my chair I asked, “What does coffee have to do with men?”

  “I thought we were asking questions. That was mine.”

  “I promised you I’d find you a ghost.”

  “Well, hurry. I already found you a man. Hey, maybe we could double date?”

  I reached into my pocket for more Baileys. Unfortunately, the travel size bottle didn’t hold much. “How about you fill me in on Logan Bradley?”

  “That’s my investigation.”

  “Well, I’m investigating.”

  “I already said you could be my Watson.”

  “I’m not your Watson. I’m solving this. I’ve got less than a week to find Logan, and he’s probably hot on the killer’s trail.”

  “So find the killer and you find Logan?”

  “Exactly.” I nodded.

  “Okay.” Miss Prim’s voice lowered to a whisper for reasons that made sense only to her. “Here’s what I know. They have Logan listed as a Missing Persons even though we both know he’s dead. But his mother was at the police station yesterday. That’s the second time I’ve seen her there.”

  “How many times have you gone to the police station?”

  “Hey, I’m investigating a murder here. Besides, someone has to make certain the cookie baking ho stays away from your man. You could help me out by asking Detective Wilcox on a date so she knows to back off.”

  Ho—what? Dang, Miss Prim was becoming less prim-like with each passing day. Wait a second. Was I the bad influence? I preferred Aunt Kate being the black sheep of the family. Time was proving I walked her footsteps. Great.

  “There haven’t been any new leads on Gina Welch,” Miss Prim said. “She was strangled by a man, but I really don’t understand how the cops can tell if it’s a man or woman who killed her. And there were carpet burns on her… on her…”

  My eyebrows rose. “A private area?”

  Miss Prim leaned forward and dropped her voice down to another whisper. “On her bottom.”

  “It's okay to say the word bottom.”

  Miss Prim’s head started shaking before the last of my words passed my lips. Geez, the ghost mentioned Wilcox’s butt all the time. One would think bottom would be a more acceptable term. Mischief lit a spark in me, and I leaned forward and asked, “How about ass?”

  Her gasp was that of horror. I guessed my little Miss Prim was still inside there after all. Aw, crap. There was no my about it. She was a ghost. Ghosts were unpredictably evil. But dang, this was starting to seem like a friendship. Something needed to be done to nip that in the bud. Like soon. After she helped me find Logan’s murderer… would be soon, right?

  “Okay, then.” I analyzed her words. “Ms. Welch was strangled by a man while naked inside a home. Her body was later taken to the dump.”

  “How do you know she was naked? The reports didn’t say anything about naked.”

  Miss Prim had turned whiter than white, and I had the suspicion she was scandalized by my liberal use of the word naked. “The carpet burns on her bottom implied she wasn’t wearing clothes when being dragged across a carpeted floor, or at least she wasn’t wearing anything on her bottom. She’d been on a date, and it’s reasonable to assume she and Logan went back to one of their places for sex after dinner, and that’s why she wasn’t wearing anything. Then again, maybe she'd had wild crazy sex on a carpeted floor, and that’s how she got the burns? Not from being dragged?”

  “She didn’t have… She couldn't... She didn’t do… that. It was a first date.”

  “She was a prostitute. Not to dis the woman of that working profession, but she probably didn’t have any hang-ups about hitting the sheets after one date.”

  “So Logan killed her?”

  I shrugged. “No idea. He’s dead too. Maybe someone broke in on them and killed them both? But that doesn’t explain why Gina’s body was taken to a different location, or why Logan’s body was never found.”

  “I think we need to break into Logan’s home. I bet that’s where they were murdered.”

  “You’re up for a little B&E?”

  Miss Prim smoothed down her skirt. Her chin knocked up in defiance. “I don’t think it counts when the homeowner is dead.”

  With another shrug, I gulped my coffee. The ghost had a point.

  “How are you going to introduce me to my soulmate?” she asked.

  “Huh? Your soulmate?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes glazed while a soft smile tugged at he
r lips. “How are you going to introduce me?”

  “Uh… I don’t know? Maybe approach him and explain there’s someone I want him to meet?”

  “Works for me. Now get to it.”

  “What?”

  “That ghost over there.” She pointed. “Go schedule our date.”

  The ghost she pointed at was New Target. What were the odds of him reappearing in the same location where I’d last found him? Apparently in my favor. Thoughts of rushing to his table flooded me, but instinct pinned me back. Wait. A tingling inside my gut told me to wait. I looked at Miss Prim. “I can’t set you up on a date with him.”

  “You promised!”

  “I can’t set you up because I’m supposed to send him to Hell.”

  Her head whipped back in his direction so fast her hair hit zero gravity. “He’s marked. I didn’t notice.”

  “What does that symbol mean?”

  “How would I know?”

  “You know.” I tried meeting her eye, but she’d found sudden fascination with a crumpled napkin on the table. So instead, I glared at the top of her head. “You know its meaning, so what does it mean?”

  “It’s bad, and that’s all I’m going to say.” Her lips pressed together.

  “How exactly is it bad?”

  “Nope.” Her hair started flying again with the shake of her head. “First, you’ll make me start talking about the symbol. Next, you’ll stick your sword in me and send me to Hell. I’m not going to Hell, so this discussion is over.”

  “But—”

  “Nope.”

  I sighed. Dang obstinate ghost. I should introduce her to Tristan so he could learn the true definition of stubborn. My gaze returned to New Target. It was probably my last chance to get him, and I couldn’t screw it up. Otherwise, I would soon consider wearing a jacket in the late August heat to be as cool as an Antarctica vacation.

  New Target sat once again with a newspaper spread in front of him. Another round of the obituaries? Damn, that was depressing.

  But no, he wasn’t reading the paper. The flip of the pages appeared to be mindless. His gaze was directed at something across the street, not the small print. Or rather, his focus was directed at someone. A boy who appeared no older than four years old sat in front of an apartment building. His flaming red hair stuck up in all directions as he played on a small patch of grass with a toy truck. A thin woman wearing a haggard expression exited the building and approached the boy. She knelt and after a few spoken words, picked up his toy and took his hand. They disappeared inside. Sheer instinct informed me of their identities. New Target’s wife. His son. The sight sucker punched my stomach. New Target had come to watch them and had probably done so every day since his death.

  Only one thing to do. So many claims in life I could admit to, but being a wise decision-maker wasn’t always one of them. Too impulsive, as my mother always said. Regardless of my poor choices, Body got up and plopped itself down into the chair across from New Target before Brain had a vote. Which didn’t matter since Body was a dictatorship, not a Democracy, and Brain was ousted as its leader.

  I motioned Miss Prim over. Her head shook in a firm no. She scooted her chair toward a snoring Hellhound who lay passed out next to my vacated seat. He’d become quite the laze since being fired from his Hellish job by Sebastian. I motioned Miss Prim again. Her chair scooted even closer to the fiery beast. She chose the beast that terrified her over the ghost that only moments before she begged to date? Miss Prim had turned out to be a lot of things, and confused was near the top of the list.

  Whatever. My focus returned to New Target. He had noticed me. His clenched jaw was a dead giveaway.

  “That was your son?”

  Another newspaper page flipped.

  “I’m sorry. It must be rough not getting to be there for him.”

  Another page turned. He wasn’t a talker. I got it.

  “Tell me what that symbol on your cheek means.”

  “Leave,” he said.

  I almost thought I’d imagined his voice because his gaze remained focused on the apartment building. But that word had been spoken and with confidence. As if he knew I’d jump to his order. Well, too bad. Satan’s was the only bidding I currently jumped to, and I had a darn good incentive for doing so.

  I squared my shoulders. “No.”

  His eyes met mine and for the first time, I realized his were blood red. I shifted in my chair and gripped the edge of the table with tight fingers. When had his eye color changed? Why had his eye color changed?

  “This is your last warning.”

  “Listen, buddy.” I dropped my voice and ignored the crazy looks issued by the other coffee drinking patrons. “Explain that symbol on your cheek. I’ve got a job to do, and my ass is on the line. Explain what the mark means and convince me why it shouldn’t be your ass on the express train to Hell with a one-way ticket?”

  New Target stood. Well, crap. Unpredictable violent ghost, remember? New Target had already proven to be one. That’s why Brain had wanted a vote. Memories of when he’d dropped a chair on me in that very spot caused me hesitation, but I searched for every ounce of stubbornness Tristan accused me of having. This fight was mine. Complete with the heart pounding and sweaty palms prerequisite.

  New Target turned and walked. This time, I understood it for what it was. He wasn’t walking away. No, he was leading me. And as far as he was concerned, it was to my death.

  “Kiara, don’t go! Come back!”

  Miss Prim’s voice faded as the distance between us grew. Having numbered days until you were to be dragged kicking and screaming into the fiery pits of Hell caused the stress level to be severely reduced when following a homicidal ghost. I was pretty much screwed either way, but at that moment I was willing to place my bets with New Target over the devil.

  Except we didn’t go into the alley, and that gave me pause. Nervous acid swirled in my stomach. Because I had felt certain, the alley was where I was being led. Instead, it was an abandoned building about six blocks down and off a side street that was New Target’s final destination. And when I said abandoned, I meant broken glass windows and colorful graffiti adorned its exterior. The building was probably ten years past due for its next scheduled upkeep.

  New Target walked straight through a padlocked front door because, despite Miss Prim using her energy to touch every material item as if she were a full-fledged member of the living, ghosts weren’t confined to solid matter on the Earthly realm. But I wasn’t a ghost, and it took five minutes to find a window that could be climbed through without requiring a trip to the hospital. Blood gushing out of a cut wound required trips to the hospital, and I didn’t like hospitals.

  The building had been an old school. It was as if the occupants stood one day and decided to leave, never to return. The structure’s interior was comparable to the exterior. Textbooks and torn paper scattered the tiled hallway floor. Graffiti decorated the once white walls. Open classroom doors lined the hall, many off their hinges. Strange. Very, very strange. This was a relatively decent part of town, so its dilapidated existence was odd. Why hadn’t it been razed for a new Starbucks? A new supermarket? A new anything to attract both humans and cash?

  My steps echoed on the tiled floor as I tread down the long hallway. I found New Target sitting inside one of the classrooms in front of a towering bookshelf. Volumes of hardbacks still lined the warped shelving, but apparently one had escaped from its dust-covered tomb. It now lay open in New Target’s lap. A picture book. I thought back to the redheaded kid playing with his toy truck.

  “How did you die?”

  His sharp stare dug into me, cutting off thoughts I shouldn’t have ever asked. The temperature in the room dropped to frigid. My hands ached to grab my sword, but I held back. I hesitated.

  And I should never hesitate.

  My body flew into the air and slammed against a chalkboard. The edge of the narrow tray dug into my side as gravity yanked me down to the floor. Books fl
ew at me while I sat on my butt, stupidly eyeing those large missiles despite my head being their clear target.

  “You will not stop us.”

  Us? Who the hell was us? Every freakin’ ghost with red eyes and a marked cheek? And what did that eye color signify? I needed answers, but instead, I got on all fours and crawled. Survival once again took priority over answers—not that New Target had ever been forthcoming with information.

  A book bounced off my back, the spine of the cover hitting first. I bit back a howl of pain and squeezed behind a desk, desperate for shelter. What had Tristan said? Outwit them before they used their energy? Too late. Plan A was shattered. Time for a Plan B, and I didn’t have a Plan B. Why the hell hadn't I thought up a Plan B?

  My body shot up off the ground, and I grasped at air. And air didn’t provide a damn thing to cling to. The desk I’d sought shelter behind now stood inches below my toes. Feet strained to touch down, but New Target’s handless grip was solid. Even from across the room, I noticed his eyes blazing, and I swore it was in triumph. His left arm was extended, his energy flying through the tips of his fingers. Their power keeping me suspended in mid-air. Still clutched in his right hand was the picture book. An innocent children’s book that contradicted his hate. A Dr. Seuss. Fun. Silly. Would a reminder of his kid tie New Target back to his humanity or enrage him more? Enrage, according to Gut.

  Thoughts scattered as I was jerked toward him, propelled through the air like a yo-yo snapping back home. His left hand grabbed the front of my shirt as I drew near, tugging me in close. His eyes burned into mine.

  “You can’t stop us.”

  The Cat in the Hat fell. A sharp thwack sounded as it hit the floor. My body followed, and my aching back slammed against tile right as the bookshelf collapsed. Books rained down. The sharp edges of their spines dug painfully into me with each hit. Then the wooden shelves clouded my vision. Broken pieces of wood littered on top of me, and the pain from the sharp-edged books were nothing more than a memory. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t feel my legs. But I felt the moisture of the tears that seeped out the corners of my eyes. They were hot. Warm stickiness trickled onto my arm. Blood. Something pierced my chest. Something that left me in so much pain I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. And New Target laughed. My vision turned black, leaving me only able to hear the sound his laughter.