Lost in Shadow (A Shadow Walkers Ghost Novel) (3 page)

Trying not to roll her eyes, Kat looked at her best friend who wore a look of skepticism on her face.

“It is said on October thirty-first, which is also the beginning of the spirit world new year, you can communicate with the spirits. The veil between the world of the living, and the world of the dead, is the thinnest during this time to allow spirits to cross over—both good and evil. Sometimes a spirit gets trapped in our world and can’t get back or doesn’t want to go back to their underworld. So be ye wary as we enter the Close for it might be a restless spirit who was trapped here last Samhain brushing against ye.” Ian whispered, in a fake ominous tone, but frankly, Emily thought he sounded a bit bored, as if nothing exciting ever really happened.

Snickering quietly, Emily and Kat followed the group. A few tourists from Australia, in Scotland for their gap year, claimed to feel hands touching them and hear footsteps, but Emily didn’t experience anything at all. She’d bet the Australians were tipsy, making it all up to scare each other. It was an interesting tour, but obviously if there were ghosts in the Close, they weren’t making themselves known to her. Oh well, maybe at the South Bridge Vaults. The group left Mary King’s Close and walked down the damp streets to the South Bridge Vaults talking animatedly about what kind of supernatural entities they might encounter during the next tour.

Excited to head over to the Vaults, which used to house all types of trades such as taverns, brothels, and other more illicit trades like smuggling and body snatching; she pushed her bangs out of her eyes and caught up to the group. “While excavating the Vaults, children’s toys, dinner plates, buttons, and whisky bottles were found. ‘Twas also a place of slum dwellers, prostitutes, and the infamous serial killers Burke and Hare, who sold bodies for gruesome medical experiments whilst prowling these very Vaults.” The guide’s low, menacing voice echoing off the stone walls made the hair on Emily’s arms stand up—she unconsciously moved closer to the group.

Ian continued, clearly relishing the telling of the creepy tale. “Did you know, due to poor sanitary conditions and overcrowding, ‘tis rumored the Black Death swept through Edinburgh and these very Vaults? Some of the inhabitants were walled up inside, still alive, never to be seen nor heard from again.”

Emily looked around. “People used to live like this? It’s bad enough being in an office all day but with no sunlight? And smelly and damp? Makes me okay with a boring, gray cubicle.”

“No kidding. I think these rooms are bigger than my first apartment, but of course I didn’t have ten plus people sharing my space or using my stuff.” Kat shuddered.

“And no security system. Just robbers, murders and thieves…oh yeah, let’s not forget the body snatchers. Maybe that’s why everyone drank so much whisky, so they wouldn’t care.” She wrinkled her nose. “Why didn’t people cart away the oyster shells after eating? The smell would have killed me. Imagine eating all those oysters. It would be like eating snot. Eww!” She and Kat cringed at the same time.

“I could use some smuggled whisky right about now. I’m freezing my ass off.”

Kat raised her eyebrows, smirking, and pulled out a flask.

“I could kiss you for remembering to bring that. No wonder you’re so cheerful. Hand it over,” Emily demanded.

After a couple of healthy swigs, her cheeks were flushed; she felt the warmth emanating from her belly. Contented and warm, she wandered after their guide, Ian.

She wanted to listen but was lightheaded from the whisky, and her mind kept wandering to Charlie, the latest in a long line of failed romances
.
Maybe she was destined to live the rest of her life alone. She wondered was it too much to ask for a grown man who cared about her as much as he cared about himself? Whatever happened to the strong, silent types? Now every guy she met was in touch with his sensitive side, wanted to talk about his feelings but never hers, not to mention they all wanted the woman to support them, and owned more hair and skin care products than she did. Seriously, that was wrong on so many levels. Maybe a hot Scottish guy would come along, sweeping her off her feet. After all, they should fit the strong silent type, although with that yummy accent a little talking would be okay. Rolling her eyes, Emily mentally smacked herself deciding to stop thinking about guys that weren’t right for her; she’d focus on enjoying the trip.

The sound of metal scraping on metal startled her. Looking up she realized she’d lost Kat along with the group around the corner while she was busy talking to herself.

This tour must have re-enactments. This is so much better than the tour of the Close
. She eagerly headed towards the noise to get a better look.

Turning the corner, she skidded to a stop, gaping at the scene before her.

The scream dying in her throat, she chuckled; this was playacting, nothing to be afraid of.

Where the hell was everybody? Surely, they wouldn’t have started the re-enactment without the group here to enjoy the spectacle.

She leaned against the wall, enjoying the show. Three men were fighting with swords. A flash caught her eye, and she leaned forward to get a better look. She wasn’t any kind of expert, other than what she’d seen in the movies, but the play swords looked like honest-to-goodness real swords. With pointy tips.

Two of what she assumed were actors were dressed as English soldiers in full redcoat regalia including scarlet-red coats, white breeches, and black leather boots. Frowning, she noticed the uniforms looked well used, very authentic, although they had to look good to scare the tourists, right? Both men had a feral, uncivilized look about them. Wouldn’t want to meet them in a dark alley.

The third man was the one who captured her full attention, causing her to stand up straighter, smoothing her hair with her hands. Dressed as the quintessential highlander in a kilt of blue, green, and black plaid, a white linen shirt with silver buttons, and laced at the top showing off a tantalizing swath of golden-tanned skin. He wore black leather boots and enough weaponry to make any solider drool. He was stunning. Inching closer to get a better look, words failed her. Graceful, lethal, dangerous, and fluid, not to mention sexier than any man had a right to be. Riveted to the spot she avidly watched the three men fight.

It didn’t seem fair, two against one, though the highlander seemed to be holding his own quite well.

“Come on now, you bloody bugger, might as well be fighting my wee baby brother. Who taught you to fight —your little sister?” The highlander taunted his opponent.

Grunting, the black-haired, pockmarked English solider ground out, “Screw you Colin, my grandmother fights better than you, blasted piece of shite.”

Sucking in her bottom lip, Emily’s breath caught. He was a specimen to behold. And that accent was like a creamy, tasty caramel melting in her mouth.

The one called Colin had to be six foot five with a body chiseled from stone. Chestnut-brown hair with lighter streaks of honey glinted in the pale light of the Vaults. The faux torchlights threw eerie shadows onto the damp stone walls causing the shadows to dance across the walls seemingly alive. Colin’s hair was down to his shoulders with a small braid on either side of his temple. His muscles flexed with each sword thrust as the men continued to fight while constantly insulting each other.

When Colin scowled at one of his attackers, she couldn’t help but notice he had a strong, fierce face, all planes and angles. It was stark and masculine, marred by a scar that ran from his forehead, through part of his eyebrow, down his cheekbone and looked like it ended at his ear. Most men would look hideous by this attack on flesh; however on this man, the scar added to his appeal, though Emily imagined it would intimidate the hell out of most men. He had to be the most striking man she’d ever laid eyes on.

Note to self. Move to Scotland. If all men look like him, I’ll die a happy woman.

Trying not to leer, her attention shifted to his thighs. She sucked in her breath sharply, rubbing her damp palms against her jeans, watching his thigh muscles ripple and flex as he parried and thrust with the sword.

The sword was an extension of his arm as he fought off both attackers. Mesmerized by the sight, Emily was rooted to the spot.

As the red-haired English soldier’s sword flashed down and caught Colin on his arm, Emily swore the blade sliced through the sleeve of the white shirt.

But that wasn’t possible, this was all for fun, wasn’t it? The blood seemed real enough as a red stain appeared, stark crimson against the snowy white linen. Unaware of what she was doing, Emily moved closer. Maybe it was one of those fake blood capsules bought for Halloween—though it looked pretty darn realistic.

Catching movement from the corner of his eye, the black-haired solider turned towards Emily, a shocked look on his face; time stopped, an instant later he lunged for her.

Jumping back, falling on her ass, Emily screamed as the sword missed her ear by inches.

“What the hell? You could have sliced me to ribbons. Real swords, seriously? Here’s a tip—use fake swords. It’s not good to kill the tourists,” she screeched.

Stalking towards her, the black-haired solider came at her, eyes narrowed, his blade aimed and ready to strike again.

Scrambling back on hands and feet until she bumped into the far wall, Emily was shaking violently. She froze, paralyzed like when she woke from a nightmare and couldn’t move, so terrified the monsters would get her…all she could do was watch as he came closer. When he raised his sword, she cringed, shutting her eyes, hoping it was a hallucination and would therefore disappear, or if it was indeed real, it would be quick and painless.

Nothing happened. She heard a muffled thud, kind of like a sack of potatoes thrown against the wall.

Colin was stunned. The woman could see them; she shouldn’t be able to, they were all invisible to any passersby. It was unheard of for anyone to be able to see them without one of their kind wishing it so. An uneasy sensation might brush against a human’s consciousness causing them to hurry faster down the street trying to escape the darkness enveloping them. But usually they had no clue Shadow Walkers protected all of humanity from the Day Walkers who preyed upon them. If any human ran into a Day Walker, they rarely lived long enough to tell anyone about the encounter.

The woman cowering in the corner had to be a Yank from her speech. She had on jeans, a black coat, and boots, all of which hid her body. He idly wondered what she’d look like naked. Her long brown hair was laced with golden strands, pulled into a knot at the back of her head, showcasing a face so free of guile it would cause an angel to sin. Clear gray eyes were wide open with astonishment, the sprinkling of freckles across her nose had him instantly aroused.

Colin’s jaw flexed, he pulled his lust under rein and threw the sorry excuse for a Day Walker against the wall before finishing him off.

He spared a look at the woman; she looked shell-shocked. Wouldn’t have a clue the men dressed as soldiers were rotten Day Walkers. Good…her shock meant he wouldn’t have to worry about her moving into the fray and facing harm.

He spun, blades clanging together in a macabre dance as Colin fought the dirty, black-haired Day Walker. With a vicious thrust of his sword Colin tore the soldier’s still beating heart from his chest and crushed it in his fist. The soldier crumpled to the ground, exploding into gold dust.

Turning to the woman, to make sure she was OK, he wasn’t paying attention when he saw her point.

“Look out!” She yelled, waving her arms.

Spinning around, he was a moment too late as the blasted redheaded idiot stabbed him in the thigh. Colin fell to one knee, muscles starting to spasm as pain lanced through his leg, the sword clattering to the uneven, stone floor.

The man stood over him to finish the deed, “Imagine, me killing the mighty Shadow Walker, Colin Campbell.”

“Here, take it!” Heedless of her own safety, the woman had run into danger to hand him the blade he’d dropped. He was flabbergasted she would risk her life for him.

Colin spun the dirk around, thrusting it through the arrogant bastard’s eye just in time to miss the sword aimed at his neck. Writhing on the ground, the pathetic excuse for a Day Walker raised his hands in a feeble attempt to fight back.

Pulling the serrated knife out of the man’s eye, he stabbed the redhead, ripping his heart out. Like others of his kind, the man turned to gold dust and disappeared without a sound.

Someone was screaming. My God, what a horrific sound. Make it stop. It took a moment for Emily to realize it wasn’t
someone
, it was
her
screaming and she couldn’t seem to stop, replaying the horror behind her eyes over and over.

Tears streaming down her face, she didn’t know what had possessed her to hand the breath-taking man the wicked-looking knife. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she curled into a ball wishing she could disappear into the wall. Her body wasn’t listening to her brain; it was as if she was encased in cement.

Run.
She kept screaming at herself, but her feet weren’t listening.