Reaping Havoc: Kiara Blake Book 1

by Kinsley Burke

  “Really?” My appetite returned, and I reached for another roll. “But the journal, that’s still good—right? If we can find Grandma Maura’s journal we can have it translated. That should tell us about the prophecy and why I can see ghosts.”

  “Your mother inherited almost everything of our mother’s, the journal included.”

  But I’d only ever seen the pendant… “Aunt Kate, where’s my grandmother’s stuff?”

  “Accordin’ to your mother, lost.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Aunt Kate had limited herself to one glass of wine since she was driving, but by dessert—and with Aunt Kate, there’s always dessert—I was checking for smuggled contraband. Any excuse for the two poor men seated at the next table trying to conduct a business meeting over their dinner. Flirtation apparently overrode business, and not a lot of work was accomplished. But by the end of the meal, neither man appeared in need of sympathy.

  Aunt Kate achieved that accomplishment while being one hundred percent sober. After the coffee was drunk, and the cheesecake polished off, she was the proud owner of two new phone numbers as the men departed their table with smiles and winks.

  My mouth had achieved a lot of gaping. My eyes felt dry. My voice? Yeah, I’d lost that somewhere between the salad and the Blackened Chicken.

  “Now, Kiara, tell me what you’ve learned.”

  “That finding one man to spend your life with is overrated when you can have a different man each night?”

  “Ah, now. Lighten up, young one. Don’t become such a stick in the mud like your mam. I’m not opposed to settlin’ down one day when I’m old.”

  Poor Aunt Kate, still in age denial. But unless I wanted a sweaty leech trying to sneak a peek down the top of my dress as a seatmate for the public transportation ride home, Mouth was remaining zipped shut. Aunt Kate got testy with age reminders.

  She shifted through the paper in her pocket as we the approached valet. Two scraps of paper from the men inside the restaurant, three scraps of paper with additional phone numbers she’d collected from I didn’t want to know where, and one valet ticket.

  “Such a handsome man to complete such a fine evenin’.” She handed over the ticket to the red-faced kid who looked about twenty-five years too young for her flirtations, and she then shifted back through the phone numbers before selecting one. “That’s for you.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Take it.”

  “No.”

  “He’s a thirty-two-year-old stockbroker.”

  Wall Street. Just what I wanted.

  “Now don’t give me that look, young one. You’re talkin’ at money here.”

  While Checking Account would dance the jive if I dated Money, stuffy stockbroker wasn’t in my future visions—not that the visions I’d been having revealed my own future. But what if I envisioned my future husband before meeting him? Could I say awkward? Hi, my name is Kiara. I already know what you look like sans clothing, and how many children we’re having, but could you please tell me your name?

  Yeah, as I said, awkward.

  The hard thwack to my arm drew my attention. “Kiara, are you listenin’?”

  “No, what?”

  “His name is Chad, and ye need to give him a call.”

  Back to the stuffy stockbroker. “Aunt Kate, I…”

  The rest of my sentence blanked because of one Logan Bradley. He stood two blocks down the sidewalk and was turned to the side, but I knew it was him.

  “Thanks for a wonderful dinner, Aunt Kate. I’ve got to go.”

  “Wait, where are you—”

  I shoved through pedestrians in my haste. Plowed, actually. The two-inch heels of my boots made me beg for sneakers with each strike made against hard cement. Prime dining time downtown, and several trendy restaurants were located along this strip. The awaiting patrons threw up roadblocks for my quest, and I gritted my teeth in determination. This was it. After this one ghost, I was free to breathe cool crisp air for hopefully a long Earthly life. Nothing was going to stop me from nabbing that dang ghost.

  Nothing except the walking cane of a seventy-something-year-old man. Exact age wasn’t my concern as I face-planted into the sidewalk. By the time I was back on my feet with surprisingly few bruises and scratches to adorn my trendy new look, seventy-something and his hazardous cane had scatted, nowhere to be found. Neither was Logan Bradley.

  It was my turn to become a roadblock as people not so kindly shoved past. Karma, no doubt. Hot tears bit at the corners of my eyes. Breathe, Kiara. You will do this. Four days left to find him before my fate became Hell. I closed my eyes and felt passing elbows dig at my side. Bits of scattered conversations drifted to my ears. A couple of move it, lady were said—and not very nicely, either. Persistent honking blared in the background noise. I ignored all until someone laid long on a horn, which was then followed by “Kiara. Kiara.” The voice sounded suspiciously like Aunt Kate. That couldn’t be ignored.

  My eyes opened to see Aunt Kate’s blue sedan holding up traffic, and her car’s horn was no longer the only one sounding.

  “Get in.”

  Good old Aunt Kate to the rescue. Not that the good old part needed to be said aloud. Or silently. Never in my best interest to even think it. Bodily harm came about from off-handed comments such as that one. Luckily, Aunt Kate wasn’t privy to my thoughts, and she pushed the gas pedal before my seatbelt was fastened. Her vehicle plunged forward. Not that traffic moved fast enough to cover a lot of distance in that initial plunge.

  “Where to?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Who are we lookin’ for?”

  “A ghost.”

  She slammed the breaks. Sounds of screeching breaks came from behind. Horn blasts had started all over again.

  “I can’t spot a ghost! And why are we chasin’ one?”

  “Long story.”

  “Give me the short version.”

  “A cambion who worked for Satan as a specialized reaper died, and she made me her successor.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m now a reaper working for the devil, and there’s a ghost I have to send to Hell. Now go!”

  The car lurched forward. Car horns stopped blaring. Eardrums thanked me.

  “Why isn’t this ghost already in Hell? Doesn’t a reaper mark the souls of the livin’ right before they die?”

  “Yeah, well, I haven’t exactly been given all of the details so I don’t know specifics. All I know is there’s a bunch of pissed-off ghosts walking the Earth, and Satan is demanding their presence. It’s my job to send them there. I don’t have anything to do with the living.”

  Aunt Kate fell silent, and I was grateful for the reprieve from the gazillion questions she’d normally ask. I scanned the passing sidewalk searching for a sign of Logan. A hint of Logan. Anything of Logan. Beggars can’t be choosey.

  “Are you dead?”

  Reprieve over. “What?”

  “I’ve always assumed reapers were the dead leadin’ the dead.”

  “No, I’m not dead. And I’m not a regular reaper, either. I’m a Praedator.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Didn’t you request the short version?”

  “Fine, then. Just tell me this job isn’t dangerous.”

  My fists clenched as my thoughts drifted back to my near death experience from the previous night. I had died — or rather, had been dying. The intense pain from my staked chest couldn’t be forgotten. Neither could the stickiness of blood as it dripped onto my arms. Or the numbness in the lower half of my body. Nor New Target’s laughter, which had been as evil as Red-Eyed Ghost’s had ever been. My newfound sight into the future was the only reason I was still part of the census count, and I didn’t know what to think about this ability, much less how to control it. “I’m fine, Aunt Kate. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Ye hesitated, young one. What aren’t you tellin’ me?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine
, you—”

  “Kiara Abigail Blake!” Her head whipped around. Hard eyes stared into mine. “I’ve known when you’ve been lyin’ since ye were in nappies. Now, what aren’t you—”

  Aunt Kate’s voice cut off, and I fell forward. The seatbelt dug in hard to my chest as it screamed for me to stay back. I’d gotten friendly with Aunt Kate’s seatbelt many times over the years, but this time, it was different. This time, it came with the sound of crunching metal.

  We were stopped in the middle of the street when I finally comprehended my surroundings. The vehicle in front of us filled the view outside the windshield, so where exactly in the street we were stopped was left to be determined.

  “Are you okay?” I surveyed my aunt. Her eyes were glazed and her expression blank. “Aunt Kate? Hey, look at me.”

  Her gaze focused. “Kiara?”

  A sharp whack on the driver’s window had both our heads turning left, and I didn’t miss the slight wince escaping Aunt Kate’s lips. Outside the window stood a man. He appeared early fifties and distinguished. Not pleasant, but not overly hostile despite the stern frown on thin lips. And irritated. Seriously irritated. His dark eyes flashed as he peered at us through the glass. “Do you know how much damage you’ve done?”

  “Do you know how much of an asshole you are?” I countered. Geez, could he at least check that we were all right before yelling?

  “Do you understand how much…” He paused, and the glare he gave me, peculiar. What? Was there blood on my face? Had I been cut? Stickiness wasn’t felt on my cheek, but if not blood, then what?

  “Kiara,” Aunt Kate laid a hand on my arm. “Let me handle this.”

  Her movements were slow as she pushed at her door. My cell phone remained at the ready in case 911 hadn’t already been called.

  “I think she needs help out of the car,” I yelled at the asshole.

  His mouth tightened, but he made himself useful. I climbed out my side and shrank back against the passenger side door. Traffic didn’t stop for anything in the city. A quick inventory of my body left me skeptical. The pendant graced me with its usual hot irritation, but the expected seat belt rash was MIA. My lungs were in proper working order. All bones seemed whole. But then, my inspection remained quite limited as I had no desire to tack on an indecent exposure arrest to my almost spotless record. Or wind up on YouTube.

  The front of Aunt Kate’s Buick was infused with the back of a black Bentley. Naturally, a Bentley. I worked my way around the back of my aunt’s vehicle and found her not handling anything at all with the other driver. She simply stood and stared. Her lips muted from any words of flirtation. My thumb went back to hovering over the send key to my phone. “Has anyone called an ambulance?”

  The man’s gaze had rested on my chest, and I realized my pendant had nabbed his interest. Irritation no longer flashed in his eyes, replaced with curiosity.

  “It appears we got off to a wrong start.” He held out a hand. “Phillip Thornton.”

  “Oh, uh…” Mind sought to play catch-up as I shook his hand. “Kiara. Kiara Blake.”

  “Oh, yes. Phillip, meet my niece, Kiara.”

  Aunt Kate’s delayed reaction caused my head to turn. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “She’ll be fine.” Phillip said.

  “Yes, I’ll be fine.” Aunt Kate parroted while a shy smile lit her face. Shy, not flirtatious. Okay, we needed an ambulance.

  “I explained to your aunt that we don’t need to file insurance claims.”

  “What?” I looked from my aunt’s uncharacteristically timid expression to Phillip’s authoritative one. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We should file a report.”

  “Now why would we do that?” Phillip’s gaze was intense, and I felt something… a nagging feeling I couldn’t place. An expectation perhaps?

  “Yes, Kiara? Why would we file a claim? Phillip knows of a place.”

  “A place?” I asked. “What kind of place?”

  “I think both vehicles are drivable,” Phillip said. “There’s an auto shop not far from here that does excellent body work. I’ll lead you there.”

  His tone wasn’t a suggestion. It was instruction. And everything seemed wrong. Just wrong. But Phillip had a point. Traffic continued squeezing past us, and car horns never stopped blaring. No sirens of police coming to the rescue sounded and the vehicles needed to move.

  Aunt Kate’s smile remained timid, strange for a woman without a shy bone in her body. She didn’t even blink at the damage to the vehicles before she said, “That’s fine. Kiara?”

  I bit my lip and shrugged. My reservations decided to remain mute so I simply said, “I’ll drive.”

  For the first time in my life, Aunt Kate didn’t argue.

  Minutes later, my few reservations doubled, and then tripled. They’d grown into many because, I mean, who was this guy really? My aunt rammed the back of his car, he spoke a few words, and now she gave him the dazed and confused? Or maybe just the dazed, and I was the person completely confused? Because what the hell? Phillip drove a freakin’ expensive car but didn’t want to mess with insurance? But Aunt Kate had agreed, so what could I say? Except now, we were driving into a sketchy part of town, and the trek getting there was slow. Not the best area to drive slow. Something dragged on Aunt Kate’s car that prohibited a faster rate of speed, but as long as it wasn’t the engine, we were good.

  Trash littered the street, and by trash I meant beer cans, beer bottles, and cigarette butts. Well, I was twenty-five percent certain about the butts being cigarette. This was the type of neighborhood where people did nothing but drink and smoke. It certainly wasn’t a Bloomingdales’s type of place. Hell, it wasn’t even a Target, and that said a lot. We pulled into the parking lot of a large white mechanic’s garage, complete with its own hooker standing at the street corner. She was a leggy blond who gave the driver’s side window of Phillip’s Bentley a come hither as he drove past.

  Lovely.

  Joe’s Body Parts flashed in red neon atop a tall pole rooted into the ground in front of the building. Was it cars or women who stripped at this joint? I wasn't certain.

  The inside of Joe’s hadn’t fared much better than the outside. Peeling dirty Formica countertops surrounded by cheap plastic chairs comprised the interior furnishings. Thankfully, no naked women inside, except for the one displayed on the pin-up calendar attached to a wall. And she was only half-naked. A man was certainly behind the riveting decor. The lobby wouldn’t have been complete without the sounds of drills and banging of metal echoing from out in the garage.

  “Hey, Phillip, my man!”

  A heavyset guy sporting a trim goatee and wearing a white button-up approached.

  “Rick!” Phillip’s face turned animated, and a lively discussion ensued regarding the conditions of both vehicles. Aunt Kate clung to Phillip’s side. Any kind of drag, pull, or yank on my part wasn’t going to pry her away, so I stepped back. Seriously, I was very much a third wheel in this four-wheel situation.

  I stood alone. Awkward. A driven need was there for something—anything—entertainment. TV? A magazine rack? Staring at the picture of the half-naked woman wasn’t doing it for me. My gaze turned back to the only thing it could focus on: watching my normally vibrant aunt act like a shell of herself. I paced the small corner of the room, Feet refused to stay still. This entire situation left me stressed. An ambulance and cops should have been called. Police reports filed, and insurance companies allowed to do their job.

  The sound of a chuckle was the distraction in the room I needed. It came from a lanky young guy sitting behind a computer. Old enough for tattoos, but young enough to get carded. A permanent smirk had settled on his lips. My eyes probably didn’t want to know what was on the monitor. Unlike Rick, this guy was dressed in a t-shirt covered in oil stains and dirt. Couldn’t see the lower half since he was seated behind the counter, but I went with jeans.

  Rick, Phillip, and my aunt had disappeared outside to check the d
amage to the vehicles. A peek through the window revealed them huddled around my Aunt Kate’s front end. The car, that was. Aunt Kate hadn’t requested my assistance, and I was ninety-nine percent certain she’d forgotten my existence. I pulled out my cell and shot off a quick text to my mother, since she’d become some kind of texting guru. Aunt Kate needed to be dragged kicking and screaming to the doctor, and my mother would be up for the dirty task. Serious reasons existed for why my aunt liked me better than her own sister. Just doing my part to keep it that way.

  The sound of another snicker had me turning back to Chuckling Guy. Curiosity about this hole-in-the-wall place won out, and I walked over and leaned a hip against the counter.

  “Hey? So does Rick own this place?”

  The guy looked up. “No, that’s Joe.”

  Joe. Of course. This place was called Joe’s, after all. “Is Joe around?”

  “Nah, he’s been out.”

  “Out?”

  “You know, like out? Gone?”

  Uh, no, I really didn’t know. “When’s he coming back?”

  The guy shrugged. “No telling. Rick’s the manager, and he gets all funny when Joe’s name’s mentioned, so I mind my business. You know?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Except his vibe screamed he knew more than he was saying. “So, uh, how long has Joe been gone?”

  “Don’t know. A few weeks?”

  “That’s a long time to be gone.”

  “Hey, listen, I don’t ask questions around here. Just show up, do my job, get paid. You know?”

  “So, did anyone file a missing person’s report on Joe?”

  The guy’s head whipped up. “Why would someone do that? No, minding my own business. K? Just minding my business.”

  He bent down to the computer screen. A chuckle was my dismissal. My phone chimed a text.

  WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WERE IN A WRECK?????

  Wow, someone really needed to explain that all-caps thing to my mother. The trio returned inside and I shoved my phone back to the confinements of my purse. They were all chatter and laughter. Who knew vehicle estimates could be such fun?