Soul Deep: Dark Souls, Book 2 (19 page)

Briefly, his gaze trailed over her body. Then his jaw grew rigid and he backed away, securing a safe distance between them.

The pot began to sizzle, so she dragged it off the burner again.

They ate the soggy spaghetti in silence, looking anywhere but at each other. Only Ben broke the stillness by chattering incessantly about the games he’d played. She’d never seen him this excited. Every time he spoke of Adrian, his face lit up. Right there and then, she understood how Marcus’s son had accomplished the impossible feat of taming Rogues. The mind was a very powerful tool. If wielded properly, it could vanquish any weakness, even one imprinted in an individual’s DNA. Only hope could fight the darkness, and that was precisely what she saw in Ben’s eyes.
 

By the time dinner ended and they all cleaned up, Ben was exhausted. Regan took him by the hand and guided him to his new room, where she tucked him in.

“Can you stay with me a while?” he asked in a small, uncertain voice.

With a nod, she slid into bed beside him. Ben’s lids grew heavy, but he kept staring at the ceiling. “Close your eyes,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to. I’m too scared.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re safe here.”

He shook his head emphatically. “I’m scared of the dreams.”

She could protect him from a lot of things, but not his mind. Smoothing down his hair, she fought the helplessness that swelled within her. “Everything will work out. I promise.” She wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep that promise, but she voiced it anyway. Sometimes, even the illusion of hope was better than no hope at all. “Try to remember how things were before the visions started.”

“I can’t,” he confessed. “I don’t remember anything about the time before.”

There had to be something, one comforting memory, maybe of his mother rocking him to sleep or of his father swinging him up in the air. Unless Marcus was right and Ben—this Ben—hadn’t existed before the moment he’d died on that operating table.

“When you woke up after your surgery, did you remember your parents?” Her fingers traced tender swirls across his scalp.

“No. Nothing. Nothing but the light.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

“It’s fuzzy, like a dream. There was light everywhere. Light in the sky. Light on the ground. I was made of light, too. Then everything went dark. My chest began to hurt. I wanted to open my eyes, but I couldn’t.” He yawned. “When I woke up, the light was there again, only it was coming from the ceiling. There were doctors and nurses all around me, and my parents, too, but I didn’t know them. I didn’t know any of them.”

What Ben had just described sounded oddly like the birthing process, but she knew he spoke of the moment his soul had returned to his body. “And after, did the memories come back to you?”

“No,” he mumbled. “Never.”

“And when did you start dreaming of the man with the scary eyes?”

No answer. She looked down to find Ben fast asleep. She studied him for a few seconds, her heart overflowing with affection. It made no sense, the intensity of her emotions. Only someone with a soul could feel so deeply. For some reason, Ben had brought to life everything that had once been human inside her.

Careful not to wake him, she crawled out of bed and ambled downstairs, where Marcus sat on the couch examining the documents he’d sent fluttering in the air earlier. She angled a glance at the console, which he’d temporarily pieced back together. Looking at it, no one would guess that a mere few hours ago the ground had been swept out from under it. It appeared as solid as ever, but the cracks were there, tiny fissures that threatened the very foundation upon which it stood.

“Any luck?” she asked him, hoping to capture his attention.

He inclined his head her way but kept his gaze centered on the printouts. “Not sure.” He must’ve borrowed some clothing from Adrian, because he’d changed into a pair of gray jeans and a faded black T-shirt that was a touch too snug, outlining every splendid muscle on his broad chest.
 

The casual way he was dressed made him look relaxed and slightly more approachable. Boldly, she went to sit beside him. “Still want me to take a look at them?”

His eyes flashed to hers. “Knock yourself out.” He handed her the documents and stood, crossing the room to stand by the fireplace, his back turned to her, as though he couldn’t bear to look at her, let alone sit beside her.

“I don’t bite, you know.”

He slanted a sideways glance her way. “It’s not your bite that worries me.”

Like Ben’s dreams, the memory of the kiss they’d shared haunted her. Hoping to distract herself, she began leafing through the printouts. As Marcus had said, the dates coincided with events they suspected were Kleptopsych feedings. Same dates, same times. The disappearances had to be related somehow.

“Maybe Kyros has taken to draining humans while they’re still alive rather than instigating their deaths.” That was another thing that separated the Kleptopsychs from the Rogues. The Kleptopsychs willed people to kill each other or themselves, then proceeded to swallow their souls. They usually didn’t steal a life-force from a living host. The Rogues, on the other hand, were too impatient for that. They took what they wanted when they wanted, leaving a string of shriveled carcasses behind.

“I considered that,” Marcus replied, “until I had a talk with Ben.”

“What does Ben have to do with this?”

He finally gave in and made eye contact. “He took one look at the photos and had some kind of vision. Said these people were being held prisoner somewhere.”

Putting the papers aside, Regan stood and approached him. “Where?”

“Some building. He didn’t say.” Marcus looked like a statue, with his arm propped on the mantel, his features set in stone. “According to him, Kyros was there along with some nurse. Ben said her face was deformed—blue and bumpy.”

A thought struggled to unfurl in her mind, tickling her consciousness. She reflected, her bottom lip clasped between her teeth. Then it hit her. “Remember when Lia’s sister was held hostage? Didn’t Lia say she injected Diane with angel’s blood?” It had taken a while for the memory to return to Lia, but once it had, she’d promptly shared it with the others at the Watchers’ complex.

Interest sparked in Marcus’s eyes, and the frost melted from his limbs. “She did.”

“Angel’s blood always leaves scars. Do you think it could cause the kind of damage Ben described?”

“Possibly.”

“And Diane
was
a nurse.” For months they’d presumed the Kleptopsych dead, but they’d found no evidence to support this assumption. After the catacombs collapsed, they’d had no way of telling which of their enemies had perished and which had survived.

It was now Marcus’s turn to torment the bearskin rug. He paced across the living room, his thumbs hooked in his back pockets, his shoulders hunched forward as he contemplated her words. “She could’ve survived the cave-in, same as Kyros.” Stopping by the hearth again, he nodded approvingly. “And if she did and I manage to track her, she could lead us straight to him.”

Regan smiled. “It can’t hurt to try.”

His stoical expression cracked, and an affectionate grin curled his mouth. “I always knew you were more than just a pretty face.”

She rolled her eyes. “You sure know how to charm a girl.”

For a few seconds they just stood there, several feet apart, staring at each other. The distance that divided them came alive, resonating with energy. She fought the urge to go to him, to put aside her inhibitions and force him to put aside his. But her feet remained rooted to the ground.

With a gruff exhalation, he averted his gaze. “We should get some rest. We have a big day tomorrow.”
 

She nodded and forced a smile. Like the console, she couldn’t allow the cracks to show.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The last time anyone had seen Diane was when she’d accosted and killed Lia’s sister, Cassie. So first thing the next morning, Marcus and Regan set off for Portland. It was doubtful that, months later, Diane’s signature would be strong enough to guide him to her current location, but it was a starting point.

A little past noon, they reached their destination, an apartment building located a block from the Willamette River waterfront. They’d left Ben with Adrian again, for fear of putting the kid at risk.

“Think you’ll be able to pick up her trail?” Regan stared at the high-rise, with its tall windows and wide balconies. “It’s been so long since Diane was here.”

Marcus wanted to believe that he would, but he had to be realistic. The chances of tracking the Kleptopsych were slim at best. “There’s only one way to find out.”

They mounted the steps to the tenth floor and made their way to the unit they sought. The door was locked, but Marcus unlatched the bolt with a single concentrated thought.

“Didn’t you say we shouldn’t use our powers?” Regan entered the apartment first.

“We shouldn’t. But at the moment, it’s better than the alternative. If Cal gets wind of the fact that someone broke into Cassie’s old apartment, there’s a pretty good chance he’ll send the Watchers to investigate.”

“Too bad. I was kinda looking forward to seeing you kick in the door.”
 

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Marcus took several long strides into the unit. A new tenant had taken up residence here, either unaware of or unperturbed by the fact that the previous inhabitant had gone plummeting off the balcony to her death.

At the moment, the place was unoccupied. Marcus sloughed through mounds of shoes and dirty clothing carelessly tossed onto the floor. A half-eaten bowl of nachos sat on the coffee table, surrounded by several bottles of beer.

Regan scrunched her face in disgust. “What a slob.”

“At least he’s not here.”

“Never know,” she quipped. “He might be buried under the laundry.”

Closing his eyes, Marcus ran his palms over the walls, where the slightest hint of energy pulsed. Mostly it was Cassie’s signature he sensed, but there were undertones of another—a dark current that could only belong to Diane. “It’s weak, but I’m getting something.”

He let his instincts guide him, following the flow of energy to the balcony, where it grew more powerful. Crouching by the door, he flattened his hands against the balcony floor. “This is where she fell after Lia injected her,” he told her. “She was in agony.”

Regan squatted beside him. “How can you tell?”

“The concentration of black energy is stronger. It has seeped into the wood, like a bloodstain.” Marcus might not be able to predict the future like Ben, but the past spoke to him. Every signature left behind told a story. “She was lying right here when she called Cassie’s soul to her. I can feel the power that flowed through her, the crazy high she experienced.”

He frowned as the impressions continued to swamp him. “No, it was more than just a high. I sense desperation, insanity. The angel’s blood did more than damage her face. It damaged her mind.”

“That’s not good,” Regan said, returning to an upright position. “Considering she wasn’t all that sane to begin with.”

Marcus stood and walked across the small balcony. “She knocked Lia out, then carried her inside.”

He entered the apartment again. The sinister current of energy led him to the door, where he paused. “Boris was standing right here when she killed him.” Boris was the Watcher Cal had dispatched to stand guard over Cassie. “She dragged him across the hall and down the stairs, with Lia still secured over her shoulder.” The three distinct energy patterns were unmistakable.

Retracing Diane’s steps, he led Regan out of the building to the waterfront, where a string of hotels and bars lined the street. The view was idyllic, with cyclists rolling down the meandering bike path, pedestrians strolling on the sidewalk next to the gleaming river, and people enjoying a cup of coffee at one of the numerous cafés that dotted the harbor. None was aware of the black energy contaminating the area. None suspected that just below the surface, an elaborate community of dark, immortal beings had once dwelled.

He turned onto a side street and followed it to a deserted alley used mostly for deliveries.

“Where are we going?” Regan crowded in behind him. Her fresh spring scent invaded his system, momentarily distracting him.
 

“Underground.” Using a back door, he breached the entrance to one of the bars. The small space was steeped in darkness, but Marcus saw clearly that it was a stockroom.

“There’s nothing here.” Regan swiped at a cluster of cobwebs, and a swirl of dust rose to crown her head.

Doing his damndest to ignore her and stay focused, he ventured farther into the dusty room. The energy trail he followed ceased abruptly. Muttering an oath, he turned to Regan, who watched him expectantly. “I lost it. I’m not sure where she went from here.”

“Look under your feet.”

He glanced down to find himself standing on a trapdoor. Hunkering to the ground, he yanked on the rusted handle. The wood groaned in protest, then swung open with a loud creak. Beyond the threshold, blackness yawned like the ravenous mouth of some ancient beast. Ignoring the oily feeling in his gut, he squeezed through the opening and climbed down a ladder so dilapidated it threatened to collapse under his weight. When his feet touched the ground, Regan stood behind him, waiting.