Witch Hunt, A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy (The Maurin Kincaide Series) (21 page)

I got out of the shower, dried off and threw on my clothes.
I towel dried my hair and pulled it back in a loose braid. I pulled the amulet out of my jeans pocket and wrapped it around my wrist in a makeshift bracelet; I did my best to make a knot in the silver chain. When I came out of the bathroom, Aidan was sitting on the edge of my bed. I stopped short at the sight of him. He was leaning back on his elbows and looking right at home in my room.

“Um, Aidan, I-” I was at a loss for words.

“Relax, Maurin. I’m going to hole up for the day in your closet. I just wanted to ask you if I could use your shower first. I grabbed my bag out of the trunk while you were getting cleaned up,” he added.

“Oh.
Sure,” I said, a little out of breath as thoughts of him in the shower invaded my mind. I was a pig.

“You keep a bag in your trunk?” I asked, slightly suspicious.

“I’ve found that in my line of work it pays to be prepared. I never know when the Vampire Authority will call,” he said.

Even his job was hot.
What the hell was wrong with me? I was not going to jump into the arms of the first hot guy I met just to forget about Oberon - even if that guy was a delicious vampire with an irresistible Irish accent.

“Shower’s all yours.
Sorry I hogged all the hot water,” I said.

“It’s fine.
I appreciate your hospitality,” he said.

I stood there conflicted by my feelings for him and distracted by more images of him slick with water as the shower turned on.
There was something seriously wrong with me. One vampire bite and I’m already turning into a fang banger.

Aidan came out of the bathroom surroun
ded by a cloud of steam. I was convinced that it was because he was that hot and not because he forgot to turn the fan on.

He had to know what I had been thinking when his eyes met mine.
He dropped his gaze, focusing on my midsection and regions a little lower. My heart picked up its pace. I knew he could hear it, but he seemed to be paying special attention to my belly button at the moment. Suddenly self conscious, I tried to inconspicuously look down. He let out a soft laugh as I realized what he was looking at. I was rubbing the spot on my wrist where he had bitten me. I quickly let go of my wrist and rubbed my hands on my pants.

Was he doing this?
Was this some kind of vampire trick? Or was I actually starting to have feelings of my own, now that the metaphysical tie to Oberon had been broken?

Aidan walked around to the head of my bed and drew back the covers. I thought that was a little presumptuous, but I didn’t stop him.
I just stood there watching him, and watching his muscles move beneath his clothes. So much for not jumping.

“It’s time for bed, Maurin,” Aidan said.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to ruin the moment with my big mouth. I slowly walked over to him. I stood in front of him, realizing for the first time just how tall he was. He moved with his usual speed, scooping me up in his arms. I nuzzled his neck, breathing him in. He smelled like sandalwood and soap. I resisted the urge to run my tongue along his neck to see what he tasted like. He turned his head just enough for me to feel his lips graze my forehead. I felt him take a deep breath before his lips finally pressed against my temple. He set me down on the bed. I slid over to make room for him, but instead of crawling in beside me he pulled up the covers and tucked me in. The closet door clicked shut before I had a chance to say anything. I rolled over and punched my frustration out on one of the extra pillows.

I tossed and turned.
Dreams of Aidan tormented me all morning. First he was like the lead in a romance novel, his ankle-length leather duster barely brushing the tips of the blades of grass as he crossed the field to reach me. Then we were back in the jail cell. I was in his lap as he held me to his chest. His fingers slid across my skin like silk, tracing up my neck. He tilted my head back. His fangs pressed against my neck. My body tingled with anticipation of the pleasure that he had promised before. A sound of ecstasy escaped my lips as his fangs broke the skin and he finally drank me in.

I woke up more than once feeling disa
ppointed that it wasn’t real. I was acting like a school girl, crushing on a vampire who obviously wasn’t interested in me like that. If he was, he would have gotten into bed with me. I rolled over on my back and pulled the covers up over my head. I was never going to get the sleep I needed if I didn’t stop thinking about Aidan. I stuck an arm out of the blanket and fumbled around for the remote to my TV. I hit the power button without even looking; the History channel was still on. I was out before they could finish explaining why so many planes really disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle.

I woke up a few hours later to the sound of my stomach growling.
I was pretty sure that there wouldn’t be any tasty treats from the Daily Grind on my kitchen table today. I turned off the TV and dragged myself out of bed. At least I had coffee. I decided on café au lait and made a pot of coffee and chicory. The smell of the dark brew filled my little apartment, making my mouth water. I dug around in my pantry for something to eat. There wasn’t much. I hadn’t been spending a lot of time here lately and groceries had been low on my list of priorities. I grabbed a box of granola off of the top shelf and gave it a little shake. Barely enough left for a bowl. I got the milk out of the fridge, opened the jug and instantly regretted it. I poured it down the sink. Black coffee and chicory with granola straight from the box – the breakfast of champions.

Since I wasn’t going to be trapped under the thumb of the coven anymore, I decided to do a little investigation of my own, the old-fashioned way – Google. I got my laptop out of the living room and set it up on the kitchen table.
I searched for anything that I could find on the Afrit.

There were pages and pages of info
rmation, but unfortunately most of it was related to video games. According to Wikipedia, Afrits were from the same class of demon as the Djin or Genie, except without all the wishing and magic carpet rides. They were wicked and ruthless winged beings formed from the blood of a murder victim. Did the Inquisitors call him up with the blood of the first witch, or did they trap him before that? Driving a nail into a circle of blood from the victim was supposed to stop them from forming, but it didn’t say if that would work if they had partially shifted from their form of smoke and fire to a physical being. Not that I had any blood lying around if it did.

After following what seemed like a tho
usand links and my virus protection thwarting hundreds of threats, I finally came across some useful, if not disappointing, information. We weren’t going to kill the Afrit with ordinary weapons. Magic was the only thing that they were susceptible to. Great. Looked like I’d be spending more quality time with the coven after all.

I tried to picture the
Afrit without his humanoid cloak. Wings, smoke and fire. It sounded like this was the inspiration for Tolkein’s Balrog. And then it hit me. He wasn’t trying to take the shape of a human.

I clicked on another link.
Afrits could take on the form of a sandstorm, Satan or the murder victim - all of which sounded like a good time. All of the dead witches were women. That meant the first witch that we found wasn’t really the first murder victim. So who was? Was he from Salem or somewhere else? The Inquisitors weren’t typically armed with magical weapons. They needed a way to control the beast. Whatever spell they had found in the Key had trapped him in the form of a dead man and now he was trying to get out. Well that was just fan-fucking-tastic.

With that little bit of good news, I d
ecided to give my investigation a rest and head out for some real food. It was already two o’clock in the afternoon. How did that happen? That granola wasn’t holding me over any more. I needed something with substance.

First things first, I needed to get dressed.
This posed a problem. There was a vampire sleeping in my closet. How many girls could say that? Between what was still clean in my duffel bag and what was in my dresser drawers, I managed a fashionable attire of black leggings with a worn out Social Distortion shirt and combat boots. No one could say that I didn’t dress to impress. I grabbed my other wool coat out of the hall closet and headed out to the diner down the street.

It was only a couple of blocks to the little Portuguese diner that had been owned by the same family for the last fifty years, but my legs felt like they were frozen solid.
I couldn’t decide between breakfast, lunch or dinner, so I ordered steak and eggs with a side of home fries, linguica, and an order of toast. That pretty much covered all three meals. Joe Sousa, the frail old man who owned the diner, boxed up my food and looked at me like he was trying to figure out where I was going to put it all. Thankfully, my metabolism had picked up along with my appetite. With money and carry out boxes exchanged, I went back to the apartment to stuff my face.

Ms. Costa stopped me on the landing ou
tside her second floor apartment.

“I was afraid that you had moved out of the building.
I haven’t seen you in so long. I just put on a fresh pot of coffee, why not come in for a cup?” she asked, her voice a little rough, as if she were getting over a cold.

I had just seen her a couple of nights ago when
Masarelli had dropped me off. You’d think that she’d remember seeing me covered in dried blood and beaten to a pulp.

“How about a rain check?
I just picked up some lunch from the diner and I’ve, uh, got company,” I told her, looking at my watch. It was quarter to three. It was the dead of winter and the sun was already hidden behind a wall of clouds that said snow was in the forecast. I wasn’t sure how much longer Aidan would be asleep.

“All right, dear, another time.
I’ve got some of your mail here. I’ll just go get it for you,” she said, leaving me in the doorway. “Now where did I put it?” I heard her say from inside her apartment.

“It’s okay, Ms. Costa.
I can get it later. Nothing but bills anyway,” I told her.

She didn’t say anything.
It was suddenly quiet inside her apartment.

“Ms. Costa?” I called out, leaning i
nside the door.

Where was her little yappy dog?
What was its name? Was it Triscuit or Biscuit? I called out both names, followed by the fail safe “Here, boy!” No response. Damn it. I set my bag of food down and stepped inside. I didn’t smell any coffee, just moth balls. I had a feeling something was up when she had said that she hadn’t seen me in a while. She was old, but she wasn’t senile. I checked my wrist for the amulet. It was still there. I went a little further into the apartment. I knew it was a trap. The silver was starting to burn my wrist with each step I took. The Afrit was here and that was bad news for Ms. Costa. She was probably dead along with her dog, but I had to be sure. She didn’t deserve this. She was just a nice old lady who lived in the apartment beneath mine.

I thought about what I had learned about
Afrits earlier. Traditional weapons were useless, which meant that grabbing a kitchen knife and stabbing it to death was out of the question. I wasn’t a witch. I didn’t have any magic besides the amulet and that wasn’t any good for killing him. Wait, wasn’t the Retaliator a magical item? It was only one flight up. I turned to make a run for the sword. The door slammed in my face. Smoke started to fill the apartment. He had to be right here in the living room with me, but I couldn’t see anything through the smoke. Flames licked at my feet. The heat from the fire was oppressive and I struggled to breathe.

“Where are your friends now, Maurin?” the smoke whispered in my ear.

I spun around, certain that he was behind me, but there was nothing there.

“I know you’re here!
Show yourself!” I screamed.

Smoke and ash filled my lungs.
My throat burned. I could feel him circling me. Razor sharp nails raked across my calf, forcing me to my knees. I could feel the blood soaking into my leggings. I braced myself, waiting for him to pounce now that he had wounded his prey. Instead of jumping on my back or knocking me down like I expected him to, he clawed at the silver chain wrapped around my wrist. The amulet and the chain were both glowing red hot. I could feel the skin flare up and blister where the metal touched it. He could cause me physical pain, but he couldn’t drain me of the energy he so desperately needed as long as I was wearing it. Afraid that he would succeed in stripping me of the only defense that I had against him, I forced myself to stand and shoved my hand in my pocket. I winced as the chain, pressed tightly against my wrist, burned its way deeper into my flesh.

I backed myself into the corner by the front door, wedging myself between the walls.
I wrapped my free arm across my chest and gripped the back of my sleeve in an effort to keep him from prying my arm loose. He slashed at my hand but I just tightened my grip. He let out a ferocious roar. The smoke started to roll back and the flames flickered out. He was gone.

I looked around the apartment, expecting to see the typical carnage that a fire left behind, but there wasn’t any.
The place looked just the way that Ms. Costa would have left it, with every crocheted afghan and macramé throw pillow in its place. I limped into the kitchen and grabbed two hand towels hanging from the oven door handle. I tied one around my calf and the other around my hand. I’d have to buy her a new set. After doctoring myself up the best I could, I started searching the apartment for Ms. Costa and Biscuit. Triscuit? Whatever - her dog. It didn’t take long to search the two-bedroom apartment. There was no sign of them anywhere. Maybe she hadn’t been here at all. I could only hope that she had gone out for the day.

There was nothing more that I could do in Ms. Costa’s apartment.
I grabbed my breakfast, lunch and dinner and headed back up to my apartment. I’d lost my appetite after my run-in with the Afrit, but I needed to refuel. I had to come up with a plan to kill the Afrit and good decisions were not made on an empty stomach. I’d probably have to call Masarelli and tell him about Ms. Costa. I’d feel better if I weren’t the only person looking for her.