The Mark (Interracial Paranormal Romance) (Toil and Trouble) (7 page)

She was still a little skeptical, so I whipped out a little disarming spell. In most cases, spellwork that affects the activities of others is frowned on, but I figured the Watchers had better things to do than babysit me.

“Ego vilis vos haud vulnero,” I said under my breath. Instantly, she swiped at her runny nose with the back of her hand and nodded, following me toward the bathrooms.

When we pushed inside, I stepped inside a stall and unrolled a ball of tissue. I walked back to the sinks where she stood and offered it to her.

“Thanks,” she sniffed, wiping her face. “I-I’m Amy, by the way.”

I gave her a small smile. “Jade.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said, turning to the mirror. She shuddered when she saw her reflection. “If Cady could see me now she’d probably die from fright.” She laughed at first--loud, uncomfortable guffaws that transformed into a series of gut-wrenching sobs.

I unrolled another handful of tissues. “That’s who you lost? Cady?”

Amy nodded. “My partner.” She let out a loud sigh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But she was so much more…she was strong and opinionated and when she smiled-“ Her voice broke then, and she wrapped her arms tight around her body, like she was remembering every touch, every kiss. “She was everything.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, touching her forearm. I purposefully reached for the area where the ghost had touched her. I was 99.9% sure that the ghost was her lover, but every now and then some creepy ghost liked to piggyback on some poor soul’s grief. This was the only way to be sure.

As soon as I made contact with the mark, images hit me like a ton of bricks. First was their first kiss—at the drive in. They were both so nervous, the butterflies dancing furiously in their stomachs. Next was when they moved in together—they were painting the living room, Cady admiring how beautiful Amy looked in overalls, green paint smudged on her cheeks. The last was the birth of their daughter—a searing white hot pain followed by an all-encompassing love that brought tears to my eyes.

I pulled away from Amy then, staggering a bit. I’d gotten reads through marks of the dead before, but it was usually just short blips, memories from the ghost that left behind the goo. But nothing was this earth shattering. I’d always heard about love like this, read about it, dreamt about it. It was the most terrifying and beautiful thing I’d ever experienced.

I looked at Amy with a whole new respect. I felt like I wanted to roll up in a ball and weep until my body was dry. It was the kind of love that most people wished for but never really found.

I turned to the sink, splashing water on my face. I blotted my face with a paper towel and turned back to her. “I’m someone that can help you.”

“Your first kiss was at Raleigh Road,” I cut in. “You went to see Drag me to Hell. You moved to a townhouse near Cameron Village and you would make Cady grilled cheese to eat on her way to campus. Two and a half years ago, Cady gave birth to Hayden.”

She covered her mouth, her eyes filled with fear. “How did you-“

“Ego vilis vos haud vulnero,” I repeated, sensing that she was seconds from bolting from the room. Her breathing slowed down, her hand dropping from her mouth. “I just want to help, Amy.”

I turned and pushed out of the bathroom and embraced the smile that played at the corner of my lips. It was nice to finally use my gifts for love.

Chapter Eight

Handler for a Night

I let out a disgusted sigh, pulling at the spiked collar around my throat. The moon hung bright in the sky above Hillsborough Street. The sidewalks were peppered with college students, spilling into Farmhouse-their voices filled with excitement and lust. The voices around Jack and I were filled with the same, young girls wearing their ‘Team Jacob’ and ‘Fangbanger’ shirts, skinny emo kids decked out in all black and plastic fangs. The Brew was having a Bite Me event, a couple of indie metal bands rocking the stage, with a lower cover charge for those who rocked their favorite vampire themed merchandise.

Jack leaned dangerously close, his teeth grazing my neck. I tried to quiet the stream of heat that flowed to my face and somewhere a bit…lower.

I used to tell myself it was just the venom. A vampire’s touch is filled with the same disarming affect as a spider dishes out to its prey. It's numbing and intoxicating. But this feeling wasn't just primal. Staring at him, decked out in his Dracula best, my heart swooned. I knew deep down, I'd do just about anything for him.

He wheeled me around and dipped me, his lips soft and hard on my lips. My cheeks burned as whoops and whistles echoed and bounced around us.

My legs felt like cooked spaghetti noodles as he lifted me back up. I dug my nails into his arms to stay balanced. "What was that for?"

“It means a lot to me that you’re helping me out tonight,” he said as he gave me a final peck on the forehead.

“Uh huh,” I said and cleared my throat. I adjusted my leather corser and jutted out my lip. “Just tell Nikolas he owes me one.”

Nikolas Turnovo was Jack’s handler. Basically, if Jack decided that he was tired of sucking on slightly warmed packets of blood and wanted something a little fresher, he had to call up Nikolas. They’d hit up bars and clubs together and Jack would charm the female/male vic and a quick background check would determine if the person could go missing without drawing too much attention. He was essentially Jack’s wingman. Tonight, that pleasure was mine.

Jack claimed Nickolas had some pressing business to attend to or something or other. A new vampire who needed to be schooled in the art of not chowing down on every Tom, Dick, and Harry.

“You say ‘claim’ like I’m full of shit,” Jack said, pinching me playfully. “New vampires are no joking matter.”

I jabbed him with my elbow. “Neither is poking around in my head.”

“Please, necromancer,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not the only one that likes going for a leisurely stroll in someone’s thoughts.” He bit his lip, his teeth sparkling in the shadows. “If you wanted to know all the kinky things I wanted to do with you-“

He stood up automatically, trailing a finger down my bare back. His touch made me want to melt into a puddle on the cement. “I’ll make sure I take advantage of that later.”

I tried to control the urge to jump his bones right there and flashed the bouncer a toothy grin. He glanced at my ID and stamped my hand. Without even looking at Jack’s outstretched one, he stamped the back of his hand and let us pass.

“I’m almost offended,” Jack pouted. “I could be 18 for all he knows.”

“Uh huh,” I snickered as I looped my arm into his. I eyed the room and pangs of guilt eating at my conscience. Someone here was going to find out that in real life, encounters with vampires rarely end in happily ever after.

I zeroed in on the bar and a burly guy in plaid behind it. He was under a spout and stood bopping to the music as he topped off a pitcher of beer. I nudged Jack. “I’m gonna need one or ten of those.”

He gave my hand a squeeze, his eyes sympathetic. “Anything you need, love. I’ll grab you a beer and get started.”

When he brought back the pitcher, I sloshed it into a cup and finished my first in one solid gulp. Jack looked at me his eye slightly concerned. “If this is going to be too much-“

I held up a hand to silence him. I gestured at the small gadget that sat beside my now empty cup. “I just type in the name and send?”

I looked over to the door where a very anxious guy wore a skin tight shirt with "I kissed a vampire and I liked it" emblazoned across the first. An equally nervous guy walked through the entrance, decked out as Eric from True Blood, stopped a few feet from the first, then awkwardly extended his hand. First date I assumed.

I chuckled a bit to myself, remembering the first time we met. He seemed so blissfully normal then. His nose was buried in Psychology Today, and his mug was filled with black coffee…none of that froufrou stuff that ruined the beauty of the beans. I wasn’t looking for my Prince Charming, but for a fleeting moment, I thought I had finally met someone I could build something real with.

Before Jack there was a werewolf, a shifter, even a fairy. After I found out that all the things that go bump in the night were actually real, I’d made it my mission to seek them out and learn more about their world. I’d gotten an education, alright. One thing I'd found was that while breaking a supe’s heart can be slightly detrimental to living, having your heart stomped on hurt whether you sprouted hair on a full moon or were hundreds of years old.

After finding out who I really was, I’d told myself that I didn’t want normal…that I couldn’t have it. But two dates with Jack and a little voice in the back of my head said, “Maybe.”

But then I walked in on Jack cleaning up after a feed. I was both terrified and intrigued. Maybe slightly more terrified.

Jack was my first real vampire. The whole necromancy thing meant most vampires kept their distance, but Jack was mesmerized by it. He said it gave him the chance to feel the warmth of a mortal without the pesky eating me while I slept thing. And at night, when he tossed and turned and threw his arm over me, for a fleeting moment I almost forget that he’s supernatural. For just a second, we were just a normal couple, catching z’s before we go to our apple pie jobs in the morning.

I jumped as my cell buzzed. I’d gotten the first name: Skye Roberts. I gulped and punched the name in the device. A few seconds later, Skye’s whole life story zipped back. Oldest child of three, sophomore at Meredith. Her father was a preacher in Virginia. It was Skye’s lucky night. I texted Jack back a sad face and took a long sip of beer.

The crew started setting up for the opening band and the crackle of mics and scratch of equipment intermingled with the laughter and conversations that spilled from the crowd. They all huddled with their painstakingly chosen attire, completely unaware that a real vampire was in their midst, and there was nothing romantic about the plans he had for one of them.

My cell phone flashed to life again: Liam Jackson. I downed the last of the PBR and typed in the kid’s name. Almost instantly I got back a blurb of Liam’s short life. He grew up in Charlotte, his mother a drug addict that died in some crack house. He was bounced around foster homes and group homes before finally being adopted by an elderly couple in Cary. His adopted father died from a stroke a few months ago and his adopted mother had one foot in a nursing home. The scanner gave Jack the OK to feed.

With shaky hands I looked at my cellphone, knots forming in my stomach. I saw death more than most doctors. It was who I was…a weird mix between a grim reaper and the psychic network. But this was something different. I didn’t have a direct hand in any of the deaths of the ghosts I communicated with. I knew their stories, but I was never part of them.

Jack sent another text, a series of question marks.