The Ghost Hunter (16 page)

“Maggie, I need to know about my father. I need to know if you saw him here, what he did, where he was, who was with him.
Anything
.”

The child frowned, her golden brows drawing together. “Your Papa?”

Ashley knelt in front of her and nodded. “Come on, Maggie. Any information could help me find Rachel.”

Maggie dropped her gaze to the floor and remained stubbornly silent.

This was so not good. Her frustration mounting, Ashley rubbed her temples. Devon had been a dead-end, no pun intended, and now Maggie? “Come on, Maggie, you’re killing me.”

Still, the child said nothing. Ashley stood and made her way toward the steps. She would find no help here. An odd numbness had settled through her body.

“Please,” Maggie cried. “Don’t trust that man.”

Man? The word pierced Ashley’s foggy reality. Unwillingly, she paused, her fingers wrapped around the railing so tight, her knuckles turned white.

“Who?” she asked.

“That man with the black hair and the sword. He sent them back.” Maggie choked on a sob. “He sent them back and he’ll send me if you don’t stop him.”

Cristian felt the shift in the atmosphere before the pub even came into view. He pulled his motorcycle to a stop and cutting the engine, glanced up at the building. Night was fading fast, yet he was in no hurry to enter. Something had changed dramatically, and not for the good.

What was the little Seer up to now? He made his way to the front door, boots crunching over gravel, his senses on alert. He was fully aware of the curtain from Ashley’s room twitching, as if someone above watched. Ashley, Camile, or a ghost? He knew Camile was here, Rose had sent her niece, although she didn’t realize she was a pawn in this ridiculous situation. At this distance it was hard to identify the spy.

He pushed open the door and found Ashley sitting upon the steps, watching him. One didn’t live for hundreds of years and not know that look. She was a woman determined. She wanted to talk. Slowly, he closed the door.

“Who are you? What are you?” she burst out.

“I’m good, thanks for asking.” He started toward the kitchen, knowing he couldn’t avoid her questions, but sure as hell trying.

She jumped from the stairs and shoved her way between him and the hall. “No more half-truths. No more lies.”

He laughed. “Ye’ll accuse me of lying? Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to protect ye. Yer the one keeping secrets.”

“I don’t need protecting!”

He shook his head. “Really? Playing with magic ye don’t understand. Ye haven’t a clue what ye are, what ye’re capable of.”

“And you do?” Her face was flushed. “You know me so well?”

“Aye, I do.” He stepped closer to her, anger and frustration spurring him forward. She stepped back, directly into the wall. “I know you can see things that would make most quiver in fear. I know yer father left ye when ye were just a wee child. Yer mother put ye in a mental ward. I know ye hate the fact that ye can see spirits, yet yer determined to understand yer powers, even if it means placing yerself in a situation you just might not live through.”

She shook her head, her face pale. “How?”

Damn her. He couldn’t take it anymore. He could no longer resist his human emotions. He could no longer resist her. He cupped the sides of her face. “I know ye get a little crease between yer brows when yer thinking. I know even though ye curse those damn ghosts, ye’d still protect them with yer own life. I know yer stubborn, but yer heart is full.”

“You don’t…” she whispered, dropping her gaze to his lips. “You don’t know me.”

He lowered his head, his lips close to hers. “I do.”

 
“Get away from her,” a familiar voice growled from above.

A voice he sure as hell had never expected to hear again. A voice he shouldn’t be hearing now. For one long moment, shock held Cristian immobile. Either his powers had changed and he suddenly had the ability to hear ghosts, or Ashley had done something incredibly stupid.

Cristian’s eyes narrowed into mere slits as his heart hammered wildly in his chest. Slowly he looked up at Devon. For one moment he thought he’d imagined the man. But no, his imagination wasn’t this demented. He released his hold. Ashley moved out of reach, headed toward the steps and Devon. The fact that she left him, for the former ghost stung.

“Well, well.” Cristian smirked, hiding his surprise well. “Come tae rescue the damsel in distress? Death hasn’t changed you a fucking bit.”

And he meant it. The right side of Devon’s jaw pulsed, a familiar tic, one he’d had centuries ago and death apparently hadn’t cured him of the affliction. The man had the same habits, same warrior stance. The only thing different were the clothes he wore, an oddly familiar set of shorts and t-shirt.

The former ghost shifted. Devon’s face was pale, but he held that silver sword in his hands like a man who knew exactly what to do. A sword he’d taken from Cristian’s room. Still, even Cristian could tell he was in no shape to tumble. He’d have him dead…again… in five minutes, maybe less. How the hell had this happened? He’d known Devon’s spirit was here, Clare had told him that much, but he sure as hell had never expected to see him in human form again. The realization left him conflicted.

Devon moved the sword from his right hand to his left and back to his right as he started down the steps. “You don’t belong here.”

Cristian laughed. “An’ ye do?”

Devon continued his approach, apparently not intimidated with Cristian’s ease or arrogance. “More than you.”

It was obvious the man wasn’t going to back down. Cristian held his right arm straight, parallel to the floor, no longer caring what Ashley witnessed. She’d brought this upon herself. It was time she knew the truth. He had no doubt she and Camile had somehow resurrected Devon. But he didn’t have time to dwell, Devon had murder in his eyes.

“Sword.” His silver and gold sword suddenly appeared in his hand, the weight always comforting. “Wonderful, now we’re evenly matched.”

Snarling, Devon jumped down the few steps with his sword raised. Cristian lifted his weapon, blocking the blow. The two came together in a clash of metal. Sparks flashed as blade hit blade. Cristian stumbled back, moved down the steps by Devon’s deadly advance.

Having practiced together for years, they fell quickly into routine. As Devon’s blade came toward Cristian, he felt as if he’d stepped back in time.

They were twenty, young, stupid, full of life.
“Shall we call it a draw?” Devon’s young face was laughing.

“Ready to give up already, are ye? I’m only getting started.”

It had been another time. A time when they’d been friends. When they’d been evenly matched. But now in his weakened condition, the former ghost didn’t have a chance.
 

Sweat glistened on the man’s face, his feet shuffled as he made his way down the steps, his limbs trembling like a newborn colt. He wouldn’t last long. Devon jumped over the railing, landing with a thud that rattled the chandelier above.

“Yer good, for being half-dead,” Cristian commented.

Although he faked an ease, his mind was spinning. How the hell had Devon become human? Camile appeared at the top of the steps, looking guilty as hell. Fuck. He’d been right, shoving the Witch and Seer together had been a bad mistake. Cristian spun, his sword raised. Devon blocked his hit.

“I’m here, I’m here!” Camile stumbled down the steps. Her bag gripped to her chest, she darted straight toward Ashley. Cristian tried to ignore the women, even as he resisted the urge to reach out and shake some sense into their two pretty heads.

“Toss this on him, will weaken his powers,” Camile said, having no idea that Cristian could hear every word.

He was completely aware of Ashley inching toward them, completely aware of that blue bottle clutched in her small hands, completely aware even as he fought the deranged man in front of him. Devon swiped his sword wide. Cristian jumped back, almost stumbling into Ashley. She squeaked and skipped aside just as Devon’s sword came toward him again.

For one moment Cristian’s heart stopped beating. Seeing her, Devon pulled back just in time. But Ashley didn’t scream or cower. Instead, she took the opportunity. Without hesitation, she tossed the liquid contents toward Cristian. The water arched through the air like a crystalline rainbow and splattered against his face. The room seemed to pause, growing silent. Any relief he felt knowing the little Seer hadn’t been cut down, quickly vanished. The entire room stilled.

Gritting his teeth, Cristian slowly turned his gaze to her and swiped his face dry with his sleeve. “Ye are really starting tae annoy me.”
 

She gasped, as if offended. Cristian growled low. Her eyes went wide and she scampered back into Camile. Taking his frustration out on Devon, Cristian raised his sword. Devon spun around just as the weapon came down.

“It’s not working,” Camile cried. “He’s not slowing down. Balls, what
is
he?”

“Good question,” Ashley replied.

With a lunge, Cristian backed Devon up against the wall. Their swords came together with a clang, his arms vibrating. The room grew quiet. Devon gritted his teeth, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he gripped the hilt and tried to push back against Cristian’s sword. Cristian’s muscles strained, pressing against his clothing. Devon might be half-dead, but his unnatural strength remained intact. Still, Cristian was stronger and he would win…again. But he sure as hell wouldn’t let this end the way it had last time.

“Ye’ve let yerself go, my friend,” Cristian taunted.

The man’s blue eyes grew murderous. He knew, deep down, Cristian would win. Devon’s fingers relaxed and his sword fell to the ground with a clank. He groaned and stumbled back against the wall, his entire body giving out. As Devon slumped to the floor, Ashley yelled her outrage. The sound fueled Cristian’s anger. How dare she worry over Devon’s welfare. He stepped closer, hovering over Devon with his weapon pointed directly at the man’s throat. He wouldn’t hurt him, but there was no reason not to scare the idiot.

“No!” Without hesitation, Ashley threw herself in front of Devon, in front of that sword. She would end her life for Devon. The realization was like a knife to Cristian’s gut. It didn’t matter that Ashley was bonded to him by fate, she’d made her choice.

She stared directly into Cristian’s eyes, daring him to slip the tip of that blade into her chest. Slowly, his lips turned up into a cold smirk even while his heart crumbled. “Ye think I wouldn’t kill a lass? Believe me, I have before.”

Her pupils widened, her face going pale. But she didn’t back down.
Devon
stumbled to his feet and pushed her behind him, although he was completely exhausted and could do little to protect her. Always the fucking hero.
 

“Yer pathetic,” Cristian said, his lips lifting in disgust. “Yer not worth it. Keep the sword, yer going tae need the practice.”

Devon
’s jaw clenched, anger lurking in his familiar blue eyes. As he started to leave, something nagged at him. Cristian paused and studied his former friend. There was something else there behind that anger, something unidentifiable… as if the man weren’t quite himself. Realization hit like a punch to his gut. Suddenly Cristian understood. Of course, magic was never free.

Hell, it was worse than he’d expected. Devon wasn’t quite
Devon
after all.

“Okay,” Ashley clasped her hands behind her back and paced the bedroom. “So that didn’t exactly go as planned.”

Devon
snorted as he played with the hilt of the silver sword Cristian had forced upon him. Camile merely sighed. They were sitting side by side on her bed, her own little, exhausted Guerrilla army. A witch and a…well, what once was a ghost but now was…
something
.

She shook her head and groaned. Cristian had won. He’d always win because they were pathetic. And even worse, a little part of her had wanted him to win. Damn it all, she couldn’t deny it now. Every time Devon’s sword had been anywhere near Cristian, her heart would literally stop in her chest. He might not care about her, but she cared about him, whether she wanted to or not.

Yet Cristian had easily won, not even breaking a sweat. She’d had no reason to worry about him. She had the distinct realization that no magic, no training, no weapons could bring Cristian down.
Devon
, on the other hand… He was still pale, his forehead still damp with perspiration. Would he get better with rest, or worse with time?

“Lie down,” she demanded.

Camile jumped from the bed and nodded her agreement.

“I don’t need to—”

She put her hands on her hips and raised a brow. Camile did the same.

He was no match for two mothering hens. With a sigh, Devon set the sword on the bed and collapsed against her pillows. He closed his eyes, but it was with obvious reluctance. She knew it stung that Cristian had gotten the better of him. Still, they had more important things to worry about than his ego. Like how the hell Cristian and Devon knew each other.

“We have to figure out what Cristian is before we can make anymore plans.” And once they identified Cristian, she’d know more about Devon.

“He sure as hell isn’t human,” Devon said, his eyes still closed.

“That helps,” she muttered. If Cristian wasn’t human, then Devon probably wasn’t either. The thought sent an icy shiver over her skin. She crossed her arms over her chest. “But why wouldn’t your spells work on him? I mean even if he isn’t human, they should still work, right?”

Camile shrugged. She looked sincerely confused. “Not necessarily. But I’m not sure, I’ve never meet anyone who wasn’t human. Well,” she frowned, “that I know of.”

Even though she wanted to believe her, there was still that niggling doubt in the back of Ashley’s mind. Two of Camile’s supposed potions hadn’t worked on Cristian. “Your Aunt seemed friendly with him.”

Camile’s gaze jumped to her, her brows raised in surprise. “Really? She’s never mentioned him before.”

Her shock seemed real. “Would she tell you what he was, if you asked?”

Camile frowned, dark circles marring the area under her eyes. Ashley wasn’t the only one who’s life was in upheaval. Guilt ate at her gut. Because of her obsession for answers, she’d dragged these two into her mess.

“Maybe, but she’s pretty damn loyal.” Camile shook her head, her nose ring flashing in the lamplight. “If she thought he was evil, she would’ve mentioned it to me. I doubt she knows.”

Ashley twisted a lock of hair around her finger and continued to pace. “Your potion didn’t affect him. But the question is, why?”

“Is that man gone?” Maggie asked, forming in front of her.

Ashley was getting so use to the ghost’s sudden appearance that she barely flinched when the child appeared.

Devon pushed himself to sitting, his brows drawn together. “What was that?”

“Maggie,” Ashley said over her shoulder, before turning back to the child. “He’s gone, for now.”

Her lower lip stuck out in an all-too-familiar pout. Ashley resisted the urge to sigh. She so couldn’t take a whining kid right now, she had more important things to deal with.

“I want him gone forever.”

“I know.” Ashley raked her hair back from her face, part of her wishing the same, another part wanting the very opposite. How could she still be attracted to a man who was so vile?
 

“Ye think I wouldn’t kill a lass? Believe me, I have before.”

The words sent a cold chill over her body. She didn’t doubt Cristian would kill anyone who got in his way. “We’re trying to get rid of him.”

“Where is she?” Devon stood, his body trembling with the effort. The frantic spark in his eyes gave Ashley pause. “There? Is she there by the door?”

Ashley nodded, frowning. “Devon, can’t you see her?”

He froze for a moment, but she could see his mind spinning, as if he was trying very hard to see the ghost girl. “Vaguely. I vaguely see a dark shadow and…and hear this soft murmur.”

Ashley glanced at Camile, who shook her head, obviously confused.

Devon moved toward Maggie, his hands outstretched, looking much like Camile had when she’d sensed him. Unease twisted Ashley’s gut.

“Devon, what’s wrong with you?” Maggie whimpered, stepping back.

Devon stopped and jerked his gaze toward Ashley. “Did she say something? I thought I heard a…a murmur.”

“She’s there,” Ashley said softly, sinking onto the bed, too stunned to say anything more. For some reason, she’d assumed he’d still be able to see his ghostly friends.
 

Maggie disappeared and reappeared in front of her. “Why can’t he see me?” Those accusatory blue eyes glistened with tears. Ashley knew how she felt. For some reason, the realization that Devon wasn’t
Devon
as she knew him, made her feel abandoned.
 

“I don’t know.” She stood, smoothing her hands down her dress. “Devon, what exactly do you see and hear when Maggie’s in the room?”

His brows were drawn together, his breath coming out in sharp pants. “It’s like…like I know she’s here, I get the impression, the feeling, like a chill over my body. And I see her.” He pointed toward where she stood. “A dark outline of a human shape that shimmers into focus, then disappears. And her voice…her voice is soft, muffled, but I can’t really make out the words.”

“It’s more than I get,” Camile muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just feel a cool spot.”

So this was it? Ashley was the only one left who could actually see and speak to the ghosts? Devon was lost to her? For some reason she felt more alone than she had when she’d first arrived.

“Uh, Ashley,” Camile said.

Depressed, Ashley was barely aware of Camile. She didn’t know what to do, which way to turn. Who could she trust? She pressed her hands to her throbbing temples. God, what else could go wrong?

“Ashley! Get down!” Devon snapped.

“Huh?” She looked up to see a silver vase coming straight at her head. In that split second she knew she was too late. The thing slammed against her forehead, propelling her back onto the bed. Pain shot down her skull, ending in a dull throb at the base of her neck.

“Awww!” she cried out, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. She pressed her hand to her forehead and could already feel a welt forming. “What the hell?”

With a groan, she pushed herself upright. Devon had flattened himself to the floorboards, while Camile had somehow managed to take cover in the bathroom and was currently peeking out.

“Who the hell threw that at me?” Ashley demanded, her gaze jumping immediately to Maggie. But the ghost child was whimpering in the far corner.
 

Camile slowly opened the bathroom door wider, hesitant and careful. “No one.”

Ashley rubbed the stinging injury. Shit, was it going to leave a scar?
No one.
Surely she’d misheard Camile. Had her injury bruised her brain? “What do you mean?”

Devon sat up, his hands pressing the vase to the ground. “I think…I think it’s…dead.”

Ashley stumbled to her feet. The movement sent her already aching head to throbbing. “Dead? What are you talking about?”

Camile waved her hands through the air, hopping up and down like a rabbit on speed “The…the vase! It just came flying straight at you.”

Ashley didn’t respond. They had to be joking. Yet, no one was laughing. She didn’t want to believe it, but odder things had happened. She swallowed hard, almost afraid to ask, knowing she had to. “No one threw it?”

Camile shook her head. Devon was still watching the vase, as if waiting for it to attack. Maggie was cowering in the corner, of no use.

Fanfreakingtastic.
“That’s never happened before.” Understatement of the year.

“Are you all right?” Devon asked, finally looking at her.

She nodded, her gaze pinned to that vase. For one long moment, none of them spoke, as if too stunned, or too afraid. More like too confused. They sure as heck couldn’t question the vase, unless Camile had some potion that made objects talk.
   

“Do you think…
he
did it?” Camile whispered.

Ashley swallowed hard. “He?”

“Cristian?”

Her instincts immediately said no. It wasn’t Cristian’s way. He’d be more direct. Ashley shook her head. “I don’t know; I don’t think so. He left the house, we saw him drive away. Maybe it just…fell.”

Devon looked at her like she was insane. “Fell across the room?”

Okay, maybe that was a bit ridiculous, but what was the alternative?

“Still, even if he’s gone,” Camile said, wrapping her arms around her waist, a defensive action that told Ashley the witch was feeling as vulnerable as she was. “It doesn’t mean he couldn’t have done a spell or—”

“I’ve arrived,”
a deep voice rumbled through the room.

Ashley froze, her heart skipping a beat. “What the hell was that?”

“You heard it too?” Camile clutched onto her arm, her frantic gaze searching the area.

Other than Devon, Camile and Maggie the room was empty. Had Cristian put a spell on her quarters? Was he trying to scare her off? It didn’t seem like something he’d do, but she wouldn’t put anything past the man. “Did you hear it, Devon?”

He nodded, unease flickering in his blue eyes. Oh God, it had to be bad if a former ghost who’d seen it all was nervous.

She turned. “Maggie, did….”

The child’s attention was focused on the fireplace. A whispered warning caressed her skin. Slowly, Ashley followed Maggie’s gaze. A man stood there, his gray face pulled into a snarl, his red, glowing eyes were made all the more frightening by the encroaching darkness of night.

Ashley stumbled back, gasping. “Th…there!”

He was gone in a blink. Her frantic gaze searched the room. Was her head injury making her see things?

Camile and Devon spun around, searching the fireplace.

“What? Where?” Camile asked.

Ashley flattened herself against the wall. “There…there was a man, a
thing
.” She pointed toward the fireplace, her arm shaking. “His skin was gray and he had stringy white hair and…and red eyes.
Tales from the Crypt
,” she blurted, as if that explained it all.

“Are you sure?” Devon asked, stepping closer to the hearth.

She curled her fingers to keep from reaching out and yanking him back for his own safety. “Yes! Yes, I’m sure.”

“I saw him too,” Maggie whispered.

Ashley felt a hysterical bubble of laughter form in her throat. It didn’t help to have a ghost backing her up, a ghost no one could hear. Still, at least it was someone. “Thanks, Maggie.”

She nodded. “What was it?”

Ashley shook her head, raking trembling fingers through her hair. Dear God, as if they needed something else to happen. “A ghost?”

The child drew her knees close to her chest. “Not a ghost. He didn’t feel like a ghost.”

“What?” Shocked, she stepped closer to Maggie, her fear momentarily forgotten. If not a ghost, then what? “Are you sure?”

“What is it?” Camile demanded. “What’s she saying?”

Not a ghost? Fear wove its icy fingers through her body. Her attention flashed to Camile and Devon who were waiting impatiently for her to speak. “Maggie said it wasn’t a ghost.”

“Then what was it?” Devon demanded.

“I…I don’t know.” Frustration made her voice sharp. She moved tentatively around the room, peeking under the bed, looking behind the painted folding screen in the corner, but saw nothing.

“Maybe it just fell,” she insisted once more. Sure, she didn’t believe it, but how else could she explain the situation? “I mean maybe…” The small clock on her bedside table moved, metal scraping against wood. “Maybe …we…should go.”

The clock lifted from the table, hovering in the air. Too late.

Her eyes widened. “Get down!”

Camile and Devon immediately dropped to the floor. Ashley fell just as the clock whizzed past and crashed against the wall. The force of the impact made the antique piece crumble to the floor in pieces.

“Who the hell did that?” Camile asked.

Ashley groaned, and stumbled to her feet. “Fanfreakingtastic.” There was no denying it now. Something was very wrong. Anger spurred her forward. Damn it all, she was sick of being attacked.