Ghostland (15 page)

“Drugs aren’t illegal here. Lawbreakers won’t escape the tattoo or the death sentence for acts they commit while using them.” Raisa shrugged. “The Church would ban them if they could. But even they don’t have the power to do it. Too many of the founding families add to their wealth because of the drug trade. They won’t allow the first ban because they know it’ll only open the doorway to having others made illegal.”

Aisling nodded. It was the same in Stockton. There were few resources, and even the most conservative didn’t want to see them wasted on an effort to eradicate the substances humans used to escape the harshness of their reality.

It hadn’t always been so. Geneva’s history books were filled with stories of a prohibition on alcohol and, later, a war on drugs that left those in control of production and distribution wealthy and powerful beyond anything they could have accomplished otherwise.

“You’ve heard something about Ghost?” Aisling pushed, aware Raisa hadn’t answered her question.

“Perhaps.” Raisa touched her fingertips to the saucer holding Aisling’s empty teacup. “May I?”

Misgiving coiled in Aisling’s stomach. She wanted to say no, to turn away from the offered reading, the implied cost of having her question answered. But images of her family members scattered dead throughout the farmyard forced her to say, “Yes.”

Raisa picked up the saucer and carried it to her knees, balanced it there as she stared at the pattern left by the tea leaves. Dark, birdlike eyes remained motionless, transfixed by whatever they saw.

Outside a cloud masked the sun and the light faded, casting the room in the same heavy gloom it had held when Aisling arrived with Father Ursu. Failure wafted through with the scent of Henri’s soap, though his spirit wasn’t present.

“Death drapes you like a billowing cloak,” Raisa said. “It writhes at your feet and twines around you like a nest of serpents, so your touch becomes its harbinger.”

A shudder went through Raisa, strong enough to make the teacup rattle against the saucer. She placed it back on the table and rose from her chair. “Speak to Javier about Ghost as well as those who are missing. If you will excuse me, I’ll let myself out. I need to return to the tearoom.”

Aisling stood and followed Raisa to the door, stepped outside in the hopes of finding Aziel waiting. She shrugged aside the reading as she watched her visitor hurry away. Given Zurael’s presence, and hers in Henri’s home, it was easy to see death in the tea leaves.

The sun left its hiding place behind the clouds when Aisling went back inside. Zurael was still on the couch. She bent to gather the dirty dishes. His hands circled her wrists, sending molten lava through her veins despite the deadly serpent tattooed on his arm in a wicked reminder of what he was.

His fingers tightened. Forced her to look up and meet his eyes.

Aisling shivered, grew short of breath at the carnal heat burning there. She remembered too well what it had been like to stand in the bathroom in front of the mirror, to obey his command and watch as he took her.

“We only have the daylight to find answers,” she whispered, not wanting to compound her weakness by giving in to him again and losing the chance to visit the library and the occult shop.

Zurael read the resistance in her face, saw her fight the desire that sprang to life between them like a living flame. He knew he should fight it as well.

He’d meant to assure himself she was okay, unbothered by Raisa’s reading. But as soon as he touched Aisling, he wanted nothing more than to pull her onto the couch, to strip her out of her clothing and cover her body with his.

He carried her hands to his chest and pushed them under his shirt. He held them against hardened male nipples, felt her touch all the way down to his cock.

A hiss escaped when she tried to pull away. A moan followed when her eyelashes lowered submissively and the tension left her so her palms softened and rubbed sensuously against him.

Lust roared through him, hot need. When she wet her lips, he was swamped with the impulse to toss the coffee table aside and put Aisling on her knees before him, to unbind her hair and guide her mouth to his throbbing cock.

She leaned closer, whispered his name on a breath that caressed his lips, jolted him into an awareness of the danger he was in. He stood abruptly and released her hands, stepped away from her before he yielded to the temptation of kissing her.

Confusion, embarrassment, hurt—Aisling’s emotions danced across her face before her expression became guarded. She picked up the saucers and turned away from him, leaving him feeling regretful, confused.

He wondered again if Malahel and Iyar had known he’d be ensnared, entangled. He thought of his father positioned in front of the mural of Jetrel, talking of the past and the son who’d lost his life because of a human female.

Zurael’s attention returned to Aisling. She stood at the sink, rinsing the dishes.

He willed his heart to harden, his mind to close to what her future held. Death.

Aisling dried her hands. She could feel Zurael’s gaze blistering her, as if he held her responsible for the desire burning between them.

Nervously she touched her pocket, felt the folded dollar bills and the bus pass. Without looking at Zurael, she went to the front door and opened it, forced herself through it.

The demon could do what he wanted with the day. She’d known even as she clung to him in passion that it wasn’t wise to forget what he was and what caring for him could cost her.

She had only herself. And Aziel. It was enough. It had to be.

Seven

THE street was quiet, though Aisling felt the eyes of her neighbors on her. It was unnerving to be in a place where her talent was named on the house, where the ability that led to suspicion and ostracism somewhere else was openly revealed.

A car turned onto the street and approached slowly. It glided across the open lane to stop along the curb just as she got to the sidewalk. Father Ursu emerged from the backseat. “I thought I’d check up on you and make sure you survived your first night on your own,” he said, gaze flicking from Aisling to the house and back.

Aisling rubbed her palms over the fabric of her pants. A breeze swirled around her, hot like the desert and smelling of exotic spice, of Zurael.

“I’m fine,” she said, wary, suspicious, wondering if he knew what had transpired at Sinners.

“Good. Have you met any of your neighbors yet?”

Was it a trap? Had Raisa’s visit been prearranged?

Fear made Aisling’s heart race faster. Worry, then embarrassment, sent heat to her face.

Geneva favored nonfiction books over fiction. But even in those there were stories of listening devices and hidden cameras used for spying in the days before finding food and safe shelter consumed rich and poor alike.

Thinking about it, Aisling felt sickened by her naïveté. She should have considered that the Church might be monitoring her activities, might know of Elena’s visit and Zurael’s presence.

“What happened to Henri?” she asked, trying to escape her embarrassment and worry.

Resignation and sadness showed on Father Ursu’s face. “I’ve been his priest for years. His loss weighs heavily on me. He died in service to the Church. As I mentioned the other night, the police have discovered several bodies recently. There’s reason to believe the victims were all murdered during the witching hour. Henri volunteered to go in search of answers but didn’t return.”

“Those found were sacrificed?”

“Yes.” Father Ursu took her hands, and once again she felt the baby softness of his against the calluses that had marked hers from the time she was old enough to take on her first chore. “If the situation hadn’t been dire . . . I’m sorry, child. But thanks to you, Elena has been returned to those who love her.” Father Ursu smiled and glanced at the house. “And you’ve had a chance to spread your wings and escape the shadows. I understand the citizens of Stockton and the lands surrounding it don’t welcome those with special abilities. Am I correct?”

“Yes,” Aisling said, though she didn’t let his show of friendship or change of topic derail her. She might not have had the courage to seek him out and question him, but he’d come to her, and after Raisa’s visit, she wouldn’t let him escape without providing answers. “What about the shaman in San Francisco?”

A shudder went through Father Ursu. “What of him?”

“I’ve heard he’s missing.”

“I’m not surprised. A man who serves the damned can’t escape the righteous hand of God, not for long.”

Aisling hadn’t expected him to speak so candidly or vehemently, though she knew the position of the Church when it came to vampires and shapeshifters—to demons and those who cavorted with them. She stiffened and resisted the urge to look to the house. She pulled her hands from Father Ursu’s grasp and jammed them into her pockets.

Father Ursu said, “Now that I’ve assured myself you’re fine and settling in, I’ll be on my way.” He started to turn, stopped. “Forgive me, but I feel a measure of responsibility for you since I’m the one who brought you here. I can’t leave without warning you to be careful, especially when it comes to men. You’re a beautiful young woman alone for the first time and in an unfamiliar city. There are men here who’ll prey on your vulnerability. It’d be wise to settle in first before becoming involved with someone. But if you find yourself falling under the spell of love, please feel free to come to me. The Church isn’t without resources, especially when it comes to protecting those who’ve aided it.” He smiled and patted her shoulder. “There, I’ve said my piece. Now I’ll leave and let you get on with exploring your new city.”

Aisling watched as he slid into the backseat of the waiting car. She expected Zurael to step out of the house as soon as the dark car rounded the corner and was out of sight. Instead it was Aziel who caught her attention, beckoned her forward with chatter before scampering away.

She followed him, careful to pay attention to her surroundings and not lose track of the way home, as he darted through alleyways and abandoned yards, always staying just in sight—until finally he disappeared into a lot overgrown with poisonous plants and needle-sharp bushes.

“Aziel,” Aisling called, knowing it was pointless, but doing it anyway. They’d played this game many times and in all of his various forms.

There was no answering chatter, though the stillness of the yard told her she wasn’t alone in it. In front of her a narrow path pushed through poison oak and thorns.

Partially concealed flat rocks on either side of the path drew her eye. When she moved closer, she saw the sigils etched on the slate-gray surfaces. They were common witch symbols, warning against trespass and theft.

“Aziel,” Aisling called again. “Come out. I can’t come in after you.”

“You’re the shamaness who lives in Henri’s house now,” a voice said, causing Aisling to startle and turn away from the path.

A heavily pregnant young girl stood at an opening in the thorn bushes that hadn’t been there a moment earlier.

“Yes, I’m Aisling.”

The girl nodded and clasped her hands over her swollen belly. Small white teeth worried her bottom lip. She was seventeen—maybe—pale-faced with shadowy, pain-filled eyes.

“I’m Tamara Wainwright. This is my family’s garden. Is Aziel your pet? They say you have a ferret.”

“Yes. Have you seen him?”

“No.” Tamara’s face tightened and she rubbed tiny circles on her abdomen. She glanced quickly in the direction of the nearest house before saying, “Would you like to look in the garden?”

Unless Aziel came to her, Aisling knew she wouldn’t find him in the garden, but he’d led her here and so she said, “Yes.”

Tamara stepped away from the opening and ushered Aisling onto the path before freeing a bush of long-needled thorns to fall across the entranceway. The abandoned lot was surprisingly deep, the tangle of thorns and poisonous plants thick until they abruptly gave way to order, to clusters of plants arranged to form a pentacle with an altar at its center.

“This is incredible,” Aisling said, awed by the design and the fact that it survived the night’s predators.

“My family was already settled in this area of town when law and order were restored and Oakland was reclaimed by the Church and the non-gifted humans. They say my ancestors sacrificed anyone who trespassed, and marked the edges of the lot with cursed blood.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s true or not. It was a long time ago. We don’t practice black magic, despite what you might hear from others.” Tamara’s eyes hardened. “Or the Church.”

Aisling sighed softly. Would she forever be linked to the Church and viewed with suspicion because of it?

“I know very little about Oakland or those who live in this section of it,” Aisling admitted, hoping the truth would ease her way with her neighbors. “It wasn’t my wish to be brought here from my family’s farm outside of Stockton. But when the guardsmen arrived with Father Ursu . . . what choice was there?”

“The Church wanted something from you?”

Given what she’d already told Raisa, Aisling didn’t see any reason to deny it. “Yes, an important man’s lover was missing, and they wanted me to see if her spirit had passed into the ghostlands.”

Tamara bit her lip and looked away quickly. “Were you able to find her?”

“Yes.”

Tamara’s attention returned to Aisling’s face. Old eyes stared out of a pinched, young face. “But then they brought you here instead of taking you back home. They want something else from you. Others have gone missing. Henri couldn’t find them. And then he was gone, too.”

“Father Ursu stopped by this morning to check on me. I asked him about Henri. He told me Henri died in service to the Church. He admitted the police have found sacrificed remains, but he didn’t tell me anything more.” Aisling’s hands curled into fists as she remembered the fear and embarrassment that had assailed her. “Do the police and the Church spy on those who live in this section?”