Desired by Shadow (A Shadow Walkers Novel) (2 page)

Home. Smiling for no reason, Maggie bounded up the threadbare stairs of the worn building to the fourth floor. There were six flats lining the corridor. Hers was at the end of the hall. Turning the key, she called out, “Josh, I’m back.”

No answer. He worked as a hospital orderly and took whatever hours he could get. Hanging up her coat, she put the soup on to warm. The flat was small. A large room with a miniscule kitchen and living area which led to a bath built for fairies it was so tiny. There were two bedrooms large enough for a twin bed, nightstand, and chest at the foot of the bed. Shades of gray and blue decorated hers while Josh had done his in boring brown. Rummaging in the chest, she pulled out an oversize sweater, leggings and thick socks.

Changing, she padded out to the kitchen, poured the soup into a bowl and poured a glass of milk from the icebox. There was no dining table so she ate in the living area. Josh had found two overstuffed chairs put out for the trash in a nice part of town and convinced one of his mates to drive them back. The chair was covered in an ugly print with monkeys cavorting in the jungle, but it was comfortable and large enough to curl up in. Throwing a blanket over her to ward off the chill, she ate the soup, content.

She woke to a quiet flat. Guess Josh was pulling a double-shift. Maggie took a quick shower. If she lingered the meager hot water would run out and she despised cold showers. Reminded her of life on the street. Eating Wasa crackers and cheese, she finished off the milk, making a mental note to pick up a jug on the way home from work.

Locking the door, she looked at everyone as she walked. It was mid-morning, and most people were already at work. The few out and about, she studied, wondering what each of them did for a living and jumping when the person she was watching disappeared in front of her eyes. No one else ever registered the fact that one second a person was walking across the street and the next, poof, gone, vanishing into thin air.

Like magic.

It had been happening since she was five. The first few years she was afraid. But she’d stopped being scared when she realized these ghosts couldn’t hurt her. And now she was simply curious as to why she could see them when others couldn’t. Maggie had told Josh her weird secret. He cautioned her not to tell anyone else, said the men in white coats might take her away for being crazy. A good friend, he asked her all kinds of questions about what she saw and how her ability worked. He seemed to believe her and not think she was a freak.

Daydreaming, she ignored the warning in her gut. Crossing the street, the sound of metal on metal had her turning in time to see a white van bearing down on her. It had the same dented side door as the one that had almost run her over yesterday. Sounds faded, time slowed and lengthened like a piece of glass heated and stretched from end to end before shattering. Maggie froze like a mouse cornered by a cat. The door gaped open, hands reached out, grabbed hold of her arms, and pulled her in, slamming her to the floor of the moving vehicle. It happened so fast she didn’t have time to scream. The doors banged shut as the van screeched off down the half-empty street. The breath knocked out of her, she rolled to her side, taking shallow quick breaths.

Damn it to hell. All the time she’d lived on the streets, she knew better. Knew to always pay attention to her surroundings to watch for those who preyed on others. She’d grown complacent, lazy, living in her cozy flat. Now she’d made the dumbest mistake of all—letting down her guard. Able to breathe, she looked at the men. There were two in the back of the van and one driving. None of their faces were covered and that frightened her more than anything.

To make herself heard over the music, Maggie’s voice came out harsh to her ears. “There’s some kind of mistake. I don’t know who you are, but you’ve got the wrong person. I was on my way to work. Let me go.” Good. Sound braver than you feel. Lessons from the street came back to her. Show fear and you’d end up hurt—or worse, dead.

The man driving spoke. “No, Maggie. It’s you we’re after, and now we’ve got you.”

How does he know my name?

Ice-water ran down the back of her shirt, and goosebumps broke out on her arms. The men in back laughed. Lunging for the door handle, she saw stars when the man with black hair backhanded her. Tasting a warm, coppery fluid, she gagged and retched, wiping the blood from her lip. Tensing her legs, she tried again, kicking out at her captors. Steel bands encircled her arms as the other man with spiked brown hair, wrenched her arms behind her back, securing her wrists with zip strips. She managed a solid kick to the ribs of black hair before the same was done to her feet. He punched her in the gut and for the second time that morning the air whooshed out of her.

“Try it again, and I’ll cut you from ear to ear.” His breath was putrid, smelling of coffee, cigarettes, and decay.

Huffing, Maggie willed oxygen into her straining lungs. “What do you want with me? I haven’t done anything.”

The driver spoke again. “It’s not what you’ve done, it’s what you
can
do. Jim, tell the lass what she cost us.”

Cost them?
A sick feeling settled in her stomach.

The one with spiky hair, Jim, laughed. “Three hundred quid, ducky. You better to live up to what he promised or you’ll find yourself at the bottom of Leith Harbor.”

“Who promised you? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I won’t call the authorities. I’m going to be late, and I really need this job. Let me go.” Her voice sounded shrill, uneven to her ears. There had to be some kind of mistake. She couldn’t do anything. The only skill she had was waitressing and no one would pay three hundred quid for a waitress. Hell, you could hire one for a paltry sum, especially in today’s employment market. What the hell was going on?

Black hair leaned in close and she held her breath not wanting to inhale the stench.

“Yer lousy boyfriend, Josh, that’s who, you twat.”

“Josh. No, you’re mistaken. He’s my friend—he wouldn’t hurt anyone.” A numb heaving sensation filled her, growing into a writhing mass of hurt and anger, threatening to claw its way out of her insides.

An ugly loud sound filled the van as the men laughed. The vehicle bumped over potholes in the uneven street, jarring Maggie’s teeth.

“With friends the likes ‘o him, you’ll be better off with saintly fellows like us. Wake up, ducky. No one has friends anymore. In this world you do whatever it takes to survive.” Jim grunted and leaned back against the narrow bench seat.

Maggie’s brain processed the words she’d heard. The thought of Josh betraying her didn’t make any sense. They’d been friends for three years. Three years was a lifetime nowadays. They looked out for each other, helped each other to survive. Nothing made any sense.

The van slowed. Maggie twisted around straining to see out the front window. The vehicle pulled into an alley behind a stretch of posh townhomes. Looked like they’d been converted for business use by the signs on the back gates. No idea where she was other than it was a nice part of town by how well kept everything looked. The engine shut off, the driver jumped out and opened the back door. The men gagged her so she couldn’t yell for help. Struggling earned her a savage blow to the head and she passed out.

Coming to with no idea of how long she’d been out, Maggie was sitting on a sofa with the two thugs on either side of her. The driver was nowhere to be seen, but another man sat across from her.

“About fucking time you’re awake, sleeping beauty. I’m Bruce. You’ve met a few of my men. Welcome to Dante Import/Export, your new home. Do what yer told, don’t cause any trouble, and life won’t be too terrible bad.”

As she wiggled to sit up, Bruce motioned to his men. The straps binding her hands and feet were cut, the gag removed. Rubbing sore wrists, she appealed to him. “There’s a mistake. I don’t know what Josh did but I don’t have any skills. I’m just a waitress.”

Bruce tilted his head to the side and snorted. “Right. And I’m just a dishwasher.” He leaned forward in the chair. “We put up very specific advertisements, mainly in hospitals offering cold hard cash for certain information. Your friend Josh called. Said you met the requirements, that you told him you saw ghosts. He needed the entry fee into a high-stakes poker game. Said it was a sure thing.” Bruce tsked. “Idiot. Now you work for us. Jim will get you settled and explain your new duties.” His mobile rang and he motioned for them to leave.

The men pulled her to her feet. Looking for a means of escape, Maggie stopped struggling when Bruce covered the phone and said, “If you try to run, we’ll hunt you down and kill you—slowly and painfully. Enjoy your accommodations.”

She’d been kidnapped, and Josh was responsible?

Her only friend in the world had done the unthinkable. Three hundred quid was a fortune to someone as poor as they, but still, how could one human being do something so heinous to another?

Stumbling up the stairs, Maggie kept going over what she knew, looking for answers. What exactly did she know? She knew Josh had a gambling addiction. Always looking for the easy score, stealing from tourists as they bumbled down the streets of the city. Quick money with little or no work, that’s what he was all about. Grateful for a friend after so much time alone on the street, she’d overlooked his problems, ignored the ugliness of the things he did. Turned a blind eye when he came home beaten up because he owed somebody money and couldn’t pay.

The guy never had the rent money, but she let him stay, feeling sorry for him, believing he had her back. How wrong she was. What he’d done was unforgivable. These men paid money for the identities of those who had died and been resuscitated. But why? Did they believe in ghosts? And what did it matter? The ghosts she’d encountered never hurt anyone. Heck, most people walked right through them. She had to find a way to escape. Josh—he was dead to her. When she escaped, she’d kick his ass for what he’d done.

If she escaped. These were dangerous men. A sour thought took hold…guess it was good to know what your life was worth.

Jim roughly pushed her into a room and locked the door. “I’ll be back later to tell you what yer duties are. Try and leave, and I’ll gut you without blinking.” Turning, she saw eight women ranging in ages from fifteen to forty staring at her with haunted expressions and dead eyes.

Prisoners. What was this place?

After being thrown across the alley to kiss the side of the dumpster, Robert got up, rotated his aching shoulder, rubbed his jaw, and cursed the offending piece of metal. “Don’t know why you’re laughing, last I checked I’ve killed two and you’re still screwing around with that miserable bastard.” He pointed to the Day Walker writhing on the ground. Looking around for the mobile he dropped when he went flying, Robert glanced over at Jasper, his comrade-in-arms.

Both of who just happened to be ghosts, well Shadow Walkers was the correct term if you wanted to be particular.

“That lovely mademoiselle in the tan coat with the cream-colored scarf could see us, and you frightened her,
mon ami.
Why she might have been
the one
for you.” Jasper wiped his hands off on his black wool trousers, frowning at the dirt left behind. Shrugging a very Gallic shrug, as only the French could, Jasper cut his eyes to Robert and ripped out the Day Walker’s heart, stabbing it with gusto. Jasper leaned back, dispassionately observing the degenerate disintegrate into gold dust, blown away on the icy winter wind.

“Three of our enemies dispatched. A damn fine day.” Momentarily distracted by the area next to the Scottish Writers’ Museum, Robert read the plaque. Called Makars’ Court, there were inscriptions on the stones paving the courtyard. He examined a few, holding back a burst of laughter as he knelt, reading the stone to his left, “It’s a grand thing to get leave to live, by Nan Shepherd.” Tightening the queue keeping his dark hair in place, he stood. “So right you are Nan. Sure Thorne didn’t whisper this one in your ear?”

Grinding his palm into his eye socket, Robert thought about it. One woman. Wincing at the thought of only making love to one woman for the rest of eternity, he thought it would be like eating steak three times a day, every day forever. He liked steak, but come on, everybody craves a little variety.

“Most women would run away screaming. None would risk becoming involved with the likes of us. There’s about as much chance of that happening as there is of getting struck by lightning and bitten by a shark in the same day.” Robert chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I love my life. I’m never giving it up to shackle myself to one woman for all eternity. Think of all the poor, lovely women I’d be depriving of my charming self.”

The Frenchman inclined his head. “Until next time.” Robert clapped Jasper on the back and dematerialized to his ship while Jasper vanished to his home in Paris.