Reckless Revenge: Book Four (Spellbound 4) (15 page)

Darrah smirked. “Shiloh?”

Squaring my shoulders, I demanded, “What the hell is going on here?”

“Whoa! It’s not what you think, Shiloh.” Mom waved her hands. “We’re having our monthly gathering to sort out some of our issues. Nothing nefarious. I promise.”

“Blessed be, Shiloh,” Cadence said.

“Have you come to join our coven?” Darrah asked with a weird little smile.

“Uh, no, thanks,” I replied. “Gotta go! Blessed-uh-whatever!”

I high-tailed it outta there and hopped back in the Jeep. Driving way too fast, I sped home.

Trying not to totally freak out after what I’d just witnessed and overheard, I drove straight home to discover the truth. Rain fell from burdened clouds of mournful gray and smacked the windshield. When I parked, I yanked my hood over my head and ran for the porch.

Back in my room, I retrieved the grimoires from the trunk under the bed. First, I flipped through the books, searching for something on humans with demonic powers and, yeah, eyes that go black.

I turned the page, my hand flying upward to cover my mouth as I read the text:
In medieval legend, a cambion is the offspring of a demon and a human. Some would say that the term “half-demon” isn’t strictly accurate, because a half-demon can even have a demonic ancestor, like a grandparent. The closer the connection, the stronger the black magicks they’ve inherited will be. A cambion’s powers will manifest themselves by the age of thirteen.

All cambions have a “tell” and the more powerful the demon blood in the hybrid, the much more obvious their tell is. Tells can be an affinity for the fire element, inhuman strength, able to conjure black magicks, and when provoked, a cambion’s irises turn completely obsidian.

My brain short-circuited and needed to be rebooted. My heart pounded. My breathing verged on hyperventilating.

And the hits just kept coming.

Yup. That was my boyfriend. A friggin’
cambion
. Strong, aggressive, and temperamental. Eyes that turned black. He wasn’t completely human.

I slumped down on the bed, the grimoire sliding to the floor with an echoing thud. Squeezing my eyes shut, I lay there trying to stay calm until my mind started working again. I sighed wearily. Guess I couldn’t be too judgy about it.
I
had been poisoned by demon blood, too.

Yet my heart struggled to believe it. Not my hot, loveable, snarky boyfriend. Not the guy that saved my life more than once. Not the guy who loved cats and played video games.

But my head knew the truth, even if my heart wanted to deny it. And was I really
that
surprised? No.

Well, that answered that question, but I wasn’t super relieved to have solved the mystery, either. Yet, this was a tangible confirmation that allowed me to put a real word to what was happening to Trent. If I hadn’t been so caught up in my own drama, then maybe I would’ve been more aware of the subtle changes in Trent sooner, the shadow of darkness that seemed to surround him, or how he had trouble controlling his temper.

I smacked my forehead. I should’ve checked the grimoires earlier. Now some of Catarina’s—Trent’s deceased mother—cryptic messages made sense now. She’d been trying to tell me that…

No way. I shook my head clear of the thought. Too creeptastic to even consider.

What was I supposed to do with this information?

Too bad I didn’t have a ready answer for
that
particular question.

Just don’t worry about it now, Shiloh.

Attempting to calm myself down, I searched for a spell that would heal Kayla’s wounds and stop her from decomposing. I found one incantation that would work, although, she’d remain the walking dead. But at least she’d smell better, which would be a major plus.

Then I closed the grimoire and stood up. A glance at the clock said it was only a little past seven p.m. My stomach was feeling all lurchy. Now if I could just keep from spewing my lunch I’d be peachy keen.

I wandered downstairs and guzzled a soda. I figured the sugar would stave off some of the shock. Eating might settle my nausea, so I put a frozen pizza in the oven. While it baked, I put a cast-iron cauldron on the stove and gathered the ingredients for the potion for Kayla: agrimony, snake blood, St. John’s wort, and adder’s tongue. Not so easy to find, that adder’s tongue.

I dumped the stuff into the boiling water and stirred. It bubbled over and fizzed. I tried different ingredients and herbs. Each potion backfired or exploded in my face. Literally. I cleaned the kitchen more times than I cared to count.

On my last attempt, I threw yarrow root into the bubbling pot, and the liquid remained stable and quietly gurgled.

While the brew simmered on the stove, I ate my pizza and tried to avoid thinking about Trent being a half-demon.

After I finished dinner, I mentally ran through the other two ingredients I needed, but those would have to wait until I had time to stop by the mortuary later and borrow them.

Okay, fine—steal them.

Once the potion finished brewing, I poured the steaming liquid into a colored glass bottle and corked it. I sat at the kitchen table, held the bottle and recited, “Magick mend and candle burn. Well-being and good health return. Mother Earth if you may, stop the shrivel and decay!”

My forehead thunked the table. My temple throbbed. Blinking, I fought dizziness to orient myself. Kitchen. Home. Wetness beneath my nose and on my shirt. White magicks and demon powers didn’t mix when casting spells. More nosebleeds. Not good.

I cleaned up the kitchen one last time and glanced at the clock again. Time to go. But I was a hot mess with gobs of potion in my hair, stained clothes, and a bloody nose. I rushed upstairs to take a quick shower, and then went back to my bedroom. I pulled on a black skirt over ripped stockings with a ruffled plum top, and then slid on a vintage leather jacket. My new chunky ankle-boots hurt my feet, but looked super cute.

Ah, what women will suffer for the sake of fashion.

Downstairs, I slipped on a raincoat and stepped outside. The aroma of burning wood from fireplaces hovered over the fresh scent of frigid rain. The rain trickled on the Jeep windows in a soothing rhythm as I drove across town.

On my way to Craven Manor, I stopped by the mortuary. I parked and hopped out, glancing around. No people. No lycans. No threat of danger. Thank. You. God.

My trusty boots sank through the dewy grass into the soft earth, making it difficult to walk.

Eventually I arrived at the chain-link wire fence that surrounded the cemetery. I crept along it until I reached the uneven opening, hidden by perennial bushes. I ducked through, trying not to bump my head. I stuck close to the trees. The closer I got to the building, the more my teeth chattered and my bones shook. If I got caught, I was dead. No pun intended.

Covering the twenty or so yards to the building seemed like it took forever. A security guard was going to catch me sneaking around any second. No sound except my own breathing. The fog muted everything. My heart was lodged in my throat, but I had to keep moving.

Sneaking around the side of the building, I zapped open a door and slipped inside. A senseless determination took me down the long hallway toward the morgue. I grabbed the handle and stopped. I might chicken out if I saw any dissected corpses.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I entered the cold, antiseptic scented room before I could lose my nerve. I expected a cavernous space with stark lighting, like in the movies, but the room was small and cluttered. The space was so hushed, the only noise was the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. The night attendant wasn’t there, but he had left a crumpled fast-food bag on the desk. He must be in the bathroom. I had to hurry.

I inspected the cabinets, the plastic tubs that held murky shapes of organs preserved for further study, and the autopsy tables. I moved past an empty gurney and opened a cabinet.

“Bingo.”

For all my bravado, I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here. I quickly “borrowed” a gallon of embalming fluid and formaldehyde.
Hey
—I left a twenty on the counter and hurried back the same way I’d entered.

I stepped into the shadows behind the mortuary, glancing from left to right like a novice cat burglar. The cemetery was enclosed by a crumbling wall of stone and the grass stood high and dense. I crept as quietly as possible across the lawn. The rusty wrought-iron gate creaked in loud protest when I pushed it open. Free at last.

Climbing into the Jeep and buckling my seatbelt, I only briefly contemplated why I was even bothering to do this. It sure wasn’t because I felt any real love for Kayla. But the thought of another person dying on my watch made my heart pang in a way it never had before. I had lost two friends: Jada and Paige, and then my cousin Madison, and more recently my dad. Death wasn’t something you ever got used to. And, although Kayla was technically
dead,
it still seemed like I should try to save her.

I was feeling pretty smug as I shoved my
borrowed
goods into the backseat. That was until blue lights flashed behind me.

My heart jolted. I was busted.

I slowly turned around, fighting the urge to raise my hands in surrender. A police car had stopped beside the Jeep outside the cemetery gates. There was no way I could explain what was in the backseat. The cruiser’s window automatically zoomed downward and a flashlight momentarily blinded me. I held one hand up against the glare.

“Is that you, Shiloh?” asked a familiar deep voice.

Crap.

I bit my lip and stared at Sheriff Boyd, a tall black man with a wiry strength and a rich baritone voice. He had also been my dad’s best friend. He stuck his smoothly shaved head out the window of the cruiser and gave me that stern look cops get when they aren’t in the mood to hear stupid excuses for speeding or road rage.

Double crap
.

My palms moistened with sweat, and I wiped them on my raincoat, both to dry them and to anchor myself. “Um, yeah, it’s me.”

“It’s almost curfew.” He glanced through the gates at the graveyard and morgue. “Whatcha doing out here so late?”

Oh, nothing much, Officer. Just being a rookie gangsta and doing a little B & E.

I swallowed. “Uh, I was just, um, on my way home and got turned around. I might have that DDS, you know, Directional Dysfunction Syndrome.”

Okay, I admit the excuse was beyond lame. But I couldn’t tell him the truth about my criminal activities, unless I was ready to do hard time. Or an extended vacay in a padded cell.

Sheriff Boyd nodded, apparently in no hurry to leave. I prayed that he stayed inside his vehicle.

“We had a murder at the cemetery across town, and you know it’s not safe after dark. You should get home before Darrah worries.”

I almost snort-laughed at that.

Keeping my face composed, I blinked innocently. “Yes, sir.”

“Good night, Shiloh.” The cruiser inched forward and slowly drove away.

I hopped into the Jeep. My head fell back against the headrest and I blew out a breath. That had been close. I revved the engine and sped off.

When I arrived at Craven Manor and parked the Jeep, I finished mixing the newly acquired ingredients into the potion. Grabbing my stuff, I sprinted onto the porch steps to lift the brass knocker.

As usual, Mrs. Baylock answered the door. “Hello, Shiloh. We’ve been expecting you.”

I breezed past the housekeeper and stomped inside the library. Evans stood at the bookcase, an open book in his hands. He turned just as I entered with wide eyes.

“I came over early because have a potion for Kayla to drink,” I said in a rush. “It will halt the decomposition and help with the smell. And should curb her hankering for brains.”

“Interesting.” Evans shut the book he’d been reading and tossed it on the table. “Let’s find out if it works.”

We strode into the foyer and up the stairs. Kayla sat on a bed in a musty unused bedroom, reading a Rhiannon Frater novel, but I didn’t get a peek at the title. Beside her, a brown teddy bear rested on the floral bedspread that reminded me of the dusty, fake flower arrangements all over my grandmother’s house. It matched the curtains, frilly pillows, and flowered wallpaper. My nose wrinkled against the strong odor of fleshy decay. Kayla really stank.

I thrust the bottle into her hands. “Here. Drink this.”

“O-okayyy.” She chugged it like water, then licked her lips. “Good.”

I stepped around a pile of designer garments. “I see Brittany brought you some clean clothes.”

Kayla nodded and stuffed one veiny hand inside the pocket of her navy pullover, shambling forward in jeans tucked into beige Uggs.

I shook my head. A fashionista zombie. Wicked cool.

While she drank, Evans inspected her injuries. Within minutes of drinking the potion, the gaping wounds on her leg and neck had closed and her skin appeared less sallow. Even the smell wasn’t so bad. That meant my potion had worked. I gave myself a mental high-five.

Kayla had a drop of liquid dotting her chin. She gave me a lopsided grin, probably happy that she wouldn’t be so gross smelling
and
looking now.

“I don’t care if you
are
the undead. There’s still such a thing as a napkin.” I handed her a tissue from my pocket. Stepping back, I scanned her from head-to-toe, then smiled smugly. “Your injuries are already healing. Must be my mad skills as a potion-maker!”

“Indeed. Shiloh, um, can I talk to you in private?” Evans hauled me by the arm back out into the hall, frowning. “But for what purpose?”

“Whaddya mean?” My eyebrows creased. “To keep her from going full-zombie mode on our ass and decomposing. And now she won’t become the human-brain-munching, shuffling kind of zombie in the movies.”

“But we
slay
the unnatural. We hunt the undead.” Evans tugged at the stiff collar of his starched oxford shirt. He tapped a leather shoe on the floor, his tan slacks creased at the waist from sitting behind the desk. A hint of spicy aftershave wafted from his skin.

Was he saying we had to dispose of Kayla
?

Okay, his question stumped me. Why
had
I created the potion? It wouldn’t cure her. Nor bring her back to life. Sure, she’d be immortal and a zombie forever. But not normal.

Ah, hell. Normal was boring anyway.

He kept staring me. But I didn’t have a real answer.

Tears welled in my eyes. “I just needed to save her. I needed to save
somebody
. Because I can’t stop beating myself up about not being able to protect my own dad…”

Mrs. Baylock walked into the hallway with a broom.

“Is Trent home?” I asked her to avoid answering anymore of Evans questions.

“No, dear. He ran to the store for me,” Mrs. Baylock said as she moved passed us.

“I’ll meet you in the library,” I told Evans and raced to the attic before Trent came home. I opened the trunk that contained his dead mother’s things and removed the letters addressed to Catarina’s sister. I shuffled through the stack. The first time I’d read the last letter, I hadn’t understood its meaning I reread it carefully.

... Esael and I have struck a bargain at last. For he has enlightened me. Told me the truth. Explained the nightmares. And unlike the others in town, my bargain is an unselfish one. Because I do this to protect my son.

So, I say goodbye, dear sister. I can no longer live now that I know the horror of what my husband has done. My heart has turned to stone. And how can I be a mother if I feel nothing?

Someday, Maxwell will have to tell Trent his shocking secret. He will have to explain his actions, and the deal he struck with the Devil! And how I became an unknowing pawn in his twisted schemes for wealth and power...

I didn’t read any further. My gut had been telling me all along that Esael had something to do with Trent’s heritage.

And sometimes I seriously hated being right.

Maxwell and Darrah and certain members of the Blood Rose Circle had made bargains with a demon, Esael, in return for their heart’s desire—be it power, riches, or love. But what had Maxwell traded with the demon? Darrah had sacrificed her daughter, because
she
had wanted to be Mrs. Donovan. But what had Maxwell offered Esael?

Had…Maxwell pimped out his wife to a demon, so he could increase his wealth? Sicko. But that would actually explain the whole baby daddy issue.

Perspiration trickled down my back, and my shoulders slumped. I guess I was hoping I’d been wrong about the whole cambion thing.

But what other explanation was there? Maxwell must’ve offered Esael one night with his wife Catarina, and she had finally gotten pregnant with an heir.

Trent was the descendant of something dark and terrible. A half-demon. A cambion. Which meant Esael was Trent’s real father. A demon daddy. My boyfriend was much more powerful and deadly and cursed than me. I only had a few drops of demon blood in my veins. Trent obviously had demonic DNA.

What if our attraction was only triggered by the
Darkness
inside our bodies? My darker powers calling to his, or vice versa, which would mean…what?

My heart jerked. I could barely breathe, but managed to put the letters back and stop my hands from shaking.

After a few minutes of deep breathing, I’d calmed down enough to trudge downstairs. I found Evans settled in a chair with his elbows resting on the desktop. Mrs. Baylock opened the door and waved Daniel and Ariana into the library.

Daniel smiled, white teeth flashing against an olive complexion and dressed in an untucked shirt hanging over a pair of baggy shorts with sneakers. Didn’t the guy own a pair of pants? He slouched on the leather sofa.

Daniel gave Evans a head nod. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Ariana shed her coat. Raindrops glistened in her damp curls, but her indigo T-shirt and black capris were dry. She closed her umbrella and rested it against the wall.

Evans sorted the documents scattered atop the desk, and Kayla came shuffling inside and settled on the armchair. She gave Daniel a little wave, and for a moment he just stared at her, then he slowly smiled.

“I went to your funeral, Kayla,” Daniel said awkwardly. “It was nice. Good turnout. And I’m, uh, glad that you’re alive again.”

Kayla grinned and tried to wink. “Me…too.”

Trent entered the library and took my hand. I couldn’t look him in the eye. A sharp piercing pain entered my heart. I had to help him—not reject him like his father. Because this was Trent—
my Trent
. And I cared about him.

I squeezed his firm fingers. Something quivered deep inside me at his touch, like what I’d experienced the other times the
Darkness
had responded to his, only this time it remained sleeping, which was a good thing.

“Where were you Saturday?” I whispered harshly.

“Sorry. My dad cornered me and started drilling me about applying to colleges. For like hours. I couldn’t exactly tell him that I was sneaking out to meet my girlfriend to spy on a coven.”

“What are you dorks chatting about?” Brittany paused in the entryway like a queen, hands on the hips of her red hooded raincoat, open enough to reveal the black dress she wore underneath. She put forth one spiked heel. After a moment, she released her pose, wandered toward the desk and idly inspected the books.
Seriously?
Dressed to hunt nocturnal creatures in that outfit? Even after all the stress that had built up learning my boyfriend was a cambion, a smile managed to toy with my lips.

Now that everyone was here, I seriously just wanted the whole lycan thing resolved—
fast
. Unlike the last time when I’d fought a demon and almost died. Thoughts of how Esael had killed teens mercilessly—because when was true evil ever merciful?—was enough to make me lay awake at night.

“Enough research. Let’s discuss our game plan,” I said. “The lycan is human, but he’s also a vicious killer and needs to be euthanized.”

No one said anything. I scratched my head. I was like Little Red Riding Hood searching for the Big Bad Wolf. All I needed now was a red cloak and hood.

Mrs. Baylock poked her head inside the room. “Excuse me, Mr. Evans, but you have a phone call from the DarkSide Detectives.”

Evans stood. “They might have advice on how to neutralize the lycan. I’ll take it in Maxwell’s office.” He crossed the room and shut the door behind him.

Kayla shambled into the adjoining bathroom.

I was reluctant to mention it, but I had to. “Before Evans and Kayla come back, I’ve got something to tell you guys…Evans thinks that we should, uh, dispose of Kayla.”

“What? That’s just
so
wrong,” Ariana exclaimed.

“That’s what I thought, too!” I said.

“What the hell is he thinking? We can’t kill her—
again!
” Brittany exclaimed, her brown eyes glittering. “Think how traumatized she’s already been from dying the first time!”

“Then we’ll figure something out,” I said and meant it.

Trent cleared his throat. “From my research on the Internet, it seems most zombies are like regular people. Only, well—sorta dead.” He put his hand over mine. “She could lead a somewhat normal life with our help.”

“And they don’t age,” Ariana wrinkled her nose. “But they do smell.”

“I fixed that,” I said proudly. “I created a potion that should halt the whole rotting corpse stink.”

At the same time that Kayla emerged from the bathroom, Evans returned.

My mentor rested one elbow on the mantel. “Everyone listen up, this will be your crash course on the paranormal. I’m assuming since you’re here that you want to assist us in the fight against evil. Thus, tonight your homework will be to study revenants and lycan mythology.”

“What the heck are revenants?” Daniel asked.

In khakis, with his glasses hanging out of the collar of his dark blue polo, Evans resembled a poster boy for the Republican convention. “Uh, zombies,” he said curtly, then faced the group. “The DarkSide Detectives told me that there’s a fringe theory held by a few folklorists that some regional stories have actual, fantastically literal antecedents.”

Brittany’s thin eyebrows slanted in a frown. “I didn’t understand a word you just said.”

“He means that some urban legends are real,” Ariana explained.

“Uh, yes. Exactly. What I believe is that lycans are responsible for the attacks, and uh, murders.” He glanced at Kayla. “There are many diverse legends concerning were-creatures that vary with era and origin. However, werewolves and lycans are two completely different species.” Evans took a classroom position before the fireplace and the glowing fire behind him set the mood for a scary tale. He paused to grab a book from the mantel and read aloud from the text. “Lycans can walk on their hindquarters and are much more muscular than average werewolves. They have enhanced strength, reflexes, coordination, speed, and regenerative abilities. These traits seem to apply to lycans even when in human form. Silver is a lycans only weakness since they’re violently allergic to it.”

“But will it kill ’em?” Trent asked.

“Maybe. And only if they are shot in the heart or the head. Now, I have numerous sources we can reference.” Evans went to the stacks and began removing books. He dumped them on the desk with a thud. Then he lifted tomes from the ubiquitous piles of reference books, and handed them out. “I should include that Shiloh and I have been working together for quite some time. And I’ve recently discovered an old legend that predicts she will break an ancient—”