Read The Mark (Interracial Paranormal Romance) (Toil and Trouble) Online
Authors: Charisma Cole
“Well, uh, I’ve been just devastated about Brooks’ death,” I said, trying to seem really bothered.
“He was a quite a man,” Kenny responded cryptically.
“We were just really close,” I continued.
He gave me the once over. “He did love a beautiful face.” He paused, stroking his chin. “Though I never knew he dabbled. He always seemed to have a thing for blondes.” Kenny leaned forward, wiggling his caterpillar like eyebrows at me. “I on the other hand…”
I chuckled nervously, biting my nail. There really was no gentle way to say, “Ghosts are real. And I may have told Brooks’ ghost that you stole his money. I’d suggest stocking up on salt.”, so I took a deep breath and got on with it.
“Do you believe in ghosts, Kenny?”
His face scrunched in confusion. “Excuse me?”
“Ghosts,” I repeated. “Like when you die, you’re not dead kinda thing.”
His lips twitched like he was still trying to figure out what I was playing at. “Uh, no. I guess I don’t.”
“Figures,” I mused, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. “That kind of makes this next part particularly hard to hear.”
“Oh?”
“Yep,” I said, cracking my knuckles.
Before you brand me a blabbermouth, the Watchers could care less about a couple of mortals running off at the mouth about supernatural things. In the old days, they were called heretics and burned at the stake or worst. Nowadays, they’re laughing stocks or put on medication. Mortals rarely got close enough to the real truth to cause a ruckus, and if they did, well, it was the last thing they ever did.
Kenny seemed like an average kinda guy. He’d laugh me out of his office then think about it later over a glass of scotch. When bizarre shit started to happen, things moving without him touching them, apparitions, he’d enlist Google’s help and probably stumble upon NACA’s website.
He crossed his arms, clearing his throat. “Well don’t leave me on the edge of my seat, sweetheart.”
“Ghosts are real,” I said frankly.
“Are they now?”
“I communicate with them,” I said nonchalantly.
“Heh,” he snorted. “Watching a little too much Medium, are we?”
“That show gets a lot of things right actually,” I said, reaching into my purse and pulling out a cigarette from my silver case. It was a horrible habit, I know. But in my line of work, something was needed to take the edge off. I’m not into hardcore drugs and alcohol just made it harder to tone out the supernatural. “Mind if I smoke?” Without waiting for a reply, I flipped my bic and pressed on. “I never had dreams, thank God, but I’ve heard of some necromancers who dream shit that would keep you up nights.”
The jovial smirk fell from his face now. I’d gone from cute, quirky girl to certifiable. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”
“I figured as much,” I said, rising to my feet. I pulled a business card from my bag and dropped it on his desk. “I just wanted to let you know that I talked to Brooks, and may have let it slip that you pocketed his money.”
“W-wwhat?” he stammered, his face turning red. He loosened his tie, his eyes darting about nervously. “Why would you do that?”
“It’s my job,” I said truthfully. “And as much shit as Melissa put up with over the years, she deserved to get some sort of reward.”
His eyes went round. “I wondered how that bitch got access to the funds!”
“Hey!” I said, blowing out a plume of smoke. “Manners?”
He coughed, fanning the air around his face furiously. “You can’t smoke in here!”
I grabbed his water bottle and dropped the stub in. That was for the heavy handed pass he made at me. “I just wanted to give you a heads up. My work here is done.” Before I turned to go, my eyes caught something bizarre. His wallet sat on his desk, but it seemed to glow, drawing me to it. There was some sort of symbol carved into the leather. I leaned in for a closer look.
“What did you do to your wallet?” I asked, reaching for it.
He snatched it away, stumbling to his feet. “If you want money-”
“Whatever,” I snapped. I was probably just seeing things from lack of sleep and all. “I’m outta here.” I walked briskly from his office, not bothering to shut the door behind me.
Natasha looked up from her computer screen. “Have a good-“
“You too,” I said, breezing past her. I punched the down button and slid inside the elevator. As I reached for the lobby button, I stopped short. A buzz crept across my skin. It was eerie…like someone invoked my name.
I gripped the pentacle at my throat. “Incubo mihi,” I murmured. I instantly felt the quiet strength of the words, a small protective spell wrapping me in a cocoon of safety. My heart roared in my ears as I sucked in air and let it whoosh out. It was probably nothing. As dumbfounded as Kenny looked a second ago, I doubted he could have caused any disturbance. And I bet the closest Natasha got to spellworking was watching Charmed.
“Coffee,” I said to no one in particular. “What I need is coffee.” I reached out and punched the lobby key as a blood-curdling scream echoed around me. I pried open the elevator doors and bounded back into the office. Natasha wasn’t at her desk.
I ran to the back. Kenny’s door was still open.
“Breathe,” I whispered, my whole body quaking. Something bad happened. I could feel it. “Just breathe.”
Lying inches from where I sat a few seconds ago was the body of Kenny Johnston.
Natasha stood above him, her thin back heaving in terror.
“W-we were just talking,” she stuttered. “W-wwhy would…he-w-why-“
I took a step forward and looked down at the floor. Kenny’s face was drained of all color. His dark eyes were staring at the ceiling, watching, but seeing nothing. There was an abnormal mass in his neck, square in shape. It was the size of his wallet.
Chapter Five
Worrywart
I sipped the dishwater concoction that Raleigh PD passed as coffee, grimacing as the grit slid down my throat.
The interrogation room was bleach white, a blaring thing that made my head throb. There was one solitary fluorescent light above the rickety old metal table that buzzed like an incessant gnat, magnified in your ear drums until you wanted, needed blood. There was one old manila folder in front of me, detailing my seemingly non-existent criminal history. Another perk of working for NACA.
I eyed the detective that sat across from me, his face all seriousness and no-nonsense lines. Detective Todd Warren was the personification of a country boy. His weathered skin was a deep brown—not a product of his race but explained away by thick, calloused hands that drummed impatiently on the table. He had a gold cross necklace that hung close to his chest, mostly hidden, but visible. He hadn’t looked at my chest once, his evergreen eyes always locked on mine. He even called me ‘ma’am’.
“You know you’re in no trouble,” Detective Warren said, stroking his ‘stache. “There’s no need to be uncooperative and waste my time.”
“I’m cooperating fully,” I said with a big smile, molars and all.
“Hmm,” he said, pushing from his seat. He paced back and forth, trying to collect his thoughts. “So you went to see Kenny Johnston to talk about ghosts.”
“Yep.”
“And you talk to ghosts?”
“I do.” I finished the rest of my coffee with a gulp. “I’m a necromancer.”
“And that’s like what? A witch?”
“A type of witch, yes.”
“And you’re not on any type of medication?”
“Nope,” I clucked. “Fit as a horse.”
“Hmm,” he said, picking up the manila folder that sat at the middle of the table. He scribbled something down, shaking his head. “I might have some more questions for you after I talk with Ms. Rivers one more time. If you could just wait out in the lobby, I’d be much obliged.”
I rolled my eyes, swinging my purse over my shoulder. “I don’t get why I have to stay here. I’ve told you all you need to know.”
“Ma’am,” Detective Warren said, his olive eyes narrowing. “You just told me that you’re some sort of witch. Do I look like I was born yesterday?” He held open the door. “Now if you would please wait out in the lobby until I’m done with my interview?” It wasn’t really a request.
I pushed past him, stalking back into the grungy hallway.
“And there’s more coffee at reception,” he said behind me.
“Better than Starbucks!” I said sarcastically.
I stalked over to the waiting room and dropped into the seat beside a bleary eyed Natasha. Whatever barracuda qualities she oozed in the office were long gone. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy chignon at the top of her head. Her face was swollen and blotchy from crying. The crisp white shift she wore was now beige, caked with dirt and coffee stains.
“I think you’re next,” I said, checking my cell for any word from Jack. Nothing. Figures…I never asked him to use his vampire-y powers, and the one time I need him to work his magic he was MIA.
“Are we being incriminated in some way?” she asked, her red eyes widening. “Should I call my lawyer?”
I shrugged. “Nah. They don’t have anything. Your boss shoved his wallet down his throat. They’re just spooked.”
She shuddered, covering her eyes like the whole scenario was replaying right in front of her. “I just don’t understand any of this,” she sniffed. “It was like one second he was fine, then he said some sort of gibberish and-“
“Gibberish?”
She nodded. “Incanto something or other. Like a made up language. It didn’t make any sense.”
I gulped, a chill spreading across my body. “Latin?”
“I passed high school Spanish by the skin of my teeth,” she laughed, blotting her nose. “I have no fucking clue.”
I cradled my chin in my hand, thinking it all over. It would explain the odd feeling that came over me. And swallowing a wallet? Kenny was a lot of things, but mentally disturbed wasn’t one of them. There was definitely something supernatural going on.
“H-here she is, sir,” a glassy-eyed cop piped, opening the gate a few feet away. Jack strode through, white horse and all.
“Finally!” I said, looping my purse over my shoulder. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Once Natasha got Jack in her crosshairs, she was dabbing furiously at her face, swiping at flyaways. “But the detective said he might have more questions for you, Jade.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Who’s gonna stop me? You?”
“Now, now,” Jack began, putting a strong arm around my shoulders. “There’s no need for rudeness.” His eyes flashed hungrily as he focused on Natasha, who gobbled up the attention willingly. “You are-?”
“Natasha Rivers,” she grinned as she slid off the plastic chair like a serpent. She sashayed over to where we stood and extended her hand.
Jack shook it eagerly. “I’m Jack.”
“And we’re leaving,” I said, steering him toward the exit.
His thoughts of hunger screamed in my head—another gift I had as a necromancer. Vampires are dead and as such, I don’t even have to work my mojo to pick up their frequency. Jack was reading loud and clear. It was dinnertime.
“You don’t even have clearance to feed on her,” I hissed angrily, wheeling him toward the exit. “I’ve been stuck in this station for hours, a lawyer turned up dead mere seconds after talking to me, I’m fucking exhausted and-” My mouth snapped shut as he pulled out his cellphone. Calling his handler to run a check on Natasha I’d wager.
I’m as feminist as the next woman--I don’t spend my time pinning over a man, I work hard, and I have my own house, bills, etc and believe I have the right to all those things. Unfortunately, feminists are exactly the kind of woman that vampires live for when they impulse feed…women with little to no connections, kids, and any other entanglements. Independent woman…no strings.
He powered the phone off and turned on the charm. “You’re not jealous, are you?”