Lost Soul (DarkWorld: SkinWalker Book 2) (36 page)

My phone buzzed and I grabbed it from the seat be
side me, while keeping my eyes on the road. I flipped it open, gave it a quick glance and raised my eyebrows in surprise. Martin Cross. Desperate father in search of his missing child. Something I knew a lot about. I’d just taken his case, a stressed mechanic whose kid had disappeared into thin air months ago. A case I’d assumed would be pro bono considering he didn’t appear to me to have exceedingly deep pockets.

He was c
onfirming my payment had been deposited and I should see it reflect in the account tomorrow. For once, I was happy to have pegged someone so wrong.

I threw the phone back on the seat and peeked at the rear
view mirror. It never hurt to be cautious considering I’d pissed off enough paranormal criminals in my time, but no one was following me.

***

I drove to the outskirts of town, wondering again why I bothered with these visits. I could hear Drake's voice. “Why do you waste your time? The man probably doesn't even know you're there.”

Drake Darvon was my best friend and my sparring partner. He was also a gargoyle. Real live blue-blooded in
-the-flesh gargoyle. Drake didn't realize I went because I needed to. Because something deep inside me drew me to Samuel.

I pulled up in front of the house, a part of me refusing to enter the grand old house, the other part wanting to rush in there and take Samuel away from it all. To take him away and fix him and make him whole again. It still felt like my fault, even though everyone, including Samuel himself
, insisted it wasn't. But if I hadn't been so persistent, if I hadn't wanted to find Ari so badly and finally bring her body home for some closure, maybe Samuel would still be whole. Maybe he would still be around to guide me.

Not that I needed his training anymore, though. Samuel Fontaine had once been the Master Teleporter. There was only one person who exceeded him in his ability to cross the Veils and enter the Other worlds. And that was me. A secret only Samuel and I knew. Both Omega and Sentinel could never be privy to that piece of information. Samuel contracted to both organizations so he was allowed on occasion to do his own search and rescue jobs. Storm had arranged for Samuel to train me, to help perfect my astral projection, thus putting in motion a friendship of a lifetime.

But Samuel couldn't be hoodwinked. He'd forced me to admit my front as an astral projector was a sham. Then he'd taken it upon himself to train me to teleport better. How to jump better, faster, smarter. And to this day he was the only one who knew exactly how powerful I was. How far I could jump, how strong my self-protection was, that I could move through most magical wards.

I rested my head on the steering wheel. Maybe I should just start the car and go home. Maybe Drake was right and coming here
only made things worse for me and for Samuel. No. I punched the steering wheel, as if it was Drake arguing with me. I'd come this far. And Samuel deserved some company. I got out of the car, controlling the urge to slam the door shut. Fishing in my jacket pocket for my keys, I jogged to the porch, as if by walking any slower I would give myself the chance to change my mind.

Beneath the elegant French columns, with their flaking paint, I hesitated only a moment before I slipped my key into the lock, the rest of the bunch jangling against each other as I moved. I was about to turn it when the giant oak door swung inward so hard I had to let go of my keys or go flying inside with them.

Cassia stared at me, her honey-gold eyes as expressionless as she could make them. "Hello, Melisande."

"Hi
, Cass." The skin at her eyes tightened. She hated it when I shortened her name. But it didn't matter. She pretty much hated everything I was and everything I stood for, all on account of the fact I ruined her life. I wasn't in the mood for a stare down so I tugged my keys from the lock, and took special note of the dark glare Cassia gave them, as if I had no right to have them. I brushed past her and headed for the stairs.

"He's not taking visitors," she said, her voice dripping ice as she pushed her tightly spiraled curls away from her face.

I stopped, my foot on the first stair, my hand on a banister badly in need of staining, and glanced back at her. I smiled sweetly. "Well, good thing I'm not a visitor then, isn't it?" I watched as blood rushed to her dusky cheeks. She smoothed her skirt down, tamping down her anger with the same action. I really shouldn't bait her. She did take care of Samuel. But I could care less if she left. I'd just hire someone else to look after him. I turned my back on her and left her to stew in her fury, taking the threadbare stairs two by two, knowing even Cassia would disapprove. Poor Cassia. Samuel's niece hadn't inherited his teleportation powers, and being born normal into an almost entirely magical family was a great burden to bear. The problem with Cassia was she bore it with vicious anger.

Sighing, I pushed Samuel's door open and walked silently to the table by the window. Today, he sat in his rocking chair beside the open bay windows. White gauze curtains billowed on a soft breeze and he seemed to gaze out at the trees but I knew he saw nothing of the view. My heart twisted for him.

I drew a rickety chair close and sat beside him. "Hello, Samuel," I said, taking his hand in mine. His skin was papery thin, the fingers bony, muscles weak and wiry. His hand twitched as I held it and I smiled. I knew he knew when I visited.

Samuel Fontaine was not an old man. He was in his late thirties, not the age of a man who should be lingering in a rocking chair. I stared at his once handsome face, high cheekbones now jutting out too far, and gorgeous green eyes now faded to a pale luminous non-color.

But sexy Samuel's been gone a long, long time. Ever since his brain got scrambled doing a jump for Melisande Morgan. What a way to go. My fingers tightened on his and I had to force myself to remember his frailty. I began to pull away when his fingers gripped mine with an intensity I hadn't felt in months. My heart stuttered as I stared at him, eyes wide.

"Mel?" his voice rasped, as if he hadn't used it in years.

"Samuel? Yes, it's me." I nodded and smiled, tears threatening to overflow.

He blinked, his expression slightly unfocused. Then he frowned. "Are you eating? You look skinny."

I snorted. "Don't worry about me. It's you we are concerned about. We need you back Sam-sam." I leaned close and he placed a palm on my cheek. The curtains billowed into the room, white clouds surrounding us in this impossible dream.

"I know, baby. But I'm not done yet," he said
, smiling. "The girl . . . She needs me."

My stomach tightened. "What do you mean?"

A few seconds of silence crawled by as Samuel studied my face with far away pale green eyes. "Patience, Melisande. And don't forget what I taught you," he said softly, his voice fading. "Don't forget . . ."

"Samuel?" I called him, but I knew he was already gone and my heart ached for him.

"He spoke to you?" Cassia's voice rang out, so bitter and cold it dropped the temperature in the room by a few degrees. Maybe the woman was magical after all.

"Yes." I
whispered, still holding on to his hand. He'd spoken. He was still there. And what had he meant? 'I'm not done yet?' What did that mean?

"What did he say?" Her question broke through my thoughts, an angry tide breaking onto my happy, grateful shore.

I looked up at Cassia and grinned. "He said I was skinny. And he told me not to forget what he'd taught me." I didn't see any reason to tell her the rest. I suspected she'd overheard the last of Samuel's words so that's just what I gave her.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Cassia snapped, her honey eyes flashing. "He hasn't been lucid for months
, and you waltz in and he just talks to you out of the blue and says don't forget what he taught you?" She snorted, hands on her hips, eyes wide. "Who the hell do you think you are? You just come in here whenever you feel like, say whatever you want and then leave him to me? Who do you think looks after him? And he talks to you?" Her laugh was hoarse, underlined by a deep bitterness.

I watched Cassia, her anger an almost palpable thing. She was struggling with her own burdens but all I wanted to do was to slap her
as hard as I could across the face.

"You know what? I'm a bit tired of your whining and moaning. I know you've had it tough but we all have our own bloody demons to deal with. As far as I'm concerned you can just suck it up." The color drained from her skin and I was certain she wasn't sure whether to be shocked, upset or angry. "Take Samuel for instance, he's way worse off than you. Maybe someday we will have him back – from what he said today
, I am hoping his condition is temporary and wherever he is he's okay and he will come back. But until then we have to wait. So quit feeling sorry for yourself. If you feel this is all too much and looking after Samuel is a burden, then by all means leave. I'm sure we can find someone else to take care of him."

I'd never voiced my opinion to Cassia before. I'd always steered clear of her, left her to her anger. Now, in the face of my words and my own fury
, she seemed startled, unsure of herself.

"You can't make me leave." She lifted her chin.

Really? After everything I said,
that
was all she got? "I'm not making you leave, Cassia. I'm just saying if you aren't happy taking care of Samuel, we can find someone else." I was careful to use the word 'we'. A gentle reminder that my presence here was with the kind permission of Samuel's extended family. Not that I needed their permission, but they had eased Cassia into accepting me in the house and I appreciated that.

Now, I watched Samuel's niece as she considered my words. She didn't respond and for Cassia, being short of words was unusual. Then she turned abruptly on her heel and left the room.

"Well, I suppose I got my answer, then," I said to myself.

Samuel chuckled and when I glanced at him, a little shocked, my heart sank with disappointment at the blank expression in his eyes. Then he tilted his head and stared out the window. Sighing, I got to my feet and kissed his cheek. Then walked out of the room and left him there alone again.

As I drove, all I could think about were Samuel's words.

I'm not done yet. The girl . . . She needs me.

***

Saleem s
hifted in his seat. It felt like he was sitting on a rock rather than the supposedly comfortable seat of Chief Roger Murdoch’s office at the Chicago police station. He eyed Pete Fulbright who commanded the seat beside him, his stomach making him look more like a whale every time he breathed.

Saleem
didn't like the guy he'd been assigned to. Didn't appreciate his attitude toward his job or toward his investigations. But he was going to give Pete Fulbright the benefit of the doubt. And he supposed his own presence would do some good in allaying suspicions that Chief Murdoch wasn't taking full responsibility for Fulbright's investigation of a paranormal operative.

Fulbright's
sudden aggressive interest in Melisande Morgan had caught the attention of the High Council, and because of their already comfortable working relationship with the CPD they asked Omega, instead of their own investigative unit Sentinel, to look into it.

Omega and Sentinel, both powerful paranormal agencies were interested in a rash of paranormal disappearances in the last six months, something that seemed to also have caught Fulbright’s attention.

“So, I trust you will ensure Saleem here has full access to all our Missing Person’s files?” Chief Murdoch said as he rose from his seat.

Fulbright reddened as he stood, his back ramrod straight. “Of course, Chief.”

When he stalked out of the office and shut the door with a click, Saleem turned to Murdoch. “I don’t need those files you know?” Chances were Omega’s files on the disappearances were much more substantial than what Fulbright could come up with.

Murdoch smiled from beneath his mustache. “Of course I know that. It’s just better that Fulbright doesn’t.” The Chief sat, his massive frame threatening to crush his creaking chair.

“So what has he been up to?” Saleem glanced through the window at the warren of desks. Fulbright stood at one of them, flipping through a stack of files while repeatedly glancing at Murdoch’s glassed in office. Fulbright's stomach rose from mid-chest and hung low on his hips, so low over his waistband the man needed suspenders to hold his pants up. Not that body image bothered the detective at all.

“Investigating all of Mel’s cases but especially focusing on the abductions and deaths involving paranormals. I don’t know how, but he’s managed to hone in on the paranormal cases too well for my comfort. Ask him yourself. He doesn’t mind sharing his suspicions.”

Saleem nodded left the Chief’s office, heading to the two desks that sat facing each other. A floor to ceiling window looked out onto traffic and block after block of aging high-rises.