“Point taken.” I snorted. “Do you even know what they’re after? Why they’re so interested in something that happened so long ago?”
“I know exactly what they’re after.” Then he turned away again, as if he regretted saying anything at all.
Which only earned my complete attention. I crossed the room to face him, so he had no choice but to look at me directly. “What?”
He met my gaze. “An amulet. Something I sought in the late seventeenth century. I’d come here to Salem to retrieve it from a contact. But I don’t remember ever having it in my possession, and I don’t remember meeting that contact.”
All of this boggled my mind. “They want an amulet you may or may not have had more than three centuries ago? But why?”
“The Ring enjoys collecting things. Magical things. Powerful things. The elders have a secret museum of rare artifacts. Actually, it’s one I started myself when I was in charge.”
I processed this as quickly as I could. “So that’s what this amulet could do? Powerful magic?”
He didn’t answer for a moment. “Something like that.”
His evasive tactics were frustrating at the best of times. He didn’t want to tell me more about this. Couldn’t say I was all that surprised. “If I could do powerful magic right now, I’d get you to tell me everything.”
The glint of amusement returned to his wintery gray eyes. “Sarah Dearly, able to do magic. It would make you much more dangerous than you already are.”
“Don’t doubt it.” I moved toward the bathroom since I wanted to take a shower before dipping into the stash of expensive lingerie I’d bought to impress my wonderful yet enigmatic husband. “And you know what else I’d do? I’d do a spell to summon Owen’s spirit so we could get to the bottom of all of this once and for all.”
I pushed open the bathroom door.
Owen Harper stood on the other side, staring at both of us with shock.
Chapter 5
“You know,” Owen said slowly, “I could have sworn I left. Yet now I’m randomly standing in your bathroom.”
I just stared at him, stunned.
“Owen,” Thierry said, his tone cautious. “You’re . . . here.”
He rubbed his head. “What happened?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“What do you remember?”
“Not much. I mean, I was here with you two, Heather, and Rose was there, too. And that frog.”
“Toad,” I corrected shakily.
“And now I’m up in your room again. Weird.” He frowned. “No, wait. I remember something else. I had this strange itchy feeling. It got worse by the second. And then . . .” His frown deepened. “I don’t know.”
“Come closer.”
Owen did as Thierry asked without any further questions. I took a good look at him. He seemed perfectly fine to me, which was disturbing since I knew very well he couldn’t be.
“What?” Owen asked.
“I need to check something.” Thierry calmly reached forward to touch his shoulder, but his hand zipped right through Owen’s body and the shoulder turned to swirling gray smoke. Thierry pulled back and Owen’s body re-formed itself.
Owen’s eyes had gone very wide. “What. The. Hell.”
“You’re a gh . . . ,” I began, bringing my hand up to my mouth before I finished the sentence. Then I reached forward to touch him, but I felt nothing but cold air that swirled like smoke, just as it had with Thierry. “Um . . . don’t panic?”
“What is going on here?” he demanded.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, Owen,” Thierry began, “but you were killed yesterday by what we believe was an alpha witch’s death spell.”
Owen gaped at him. “No way!”
Thierry cleared his throat. “Way.”
“This is impossible. Why wouldn’t I remember something so major? I was killed? And you witnessed this?” He spun to face me as if hoping I might provide a more favorable, second opinion.
I cringed. “It’s true. You were there . . . and then you weren’t.”
His face paled. “This can’t be happening. It can’t be.”
“You don’t feel any different?” Thierry asked.
“I feel . . . I don’t know. I hadn’t given it any thought yet. But if I’m dead—oh, my God. I’m dead!” He pressed his hand against his chest. “My heart is not beating! I’m a ghost!”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said the only thing I could. “Owen, I’m so sorry.”
“Why am I back? Why am I here? Why aren’t I in, like, Heaven’s waiting room, or something?”
“I know why.” I tried to sound as calm as possible. Panicking wasn’t going to help matters. “You’re back to help us figure out who killed you.”
Owen groaned and covered his face with his hands. “It could have been anybody!”
“I thought you wanted us to have the impression you were universally loved by every woman in town,” Thierry said.
He peeked out from between his fingers. “Well, I was. Kind of. But some of those women had husbands and/or boyfriends. And some husbands and/or boyfriends can work black magic just as well as any sexy witch can.” His expression was shifting from stunned to annoyed. “Oh, this is just great. I’m dead. I had a lot of things I still wanted to do in life. And it’s over? Just like that? How is that even remotely fair?”
“It’s not fair.” Thierry shook his head. “You didn’t deserve this end, Owen.”
They hadn’t been the best of friends, to say the least, but Thierry sounded genuinely sincere in his regret.
Owen began pacing our small room. “There has to be some way to reverse this.”
“Reverse being dead?” I said. “Not that I’m aware of. Thierry?”
His serious expression grew thoughtful. “Many have tried such a thing.”
“Successfully?” Owen asked with hope.
“Necromancers have been known to raise the dead with varying degrees of success.”
I stared at him. “Like zombies? Like walking dead rotting corpses who want to eat brains?”
“Not exactly. However, if one gets to a body in time, and everything lines up perfectly—both magic and strength of will—it is possible to raise the dead.”
“Yikes.” I shuddered at the thought. Some believed vampires were essentially the walking dead, but no—we had heartbeats, blood pressure, the need for oxygen. It was a completely different thing altogether. Happily so, thank you.
“So that’s what I need,” Owen said, now excited. “A necromancer! Where do I find one?”
“I believe, at last count, there were three in the entire world capable of this kind of sorcery. Two are in prison for life in solitary confinement. A raised corpse becomes the necromancer’s slave and will be forced to do whatever is requested, no matter how violent or distasteful. Those two necromancers were allegedly not good people.”
I crossed my arms tightly. “That doesn’t sound too pleasant.”
“Believe me”—Thierry gave me a sidelong glance— “I’m leaving out the gorier details.”
My stomach turned over. “I appreciate that. What about the other one, though?”
“It’s possible she might be helpful. She’s located in California, although I’m not certain how to directly contact her. I know someone who might be able to, though. The raising must be attempted within seventy-two hours of death, while the spirit still has ties to the mortal world.”
Owen nodded. “This sounds perfect!”
“However, there is one problem that would prevent her from being useful in resurrecting Owen’s corpse even if we could get her here in time.”
“What?” Owen asked breathlessly.
“You don’t have a corpse.”
His face fell. “Damn.”
Thierry’s dark brows drew together. “I am truly sorry, Owen.”
The dead vampire let out a shuddery sigh. “Why? You didn’t kill me.” Then he frowned. “Or did you? You never li
ked me, Thierry.”
“Trust me, Owen, if I’d had reason to want you dead”—Thierry’s lips thinned—“I would have had no need for magic.”
He said it with such conviction I definitely believed he was capable of it. A shiver—one more of appreciation than fear—went down my spine at the reminder that the man I’d married could be extremely dangerous to someone who crossed him.
However, Owen took this chilling explanation totally in stride, as if he expected no less. “Well, okay. I believe you. This, though . . . it’s not right. I had plans, you know. Big plans. And now it’s all over.”
“If you’re a ghost, maybe you can still do things,” I offered, wanting to say something, anything, to help make this better, even if only in a small way.
He gave me a sad look. “It’s not the same. I don’t have solid form. I can’t touch anyone. They can’t touch me.” As if to prove it he reached for me. When his hand went straight through my stomach, it felt like I’d just swallowed a tray of ice cubes. I took a step out of his reach.
“You’re right,” I said, grimacing, “it’s definitely not the same. Sorry.”
He groaned and stomped his foot. “This totally sucks!”
“I don’t disagree,” Thierry said. “But you must tell us everything you know about who might be responsible, since we believe it might have something to do with the other disappearances in Salem. And it must be now while you’re still here and we can talk to you. Ghosts are rarely earthbound for more than three days unless there’s strong magic involved to bind them to the mortal world.”
“Is that what happened with Malik?” I asked.
“Very likely.”
“Oh, hell. Malik.” Owen glanced around nervously. “I don’t want to meet up with that guy. Total douche bag, I’ve heard.”
I shook my head. When we’d asked him about Malik before, he’d dismissed it as nothing. “Ghosts can’t hurt anybody, so you shouldn’t worry about him.”
“Well,” Thierry said, “that’s not always true. Ghosts don’t have any ill effect on the living, but on another ghost . . .” He looked at Owen. “Try to be vigilant. Do not seek out the spirit of this witch hunter in case he’s dangerous to you. Soon you’ll be free to move on to the afterlife if nothing is binding you here. I’m assuming that you’re visible in the mortal world due to the séance Heather performed to draw your spirit here.”
His eyes widened. “She did a séance?”
Thierry nodded. “We didn’t believe it was successful last night. But you’re here now. It’s a sign that the results were simply delayed.”
Owen scratched his forehead. “You know, I really can’t believe this is happening. Maybe it’s all just a big dream and I’m going to—”
And then, just like that, he disappeared into thin air.
I stared at the spot where he’d been standing. “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know,” Thierry answered. “Perhaps his spirit isn’t strong enough to remain in the mortal world for very long.”
I eyed him uneasily. “You sure know a lot about ghosts.”
“Not much, really. But I know enough.”
I had a horrible thought. “Heather wasn’t able to see him. She couldn’t tell him she loved him. This would have been the perfect opportunity for closure.”
“Hopefully, if he was able to return once, he’ll return again.”
“Just in case, don’t mention this. I don’t want her to be any more upset than she already is.”
“I won’t say a word.”
I chewed my bottom lip and tried to put our conversation with Owen out of my head, but it didn’t work very well at all. “Remember that thing I said earlier about Vegas-bought lingerie and staying in this evening?”
He studied my face. “You’ve changed your mind.”
I laughed at that. “Hardly. This is our honeymoon, mister, such as it is. However . . . it’s still early. I think we should check out that bar—Mulligan’s—tonight. One last shot to see if we can find anything to help unravel this particular mystery before we skedaddle tomorrow morning.”
“You care about Owen.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But I care that he got killed, that maybe other vamps met the same fate, and more in the future could, too. If there’s still something we can do to find the answers, then what else can we do?”
He leaned over to kiss me. “I think it’s a good idea.”
I smiled against his lips. “Two hours max, promise. Then we’ll come back here and get back to the honeymoon.”
“An excellent plan. Shall we leave now?”
I peeked around Thierry’s tall frame to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror to see I was rather disheveled from ten hours of hoofing it around Salem. “I want to have a shower first and change into something more nightclub appropriate. That man we spoke to earlier with the cigar? He gave me cigar hair.”
He nodded. “I am curious to see what you consider ‘nightclub appropriate’ when you wore these sequins all day.”
I looked down at my shirt. “These are day sequins. Completely different thing.”
“I see.”
I slipped away from him and closed the bathroom door behind me, hoping Owen wouldn’t make another appearance when I was in the middle of my shower.
A liberal application of shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel later—followed by a fresh layer of makeup—and I was ready for the rest of the evening.
I wrapped a soft white towel around me and emerged from the steamy bathroom. “The shower’s all yours if you want it.”
When I didn’t get a reply, I glanced around at the room and frowned.
Thierry wasn’t here.
I went to the window and looked outside, cringing when I saw Owen’s stain still there on the driveway, lit by a streetlamp. The clouds were gathering thickly in the dark sky, blocking the moon. There was a chance of rain tonight. That should be enough to sweep away the rest of him.
My stomach soured thinking of it. It was a very innocuous-looking dark stain, kind of like one of those inkblots psychiatrists use to determine a patient’s state of mind, or maybe a parked car leaking oil. But the thought that it was once a person . . .
I shuddered. One moment you were walking, talking, living your life, and minding your own business, and the next you were a Rorschach pattern.
I retrieved a red dress from my suitcase and slipped it on, along with a pair of heels, and waited for Thierry to return. When he wasn’t back fifteen minutes later, I went downstairs to look for him.
Rose was in the living room sitting in a large easy chair, knitting. She looked up at me brightly. “Looking for that handsome husband of yours?”
“Uh, yeah. Have you seen him?”
She nodded toward the front door. “He left a little while ago.”
He left? “Did he say where he was going?”
“No.” She gave me a concerned look. “Did you two have a squabble? It’s nothing to worry yourself about, I’m sure. All new marriages are wrought with trouble from the get-go. All you need to do is weather the storm and he’ll be back.”
I grimaced. “Thanks for the tip. But we actually weren’t arguing. Not today, anyway.”
She gave me a patient look. “If you say so, dear. I was married to my husband for thirty-five years and we had plenty of troubles. If I had it to do all over again, I would have divorced him the moment things went sour.”
We were swiftly moving into a very TMI area. “I’m sorry you didn’t have a happy marriage.”
“Sometimes you don’t find the perfect man until very late in life.”
I assumed that meant Granny had a boyfriend. Well, good for her.
I texted Thierry immediately to see where he’d gone and why he’d left without me. When I didn’t receive a reply right away, I decided to head out after him.
The night was warm, but there was electricity in the air. I liked that feeling, just before a storm, kind of a metrological excitement just bey
ond what one could see. When I was a kid, I’d sit out back of my parents’ house and close my eyes, letting that charged air sink into me. At the time, I’d believed being struck by lightning would give me superpowers.
From what I’d learned about the supernatural world in less than a year, I wasn’t convinced it wouldn’t. Still, I was in no hurry to find out.
“Thierry, where did you run off to?” I said under my breath as my heels clicked against the sidewalk. It wasn’t like him to disappear without saying anything.
Wait. Who was I kidding? It was exactly like him.
He’d probably headed to the nightclub to get a head start, time being of the essence and all that. However, the least he could do was reply to my text or call me.
Despite being both perplexed and annoyed at his vanishing act, a sliver of worry worked its way under my skin. He’d better not be doing anything dangerous right now that might attract the attentions of murderous alpha witches.
Luckily, it wasn’t too far a walk from the inn. It was just after ten o’clock, and there were plenty of people at the club. Mulligan’s was a large English pub–style bar with dartboards, lots of beer, and karaoke after dark. As I entered the establishment, the lilting sounds of those who were completely tone deaf met my ears.
I’d been encouraged to sing karaoke once at an office party when I was a personal assistant a few years ago. I’d had one too many tequila sunrises, and . . . let’s just say, Christina Aguilera had no reason to feel threatened.
The lesson I learned that night: If you’re going to take an embarrassing risk, try to ensure there are no video cameras present. It was the last time I allowed my inner diva free. I’d kept her locked in the basement ever since.
The bar was elbow to elbow with both locals and tourists. I scanned the many faces, searching for a sign of Thierry, but didn’t spot him. My level of worry rose a few notches.
I pulled my cell phone out and texted him again.
WHERE ARE YOU???
When there was no immediate response, I shoved it back in my purse. Since I was here, I might as well have a drink and try to relax. The bartender came over when I finally made it to the bar.
“What’ll it be?” he asked.
“Margarita, please,” I said, after noticing that it was the special of the evening. If I couldn’t get palm trees and a beach for my honeymoon, at least I’d get a vacation-worthy cocktail.