Magick Rising (21 page)

clipped and old-fashioned. “Shall I call someone?”

I only mouthed the name at first. “Richard?”

“I suppose . . .” He swallowed, hard. “My name must be Lance, now. Is

one allowed to change it?”

Richard.

“You’ve . . .
possessed
him? While he was struggling for his life?” That

was
not
the Richard I knew.

“No. His spirit reached out to mine. You must believe me; I did reject

his offer. But he was done, Penelope. He spoke of killing himself over years,

both with bad choices and questionable drugs. He was tired of the struggle,

ready to move on—and he knew I was not.

“With his last . . . his last breath, Lance Griffin summoned my spirit

into his broken body, and I . . . God help me, I accepted. Should I . . . ?” He

swallowed, hard, an odd but endearing mixture of Lance’s face and

Richard’s being. “I needn’t keep it. If all I get of this is to touch your hand

this one last time? That will have been worth it.”

I yanked my hand free. “And then what? You’ll die too?”

Again
, I meant.
Also
.
All over again
.

I was afraid something in me would break forever, if he left again.

“You think I killed myself in Galveston,” he guessed—and he was

right. How could he not have? Trapped in that aftermath with that kind of

survivor’s guilt?

“I think I might have,” I admitted.

“I saw a woman in the waves, a week after the hurricane. Not a corpse,

mind you. A woman alive, floundering. I dove in after her. The idea of

helping even one person live . . . the hope of absolution drew me as nothing

else could have. I tried to save her—but she did not want rescue. She was

the suicide, you see, not I. One of so very many. Likely she had lost

everyone, everything. She meant to drown, and in fighting my rescue . . .”

He shrugged. After all that, he’d died a hero.
My
hero.

I kissed him, his lips warm and real against mine. In that moment of

connection, I could taste his aura, but no despair.

In the sunshine that glowed through the recovery room window, he’d

found peace, after all.

With me.

The End

BLOOD RISING

Karen Fox

Living in Colorado, surrounded by grandchildren, cats and

mountains, Karen Fox has always enjoyed the paranormal, which can

be found in all of her eight books.

THE RAIN CONTINUED to fall steadily, plastering Hayley Donahue’s

hair to her head and trickling down her neck to slip beneath her black leather

jacket.

Of the too many funerals she’d attended over the past several months,

the majority of them had been held in weather just like this . . . as if, along

with the surviving family and friends, the heavens wept over the

unnecessary loss of a life.

The mourners for Paul Blakely were few, though. From Hayley’s

position at the edge of the distant trees lining the Manitou Springs cemetery,

she could identify a mother and perhaps a sister. Who were the three others?

Friends? Co-workers?

All she knew about the deceased was the little she’d read in the local

newspaper—twenty-seven years old, an employee at a local restaurant. He’d

been walking home from work four nights ago when he’d been murdered.

His throat had been torn out so horribly that the article about his death

surmised a cougar had slipped into the small town nestled at the base of

Manitou Mountain. The article also noted that most of Paul’s blood had

been drained.

That one detail piqued Hayley’s interest, brought her to town to

investigate. After spending the past eight months stalking her sister’s killer,

she’d learned to recognize the signs he left.

After the article created a cougar-panic, the Manitou police had finally

put the animal attack theory to rest and called what happened to Paul a

murder. Though they hadn’t yet identified Paul’s murderer, Hayley knew

who . . .
what
it was. The Destroyer had struck again—brutally,

callously—no doubt leaving his usual plain white business card, printed with

only his dark moniker, lying amidst what little remained of the victim’s

blood.

The card had been there after her sister’s death and, as she’d learned

from befriending a police detective, at one other murder of the many Hayley

had tracked across the country, leading here—Manitou Springs, Colorado.

A small town this time, which deviated from his usual pattern of hiding in

large cities, though this town was close to Colorado Springs. Was he living in

the big city instead and killing here to throw her off?

She felt certain the Destroyer still remained nearby, since his normal

pattern was to kill two to three times before moving on. Wherever he was,

Hayley intended to find him and administer her own justice. She couldn’t

trust anyone else to do the job.

The police wouldn’t know how to handle this murderer if they caught

him. And they certainly wouldn’t believe her if she told them what he was.

She’d already discovered that one mention of the word “vampire” was more

likely to get
her
locked up than the killer.

Whether the police wanted to believe it or not, Paul had been murdered

by a vampire, and tonight, once Paul rested in his native soil, he would rise

from his grave as a vampire himself. Hayley drew in a long, slow breath.
But

not for long
.

She studied the mourners at the gravesite. Despite the canopy over

their heads, they all appeared miserable—probably as much from the horrid

weather as the circumstances. The minister droned on, no doubt spouting

the usual words of comfort and everlasting life. Hayley had believed them

once—until she’d discovered the type of everlasting life her sister found.

As she eyed the funereal gathering, she spotted a man standing a short

distance away, separate from the main group. Was he an escort for one of

the mourners?

He wore a black overcoat and held a black umbrella over his head,

almost blending with the rain on this gray, dreary day. Everything about him

was dark. Dark hair, dark expression, and dark eyes . . . eyes that stared

directly at her.

A shiver danced over her skin. No one else paid any attention to her.

Why should he? He stood too far away for her to determine the nuances of

his expression.

She met his gaze, raising her chin just enough to indicate she wouldn’t

be intimidated. To her surprise, he smiled in return.

Not what she’d expected. She almost smiled back but caught herself.

She wasn’t here to make friends. She half-expected him to approach her, but

he remained near the cemetery gate, directing his attention to the funeral

instead.

They had finished. Finally. The mourners departed beneath somber

umbrellas, leaving only the steady rain to witness the lowering and burial of

the casket. Even the mysterious man by the gate vanished.

Once the grave diggers left, Hayley ventured to the fresh mound of dirt

and stared at the temporary marker.
Paul Blakely
.
Too young to die so tragically.

A distinct sense of unease washed over her, and Hayley whirled around.

It might be day, but she’d learned to trust her instincts. Though the rain

limited her vision, she saw no one. She swiped the water from her eyes and

tugged her jacket a little closer. She’d seen enough to find the grave again

when she returned. Time now to go gather what she needed.

Away from this feeling of impending doom she couldn’t shake.

HE WATCHED HER leave the cemetery with a satisfied smirk. She had

become a nuisance. He’d found it amusing to have her chase him across the

country, but now it was just wearisome.

She wanted to catch him. His grin broadened. He intended to let her.

HAYLEY HURRIED toward the hotel, her head bent against the driving

rain. Fallen yellow aspen leaves formed sodden piles beneath her feet, the

cold wind stripping the trees bare in a final blast of autumn.

Shivering, she paused to wait for a green light then dashed across the

main street. On a day like this, she had no difficulty in believing winter was

much closer than the calendar said. Her first winter without Lissa.

It had been a frigid winter day in February when her sister had been

killed, her body left sprawled on the front lawn, her blood vivid against the

white snow. Hayley had found her when she’d gone out for the morning

newspaper.

Her throat tightened at the memory. That moment had changed her life

completely.

Why hadn’t she heard the vicious attack? Why hadn’t Lissa screamed?

Why hadn’t Hayley done something to keep her younger sister safe? Why

had Lissa been selected by this murderer?

Lots of questions. No answers.

Those nagging questions started Hayley on this quest into a world she’d

thought belonged in fiction. She’d left her job, her home, her life behind in

order to find the Destroyer and plant a stake through his heart. Maybe then

the guilt would ease.

Maybe.

“Oof.” She collided with someone and stumbled back, jerking her head

up. “I’m sorry.”

“No harm done.” The young man gave her a warm smile, his blue eyes

sparkling in his tanned face. He raised his umbrella to shelter them both. “I

should have paid attention to where I was going.”

“Me, too.” Hayley gave him a perfunctory smile then started walking

again.

To her annoyance, he fell into step beside her, sheltering them both

with the umbrella. Couldn’t he see she was in a hurry?

“Where you headed?”

She hesitated before replying. They were on a main street, and she was

very able to defend herself. Besides that, he radiated a friendliness she hadn’t

encountered in months. “The Cliff House.”

The sparkle returned to his eyes, an infectious quality that threatened to

breach the “keep away” barrier she’d built around herself. “Hey, I’m there,

too.” He jiggled his umbrella. “Can I escort you back and save you from

further soaking?”

She wanted to be alone,
needed
to be alone for what she had to do. When

she shook her head, he extended his hand. “I’m Dane Travers. I’ll show you

my I.D. if it’ll help.”

His warmth was hard to resist. She might as well agree and get this over

with. She accepted his hand. “Hayley Donahue. I think I’m already soaked

through, but thank you. I’d like that.” Hayley studied the man. Probably

about her age of twenty-five, he had the blond good looks she associated

with California surfers.

He held her hand a moment longer than necessary. “Your hand is

freezing.” Humor danced in his eyes. “Of course, you know what they

say—cold hands, warm heart.”

“Do they?” Hayley drew her hand away. She could have sworn her

heart had grown cold with Lissa’s death. How else could she continue

hunting, killing?

“We could always find out.” Dane’s smile enveloped her in its warmth,

tempting her to agree.

She frowned, uncertainty filtering in. Men rarely came on to her like

this. The angry scar across her cheek and throat—a gift from one of her

early stakings—usually kept them away. “Are you just visiting as well?”

“Yes and no. I’m working.” He grinned. “I’m performing in the Music

Room Lounge at the hotel. Why don’t you stop by tonight, and I’ll buy you

a drink?”

“I have other plans for tonight,” she said. Plans he wouldn’t believe if

he heard them. “Maybe some other time.” Not that she’d follow through on

that. Music and drinks belonged to her former life, not her current one

mired in death.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Good humor shone in his gaze.

For a moment, Hayley wanted to weaken, to give in and just relax for

once.
No
. She shook her head and stepped out from under his umbrella.

“Have to run.”

And she did run until she reached the warmth of her room at the hotel.

Time to get ready.

She quickly stripped and stepped into a hot shower, letting the pulsing

stream ease away the cold that permeated her bones. Tonight, she would

once again have to stop one of the Destroyer’s victims from wreaking

havoc—an act that was becoming too routine for her peace of mind.

Tracking the Destroyer required her to spend far too much time

reading newspapers in order to find his brand of unusual deaths. When she

reached her destination, she eliminated the new vampires he created. But the

Destroyer was usually long gone.

Raising her hands to her hair, she bumped the glass door with her

elbow. The resulting rattle quickened her pulse and triggered a memory she

preferred buried.

She’d been in the shower when Lissa had appeared that first night after

her burial. Hayley had been stunned, briefly thrilled, then horrified as her

sister attempted to sink her new fangs into Hayley’s throat. Hayley had