The DarkWorld SoulTracker Series Box Set Vol II

by T. G. Ayer

  Though not as intense as the shocks I’d received from the shadowmen a few days ago, the white-hot blast was enough to thrust me straight back into the ether where I floated for a few seconds, limbs and mind near paralyzed with the shock.

  What the hell just happened?

  I took slow deep breaths to force myself to calm down, to think—because my mind seemed to be a jumble of incoherent thoughts. And when the calm refused to come, panic rose within me, a tsunami of fear, multi-formed and multi-faceted fear.

  I swam in that maelstrom and only the whisper of Saleem’s voice which encircled me like a lasso, managed to slow the panic to a more easily controlled level.

  I wasn’t so sure that I’d truly heard his voice, because the words he’d spoken had been an unintelligible jumble and I’d only reacted to the rich baritone that had offered me a safety net.

  But I was still so very grateful because the sound had broken my cycle of panic and fear. That I’d felt such a depth of those emotions was a concern to me. I’d been in plenty of situations before where a person partial to hysteria would never have survived, so an attack of that proportion was a danger to both myself and my team.

  Focus, and keep your head in the game, I muttered to myself, drawing calm around me like a blanket.

  However forced that serenity was, however much of a trick it was, I already knew it was working.

  My heart rate slowed until it reached a more survivable rate and I straightened my limbs, glad to find they were all intact, and that I was still alive.

  Now, calmer, and able to consider the situation with a little more logic and a lot less emotion, I took a slow breath and focused on Saleem’s thread.

  I still held onto it, my ethereal fingers curled possessively around the shimmering gold threads, and I pushed along the lifeline, eager to check on Saleem to see if he too had suffered from the impact.

  He’d sensed something, that was for sure. And I hoped he’d returned to his physical form in time.

  I glided along toward the Veil entrance I’d used not so long ago, and then came to a barreling stop.

  My fingers—which had so recently held tight to the warmth that was Saleem’s living essence—were now empty.

  I stared down at my hand then scanned the distance between myself and the Veil to Mithras. Mere blinks of the eye to reach it but already I knew I was wasting my time.

  Saleem’s thread had been severed.

  Taking a ragged breath, I pushed away the urge to scream out in fear. I focused again, hoping that perhaps I’d simply lost my grip and let him go, that maybe he would still be somewhere around me, thrown back into the dense mass of life-threads that surged around me.

  But, as hard as I searched, I found no sight of Saleem.

  Shit. Double shit.

  I abandoned my search and approached the Veil—should I enter the realm and go in search of Saleem? But I hesitated, afraid.

  What if the magic that had blasted me out of the ether and cut off Saleem’s thread from the astral plane entirely also possessed the power to detect my presence?

  It was possible they hadn’t detected me, and had simply shut Saleem off. There were ways of course, though the processes were complicated and very few mages possessed the type of power able to complete such magic.

  But it was a possibility to consider. If the mage had the power and the experience, he’d be able to construct a sort of Faraday cage with his power.

  Of course, he’d have to possess a good strong dose of dark magic too, which would be required to keep a person within the cage while also ensuring that the energy signatures he himself was giving off as he sent power into the cage, wasn’t detected.

  It had to be something of that kind because I’d have known if Saleem had been killed. Life-threads don’t just disappear when a person dies. They remain even after the soul has progressed into the light, and even then, the thread goes through a degradation period.

  Truth be told, it never really dies, and some threads can be detected centuries later by a powerful SoulTracker—as long as they know what they are looking for.

  Given that I knew for a fact that Saleem was still alive, I had two choices: brave the entrance back into Mithras and risk alerting them to my presence, which meant they would strengthen the ward, which would render Aisha’s and Barry’s work moot, or go back and leave well enough alone.

  I glided closer to the Veil, the temptation to move through it so great that I was reaching out with my fingertips before I’d even registered the movement.

  I blinked as I felt the buzz of energy against my fingers, confirming the Veil was healthy and strong.

  I didn’t feel any change in the vibrations from when I’d entered it earlier, so I had to hope they’d not detected me in the first place. Even if they didn’t detect me the first time around, it didn’t mean anything because if they had a super powerful SoulTracker on their side—something I wasn’t about to place bets on—they’d be able to detect my astral patterns as an anomaly present twice. Once I could get away with. Twice would be foolish and reckless.

  Searching for Saleem was just courting danger, to both our lives and to the mission.

  I took a deep breath and backed away, ignoring the ball of frustration and guilt that roiled in my gut.

  Retreating into the astral plane and returning to my body, trepidation rose now as I thought about the next conversation I was going to have.

  I had to make a confession to the djinn queen.

  Chapter 9

  Arriving within my physical form, I was filled with worry and the need to share the good news—meaning the leather-bound book I still held in my hand—with Logan and Kai.

  I’d been in the ether for almost an hour, but I had to force myself to slow down. The blast I’d received had been low energy, and had little effect on me, but I had to make certain that my wounds hadn’t begun to bleed again as a result.

  I also had to change my dressings or I’d have hell to pay from Natasha, not to mention Drake. I wasn’t sure who I was more afraid of, and then I had to wonder what would happen should the two of them decide to stop pussy-footing around and get together already.

  What would I do when faced with that combination of gargoyle and witch? As it was, they bossed me around independently often enough. I cringed at the prospect, despite how much I was rooting for them.

  I ran my fingers over the bandages, and when neither felt as though I’d sprung any leaks, I figured I could eat first and then tackle the blood and gore.

  Procrastination at its best.

  Leaving the book tucked under my pillow, I headed downstairs to the kitchen and rifled through the bread box. Finding nothing, I spun to the fridge—to see a note stuck on the door.

  Sandwich inside fridge.

  Eat. Or else.

  G

  I squinted at the message. Had I not recognized the twisty scrawl, I’d have had to spend a few moments figuring out the owner of the message. Geek or Gargoyle?

  Grateful to Geek, I tugged the fridge open, grabbed the plastic-wrapped plate and the can sitting right beside it, then hurried back upstairs, cracking open the ginger beer as I went.

  Inside my room, I sank onto the side of the bed and grabbed Saleem’s book from beneath my pillow. I ripped at the plastic on the plate and grabbed the sandwich—chicken, mayo, wheat-meal bread. I barely tasted it as I wolfed it down, hunger and the satisfaction of my palate ignored in entirety as I focused on the pages of Saleem’s notes.

  If I took a moment to savor any of the tastes, to rest and relax and to enjoy even a modicum of calm, I knew I’d likely just pass out from exhaustion. I could lie to everyone around me, swear on my life that I was resting and taking care of myself, but the truth was far from it.

  Sleep was hard to come by, and rather than spend hours tossing and turning, my mind a jumble, I just kept moving, catching brief moments of half-sleep here and there. The only problem was, the fatigue tended to catch up with me at the most inconvenient mom
ents. Like when I was savoring a plate of comfort food, or settling back with a hot cup of coffee and a plate of cookies.

  Danger lurked everywhere.

  Now, I gobbled the last of the sandwich, guzzled the dregs left in the can of ginger beer and then closed the book, mind buzzing with the details Saleem had supplied.

  We won’t be needing Sentinel’s help at all, from the looks of it.

  Feeling a little calmer now, I made a beeline for the bathroom, and moments later, I was shirtless, staring at the mess that was the wound in the front of my abdomen.

  Gory, dark red and crusted with old black blood, the damage was enough to make me cringe even now. And even worse, I had to tend to the second wound at the back of my torso.

  Now that was going to take some gymnastic moves.

  I cleaned the first wound and applied a fresh dressing, shaking my head as I recalled the disagreement I’d had with Natasha. I’d insisted she should have done the job properly and made me good as new.

  Natasha had claimed she had to ensure she still had enough energy in case someone else on the team needed it, like maybe Ivy if she relapsed, or someone else who thought it would be fun to blow themselves up.

  I wasn’t having any of it though, and had gone on to request a bit of a nip-tuck, demanding bigger boobs and maybe a little more junk in the trunk.

  Natasha had merely stared at me, long enough that Drake had approached, told me to zip it and stop stressing out the nice white witch.

  Then he’d turned her around, hands on her shoulders, and guided her out of the room with a request to speak to me privately. Though I’d thought he was about to chew me out, he’d merely sat beside the bed and asked me if I was okay.

  I wasn’t.

  Not then, and not now.

  And I’d promised to tell him what my big worry was. As yet, I hadn’t and I knew my time was going to run out soon. I likely only had hours left.

  If I was that lucky.

  Exit wound done, I twisted around to study the soiled bandage taped to my back. This part was what I hated, the whole ripping away of hardened bloody dressings, which usually came away along with a good amount of hair—which one never minded—and with far too much scabbed tissue and raw flesh, both of which I was certain I needed on my body and not on the bloody bandages.

  Pun not intended.

  I glared at the mucky dressings, only partly concerned that I’d get my eyes stuck that way.

  And a voice filtered into my mind, a woman’s rich musical laughter filling my head and making my skin tingle, making my heart fill with emotion.

  What the…?

  And then the voice was gone, having delivered her laughter-filled warning, “Aww honeybee, don’t spend too long giving me that glare. You’ll get your eyes stuck that way forever and what do you do if you can’t see straight?”

  Tears seared my eyes and I let out a sobbing breath.

  Mom?

  I shook my head even though the warmth of her voice still filled my mind and my heart.

  What was happening to me?

  Chapter 10

  “What the hell is going on?” Drake’s voice rang around the metal and tile of the bathroom, sounding incredibly hard and cold and when I looked up I saw that there was nothing hard or cold about his expression.

  I hesitated for a moment, a little unsure as to the reason for his stressed state of mind. Then, I scanned the bathroom to find that I was sitting in the narrow gap between the shower and the bathroom counter, hugging my knees to my chest.

  Loosening my death-grip on my knees, I slid my feet forward to rest them on the cool floor tiles for a second. Then, I cleared my throat. “Umm, it’s ok. Nothing serious.”

  “Like hell it’s nothing serious. I call you for breakfast and then I’m yelling—and by that I mean I was yelling at the top of my fucking lungs and when I come looking, I find you huddled in the corner, crying. What happened Mel? And don’t give me that bullshit about nothing happening. I got eyes in my fucking head, okay.”

  I let out a slow breath and rested my head back against the wall, aware now that my face was drenched in tears as the liquid cooled on my skin. My bones ached too, confirming I’d zoned out for what must have been at least a couple hours.

  I entertained for a few moments lying to him, fobbing him off…because seriously, I really couldn’t deal with talking about it.

  But there was a glint in the gargoyle’s eyes, something dangerous that meant he’d be both hurt and offended if I refused to share my pain with him. He’d bared his soul to me, revealing his family’s secrets and his despair at losing his sister.

  I just didn’t have it in my heart to betray that trust—even if it hurt me to think about it.

  With a ragged sigh, and through a throat tight from crying, the need to spill more tears almost suffocating, I said, “I heard her voice. For the first time in…forever.”

  Drake hunkered down beside me, concern and curiosity scrunching the dark skin of his brow. “Whose voice, Mel?” he asked, tone soft, gentle…gentler than badass-Drake had ever been.

  I swallowed a sob and cleared my throat. “My mom.”

  “Oh,” Drake replied. Then he sank to the tiles and scooched over to sit beside me. I suppressed a wince as the buttons of his jeans screeched across the marble as he shimmied over.

  We were crammed together now, shoulders smashed up against each other as we both sat there hunched over, each barely able to breathe without squishing the other.

  I looked up at him from under my eyelashes. “Sorry if I gave you a scare.”

  “Mphhh. I don’t scare easily.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. There was that hitch in your voice and your eyes were like a trout’s and I’m sure I saw a wobble in your legs, you just covered it quickly.”

  Drake chuckled. “Want to tell me about it?”

  “Nope.”

  Drake turned his head to meet my gaze. “Start talking, tracker.”

  I looked away, focusing on a spot across the bathroom just beside the open door where the tile near the skirting sported a web of cracks—a reminder of the wrath of an ancient poltergeist I’d once had the misfortune to know.

  “I was thinking about something—not too sure what it was right now—but the next thing I know I can hear Mom’s voice as if she was standing right next to me. And the funny thing was, I didn’t even know what her voice sounded like to begin with. I’ve barely thought about my parents, Drake. I mention them from time to time but never in a way that I’m talking about people I knew and loved. It was always in reference to Ari’s death/abduction and usually something like ‘and my parents were killed’ and that was it. No emotion, no grief…nothing.”

  “And now? Do you remember anything else now?”

  “No…actually no. All I can recall is her voice and just something inside me saying ‘That’s Mom’s voice,’ and then it’s gone. And it’s not even as though her voice triggered anything in my mind. I still can’t even remember what she looked like.”

  Drake studied my face. “I remember Chloe and Storm talking about it at some point. That you seem to be keeping your thoughts about your parents close, as though you were afraid that sharing your memories would make you lose them.”

  A dry laugh escaped my lips. “Well, clearly it was nothing at all like that. I just had nothing to say about them because I had no real memories of them.”

  “Maybe the trauma of what you witnessed made you block all memories you have of them?” he suggested.

  I glanced over at Drake, frowning. “Maybe. I haven’t thought of it that way before. But then again I’ve never discussed this memory loss with anyone because it’s never occurred to me that they were missing in the first place.”

  “Have you ever missed them? Like long to see them?”

  I shook my head, just the thought making me feel dead inside. “Just a blank. The only emotions I have are for Ari. And I know there are a bunch of ways a therapist can explain that. It’s j
ust…”

  Drake’s voice was even as he tapped a finger on his wrist, which was a little too close to his face for comfort. “I get it. I mean, it’s not as though I’ve had a similar experience at all. Just that I get what you mean about it being inexplicable. But shit, Mel. There are so many things fucked-up about what happened to your family.”

  My throat tightened as it hit me that perhaps this was now the best time to tell him. I took a deep breath, ignoring the fact that it meant I was squashing him against the wall a little more. “There’s something I need to tell you. I’ve been meaning to, but I’ve also kinda been avoiding it as well.”

  Drake only grunted in response.

  I bobbed my head and said, “I think I’ve found Ari?”

  “What?”

  “No, I mean maybe it was more of I’ve-seen-Ari than I’ve-found-Ari because technically I have no clue as to where exactly she is.”

  “Mel, you have no clue how to deliver a good line.”

  “Okay, okay. So it went something like: I got zapped and the zap sent me to this plane that I recognized which was super weird and then I saw Samuel and it all made sense because it looked like his plantation in the old days and then I saw this woman who welcomed me and asked me to dinner and she seemed familiar but I just couldn’t put a finger on it and then she was even more weird with the sexy catty way she spoke to Samuel and me and then before I got to the house Samuel says ‘You’re not ready’ and I’m just blasted out of there without a by-your-leave.” I took a deep breath.

  “That was amazing,” Drake said, his tone sober.

  “What? The zapping part? Or Samuel or Ari?”

  “Not that. Just how you were able to say all of that in one breath. Seriously, there has to be a circus or something out there needing people with your skills.”

  “Shut up. I know what you’re doing. It doesn’t make me feel better. And I can tell you now it’s not going to help you digest all that either.”