The Mark (Interracial Paranormal Romance) (Toil and Trouble) (9 page)

I laid back on the blanket and sighed as my body relaxed. I turned my head slightly. There was a young couple, slicing French bread and strawberries. They looked so happy and carefree and blissfully normal. I'd never have a moment like that with Jack. I squeezed my eyes shut, not ready to accept the truth. I had something in common with whomever he fed on last night...neither of us would get our happy ending.

Chapter Ten

Cold, Hard Bitch

In the city, a modest apartment would cost 1800 a month--and when I say modest, I mean a studio that one shared with two other people.

For half that, I had a luxury apartment in the heart of Raleigh, minutes from Glenwood South. I could still remember seeing the posh building for the first time. The fanciful architecture reminded me of some gothic science fiction novel, filled with vaulted ceilings and high-tech gadgetry.

My apartment lacked most of the pomp and circumstance. I only had a bed, a thrifted couch and coffee table, an old box tv that worked when it felt like it, and a dresser.

Growing up, my father was one of the precious few televangelists who didn't live in multimillion dollar homes, paid for by some poor sap down on their luck. He always taught me that a clutter free home (e.g. No pesky LCD tv's or fancy furniture) equaled a clutter free spirit. It was just about the only Dad-ism that stuck, but there was something about living in a building that I wouldn't be able to even walk inside in NY that was hard to pass up.

I flicked on the light switch in the kitchen and the modest kitchen was illuminated. Most of my food consisted of stuff that could be zapped-Ramen, tv dinners, etc. But I wasn't looking for something to quell my appetite...the woman from the coffee shop, Amy Jones, would be arriving any minute.

I pulled open the cabinet above the stove and pulled out my spice carousel. I swiped lavender, cinnamon, and wormwood--all agents to clarify and soothe the portal between our world and The All. Hopefully it would also aroma-therapize the woman's lover. Usually if the ghost died a violent death, or if the connection summoning them had unfinished business/last contact was a throwdown argument, things could get a bit dicey.

I grabbed my blanket I used for spellwork and spread it in the center of the living room. Next was my make-shift altar, a small workbench draped with a white scarf. I lit the coals inside the burner and put in the spices. Almost on cue, a couple of timid knocks sounded at the door.

"It's open!" I called out as I lighted a bit of sage and walked around the room in clockwork fashion. I could almost feel the walls sighing with relief as I stripped away the negative energy. I was a regular supernatural Mr. Clean.

Amy stood frozen in the doorway, her mouth agape. As was my front door. I hustled over to the door and ushered her a few feet closer into the threshold and pulled it closed. If there was one thing I didn't need it was a neighbor or two going to management over the weird goth chick doing Satanic rituals. In NY it would garner a shrug... In NC at best it would lead to prying eyes. At worst, eviction.

"It, uh, smells nice in here," she said quietly, still clutching her bag like it was her lifeline.

"Good," I said with a smile. "Hopefully Cady will agree with you."

"Cady," Amy repeated as she still scanned the room with skepticism. I could tell from the firm line of her jaw that she still believed it was a crock. She was thinking my apartment smelled like bath and body works, instead of ash and sulfur, or whatever the horror movies claim a witch's lair smelled like. I had no crystal ball, no skeleton head or bubbling cauldron. "No Book of Shadows or wand?" She said warily.

"You would have found all that crap MORE believable?" I said with a raised eyebrow.

Her eyes were apologetic. "I'm sorry. Just a little on edge. Maybe you could explain what everything means?"

I gestured at the counter, where I'd stacked an array of magical tools that I'd gathered this morning. "Witch hazel for purifying, the heart of an apple for knowledge and-" I brandished the silver pentacle around my neck. "My talisman for strength and protection."

Like most mortals, she was drawn to its gleam. Talismans are usually family heirlooms and are chalked full of hundreds of years of family magic. Unmagical mortals and the supernatural are drawn to them when witches use them for spellwork, which is why real witches don't perform rituals out in the open unless they want to draw unwanted attention.

Amy absentmindedly reached for it, her mouth agape, until I tucked it inside my t-shirt mouthing a small veiling charm. Once it disappeared from view and the power behind my charm took effect, she shook her head, snapping back to reality. "I don't believe in this stuff, you know."

I chuckled at the irony of that, considering a few seconds ago she was ready to get down on her knees and worship a bit of silver. "It's a lot to digest." I reached out and steered her toward the ritual space I created in the living room. "You brought the things I asked for?"

She pulled out a plastic shopping bag from her purse and handed it to me. I peered inside. A picture of Cady and Amy. Their house key. A folded letter that had clearly been read over and over again. And a pacifier. "Your daughter's?"

I crossed my arms, my voice serious. "Absolutely not. This isn't some parlor trick or ouija board, Amy. If you're not totally committed, this could be dangerous. For the both of us. So if you have doubts..."

She looked down at the items, her eyes stopping on the pacifier. "N-no. I'm sure."

"Alrighty," I said with a bright smile. "Let's get to work." I picked up the antique bell I used for summonings. "While I walk in a circle, ringing the bell, you have to walk behind me, creating a barrier with the salt." I stressed the next words. "It's very important that it's a continuous, unbroken circle. Understand?"

"Now you just sit back and relax," I said, giving her a reassuring pat. I gave my pentacle one last squeeze and said the incantation. Almost instantly an apparition appeared at the center of the circle, writhing and shaking until it dissipated, leaving the woman from the photograph. Her golden hair fell in tumultuous waves down her back and was in disarray, like she'd just been shaken from her slumber. Her oversized Meredith College t-shirt and bare legs confirmed it...Cady died in her sleep.

Amy pushed past me, her eyes widening in disbelief. "C-Cady?"

The ghost's oval eyes brightened as she reached out. "Amy! I-" They both gasped as Cady stopped when she hit the barrier just past the line of salt. She could go no further.

Amy looked at me, her green eyes filled with longing. "I can't touch her?"

"'Fraid not," I replied. I pushed my will toward her as she took a few too close for comfort steps toward the salt line. "If you break the circle, Cady will be stuck in our plane. Purgatory. She'll never rest."

The ghost took two steps back. "Well. Next best thing, right?"

Amy broke down then, her body spasming with heart breaking sobs. "I miss you so much, baby. I've lost everything. You, Hayden-"

Something flickered across the ghost's ashen face. Something that looked an awful lot like guilt. The gasp that fell from Amy's lips told me it wasn't lost on her either.

I felt a real chill as the ghost raised its head, cold eyes filled with disdain. "Did you really think I'd leave my baby with you so you could raise her with that bitch?"

"You stunk of her cheap perfume," the ghost said acidly. "And you started singing again. We were arguing 98 percent of the time we were together, Amy. You didn’t have a damn thing to sing about. It was so obvious. So I-" the ghost stopped, seething with a quiet rage.

"I ended it," Amy said, taking a step further. "Weeks before..."

"I bit it?" The ghost finished cruelly. "You know, they say the likelihood of aneurysms are increased by stress." The ghost eyeballed me. "If you found out your significant other was screwing an 18 year old while you're working 10 hour days and trying to raise a baby, wouldn’t you be a little stressed?"

I cleared my throat, fumbling with the hem of my t-shirt. "I'd, uh, rather stay out of it."

Amy was making sounds that I was sure my neighbors would mistake for medieval torture. I gingerly patted her on the shoulder. "Maybe we should-"

The ghost stood tall, her words like daggers. "Maybe you should have thought about that while you were in between her legs."

The room went quiet then, the tension so evident you could cut it with a knife.

"Damn you!" Amy shrieked suddenly, lunging forward. As she flailed manically, it took all my strength to keep her from breaking my hold. She was cursed now...apparently she wanted her lover to share her fate.

The ghost was laughing now, evil guffaws full of hate. Each new round drove Amy even wilder, turning her into a raging bull.

"God damn it Amy!" I said in between gasps as I gripped my pentacle. I could feel her slowly weakening, my magic reining her in. "I can't let you do it." Not that I didn't want to. Cheating was bad, yes. Horrible even. But using a child as a chess piece was worse. And B was doing me a solid just letting me do a discount summoning. But if shit hit the fan, the Watchers would come for both of us. And having B on my ass just wasn't worth it.

"Then send her back," Amy sobbed. "Send the bitch BACK!"

"Reverto ex unde vos venit," I said in between grunts. The lights flickered, then returned to normal. The ghost was gone.

I released my hold on Amy and she sunk to her knees, sobs erupting from her body in gasping rhythm. I didn't even bother trying to comfort her.

With shaky hands, I swiped my cigarette case from the table and pulled one out, lighting it with the candle. So much for true love.

"How could she?" Amy sobbed. "How COULD she?!?" I heard a RIP sound and turned back to her as a flurry of fragments from their photo fell to the carpet. Amy was on all fours, her chest heaving up and down.

"Amy-" I stopped when I saw something glowing on her chest. I sunk to the floor beside her, peering at the opening of her blouse. "Oh my god!" I gasped, my eyes going round. It was the same symbol that Kenny had branded on his wallet...right before he shoved it down his throat.

Amy looked at me peculiarly, clutching the opening of her blouse. "What-what are you-"

"N-no," I interjected, realizing I probably looked like some perv. "I'm just trying to help."

"Right," she scoffed, pulling herself to her feet. She glanced back down at the pacifier, tears streaming down her face. "Next time you wanna help me...don't."

And with that she marched to the door, leaving her memories and what her life could have been, on my living room floor.

Chapter Eleven

The Mark of the Cursed

I took one of the paper napkins and wiped down the old plastic chair beside Mom's old couch. I said a little prayer of thanks that her dirty windows prevented the bright rays of sunshine from illuminating the true state of her home.