Tooth and Claw (The Harry Russo Diaries Book 2) (2 page)

I was still mulling over my coffee shop idea when I met with
Isaac on the roof for another lesson. For the last few weeks, he had been
working with me to try and figure out what I could and couldn’t do. Usually, a
dhamphir’s powers mature over time and with age, the typical dhamphir coming
fully into their powers in their thirties. I was twenty-three, soon to be
twenty-four in the new year, and rather than being precocious, my powers had
arrived in abundance out of pure self-preservation when confronted by a crazed
lunatic intent on stabbing me in the heart with a really big, magical knife.
Add to the fact that it was a guessing game as to what power was a result of
being a necromancer and what was because of my mixed parentage, and it was a
total crapshoot.

“Try again Harry, focus,” Isaac said patiently. He sat back
in his chair, watching me. We were sitting around the portable fire pit I had
lit to take off the November evening’s chill. Well, I felt the chill, Isaac
didn’t.

“I
am
trying. It’s just not working. It’s not like
there’s a ‘Fangs On’ switch, at least not that I can find,” I complained. My
fangs had made an appearance weeks ago when I was thrown into the middle of a
blood magic ritual. At the time, I thought I was just high from magical
overload and hallucinating, but Isaac assured me that they had been real.
Since I had yet to actually see them again, I was having a hard time believing
him. “What does it matter whether or not I have fangs?” I asked impatiently.

“As a vampire, your fangs are an important part of who you
are,” explained Isaac. “Not only are they your primary weapon, they are an
indicator of your power and control. You must be able to exhibit full
control.”

“So no premature…uh, fanging out.” Darn, that sounded
better in my head.

Isaac rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yes, something like
that. Only very new Vlads
fang out,
as you say, without provocation.
You must demonstrate control. We don’t want the other vampires to think you
are weak.”

And that was the real reason for his concern. Since being
forced to come out as a dhamphir and a necromancer to the vampire community, I
basically had a target on my back. It didn’t help that Salvador, the Magister
and most powerful vampire in town, had taken a special interest in me. So now
I was either feared because I was a necromancer or hated because I was
Salvador’s new pet. It didn’t matter which side they were on, vamps either
wanted to kill me or kill me.

Isaac reached over and grabbed the small, wide-mouthed
thermos he had brought with him. He unscrewed the lid and held the bottle out
to me. “Tell me what this smells like to you.”

I wrinkled my nose in anticipation, but took the bottle
anyway. There was a thick, dark liquid inside. I took a sniff and instantly
regretted it. “Ewww, yuck. Is that blood?” I made a face and handed the
bottle back to Isaac. “It smells awful, like rotten pennies.”

“And yet you said it appealed to you the night of the
ritual,” he replied, setting the bottle down on the table.

“It was different then. I was scared and hungry and getting
high on all the magical energy in the air.”

“Hmmm, yes, it was different.” Isaac looked at me pensively.

The next thing I knew, he had lunged across the space
between us and had me by the throat. In a blink of an eye, he dragged me to
the edge, bending me over the small half-wall that surrounded the roof.

“Holy shit, Ithaac! Are you nutth? Put me down.” I put my
hand to my mouth in surprise. “Hey, my fangth!”

“Interesting,” Isaac replied as he set me back down on my
feet. He strode across the roof and grabbed the thermos, bringing it back and
holding it under my nose. “Now how does this smell?”

“Yuck,” I said. “It thmellth exthactly the thame.”

“Interesting,” he said again, taking a long drink from the
thermos. He smacked his lips with a smile and shrugged. “At least we know
your fangs will appear when you feel in mortal danger. Now you just have to
work on controlling them. Try retracting them. No…wait. Maybe you should
practice speaking with them first so you don’t sound like a third grader with a
lisp.”

“Ha, ha, very funny Ithaac. I mean, Isaac.” Hey, you try
talking properly with four brand new fangs in your mouth. “Okay, letth…let’s
talk about this great idea I had for a coffee shop.”

I love churches. There is something almost magical about
them. I don’t mean my kind of magic, I just mean something that makes them
feel special. Maybe it’s the calm and hushed voices, the reverence they make
you feel. Whatever the case, St. Anthony’s, with its gleaming stain glass
windows, was one of my favourite churches in the city.

I was here for a funeral. Well, I wasn’t actually here to
attend the funeral; I was working. Often, we get an order to provide flowers
for a funeral service that the family would then like transported to the site
of internment. It meant I had to hang around until the end of the service and
grab the flowers, then drive them to the cemetery. We had been so busy lately,
I had actually hired a delivery guy, but he was out making deliveries across
town, so I was working this one.

Mourners were slowly beginning to trickle in and find
seats. I was standing to the side in one of the small chapels off the main
nave, trying to be discreet and watching the ghost of the recently departed
pace back and forth in front of his own coffin. At least it wasn’t an open
coffin. I really don’t get that. Why would you want to stare at a
dead guy? Did you need proof he was dead or something?

The dead guy - his name was Charles Mathers - was muttering to
himself. I was really hoping he didn’t notice me. I decided my best bet would
be to sneak back out and wait in the narthex, the waiting area at the front of
the church. I had just turned to make my escape when a familiar form stepped
into the church nave.

Great, just what I needed. What was he doing here? I swear
it seemed like Nash was following me half the time. Now I was stuck between
having to deal with the dead guy or the surly, confusing hot guy. Naturally, I
chose the dead guy and stayed where I was.

Unfortunately, Nash must have seen me duck back into the
chapel because he started to walk down the aisle heading straight for me.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in his usual gruff
manner. Nash never seemed to feel the need to adhere to the social niceties,
at least with me.

“And a good afternoon to you too, Nash,” I replied. See? I
could be polite.

Nash grunted and just stood looking at me with his hands on
his hips. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and tie, and looked extremely
sexy even with the annoyed look on his face. I fidgeted under his gaze, tugging down
on the bottom of my blouse to adjust it. I was dressed conservatively in my ‘funeral suit’.
It wasn’t really a suit but rather a slim fitting, just above the knee, black skirt with
a matching black peplum hemmed top. The blouse had three-quarter length sleeves and a rectangular
lace panel at the neckline. I thought it made me look respectful yet business-like, since I was
working. Gran had once said it made me look like a secretary.

Nash grunted and just continued to stare at me, expecting an
answer.

I rolled my eyes and replied, “I’m working. Flowers, a
funeral…get the connection?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest
defensively. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m on the job.” Nash gave me another once over, his
expression softening. “You look nice. Very professional.” He took a step
closer, leaning towards me.

I frowned at him. “Don’t even think about it, mister. Tell
your wolf to quit sniffing me.” Nash had a weird habit of always sniffing at
me. He said it was his wolf, like they were two different entities or
something. I really didn’t know how the whole werewolf thing worked, maybe
they were. I’d have to ask Tess. Up until recently, she hadn’t been allowed
to share her wolfy side with me, but now that I was ‘out’ to the werewolf
community maybe things were different.

Nash took a step back and scowled again, but this time I
think it was more at himself than me. He had made it quite clear that although
his wolf seemed to like me, Nash the man, just found me annoying. Sometimes the
inner wolf must have won though, because we had shared some smoldering kisses.
I self-consciously licked my lips, biting the corner of my mouth at the
thought. Nash was a very good kisser.

After an awkward moment, I suddenly registered what Nash had
said. He was on the job? “Was Charles Mathers a homicide victim?”

“That’s police business,” came the curt reply.

“If it was police business, why did you bring it up in the
first place?” I looked over to where Charles’s ghost was still pacing.

“I…well…I figured that if you were here that maybe so was
his ghost,” Nash shrugged. Nash had found out that I was a ghost magnet a few
weeks ago and knew I had the ability to speak to them.

“As a matter of fact, his ghost
is
here. He seems
rather agitated, but I don’t think he has much interest in talking to me.” So
far all Charles’s ghost had done was pace back and forth in front of his coffin
and stop and stare at a young Asian woman sitting in the second row of pews.
The woman was visibly upset, alternating between sobbing into a tissue and
leaning her head against a female friend’s shoulder. “Did you talk to his
girlfriend,” I asked pointing to the young woman.

“How do you know she’s his girlfriend?”

“Well, look at her.” I gestured to the sobbing woman. “And
besides, Charles can’t stop staring at her.”

“We did. But she wasn’t any help.” Nash looked
frustrated. He also looked like he was biting his tongue trying not to ask
what I knew he really wanted to ask.

I huffed out a breath. “Do you want me to try and talk to
him?” I asked Nash, putting him out of his misery.

“Can you?” Nash looked relieved.

“I can try.”

There were a few more minutes until the service began. I
walked over to the front of the church to where I had placed two large funeral
arrangements on either side of the casket, making a show of straightening them,
hoping to get Charles’s attention. He was oblivious to me though. He was
almost what I would call a ‘repeater’, a ghost that repeats the same action
over and over, unable to interact or do anything else. He seemed to have just enough
awareness that the young Asian woman’s distress was bothering him. He paced back
and forth muttering the same thing over and over, occasionally stopping to
stare at her.

I hurried back to the chapel, the service was about to start
and I wouldn’t be getting anything else from Charles. Nash grabbed my arm.
“So, did you get anything? Is he here?” He looked around the chapel.

“No. He’s still over there by the casket. I didn’t get
much.”

“Can’t you talk to him?”

“No, he’s stuck in a loop. I wasn’t able to talk to
him, but I did hear something.” Just then the congregation rose and the priest
entered the nave from a door on the other side of the aisle. The family of the
deceased followed him.

Nash pulled me back further into the chapel, pressing me up
against the back wall. “What do you mean? What did he say?” he whispered.

I took a deep breath, enjoying Nash’s freshly showered
scent. His body was pressed up close to mine, making my face flush with
heat. I swallowed, the words seemingly stuck in my throat and I inwardly
berated my traitorous body for being so attracted to Nash, the most aggravating
man on the planet. “There’s not really enough of him there to be fully
sentient. It’s like there’s just a shadow of him there. It’s hard to
explain.” I licked my lips self-consciously again. Why did Nash have to stand
so damn close?

Nash took a deep breath and I watched as the pupils in his
vibrant green eyes dilated. He touched my cheek with his hand, his thumb
rubbing my bottom lip and I resisted the urge to nip it with my teeth. I
turned my head away from his hand and shifted my feet uncomfortably. Nash took
a quick step back, a look of surprise on his face. “Well, what did you get
then?” he asked gruffly.

“Charles just kept repeating that he shouldn’t have taken
the test, but he needed the money for a ring. Then he said he didn’t know the
trial was a sham.” I shrugged. It seemed like all gibberish to me. “Does
that mean anything to you?”

“No,” Nash frowned, “at least not yet.” He ran a hand
through his hair, something he always did when he was thinking or frustrated. “Do
you think you might be able to try again after the service?”

“It depends. Probably not.” It wasn’t that I wasn’t
willing to try, but from experience, I found that ghosts usually didn’t stick
around after a funeral. Even if I didn’t go for the whole organized religion
thing, I had respect for the rituals. Father Mike, the priest here at St.
Anthony’s, was one of the better ones and whether it was the power of prayer or
maybe he had a bit of the gift himself, his service usually banished the
lingering spirits before I needed to. “I doubt if Charles will still be around
after the service.”

After that, there wasn’t much left to do but wait for the
funeral to end so that I could do my job and move the flowers to the cemetery.
Since the funeral had already started, Nash was trapped with me, so we waited
in uncomfortable silence until the end of the service.

As the mourners began to file out following the casket and
the immediate family, I made my way to the altar area to grab the first urn of
flowers. I’d have to hustle to get them out to my truck and over to the cemetery
before the rest of the service began there.

Nash dogged my heels. “So, is he still here?” He looked
around self-consciously.

“No, he’s gone.” I picked up the first floral arrangement
and shoved it at Nash. “Will you give me a hand and help get these out to my
truck?” I grabbed the other arrangement and headed towards the side door that
led out to the parking lot, not waiting for an answer.

I loaded the first arrangement into the bed of the truck,
securing it in the holder I had there for that purpose. I turned to find Nash
staring at my truck, a look of shock on his face. No surprise there. The last
time Nash had seen my truck it was a brand new, fully loaded F-150, complete
with a great, big bow on the hood. It had been a ‘small token’ of Salvador’s
appreciation. I was uncomfortable accepting gifts from the most powerful
vampire in the city, not to mention the truck was way more than I needed, so I
had sold it and used the money to buy a sturdy but used Toyoto
Tacoma
. It met
my needs, not to mention the fact that it didn’t cost the same as a small
house, and I had taken the difference and donated it to a local homeless
shelter.

“What happened to the Ford?” Nash asked.

“I didn’t need it.” I shrugged.

“You gave it back to Salvador?” Nash looked surprised.

“He wouldn’t take it back so I sold it.”

Nash stared at me incredulously.

“Look,” I continued, “it was too much. Do you know how much
that truck was worth? Fifty thousand dollars! That’s just crazy.” I grabbed
the flowers, forgotten in Nash’s arms, and put them in the back of the truck.

“You’re the anonymous donor at the homeless shelter, aren’t
you?” Nash asked as the situation became clear to him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied. It kind
of defeated the purpose of being anonymous if you went around telling everyone
about it. “Listen, thanks for your help. I have to get going.” I turned and
hurried towards the cab of the truck. “Good luck with your investigation. I
hope you find out what happened to Charles.” I waved and jumped in the truck
not waiting for a reply.