Of A Darker Nature (4 page)

“That is what I have you for, my love. Your sole reason for living is to keep me happy and safe.”

He narrowed his eyes, but chose not to argue the point. “I will find the witch and stop her from taking control of the city. And when I find Trent…”

“If Trent is in contact with Starr Carter, it is on my behalf. He must be trying to stop her himself.”

Marcus groaned. “It's a shock that you've survived this long.”

“Until you get that fantasy about Trent out of your head, your time is better served at my side. I will keep an eye on you, Marcus.”

“Don't put me on a leash, Isabella.”

Laughter danced up her throat, silvery and light. She arched one pale brow and offered an icy smile. “You have always been on a leash, dear one. Consider it shortened.”

Ominous storm clouds hung in the late afternoon sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance and electricity drifted on the humid breeze. Emily parked in front of the mortuary then lifted the hair off the back of her neck in hopes of cooling off.

Wren, the cleaning lady, alternated between watering plants and dusting. She motioned Emily over when she entered the sprawling, black and white Victorian. A bulge in her short apron revealed she had her beloved tarot cards with her.

The funeral home’s lobby typically exuded a warm, homey feel. It’s simple décor and furnishings had a Victorianesque feel. 

Goose pimples dotted Emily's skin. Although three days had passed, the attack was still fresh in her mind.

“Scott in his office?”

Wren tucked the duster away. “No, he's in the workroom with Beau.”

Emily glanced at the clock. “Beau is here? I thought he didn't venture out until after dark.”

Wren pulled fingers through her purple streaked hair and smiled at the prospect of juicy gossip. “I guess he didn't have a choice. He’s been in the chapel all day. His current girlfriend kicked him out right at dawn. I guess Mr. Creepy finally met someone who got tired of the game.”

A giggle bubbled up Emily's throat. “Why do you call him that? I think Beau is very handsome.”

Beau was tall and lanky with intelligent blue eyes and a Romanesque nose. He usually kept his dishwater blond hair pulled back in a short ponytail. His clothes were always stylish and neat, usually in shades of black or gray. Sometimes, if he felt particularly cheeky, he added a splash of red. He was very popular with the ladies, at least those enamored by the vampire lifestyle he lived.

“Even after what happened the other night?” Wren shook her head. “I dunno. Maybe it's because he wears glasses.”

“So?”

Wren seemed flustered all of a sudden. “Well, he doesn't need them. He says it makes him look studious and trustworthy, but you and I both know it's an act. I mean, he's supposedly a vampire, right?”

“That's what he claims.”

“So, if he is, wouldn't he be able to glamorize himself?”

“I suppose.” Scott trusted Beau and, thus far, Emily had no reason not to. 

“Don't get me wrong.” Wren was quick to explain. “I like Beau. He's great, but you got to admit he can be weird at times. Do you ever think maybe he really is what he claims to be?”

“A vampire?” Emily lifted a brow. “I don’t know. Do you think there might be more out there than we're aware of?”

“What if folklore creatures are real?" Wren challenged. "What if that reality is hidden by what you and I were taught to believe?”

Emily tried to keep the humor from her voice. “You’re saying there's a seedy underworld of neck biters out there?”

“They're not the only ones who prowl the shadows.” Wren seemed undaunted by Emily's lack of conviction.

“Werewolves and shape shifters?” Emily pursed her lips, thinking it over.

Wren pulled the cards from her apron. She shuffled and set them out on the welcome desk. “Magic is real. I believe everyone has some amount of magic within them. The majority of people remain ignorant to their abilities. If they do catch a glimpse of it, it scares the shit out of them, and they write it off as a coincidence. Some label it as a freak occurrence. Society forces us to believe in the mundane, Emily. How do you explain the ability to perceive what the dead have seen? Do you think it’s a mere coincidence?”

“I guess I never thought of it that way.” Emily watched Wren shuffle the cards again.

She placed three on the desk. “That's weird.”

Emily's attention was on Scott and Beau's voices in the backroom. She couldn't make out their heated words. “Didn’t get the card you wanted?”

Wren swiped the cards into a neat pile. She shuffled and dealt again. “Don't poke fun, Emily. These are your cards. I'm pulling the same three, and they don't look good.”

“I’m sure it’s just a fluke.” She leaned a hip against the desk and smiled. “Shuffle and give it another go.”

“You shouldn't ignore this.” Wren pointed to the first card. It depicted a man with ten swords stuck in his back. “It means failure, loss…”

“That’s old news. Everyone knows what happened to my parents.” Emily's voice came out harsher than she wanted.

Wren's gaze lifted to study her face. “That doesn't mean it's your fault.”

How many times had she told herself the same thing? No matter how many times she repeated it, it still felt like a lie. “Someone ought to clue in Liz. She’s pretty much abandoned me.”

“No offense, but your sister is an idiot.”

Maybe she should give Wren a chance. They'd never been all that friendly. Wren cleaned the mortuary and Scott's upstairs quarters three nights a week. Emily beautified the bodies and worked whenever Scott needed her, which lately was pretty often.

“The second card drawn is representative of the present.” Wren laid another card on the desk. Five of pentacles. “This usually means change, sometimes through sacrifice.”

Emily didn't need any explanation of the third card, which pictured a skeleton on a horse. Death written in dark, ominous letters, decorated the top. Certainly the card could have but one implication. She didn't usually put much stock into the tarot, but one had to admit the three cards were troubling.

“It's open to interpretation.” Wren's voice took on a low timbre that reminded Emily of a fortune teller. “I see this as a warning. A dark soul may cross your path. It could create physical or emotional pain. Or you may lose something close to your heart.”

“And I guess when it's all over, someone will end up dead? Sorry, but it sounds kind of iffy to me.” Emily arched a brow, unhappy at how quickly her good mood dissolved. 

Wren laid her hand over Emily's. Her fingers trembled. “Death doesn't always mean destruction. It also brings renewal.”

“That’s a strange way of putting it.”

Wren shuffled the cards once more. The same three lay on the desk. “Maybe you should let me whip up a good luck charm or spell for you.”

Without another word, Emily moved toward the back of the building where Scott's office was. Wren followed behind, babbling about also making some protective talismans.

“Hey,” Emily entered Scott’s office. He’d painted the walls in tasteful neutral shades. Framed art depicted trees in grayscale. Everything was elegant and serene to make clients feel more at ease in their decision-making.

Scott moved to the end of his desk to inspect Emily's bruises and scrapes. “Have they found the guys who did this?”

“I've met with Hahm twice to go through mug shots, but haven't found them yet.” She disengaged herself from him. “No luck with the cadaver either.”

Everyone stared at her, probably to gauge whether she was serious or not.

“The undead?” Wren questioned from the doorway. Beau scowled at her, and she stuck her tongue out at him. “You're lucky he didn't eat you.”

“I didn't get the whole 'I vant to suck your blud' vibe from him.” She curved her fingers like claws and did the best Bella Lugosi impression she could muster. 

Wren offered a smug expression.

“Okay, he looked at me a little weird at first, but he didn't do anything.” Emily flexed her fingers and remembered how cool his skin had been against hers. “We had a moment. It was like we connected for a split second.”

“We're just happy you're okay.” Beau’s smile was wary.

“I have to find out who he is. The least I can do is buy him a cup of coffee and thank him properly.” She suspected she sounded like some crazed stalker. Besides, how exactly did you thank someone who saved your life? Coffee just didn’t cut it. 

“I’m sure he doesn’t want the attention, Emily,” Scott said. “He didn’t even stick around to talk to the police. What kind of good Samaritan does that?” Scott’s gaze slid in Beau’s direction. Emily wished she could read Scott's mind. She suspected he hadn’t told her everything. 

An idea struck her. “Hey Wren, can you do a location spell or something?”

Scott’s jaw dropped, and Beau cleared his throat.

“What? It's not like I want to date him, marry him and pop out a couple of his kids.” The prospect was appealing though.

The allure went deeper than just his faultless body. Once he had healed, and Emily saw how he truly was, she’d been captivated. He'd given her a wild look at first, but who wouldn't upon waking naked in a strange place? When he'd reached out to her, and their fingers touched, it was like he'd infused a part of himself inside her. She couldn't get him off her mind. She longed to know more about him, her hero, and sometimes dream lover. Until she did, she would continue to dream of him and wonder just who he might be.

“Just let it go.” Scott sounded perturbed all of the sudden. He frowned, and his eyebrows dipped.

“I feel like I owe him.” She stared at the carpet between the toes of her shoes and shuddered. “I witnessed his death. To come back from that and fight off three lunatics…”

Beau cut her off. “That's not a good idea, Emily.”

“Why? Is this where you tell me vampires are real, and he really will eat me?”

Beau and Scott exchanged another strange look.

“What? Why do you keep looking at each other like that?”

A woman appeared in the doorway before either could get geared up with another argument. Wren ducked her head and darted out of sight. Maybe she suddenly remembered the toilet needed a good scrubbing.

The dark skinned woman looked comfortable in a peasant shirt and white linen pants. Her fingers smoothed across the close-cropped platinum hair. A silver ring adorned each finger.

Scott summoned a smile and extended his hand. “How can we help you?”

She ignored him and her gaze homed in on Emily instead. A rubbery smile twisted her lips. “Are you Emily Cross?”

She glanced up in confusion. “Yes?”

The woman’s gaze flicked to the men, and she pursed her lips. She looked at Emily once again. “Can we speak in private?”

“I guess we'll use your office if that's okay,” Emily informed Scott. It didn't appear to matter since the woman had already settled into one of the visitor's chairs.

“Want me to sit in?” Scott paused in the doorway.

Beau shuffled out of the small room, the corners of his mouth turned down in a frown.

“Nah, it's okay.” Emily walked around the end of the desk to sit in Scott’s leather chair. “It probably has to do with the estate settlement. Liz and I have been arguing about it.”

The woman sat with back rigid and hands clasped in her lap. The platinum hair looked harsh against her dark skin.

“Starr Carter.” She said the name as if Emily should have already known it.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Carter?”

Starr's broad face split into an eerie grin. The woman's eyes were quite round and reminded Emily of a toad. “I've heard about your fantastic ability and wanted to meet you in person.”

“How?” Apprehension skittered down Emily's spine.

“You know how news travels.” She waved away Emily’s concerns. “I've never met anyone with your unique talent. You can read the dead?”

Emily's mind whirled. Hardly anyone was familiar with her curse. “I'm sorry, how do you know this?”

“That isn't important.” She brushed imaginary lint from her sleeve. “I'd like to put you on retainer. What are your fees?”

“I don't think you understand how this works.”

“Sure I do. You touch the dead thing, and you tell me what they saw. Can you read their memories too?”

“Sometimes, but I don't do this for the public.” At least not since Arizona, and as far as Emily was concerned, that didn't count.

“You should. You could make a lot of money.” Starr leaned forward, an intense expression on her face. “So can you help me?”

“I'm not sure. I have to be in contact with the decedent directly. Is the deceased a relative of yours?”

“No.” Starr's mouth pursed. “What do you mean by directly?”

“I can't use a personal item or ashes. It has to be skin on skin contact. I suppose I could meet you at the funeral home of your choice.” It was alarming how she fell back into this old mindset. It smacked of the terrible things she'd done in Arizona. Frankly, it worried her. “Is that going to be a problem?”