Soul Survivor (21 page)

 

“Yes, yes, of course I can see you. But I can't
see
you.” His hands twitched out in front of himself and he started pacing in the lawn, back and forth before he jolted to a stop.

A
s soon as Kayce had gone, I listened at the door until I heard the telltale
crack
of her teleporting elsewhere. Lunging for her bag, I tugged at the zipper. It wouldn't budge. Tiny tendrils of magic wound in and through the zipper pull. I should have known there would be an enchantment on anything of Kayce's.

“Shit,” I muttered to myself. Two could play at that game. Kayce had mentioned a while ago that she only knew a few very basic enchantments—with my new abilities, maybe I was more advanced than her. I closed my eyes and allowed the foreign words to roll off my tongue. I envisioned the words—the magic curling around the zipper, spreading the teeth apart. When I looked again, the bag sat before me, open. My grin widened. I was getting pretty good at this magic thing. I couldn't tell you what the damn words meant, but somehow I'd just instinctually known some of the spells.

I sat back on my heels. Did I really want to do this? Look through my best friend's bag as though she were some sort of suspect? My chest heaved with a deep inhalation. I didn't want to—but I had no choice. If she had been up front with me about her job, then maybe I wouldn't need to do this. But it was her choice to keep her life secret. And she was the one who had received a very suspicious call. As much as I didn't want to, I had to find out the truth.

It was a small bag. The kind that rolled—damn her for thinking ahead with that. No clothes or underwear that you would find in a normal person's carry-on luggage. There were guns. A couple of small ones that would fit in a boot or the waistband of your jeans. A box of bullets. I opened the box and a bullet fell into my palm. It sizzled on my skin, steam rising where it made contact.

“Ah!” I dropped the bullet back into the bag, shaking away the stinging on my palm. Holy water bullets. There was a pair of leather gloves—no doubt so that she could load the gun without burning herself. Several opaque bottles in various colors. I'd learned my lesson—I slid on her gloves before touching anything else.

Holding one of the bottles up to the light, I squinted, trying to see if anything was in it. I shook it back and forth, holding it up to my ear. Nothing. It seemed empty. I tossed it back into the bag and picked up a glass jar with liquid filled to the brim. I unscrewed one top and smelled. Holy water—I was sure of it. In a small jewelry travel case were some rosary beads, crucifixes, and a statue of the Virgin Mary. There was also a bag of salt, lighter fluid, matches, and a small Zippo lighter.

They were the exact items needed to trap a being in a summoning circle. The exact items Aaron had been about to use to trap me on the plane.

This certainly wasn't making me feel any better about Kayce and what she was here to do. A knock at the door made me nearly jump out of my skin and I flinched as I tossed everything back into her bag, ripping the gloves off before zipping it back up and sliding it into the closet. I hopped up, shifting my hair and clothing back into place before I peeked out the peephole.

Damien. The tight feeling in my chest relaxed and I moved to open the door, just as Dejan's warning echoed in my head.
Don't trust the elemental
. I shook it away—why would I heed the advice of the creature that had banished me as a Hellspawn? I removed the chain and pulled the door open. “Hey, you,” I said with a smile.

“Hey back.” He looked past me into the room. “Anyone else in there with you?”

I shook my head, my grin tilting higher. His smile mimicked my own. “Good,” he answered before sweeping me into his arms and kicking the door closed behind him. His lips found mine and we locked in a kiss. After a few moments, we broke apart, each breathless and staring at the other hungrily.

“As much as I'd love to continue this”—he nuzzled my ear, flicking a tongue out to touch the all the deliciously sensitive nerve endings there—“I thought we'd go check out this Buckley character's son. He lives close by.”

I nodded. “Mm, okay. We can always resume this after, right?”

Damien's grin widened. “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

 

Raul Nunez-Buckley lived in a stunning mansion on Walker Lane. It looked like something that would be featured in a Martha Stewart catalogue. And that was only judging the outside, which had Grecian-style columns and a beautifully manicured front lawn. The driveway was long and lit with sconces. Damien whistled as we drove the length of it, looking up at the mini-mansion. “Looks like someone's doing well. What do you think he does for a living?”

I shrugged. Probably nothing, knowing Lord Buckley's wealth and penchant for looking after those he cared about. “Let's go find out, shall we?”

I walked up the steps to the mahogany front door, clasped the door knocker, and almost choked when the sheep's head stared back at me. Clenching it in my fist, I slammed it into the heavy door.

A woman wearing a black skirt and white button-down shirt with a lacy apron tied around her waist answered the door. Damien and I looked at each other. How long had it been since I'd seen a maid actually wearing a maid's uniform. Sure, it wasn't the exact sexy Halloween costume most of us pictured, but it was quite formal.

“May I help you?” she asked, turning her head to the side to look from Damien to me and back again.

Damien flashed his badge. “We need to speak with Mr. Nunez-Buckley,” he said, his voice full of authority and testosterone.

“Yes, of course. He's been expecting you,” she said quietly, stepping to the side. “Please come in and I will get him.”

I slid an uneasy look to Damien while walking through the foyer.

She gestured to a sitting area just inside the front door. “May I get you some tea or coffee while you wait?”

My eyes widened. Coffee. Real coffee. Before Damien could answer—I could see the
no
about to come out of his mouth—I nodded. “Yes. Coffee would be wonderful, thank you.” She curtseyed and left the room, her feet barely making any noise walking along the solid marble floors.

Damien tucked his hands in his pockets and moseyed around the room before taking a seat in a large, plush chair. “Wow. Look at this place.” He ran a hand along the leather club chair's arm. “And this seat. Holy shit, it's so soft. Seriously, like butter.”

“Yeah. Calfskin doused in butter,” I muttered.

“Aw, succubus. Do I have an animal rights activist on my hands?” His smirk was condescending and it made me want to slap him across his easily impressed face.

“No, I wear leather. I just ensure that when I do buy leather, it's from a responsible seller. One that does not torture its animals.”

Damien rolled his eyes. “Sure. And just how do you ensure that they're telling the truth?”

“I visit the farms.”

He narrowed his eyes at me and after a moment snorted. “No, you don't.”

“Fine.” I rolled my eyes. “But I always meant to.”

“Ms. Lamb.” A deep voice from the bottom of the stairwell startled me and I jumped to my feet at the sound of his voice. Damien, however, remained seated, one foot casually resting on his knee as though he were at home about to watch the big game.

I arched one eyebrow. “I'm sorry, have we met?”

“Not exactly.” Raul offered a warm smile and approached with one hand out. He looked almost identical to Luis and the resemblance nearly took my breath away. He was tall with skin the color of creamed coffee. His jet-black hair was clean cut and he wore an expensive suit, tailored to perfection on his beautifully chiseled body, despite the fact that it was evening and well past working hours. I took his hand, but pulled my body farther from his with the handshake. “Ms. Lamb,” he said again, cradling my hand in his. “But it's so lovely to finally meet you. My father spoke of you often.”

Damien's eyes shot to me and I could feel them burning into the side of my face. I cleared my throat. “Did he? I would have thought he'd forgotten completely about me once I left. He didn't seem all that . . . invested in us in the first place.”

Raul's mouth tipped into the smallest frown. “He would be so terribly sad to hear you say that. He only spoke of you fondly. Monica Lamb. His unrequited love.”

I snorted at that and yanked my hand from Raul's grasp. “Uh-huh. Funny as I've been around for centuries now and haven't heard a single word from him. It seems as though a man of his standing could have come to me at any time.”

“He feared you. I never heard the whole story, but he knew you would never take him back. Whatever it was, it seemed as though he regretted his actions terribly.”

“Is that so?” I forced my hands to my sides—no fidgeting. And relaxed my shoulders so that they weren't clenched by my ears. “And he told you this? What with being in love with your mother and all?”

Raul shrugged and his smile was soft and warm. It almost made me want to trust him. Almost. “He and my mother were quite happy for a long while. But with a man such as John Buckley—he's lived such a long life. After centuries of living, one is bound to have more than a single love in an existence.”

“Yes,” I sneered. “I suppose you are right. A man like him is apt to have multiple conquests—oops, I mean loves.” I thought for a moment, sliding a glance to Damien, who watched the two of us like a Ping-Pong match. “Just how did you know who I was? You knew immediately . . . as though you were expecting me.”

“I was expecting you. For quite some time.” He gestured to one of the seats. “Please, sit down.”

We all did so just as the maid came in with a silver coffee set, and placed it on the table in front of us. She poured me a cup and I fixed it light and sweet just as I liked it. The smell of smooth, oaky roast flooded my nose and I had to suppress a satisfied moan with that first sip. Oh Hell, that was a good cup of coffee. It could almost put Drew's to shame.

While I sipped my coffee, Raul continued talking. “Luis mentioned he went to see you. I still don't know why he did it. He seemed to have taken quite the interest in you. Then, just a couple of days ago, he came here to see me. He said he was onto something, though he never went into detail.” Raul's voice cracked and he paused, bringing a fist to his mouth.

“We're very sorry for the loss of your brother,” Damien offered. “Were you two close?”

Raul cleared his throat and looked to Damien. “I'm sorry, we haven't been formally introduced yet. I'm Raul.” He stood, holding out a hand, which Damien took with one firm pump.

When he sat back down, his smile was a sad one. “We were twins. We were very close, though recently we had been growing apart. He was more of the risk taker of the two of us. Unfortunately, a fact that I'm afraid may have been his demise.”

Raul's eyes filled with tears that danced around the bottoms of his eyelids but never quite spilled out over his cheeks. I almost felt sorry for the man. But then again, he was a Buckley. I cleared my throat. “So, he was ‘onto something.' What does that even mean?”

Raul leaned in, pouring his own cup of coffee which he sipped black. “I honestly don't know. But it involved you. Luis was worried for you. I'm not positive, but I think Father may have asked him to keep an eye on you. Luis ran a very lucrative and well-respected private security firm. He has locations all around the country.”

Raul's eyes met mine; they were large and dark brown. His lips were the color of caramel and, when he was in a relaxed state, always seemed to be tilted into the tiniest smile. He seemed warm, genuine. I shook the feelings of trust away and stood to look around the room. There was a glass case across the room with antique articles. I made my way over to it. “Raul—were you born with any of your father's . . . abilities?” I glanced over my shoulder, the cup of steaming coffee warming my palms.

He chuckled. “Far from it. That was Luis. He got most of the magic of the two of us.”

I stared into the glass case—and sitting there on the shelf was Lord Buckley's journal. It still glistened with dark magic, the same enchantments twined around it like a thorny vine. “Then why do you have your father's spell book?” I nodded to the case, spinning around to face Raul once more.

He shrugged, not seeming guilty in any way. “He gave it to me. Asked me to look after it. He didn't want it in Luis's hands since in theory Luis could have potentially used some of the spells. He knew I wasn't even powerful enough to open the thing.”

“Your father,” Damien cut in, “do you know where he is? I would very much like to talk to him about his son's death.”

Raul shook his head. “I wish I knew. Even throughout my childhood, he wasn't around much. He would pop in for birthdays and holidays. It wasn't until my mother passed away when Luis and I were twelve that he became a consistent part of our lives. And even then,”—Raul's gaze darkened only slightly, but enough that I noticed—“he was more interested in Luis's powers, and in nurturing them, than he was in me.”

“You seem to be well cared for here,” Damien said looking around.

“Of course. Father would never outwardly treat us differently—he would never give Luis more money. It was just—how he looked at us. The sorts of attention he gave each of us were different. He gave me the academic attention. Always making sure I had the highest education a boy could need. Luis received the affection. It's hard to explain. But he had so much more time and interest to teach Luis than he had for me. I spent my time building my life as a businessman. Everything I learned was from life experience and books. Everything Luis learned was taught to him by Father.”

“One last question,” Damien said. “What brought you to Salt Lake City?”