The Coveted (The Unearthly #2)

  The whole time we’d been trying to solve the murders, this very worry had sat at the back of my mind. I’d never voiced my concern to Andre, however, because I assumed I was just being paranoid. But now that his words hung in the air I had to accept that the very people I’d been trying to protect might want to destroy me.

  Chapter 18

  I woke up to the chill of night air. The crisp coldness of it burned my lungs and prickled my skin. I sat up in bed, the white sheets falling to my waist. These weren’t my sheets. I rubbed the soft satin of the pearly white nightgown I wore. I definitely didn’t own this. I looked behind me. The wrought iron backboard of the bed curled and twisted into a pretty design. This wasn’t my bed.

  I was, however, the only person in it. I knew enough about these incubus dreams by now to become lucid as soon as I recognized the signs.

  I gazed around the bed. The moonlight dripped down, casting the night in shades of blue and silver. Evergreen trees rose around me from all sides, swaying gently in the breeze.

  Other than the rustling of their leaves, all was quiet.

  “Where are you?” I shouted at the forest. He had to be here, the wily incubus who decided to invade my dream.

  Leaves crunched as a dark stranger came forward.

  But it wasn’t an incubus.

  I scrambled out of the bed as the man in the suit stepped out from the trees. I moved around the bed so that it stood between the devil and me.

  “Why are you so scared?” he asked. “We are old friends.”

  “We are not friends.” My voice broke.

  He frowned. “I can hear your heart fluttering like a bird in a cage.” He stepped forward. “There is no reason to be scared.”

  “Stay where you are!” I shifted my weight from foot to foot. My hair hung wild about me, and the nightie grazed my thigh. This was a sick, sick dream.

  He ignored my warning and sauntered forward.

  Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. The scenery remained unchanged. I was stranded in a nightmare, which left me only one choice, fleeing.

  Twigs and pine needles dug into my feet as I swiveled and ran.

  “You can’t run from me.” His voice was a lover’s whisper in my ear. “You already know this.”

  Trees flew by me, but the forest appeared to be unending and unchanging. If this really was a dream and I really was lucid, I should be able to alter it. I closed my eyes and envisioned a cliff.

  When I opened them, the trees in front of me thinned out. I sprinted past them and ahead of me the earth dropped away.

  It had worked.

  I halted at the edge of the cliff. The wind whipped at my hair and nightgown, slapping them against my skin. The sensation felt far too real for my comfort.

  “You’d rather jump off a cliff than talk to me?”

  I screamed at the sound of the devil’s voice and spun around to face him. He stood behind me, arms folded. Even in my dream my skin itched from his nearness.

  Around him the darkness gathered. “No matter,” he said, answering his own question. “I’ll be seeing you tonight. Meet me at the Braaid after sunset.”

  “No.” I turned to jump, more afraid of the devil than I was of falling.

  The devil caught my arm and spun me back around, his eyes moving over my face. “That wasn’t a question.”

  I pulled my arm from his grasp and didn’t hesitate. I jumped.

  ***

  I woke with a jolt. Early morning sunlight streamed into my room, turning my exposed skin rose petal pink. Outside my window students ran around in costumes or set up booths on the grassy lawn for the Samhain school fair.

  Samhain. The day I was supposed to meet the devil.

  I stepped out of bed, noticing that both Leanne and Oliver had already left. The message from my dream was still fresh in my mind, and one word in particular drew me to my desk.

  I snatched the poem Cecilia had sent me from the drawer. The poem had mentioned corpse roads—ley lines—amongst other things. And it mentioned another term I had not paid much attention to.

  I reread the poem.

  Death will strike before Halloween,

  The mark of the damned, the killer unclean,

  If you walk the old corpse road where the dead ley,

  Sprites and devils might snatch you away,

  Go to the Braaid and you’ll lose your soul,

  For an entrance into hell, such is the toll.

  In the last two lines I spotted the term I was looking for. I opened my laptop and clicked on my Internet browser. As soon as my homepage loaded, I searched for one word. Braaid.

  I clicked on the first link.

  The Braaid began as a stone circle site and later became a Viking farmstead.

  Next to the text was an image of the Braaid, made up of a ring of standing stones. Beneath the photo the caption dated the circle to 650 A.D. Not even centuries of exposure had torn the site apart.

  A stone circle. I didn’t know anything about stone circles, except that there were several of them on the British Isles.

  I opened a new tab and searched Wikipedia for stone circles. My eyes moved over the page, filtering out the mundane information and concentrating on the unusual.

  Stone circles are sometimes related to gravesites, and are often thought to have had a ceremonial function due to the lack of artifacts associated with them.

  Whatever their purpose, stone circles are often oriented on sight lines for the rising and setting sun, and so are thought to be associated with the seasons.

  My palms began to sweat. I did a final search, this one on the location of the Braaid. A map of the Isle of Man appeared on my screen. A pin had been dropped on the location of the Braaid.

  I held Cecilia’s notecard up to my screen, using it as a ruler. I lined up the two crime scenes farthest apart—the first victim in Glen Maye and the second in Douglas Cemetery. The Braaid sat right on the line.

  I covered my mouth.

  The demons had been ordered to kill by their leader. This whole time I’d been thinking that the devil’s plans for me and the murders were separate. But Leanne had known all along. They were building up to a single, final event on Samhain. An event that involved me.

  This was the secret Leanne had withheld this whole time, the secret too terrible for me to hear. Tonight, if I followed the devil’s instructions, I’d be the fourth victim.

  Chapter 19

  I didn’t see both of my roommates until late that afternoon. I wandered down to the fair for a little while, buying a caramel apple for myself and a couple of happiness tonics from a witch’s booth for Leanne and Oliver. I tried to enjoy the festivities, but having a meeting with the devil really sucked the fun out of things. Eventually I returned to my room to mull over my situation.

  All the previous victims were killed by demons along the ley line. I wasn’t sure whether this same fate was intended for me, but I doubted it. The devil, not a demon, wanted to meet me tonight, and like Andre had mentioned earlier in the week, he was interested in my soul.

  This was all hypothetical—I wasn’t actually planning on meeting up with the devil. In fact, knowing where he’d be would make it that much easier to avoid him this evening.

  “What in the Goddess’s name are you doing?” Leanne said, entering the room and finding me sitting on the ground, notes on the murders strewn around me. “You haven’t been in here all day, have you?” She eyed me up and down.

  I met her gaze. “I know what’s going to happen tonight.”

  Her face paled, but she didn’t look particularly surprised. “Stay away from the Braaid.”

  “I wasn’t planning on going,” I said not missing a beat.

  As she wandered into our room, that same smell from last n
ight wafted in. The smoky smell. And like last night, something about her was off.

  “Has Oliver not finished our costumes?” Leanne asked. Just like every other occasion, Oliver had insisted on designing our outfits.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  She moved around some of her clothes that she’d draped over her bed, then rifled through her closet. She came up empty-handed. “I can’t freaking believe him—we only have a couple hours until they light the bonfire and the Witches Festival starts.” Her face had flushed; she’d really worked herself up over this one.

  I cocked my head. “Leanne, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she snapped.

  As if on cue, Oliver ran into the room. “Sorry I’m late! I have your outfits!” he hollered. Like Leanne, his face had a flush to it. However, unlike Leanne, this was more of a cloud nine flush. Someone was in lust. Again. I guess him and Rodrigo really had made up.

  And then the costume he wore stopped that thought dead in its tracks.

  “What, exactly, are you?” I asked, eyeing his outfit . . . if you could call it that.

  “I’m Adam, duh,” he said, pointing to the cluster of fake leaves that covered only a Speedo-shaped expanse of skin.

  “Please tell me I’m not Eve.” I was so not going to any Samhain party dressed like that.

  He glowered at me. “No, Rodrigo is.” Poor, poor Rodrigo.

  Oliver tossed Leanne a white dress, golden sandals, a gold mask, and some gold accessories.

  My outfit Oliver walked to me. I eyed the midnight blue and black concoction in his hands. “It’s not really my style,” he admitted, “but you’re going to look ravishing in it.”

  He held it up to the light, and I almost drooled. “Oliver, it’s beautiful,” I said, staring at the fake corset bodice. My eyes drifted over the off-the-shoulder sleeves and down to the skirt, which was made of layers of jagged, billowy fabric. The deep blue color of the corset faded darker and darker until, at the bottom of the dress, it was black.

  “What exactly am I supposed to be?” I asked.

  “An undead Renaissance woman.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. The outfit was anything but historically accurate.

  “Hers looks better than mine,” Leanne snapped. My eyes widened. I’d never heard Leanne talk that way before.

  “Well that’s the only costume you’re getting from me, so take it or leave it.” Oliver rolled his eyes, not bothering to glance back at her.

  “Oh, and I almost forgot.” Oliver pulled out a matching mask. “Your disguise.”

  ***

  I spent the next two hours getting ready with Oliver and Leanne and filling them in on the murders—mostly for Oliver’s benefit.

  So it surprised me when Oliver waved a hand and said, “Pfft, this is all old news.”

  “Old news?” My eyes bugged out a little.

  “I thought we all already established that I’m a snoop,” he said, painting a layer of dark green nail polish onto his fingers. I suppressed a shudder at the sight.

  “But I never told you about the Braaid.”

  “I saw the poem, sweets. C’mon—that one was easy. I can’t believe you didn’t put it together before now. Although I will say,” Oliver lifted the nail polish brush and pointed it at me, using it to punctuate each word, “I didn’t know for sure that it was a demon committing the crimes.”

  “You mean the thought did cross your mind?” I said, my eyes practically popping out of my head.

  “Sure,” Oliver said.

  “Then why didn’t you say anything to anyone?”

  “Ew, you wanted me to actually mention that to the Politia? What have they ever done for my people? Nothing.”

  I put my head in my hands. “You could’ve mentioned your theory to me,” I said under my breath.

  Outside, a horn honked.

  “Eek! Hurry up bitches, the buses are here!” Oliver squealed.

  Leanne rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who’s busy painting his nails.”

  “Only because it took a freaking hour to get you two hags ready.”

  I threw a pillow at him so that Leanne wouldn’t have to. “Against our will,” I reminded him.

  He sighed melodramatically and pulled me over to the full-length mirror hanging on the backside of our door. “Tell me it wasn’t worth it.”

  I wasn’t a big fan of makeup, but I couldn’t argue that Oliver had brought attention to all those places you wanted gazes to go—lips, eyes, cheekbones—all shrouded by my dark, wavy hair.

  “Oliver, we both know you’re amazing.” I gave him a hug.

  “That’s what I thought, Sabertooth,” he said into my hair, giving me an extra squeeze to let me know the nickname was supposed to be endearing. It wasn’t, but he was endearing enough to make up for it.

  We grabbed our stuff and began filing out the door. Oliver stopped me on the way out. “Now that we know the devil’s after you, what are we going to do about it?”

  “You want to help me?” I asked, touched at the offer.

  “Duh.” He gave me another squeeze and pulled me out the door. “For a smart girl you can be surprisingly dumb sometimes. No one crosses my friends and gets away with it. Not even the devil. If he so much as tries to lay a finger on you, I’ll glitter bomb the shit out of him.”

  Damn, but I loved my friends.

  ***

  As soon as we stepped off the bus, my skin prickled. The air felt energized.

  The dance was held just off the road in a clearing bordered by trees. The sun sat low on the horizon, but as the shadows lengthened and the sky darkened from reds and pinks to blues and purples, students gathered around the center of the clearing.

  There, in the middle of the field, a pile of wood the size of several cars had been stacked high. I’d read enough on the subject of Samhain to know that traditionally witches and other supernatural beings danced around a bonfire on the evening of October 31. This must be the bonfire.

  Leanne ran ahead of the two of us. Oliver shook his head as we followed in the same direction, and he scanned the crowd for Rodrigo, his Eve.

  Once the sky had darkened a little more, a witch walked up to the bonfire. She stopped in front of it and turned to address the gathering crowd. A hush fell over the group.

  “On this day, our community’s holiest of days, we recognize that an inherent part of our world lies beyond this one. Tonight we recognize and welcome the spirits of our ancestors, the wild that lives within our own hearts, and the magic that all who are gathered get to experience each and every day.”

  “Gabrielle,” a voice spoke from behind me. I swiveled around and came face to face with Leanne. Something about her looked different, more like the old roommate I knew.

  “Leanne?” I asked. “I thought you were on the other side of the bonfire.”

  “Listen to me,” she said, ignoring my comment. “Tonight, don’t give up your soul, no matter what.”

  My mouth went dry at her words. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  “Shhh,” Oliver said from next to me, giving me and Leanne pointed looks.

  Someone moved through the crowd carrying a torch. The torch passed hands to the speaker, the firelight flickering against the crowd’s skin.

  I turned my attention momentarily away from Leanne to watch what was happening in front of the unlit bonfire.

  “This flame represents the light of the living,” the speaker said, holding the torch up high for all to see. “It’s a celebration of the brief time we have here, and a reminder to those not of this world that while we welcome their presence on this hallowed evening, they are only visitors passing through.”

  Leanne grabbed my hands. “Swear to me you
won’t sell your soul—not even if someone’s life is at stake.”

  “Leanne—”

  “Swear it,” she said.

  I took in her troubled eyes. “I swear it.”

  “But for now,” the speaker said, “spirits of the Otherworld, we welcome you. Merry Samhain and may the festivities begin!” She threw the torch onto the pile of wood and it went up in flame.

  Leanne squeezed my hands. “Good.” She kissed my cheek. “Safe travels,” she said, then slipped away into the crowd.

  “What? Leanne, wait!”

  The crowd cheered and music started up. Oliver, oblivious of Leanne’s cryptic warning, grabbed my hand. “Dance with me!”

  “But Leanne—”

  “Let her do her own thing.”

  Reluctantly I let Oliver pull me into the fray, allowing myself to just go with things for once. We, along with the rest of the group, moved around the fire, dancing to the rhythm of the music.

  Most of the students wore Venetian masks, and their reflective surfaces twinkled under the light of the fire.

  As the darkness crept up on us, the air felt heavy and the shadows along the edges of the woods seemed to sway. A haze moved from the dark corners of the clearing towards the gathered crowd. As it got closer, it shifted and separated.

  I almost yelped when I realized what I was seeing. Spectral beings took shape along the edges of the group and began to weave around the fire with us.

  “Ghosts?” I asked Oliver. “Are we really dancing alongside ghosts?”

  Oliver looked unimpressed. “That surprises you?” he said, his eyes scouring the crowd—probably still looking for Rodrigo. It was hard to tell who was who when everyone wore disguises.

  “A little,” I said. I couldn’t help but squeal when one of the ghosts moved through me. My skin felt cold and clammy.

  Oliver stopped searching the crowd to give me a look. “You’re a scary, bad-ass vampire who solves crimes and offs people for a living—”