by Michele Hauf
The woman Mel had seen yesterday was no longer. She had changed to a snarling, fanged thing who drooled blood and spat at the knight. Her eyes were...white.
“She must have died last night or early this morning,” Tor stated over her shoulder. “She’s a revenant vampire now. You still want us to keep her alive to live such a life?”
Mel swallowed. She was too late. Or not. Was there some way to save the woman? She did not know of a way to reverse vampirism. But she didn’t know everything. There could be something in one of the books at the Archives. Yet if she had died...
This whole nightmare of dead things coming back to life was enough to break Mel’s heart. Was the woman’s condition because of the heart she carried in her bag?
She shoved backward and pushed around Tor. “Do it,” she muttered, and then ran down the hallway and out into the courtyard, where she gasped in fresh air.
From inside the apartment, she didn’t hear any sounds of struggle, but she knew. Her entire body cringed when she suspected the woman had taken a stake to her heart and... Tor hadn’t brought along a machete for no reason.
When the man she respected and trusted brushed quickly by her, she didn’t speak. He was in a hurry, headed to his van, and she wasn’t going to interfere this time. A minute later he returned to the courtyard, unfolding a black body bag. His eyes met hers. His jaw pulsed. Stern and focused. No whistled tunes this time.
She closed her eyes, wrapped her arms across her chest and wandered back to the van, where she tossed in the tapestry bag and climbed up onto the passenger seat. Five minutes later, Tor returned, hefting the body bag, folded in half, over a shoulder. She shuddered.
The knight cruised out behind him, looking not at all disturbed. Just another day at the office.
Which it was to him.
How could they be so utterly unfeeling?
Mel clutched herself tighter. Two days would bring the full moon. And an immense challenge to her tender heart. Could she accomplish such a vile task?
* * *
Tor slid into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine. Mel sat on the passenger seat, legs bent and arms wrapped around them, head bowed to her knees. He had tried to warn her to remain in the vehicle. Women. They never listened when it was important.
Yet he couldn’t disregard the heavy emotional vibes emanating from her right now.
“Sorry,” he offered as he backed out and navigated the traffic on a route toward the river.
“You were doing your job.”
“She was beyond hope, Mel.”
She nodded and turned her head to face the passing cars outside.
“I’ll take you home. I need to run some errands alone.”
“I do need to shower and change. I’ll be good for a couple hours.”
“I know you will. But you’ll stay in close contact with me on your phone, yes?”
“I don’t know where it is. I have one, but I never use it.”
Not a surprise, coming from the natural witch who grew her own herbs and spell concoctions outside on the patio, and whose familiar was a frog, and who also claimed to be owned by a duck.
“There’s something that bothers me about all this,” he said. Because much as he should not prod at her sensitivities, this needed discussion. “The cloaking spell we did on that heart. It seems to have not worked. The vampire last night and—”
“The heart didn’t attract that vampire to the woman. And it wasn’t the same vampire who stole my bag last night. I don’t think. I didn’t see the vamp who attacked the woman, but the one last night had a chipped tooth. But that’s besides the matter.” She tilted her head against the seat and declared “I don’t know why my spells are not working. I was calm. Not nervous. There must be something wrong with me.”
“I don’t—I can’t speak to your magical skills, but I also suspect the woman’s attack had nothing to do with the heart. Yet the vamp that stole it was called to it, even though it wasn’t sure what it was stealing. You say he had a chipped tooth?”
Mel nodded, then hugged the bag to her chest. “What do you want me to say? I’m baffled by this.”
“We’ve got to figure this out, Mel. Tell me everything,” he said. “Especially the part about you needing to raise the dead. We never did discuss that. Please?”
With a heavy sigh, she turned on the seat and tilted her head against the headrest. She’d slipped off her boots and looked beautiful with her tousled hair, rumpled clothing and rosy cheeks. He wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t want to drive through any traffic lights. But man, a kiss would make him feel much better right now.
And when had he decided thinking with his heart instead of his brain was acceptable? He had to stop doing that, or something would go wrong.
“The spell requires I raise the dead in order to protect my mother,” she explained. “It’s complicated and...” She shook her head. “All you need to know is that there will be a dead...entity on the night of the full moon.”
“Why does your mother need protection again?”
“She’s being tormented by...someone.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Mel?”
“I’m telling you as much as I can. Mom’s in trouble. It’s the reason she died a few weeks ago. She was so frightened she ran off the rooftop. Dad wants me to believe it was a miscalculation on her part, but I know better. Something spooked her. Dad picked up her little kitty body from the ground and took her home to recover.”
Tor couldn’t imagine living such a life. Being married to a woman who could change to a cat, but then who could also die and come back to life? How many times had Thoroughly Jones witnessed his wife’s death? And Mel? She must have experienced her mother’s repeated deaths through the years.
“What if your mom died and...no one found her?”
“She’d come back to life and have no clue about her former life. Would probably wander about lost for days. Naked. Maybe longer if we couldn’t find her. Dad had her tattoo his phone number and address onto her ankle after death number three. She’s had to use it once, but it took her a couple days to figure out it was a number to call. He made her go back and tattoo call for family on there, as well.”
“That must be tough for the entire family. But necromancy? How is that supposed to help your mom?”
“It’s dark magic,” she said, as if that was the norm. “Listen, I know it’s freaky to you, but not to me. You have to understand, practicing dark magic carries a certain weight in our family. Both my dad and his brother are dark witches. And CJ’s twin sons—my cousins—are dark, as well. Vika was light, but she’s come over to the dark side.”
“Vika is CJ’s wife,” Tor stated, recalling the family trees of the Paris witches. “I know something about her having a sticky soul?”
“Her soul attracts lost souls that are unable or unwilling to cross over.” She sighed and looked aside. “Most of them, anyway. But not all.”
“Victorie Saint-Charles is her full name,” Tor said, referring to his mental database of the local paranormal families. “And doesn’t she have a sister or two who are also witches?”
“Libby and Eternitie are both light. Libby is married to a former angel.”
“That must be interesting.”
“Reichardt is cool. He’s no longer angel. He got his soul back when he found his halo and now—well, he’s kind of like you.”
“Like me?”
“In the know, but human. Yet not afraid to step into the fray and fight for what’s right.”
Tor turned left, but also tilted his head so she wouldn’t see his frown. Stepping into the fray was everything he was not about lately. Or at least, he was striving for that out-of-the-fray lifestyle. “You know I have the interview on Monday.”
“Right. Because you’re going to try to be something you’re not.”
“Maybe it’s something I need to be.”
“It’s not,” she said with confidence. “But you’ll never know until you give it a try. Too bad though. Paris really needs a guy like you, stepping into the fray and all. You’re a good man, Tor. As upset as I am about that woman’s fate, I think you did her a favor by staking her. There was no hope for her.”
“There wasn’t, and I didn’t stake her.”
“No, I suppose the knight did that part.” She sighed.
She’d seen him carry in the machete. Tor had been the one to decapitate the revenant. That was the only way he could get through such an act, by calling her a revenant and not a human. There had been no humanity left in her. She’d been a creature, a dead thing destined only to vile and evil acts, end of story.
“Rook’s looking into the local vamp scene for me today. Also checking out the Parc Monceau, where the woman’s attacker claimed to live. I’m not sure I believe that. This is the Order’s concern, but since I’ve stuck my fingers in it, I want to stay in the loop and learn what Rook learns.”
“Rook was the guy in the leather coat,” Mel stated. “I’ve heard about his girlfriend, Verity. She knows Zoe, who is a good friend of mine.”
“Zoe and Kaz,” Tor said. “Kaspar is a friend of mine.”
“Really?”
Tor nodded. “I connected him with the Order when he was a teen. Made sure he found his way when he needed some guidance.”
“Well, look at you, all helpful and kind.”
Tor smirked. “Introducing the guy to the world of vampires and slaying? Not sure that was kind. But he’s a good man. We’re here.”
He pulled up and parked before Mel’s home. He would watch until she got to the door and then leave to dispose of the body.
“Ah, nuts. I’m going to really need your protection now,” Mel said.
“What? Why?”
She nodded toward her front stoop. On it stood a man with long dark hair and a serious glint to his eye.
“Your dad’s back again? What does he want? To finish me off?”
“That’s not my dad.” Mel got out of the van, dragging the tapestry bag along with her.
Tor swore and turned off the engine. This was even worse than the dad. Certainly Jones, of the twin brothers, was the stronger and darker of them. And he and Tor had once already gone to heads.
“Protection,” he muttered. “But for whom?”
Chapter 15
Mel’s uncle marched down the steps and grabbed her by the shoulders. She didn’t have to see the anger in his eyes; she had sensed it when stepping onto the sidewalk. The concrete hummed with his dark energy. And while that was normal, the anger tingeing that darkness was not.
“Monsieur.” She felt Tor’s hand go to CJ’s on her shoulder. “If you don’t mind, I’ll ask you to take your hands off this woman.”
CJ reared at that statement but did take his hands off her, slamming them to his hips. “Who the hell are you? And—wait. I know you. You’re the bastard spin doctor who fucked up my spell against tribe Monserrat.”
Mel managed to step before her uncle as he lunged. She wasn’t about to repel him with magic, because that would bounce right back at her. Painfully. His body was covered with tattooed wards and repulsion sigils for just such a purpose. But neither was she willing to let the big boys battle it out in full view of the entire neighborhood.
“Uncle CJ, what a nice surprise. What are you doing here? You never visit.” Though she didn’t want him to answer. Please, don’t answer.
“You know damn well why I’m here, Lissa.”
“Maybe if you’d just tell her,” Tor said. “She’s had a rough morning.”
“Is that so?” CJ crossed his arms and eyed her with the searching gaze she knew could read her like a book. It didn’t take him more than a few seconds to pull out one of her secrets. “Revenants? Since when are revenants in Paris?”
“I don’t know,” Tor offered. “But The Order of the Stake is on it, as well as myself.”
Mel felt Tor’s confident hand on her shoulder while his other hand gripped the handle of her bag. She let him have it. Now to get inside and away from her uncle.
When she took a step toward the house, CJ moved quicker, blocking her. “Where is it?” he asked.
Tor slung the bag over a shoulder and took a step to place him immediately in front of Mel. “Where is what?”
“She stole Hecate’s heart from me,” CJ announced sternly.
“You—stole it?” Tor narrowed a condemning look at her. “I knew it.”
“I borrowed it,” she corrected. “And I only need it for another two days, Uncle CJ. I promise I’ll bring it right back as soon as I’m done with it.”
“What reason do you have for needing such a volatile artifact?” CJ defied her with his intensity.
Mel glanced to Tor. She hadn’t given him all the details. And she wasn’t about to. “Can we talk, CJ? Alone?” She nodded to indicate that Tor should take the bag with him. “Why don’t you go check the garden out back for...you know.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Tor bowed to CJ. “Monsieur Jones. I’ll have my ears open for trouble. Your niece is my client. I’ve been charged to protect her—from whomever should mean her harm.”
CJ mocked the man as he took off around the side of the house with the heart in the bag. And Mel blew out a breath, thankful to, at the very least, have that out of the way. Though surely CJ must sense the heart. Maybe?
“Come inside,” she said to her uncle. “Didn’t my dad tell you what I have to do?”
“He did, but he didn’t mention any of the items required to complete the spell.” CJ followed her inside and closed the door. “Why the bodyguard? Oh. Mercy. Of course. That’s what it does. Is the heart attracting the undead?”
“Depends on your definition of undead. They seem pretty alive when they come rushing toward me with claws or spittle drooling from their mouths.”
“Lissa, Lissa, Lissa.”
“Yes, I know. I should have asked, but you never would have allowed me to take the heart out of the Archives.”
“No, I would not have.”
“Even if it meant helping my mom? It’s required for the spell. I can’t complete it without the heart. It brings up the dead, CJ. You know that’s very necessary. And I had to take it days ago when I was visiting you because—well, I saw an opportunity. I didn’t want to keep it so long. And I really did not expect it to attract...things. But there you go.”
“Where is it now?”
“I’m not going to tell you that.”
“The spin doctor has it, doesn’t he?” CJ strode down the hallway, and Mel hustled after him.
In the living room, he peered out the patio door at Tor, who leaned against a support beam under the trellis, his back to them, bag in hand.
“It’s in that bag,” CJ declared. He gripped the door pull.
Mel slapped her hand over his. “CJ, you have to let me complete that spell. My mother’s life depends on it. Your brother would never forgive you—”
He put up a palm to stop her tirade. “Don’t try that with me, young lady. I’ve been around far too long and been to too many dark places of the soul to allow anyone to pull fast-talking on me. I know the situation. I...” He blew out a sigh. “This is magic at its darkest, Lissa. You’re not accomplished enough to control it.”
“Yes, I am. My dad believes it, too. And I’m going to prove it.” She hoped. When would her dark magic decide to kick in and prove effective? “I couldn’t let him do this. He’s got enough to worry about what with Mom coming back into her new life and my sister hanging around.”
“Your sister,” CJ hissed in a whisper. “Vika did try her hardest to get her soul to stick to hers.”
Vika was her uncle’s significant other. They’d been together
a long time without the marriage certificate; a piece of paper wasn’t important to them.
“The family appreciates her trying,” Mel said, “but there’s only one way to fix this, and that requires the spell and subsequent release. You know that.”
“One of your father’s specialties. Release. It’s kind of you to take this on for him. He is always in a tough place following your mother’s deaths. I’m sorry. But if the heart is attracting dead things, you should cloak it.”
“I have. A few times. It never seems to stick.” Mel winced and didn’t meet her uncle’s gaze. “It’s dark magic I’ve used for the cloaks and wards. I’m still getting a handle on it.”
“It shouldn’t require getting a handle—ah.” He ran his fingers back through his hair. “You’ve never practiced dark magic before.”
“Well, of course not. But don’t think I’m not capable.”
“I’m sure you are.”
She wasn’t too sure he was being honest.
“But, Lissa, the only way dark magic will answer to your beckoning is with a sacrifice. Hell, didn’t TJ warn you about that?”
“A sacrifice?”
“It’s the reason your cloaking spells haven’t been effective. The dark magic you put out slips off things as if they were greased. If you want it to stick, you need to sacrifice to—well, Hecate would be fine—to prove your worthiness of the dark.”
Mel gaped at him. She’d never heard of such a thing. Her father had done such? And Amaranthe? She couldn’t recall her sister ever—oh, wait. That one time when they’d been eleven. Amaranthe had eaten her familiar’s heart. Still beating.
“The salamander heart,” Mel whispered.
“Your sister.” CJ nodded. “I remember that. It doesn’t have to be a grand sacrifice. But it must prove your willingness to be open to the dark arts. Where’s that familiar of yours?”
“Bruce? No.” Mel couldn’t keep the tremble from her voice. If Bruce were in the vicinity, she hoped he took cover. Because if CJ got a look at him, he’d surely bind the amphibian and hand him over to her for a snack. “He’s my familiar. I would never betray his trust that way.”
