The Mark (Interracial Paranormal Romance) (Toil and Trouble) (4 page)

“Sia!” I hissed, my cheeks reddening. In most things, I’m not a traditionalist. My arms are colored with tats, my face covered in piercings. I talk to the dead and date a vampire for chrissakes. But I still believe that what happens in the bedroom should stay in the bedroom; what Jack and I did between the sheets was our business and ours alone.

“Oh the things I would do to that vampire…” Her eyes closed as she drifted away and hashed out her x-rated fantasies.

I leaned over the counter and pinched her trying to snap her out of her dream. “He’s taken. Also, last time I checked, you guys feeding on each other is the worst thing that could possibly happen. The whole star crossed lovers, suicide thing.”

Vampires and fairies are cut from the same cloth, descendants from the same blood sucking supernatural creature. Apparently, because of their super close lineage, they can’t feed on one another or they’d be driven mad. But that’s not the kicker--their love becomes so all-consuming that it compels and drives any mortal they come in contact with insane with lust and blood. The ‘face that launched a thousand ships?’ Try fangs. You’d be surprised how many of the bloodiest wars in history can be traced back to a fairy or a vampire not being able to keep it in their mouth.

Sia shrugged. “I like Romeo and Juliet.” She closed her appointment book, her face going serious. “I don’t have another piercing until after lunch, wanna talk about whatever's going on?”

“I don’t want to be a bother-“

“Of course you do,” she winked and steered me towards her office. “That’s kind of the definition of a necromancer.”

I rolled my eyes as I slid into the seat in front of her desk. Her office was my favorite room in the building. While everything else exploded with color, her office was painted black; the only contrast the metal desk and the plush red chaise I was snuggled on.

“Fairy,” she said in a “Duh” manner. “We feed on emotions, remember?” She closed her eyes, licking her lips. “And Mr. Brooks’ run-in with his wife...let’s just say I’m stuffed.”

“Mmm,” I mused absentmindedly. Fairies are drawn to strong emotions like moths to a flame. I'm sure they got a big ole cup of hate last night. But that wasn't what was bothering me.

“So it’s not letting the wife torture her poor husband that has you all emo,” she said, scratching her chin.

“I didn’t let her do anything!” I laughed, my cheeks burning red. I'm not gonna lie though-seeing his wife march in like G.I. Jane in designer ware, clutching a can of salt, was pretty darn amusing.

“Riiight.” Sia opened her drawer, pulling out a Jolly Rancher lollipop. She offered me one, but I declined. “I suck at this twenty questions shit, so feel free to just clue me in.”

I thought back and remembered how strong the ghost was. The way he manipulated sound, moved the objects…and I had a feeling that he wasn’t even that upset. “I may have unintentionally sicced an angry ghost on someone,” I said finally.

I chuckled as I pulled myself up. “Yeah, lawyers suck. But that ghost…” My voice trailed off forebodingly. “I wouldn’t wish a haunting with him at the helm on anyone.”

“Ha, ha,” she said, sticking out her tongue. “But seriously, it’s not your place.” Her carefree voice had an audible edge to it. “Just leave it alone.”

I shifted uncomfortably, not oblivious to the sudden change in the atmosphere. The air was tight with tension, like a rubber band pulled to its breaking point, mere seconds from snapping.

Sia’s crystal eyes softened after a moment, her voice like a whistle on the breeze. “You’ve been necromancing with NACA for how long?”

“A year and a half.”

“So you’re a newbie,” she said, with slight condescension. “I’ve dealt with this whole supernatural thing for slightly longer than you. A millenia, give or take."

“I didn’t see my first ghost yesterday, you know,” I said acidly.

I saw my first ghost when I was thirteen. I was at some god awful bible camp, my days spent journaling how horrible of a person I was and singing hymns about bloody Jesus. The only redeeming factor was Au Sable River. The rock shelves sliced through the water like forgotten cities waiting to be discovered. The dark froth churned and guzzled my ankles and promised to take me far, far away from the hours spent in prayer and incessant singing.

One night, when I was so homesick I couldn’t stand it, I ducked out of the cabin and ran to the river with open arms. I sunk my feet in the water and squeezed my eyes shut, sending out a beacon to the universe to save me. When I opened my eyes I saw her--Molly Jenkins. She was around my age, but I remembered thinking there was something sagely about her eyes and the way she moved in the shadows. She came to sit beside me and we talked about our families and how awesome the river was.

The next morning, I asked my cabin counselor about the new girl and a mix of horror and sadness spread across her face. Apparently, Molly drowned in the river two years ago.

After that, I started seeing ghosts everywhere--at the corner store, at the park, on the 6, at school. My dad blamed my hoodoo mother, and took away a chunk of my summers with her in North Carolina. I wasn’t upset. Back then I couldn’t stand the country--she didn’t have a computer and we were in the cut, miles away from other human beings.

But that didn’t stop me from seeing the dead. And no amount of prayer calls or psychologists with pills could curb my Sight. So I just stopped talking about it.

If Sia was bothered by my outburst, she had one killer poker face. She just leaned back in her chair, bemusement coloring her angelic face.

“I’m not some noob,” I insisted, annoyed now that I saw that she wasn’t even taking me seriously. “I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday or anything.”

She laughed then, a lyrical thing that spilled out of her mouth like a music box. “You humans have the most bizarre sayings,” she said between gasps. “I mean, have you even seen a turnip truck?”

Chapter Four

High Rise Grave

I slid my Bug between the Explorer and Corvette with expert precision. Downtown Raleigh buzzed with lunch traffic, executives in power suits brushing shoulders with students and the homeless. The similarity to home made my heart throb with memories.

Right about now, I’d be on my way to my favorite bagel stand on the way to the coffee shop, giving my dad a peck on the cheek as he slid into a taxi that sat dutifully at the curb.

“Enough,” I scolded myself. I came to North Carolina for a reason. Reminiscing didn’t change the fact that I made choices…choices that led to my new zip code. Now I had to live with it.

I smoothed the front of my oxford shirt and gave my hair a good shake that made my chocolate twists fall in waves around my face.

I dished out a couple of quarters for the toll and pushed inside the glass monstrosity. It climbed to the sky, like those who had the fortune to work there wanted to take ownership of the sun as well.

I pushed through the revolving door. If I hadn’t grown up in the city, the opulence of the lobby might have made me ooohh and ahhh, but I’d seen Trump Tower. Whoever designed this place didn’t nearly have as big of an ego.

He turned to the computer, typed a bit, then clucked his tongue with approval. “Gotcha right here. Johnston and Associates is on the 21st floor,” he said, cocking his head toward the elevator. He hit a button on the screen and a nametag printed out. He peeled it off and handed it to me. “Make sure you wear this…at all times.”

I rubbed the nametag on and gave him a final smile. “Thanks.”

As the elevator doors closed behind me, I felt pangs of nervousness bubbling in my gut. I saw this conversation going a couple of different ways, but the end result was the same: “Get the hell out of my office.” Heck, if I didn’t know the truth about the supernatural world, I’d say the same thing.

The voice in the back of my head planted seeds of doubt that didn’t even need water to bloom into a screaming, “What the Heck Are You Doing Jade?!?” When the elevator stopped on the 21st floor and the gates slid open, I considered just closing the door and going back the way I came. The ghost would haunt him sure, but eventually he would find his way to us. Probably.

I let out a heavy sigh and stepped out of the elevator while I still had it in me.

My black flats sunk into the plush carpeting as I breezed to where a receptionist sat behind a great oak desk. She wore a white shift that cut dangerously low in the front with gold jewelry draped about her that accented her overall look. Silver snaked through her mahogany hair, but age hadn’t touched her beauty. There were dozens of secretaries just like her weaved through the building…gorgeous women generally hired because every woman that walked through the doors wanted to be her and every man wanted to screw her.

The rest of the office was quiet, most of the workers escaping their high rise graves for lunch. As she ran a blood red polished hand through her hair, reminded me of a succubus I met in Brooklyn years ago. Her touch was intoxicating ‘til one got to what lied beneath.

She slid from behind the desk and strut with model-like grace to the back office, knocking lightly before sticking her head inside. After a moment, she motioned for me to come back and join her.

She held open the door, ushering me inside. The corner office fulfilled every stereotype in the book. Overpriced art hung pretentiously on the walls. The furniture was all art-deco, more for look than function. Kenny sat behind a metal monstrosity of a desk, still chomping on a sandwich.

He was a weasely man, his gray hair buzzed short. His nose was too long, his eyes dark and beady. The way they sparkled mischievously made me wonder what skeletons HE had tucked away in his closet.

“Thank you Natasha,” Kenny said, in between swallows of meat, lettuce, and a wheat panini.

“If you need anything else…” Her voice trailed off lustily as she raised her swan-like neck a bit, a slight smirk at her lips. Another stereotype checked off the list.

“That’s all for now, sweetheart,” he said with a wink.

I walked over to a cube-like chair and plopped down, flashing Kenny a smile. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

He swiped a napkin and dabbed at his mouth. “I’m always available for a pretty woman,” he said flirtatiously. “And any friend of Brooks’ is more than welcome in my company.”

Yikes
, I thought to myself. Guys like Brooks Lancaster rarely shacked up with just one woman, but the tone in Kenny’s voice made me wonder just how freely Lancaster spread his seed.

Kenny took a long gulp from his water bottle and let out a satisfied sigh. He flipped his tie back to the front and gave me his undivided attention. “So what can I do for you, honey?”