Reaping Havoc: Kiara Blake Book 1
Page 30
Eric had dropped to the floor, still clutching at his throat. Logan’s red eyes flashed as the heat turned on me. I shot up, suspended into air. Figured. Energy propelled me backward. No idea where he’d intended my body to land, but I was certain it wasn’t on Wilcox. The detective jumped up and collided with me in mid-air. We crashed to the floor in a tangled heap that somehow left Wilcox hovering on top of me.
“Stop trying to save me,” I said.
“Stop needing to be saved,” he bit back. And then helped me to my feet. “And a thank you would be nice.”
“You’re right. Thank you.” Then I shoved him behind me. His sigh informed me of his thoughts, but the man had some smarts because his mouth remained shut. I spun back to face Logan. “It’s Logan, Eric. Not Gina.”
“Are you a psychic?” Eric asked. He’d gotten back to his feet and inched toward the reception area. His observation skills must have been seriously lacking because the damn exits were still blocked.
“No, I’m not a psychic.”
“What are you?”
Not your concern. My focus stayed on Logan, but it seemed he had trouble deciding if his attention should be on Eric or me. I took that distraction and stepped forward, reaching behind for the clasp to my sword. My chance, time to take it.
Before I had a chance to grab the hilt, I was slammed back into Wilcox. He caught me and stumbled, but despite tangled feet we both remained standing. Logan monitored my every breath. If I miraculously survived the day, Tristan and I were having a sword to vampire chest discussion about sneaking up on ghosts before their energy was used. Because seriously? How?
“Okay,” I focused back on Eric. “If you didn’t kill Logan, who did?”
“Gina.”
Well, that complicated matters. Higher energy pulsed from Logan’s direction.
“Why?” I asked. “And why did you even hire Gina to apply to a dating service?”
Logan hesitated with his next round of blood and bruising. He still needed answers too, I realized. Could I somehow work his curiosity into my favor?
“It was for the design,” Eric said. “Logan and Thornton were the only two people who carried a USB with that design.”
Since I knew of the design in question, I moved on. “So you hired Gina to get close to Logan and steal the USB?”
“When I found out he was going to sign up for some rich dating service, I worked it to my advantage.”
Another moan escaped his lips after he slammed back into a wall. Logan was done with the listening thing, and I’d worked nothing to my advantage. Damn.
“I didn’t plan for him to die!” Eric shrieked. “She said it had been self-defense when I got there.”
“Why did you hide Logan’s body so it couldn't be found, like Gina’s?”
“So they'd think Logan had killed Gina and ran off with the designs I'd stolen.”
Eric shot up to the ceiling and then dropped like a rock. Even from where I stood, the crunching sound of bones made me cringe. Eric’s howl of pain confirmed the diagnosis.
“What do we do?” Wilcox’s voice was low in my ear.
“He wants to kill Eric, and I don’t think he’s planning to let us go. Especially not me.”
“Why?”
I shook my head. Getting Wilcox, and hopefully, Eric, out of there was the number one priority. As for me? I wasn’t going anywhere. I had to try and nab the ghost, at least until the blazes of fire burned at my back. No clue how Hellhound was holding up, but at least I still breathed Earth’s crisp air. Or at least Health-Tech’s air-conditioned air. And it was my intention to keep it that way.
Logan would soon tire of playing with his prey, and I wanted him on that one-way train south before it happened. Distraction was still the only answer to getting around his energy. A sure-fire way to distract a ghost? Piss them off. Or in this particular case, get Logan even more pissed.
“Did you help Doug encourage his sister with her feelings for Logan? I know Doug told her Logan would escort her to your wedding. That’s the reason Logan showed up at Maude’s, wasn’t it?”
“No!” Eric sobbed. His words came out as broken sobs through his tears. “I had nothing to do with Doug’s sister. I promise! She’s crazy!”
Logan physically moved for the first time since I arrived. A broken piece of wood lay next to his foot when he stopped. The sliver was large and dark brown in color. I couldn’t tell where it originated from. Maybe a piece of chair leg.
Eric shot up in the air. This time, his body remained limp. Sobs still poured from his mouth so I knew he wasn’t dead. And when he dropped, his body smacked hard on the floor at the same time the wooden stick lifted from it. The stick shot toward me, fast and direct. No. Not me. Wilcox wasn’t standing directly behind me as I had thought. Cold numbness settled within me upon witnessing the sharp missile impale itself into Wilcox’s chest. He collapsed onto the floor. Already, I watched the blood seeping out from his staked wound. I dropped to my knees beside him. His eyes were scrunched closed. His mouth firmly set in a grim line. Wait a second…
Color. It looked off. Faded. I was in a vision. With that thought in mind, time snapped back into place. I watched as Logan stepped forward. Eric shot up into the air. I reached my arm out, ready. Eric dropped with a loud splat against hard concrete and the piece of wood shot toward Wilcox, but I jerked his arm, dragging him to my side. Not fast enough. The wooden stake aimed for his chest had punctured his arm below the shoulder. With a grunt of pain, Wilcox fell into me and knocked both of us to the ground.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He nodded. His face already pale. “Stop trying to save me.”
Throwing my words back at me. I would have slugged him, except he was injured, and I had a more important task to complete.
The spot where we fell, combined with Logan’s new standing location, placed me behind the ghost. I had an idea. Swiftly, I was back on my feet, leaving Wilcox grunting on the floor. My sword was out and poised as I crept over scattered debris.
Logan’s attention had returned to Eric. Screams sounded from across the room before sounds of crunching bones. If I survived this ordeal, it was a sound that would play a reoccurring role in my dreams. Dreams known as nightmares. Eric’s howls of pain trickled into a whimper, then a fade. We were left with silence.
“Infernum.”
At the sound of my voice in the now still room, Logan spun to face me. I plunged. My mark was true.
“You will not stop us.” Logan shrieked as rage overcame him. The ethereal image burned into a ball of fire and evaporated, leaving no ash behind. The flames on my sword extinguished, and I sheathed it.
Back to the us New Target had mentioned. Who the hell was us?
Curiosity nagged to find answers but not right then.
I found Eric a quiet limp pile on the floor. A quick check revealed a pulse. Alive. Passed out. Wilcox had propped up on his uninjured arm, his attempts to survey the room causing a discomfort he gritted his way through.
“Lie back,” I scolded. “You need an ambulance.”
“I’m fine.”
“Stubborn.”
“Isn’t that calling the kettle black, or however the expression goes?”
I pushed him back down. Gently. My two-week pent-up irritation created by said man wasn’t to be taken out on him while injured. I was nice like that. But he still winced. I smiled. Karma, baby.
“What happened to…” His head rolled back to the side, staring at the vacant spot where Logan last stood. “What happened to Logan?”
I swallowed. Conversation moving into tricky. “Did you see something?”
“A ball of fire. Nothing else before that.”
“He’s gone.”
“Just gone?”
I nodded. “Don’t worry, he’s not coming back.”
“I won’t give you a hard time about your sword.” His stare was pointed. “Or about how it’s supposed to be locked up inside the police station.”
“When did I give you a hard time… Oh.” Wilcox smiled, his dimple deepening his cheek. “You looked nice in that dress, by the way.”
My face burned. Dang Irish skin. I knew I was red. Because Wilcox and compliments? Yeah, the combination forced a blush. Realization startled me. Wilcox smiled at me. Really smiled. He’d witnessed me and crazy, and yet he acted as if I were a perfectly normal individual. Huh. A grin tugged my lips. “You’ll eventually figure out something else to give me crap over.”
“Probably.”
This Wilcox? The relaxed smiling one—well, as much of a smile as I could see through his grunts of pain. He was kind of nice. I dug my phone out of my pocket, grateful it had survived the encounter. “You’re bleeding and have a piece of wood sticking out of you, and Eric has who knows how many broken bones. We need an ambulance.”
I’d managed to dial the 9 out of 9-1-1 when the pounding started.
“Ty! Hey, Ty? Are you in there?”
“Andrew,” Wilcox said.
Andrew must be Detective Ross. Glass shattered followed by the sounds of debris being swept aside. Then came the footsteps.
“What the hell happened in here?” a voice asked.
Bits and pieces of Detective Ross peeked out through holes in the barricade.
“Best to not ask,” Wilcox called out.
Within a few minutes, the barricade was cleared enough to allow Detective Ross and a few uniformed officers to squeeze through. Ross surveyed the scene, first taking in Eric, and then me seated next to Wilcox, before finally landing on his partner.
“About time you got here,” Wilcox said.
Detective Ross looked down. “I let you go out by yourself one time, one time, and look what happens?”
For once, I wasn’t on the receiving end of Wilcox’s irritated glare.
“I hadn’t called 911,” I said. “Why are you here?”
“An obnoxious and demanding law student phoned the precinct.”
“Hadley?”
“She said you called her about confronting a murderer and hung up. Also informing me that if I didn’t save you from getting killed, she would personally make my life hell, and she had all of the legal resources to get away with it.”
“Sounds like a threat to me,” Wilcox said.
“Oh, no.” I shook my head. “With Hadley, that’s not a threat. That’s a promise.”
“So, suspect?” Detective Ross asked. “Do we have one?”
“Let the paramedics know Eric Kane is under arrest for the murder of Gina Welch.”
“What about Logan Bradley?”
Wilcox’s eyes widened. “Shit. How the hell do I write this report?”
I coughed back my laugh. Wilcox’s eyes slid my way, alerting me that I wasn’t as smooth as I had thought. I grinned up at Detective Ross. He grinned. I looked down at Wilcox. He didn’t grin.
The paramedics arrived, and I got out of the way. My nerves were settling, and Brain had time to think. And worry. I was still on Earth. Logan was in Hell. Was I safe? Eyes scanned the room and my breath hitched. Hellhound ambled into view. His flames weren’t high, his tail appeared on the mangled side, and cuts peeked at me through the fire on his head. He plopped down on the floor, letting out a yawn that rumbled as loud as his growls. Seriously, no one else sensed that? Hellhound placed his head onto his paws and closed his eyes.
My first real breath in a week was taken.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
My fingers traced over the elevated flesh, just slightly darker in color than my normal skin tone. The tips ran lightly up and down the straight lines, then around the flawless curves. A birthmark, per my mother. Located on my right hip. Small, but perfectly formed. The shape distinctive. A Shield Knot, per Aunt Kate. A Celtic Knot to ward off danger. My personal mark of protection.
I had assumed my mother’s theory… until now… but wasn’t certain how much protection any marking would provide. The sign hadn’t seemed overly protective during my last few ghostly encounters. Pain of getting slammed into hard objects was still pain, but at least I was far from dead.
Someone pounded at my front door. Weird. Hadley was back to living inside the law library. My address had been kept on a covert list, thwarting planned visitations from anyone else except Aunt Kate, of course. But she never pounded and usually called prior to any visitation.
The knocks intensified. “Kiara, open up.”
Well, that yelling was certainly going to send Mrs. Tidwell into another round of hysterics. She’d spend the rest of the day trying to convince the entire building a bandana wearing savage banged at her door and tried to carry her off. Her forgetful—or perhaps stubborn—mind not acknowledging it was my front door being torn off its hinges, not hers. I smoothed down my shirt.
My door squeaked opened, vocally proclaiming its abuse, and I stared into emerald green eyes. No bandana wearing savage. Just my brother.
“Hi,” I said.
“Can I come in?” He shifted a bulky box in his arms, and I realized the front door pounding had been accomplished by his foot. “I’m about to drop this.”
“Depends. Is Lacey with you?”
“Kiara.”
“I’m serious.” My peek around him resulted in a failed attempt. His body mass took up too much space inside the doorway. “Is she?”
“No.”
“Then you may enter.” I stepped aside.
“Where do you want this?”
I pointed to the dining table because options were limited to the dining table or my kitchen counter and asked, “What’s this?”
“Mom’s cleaning out the attic and asked me to drop off stuff for charity.”
“I’m charity?”
He glanced at my meager furnishings. “You could stand the help, but no. I thought this was stuff you’d want.”
“Why?”
“Because it was Grandma Maura’s.”
“What?” I pulled the box toward me and pried open the lid. “But Mom told Aunt Kate this stuff was lost.”
“You know how Mom is about Aunt Kate and her superstitions.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But since all this family lore is allegedly about you, I thought you should have it.”
“Aw, thanks!” I launched myself at him.
“Hey, Kiara?” His voice was muffled.
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to get all mushy.”
I let go of his neck. “What? I’m not allowed to hug my little brother when he does something nice?”
“If you want to do something nice, Lacey—”
“We’re not talking about Lacey.” I took him by the arm and led him back to the door. “Thanks for stopping by. See you later.”
“Kiara.”
I smiled and slammed the door. In my brother’s face. He’d get over it.
Grandma Maura’s box was packed to the top. I first pulled out the family photos that should have lined my parents’ walls. But didn’t. Yet my mother apparently didn’t have problems with sending them off to hang on a stranger’s walls. Knick-knacks came out next. A knitted blanket. Then a half-full bottle of perfume. I took a sniff and memories flooded back to the day I was born. That’s how she had smelled during those few brief moments I saw her inside the delivery room. I set the bottle aside.
Tucked at the bottom of the box… I found it. The journal. Worn leather, stiff. Pages were slightly warped and crinkled, yellowed in age. Gently, I thumbed through it. Most of it had been written in words I didn’t understand. Old Irish, Aunt Kate had said. But every now and then, I’d come across a section where English had been written in pencil above their Irish words.
One long paragraph snagged my attention. Some sentences remained untouched, but most had already been translated. My grandmother’s handwriting flowed in a cursive script, and I skimmed a finger as I deciphered her letters.
She will defeat the Princes of Hell. The
Demon of Wrath at final battle. The portals will seal. Earth will be protected.
I reread the words until my eyes lost focus and the journal blurred. Defeat? Portals will seal? The Demon of Wrath?
My eyes scanned the page until they stopped on one word.
Satan.
It was foretold that I, Kiara Abigail Blake, was to defeat Satan and protect the Earth?
Holy… I collapsed onto a chair. This was going to require a lot more than a sword.
Vodka. Lots of vodka.
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About the Author
Kinsley Burke is the author of urban fantasy and romance. With the role of every superhero job currently filled, Kinsley settled for storytelling in order to achieve wish fulfillment. She lives in the south(ish) part of the United States where she’s stuck with an extra-sturdy ergonomic office chair to conquer long writing sprees, instead of superhuman strength, and an extra-thick wool blanket to hide from less-than seventy degree temperatures, instead of an invisibility cloak. When she isn’t writing, her nose is often stuck inside a book or she’s playing fetch with a fifteen-year-old cat who thinks she’s a dog.
Feel free to contact Kinsley at:
kinsley@kinsleyburke.com
Also by Kinsley Burke
The Kiara Blake Series
Reaping Havoc
Reaping Hell
Reaping Destiny - out summer 2017