CHAPTER ONE

MISCHALE

Anticipation slithered down Mischale’s spine like hot fingers strumming her nerves as she followed her prey, stumbling every now and then to sell the act.

Joe – she snorted at the idea that was his real name – expected it. He had drugged her drink, after all. Like he had done to other women in bars. The drug was potent and had a magical kick to it.

The fire in her blood had burned the toxic substances from her body, but human women didn’t have a chance against that brew.

Mischale had no plans to disappear like his other victims, though. It was likely they were dead, but until she knew there was no chance to rescue them, she would play along and see where he took her.

He’d dropped all pretense of the charming man as soon as they left the bar, and now wore a stony, expressionless face. The mask was off.

The single smile he’d bestowed on her after she finished her drink hadn’t reached his eyes – it was the smile of a predator relishing a successful hunt.

Joe turned left onto a small street off of Old Main Street, and she obediently did the same. This led to…

The oldest graveyard in the city.

What was he thinking? Port Storm was relatively young, but the entire area, from the ocean in the west, to the volcanoes in the east, was a repository of ancient Other World power. There were pockets of particularly deep magic, and the graveyard was in the middle of one of them. The dead buried there should be left alone.

Mischale resisted the urge to mutter under her breath as she passed through the wrought iron gate Joe opened for her.

Moonlight cast the dark shadows of headstones and crypts over the expansive, snow-patchy lawn. An owl hooted, and the unmistakable sounds of tunneling reached her ears.

Ghouls.

Joe took her arm and pulled her through the cemetery until they arrived at a large crypt. The groan of the door sounded extraordinarily loud as Joe pushed on it.

She winced.

Well, if they didn’t have the attention of everything sentient in the cemetery before, they certainly did now. That couldn’t be good.

Her captor paused to strike a match and light a candelabra.

Ah, the perfect touch of Gothic romance I was hoping for.

A flight of steps carved from the earth marched downward. With an old-fashioned, elaborate sweep of his arm, Joe bowed. “Go down and stand in the center of the room. I’ll be right behind you.”

Not wanting to risk breaking her neck, Mischale let her inner fire light her eyes. Her flames gave her perfect night vision, but she pretended to stumble and weave down the stairs.

 When she reached the bottom, she obeyed the order to walk into the center of the room. It was small enough that a single glance told her no survivors were being kept here.

A small fire burst to life in a brazier, revealing an almost cozy home. It had been excavated from the earth, but the brick walls looked new and neatly constructed. One corner held an unmade bed. A plush chair sat in the opposite corner, next to a stack of old books.

Walking past her, Joe set a bag on the dirt floor and pulled out salt, herbs that made her nose wrinkle, and chalk.

He looked over his shoulder, eyes sparkling in the firelight. “Won’t be long now.”

She stood in place as he smoothed her footprints from the dirt floor, and drew a chalk circle around her. This wasn’t good. It was one thing if he was human. One of them wouldn’t have the strength or power to hurt her. A magic user, though could definitely harm her. As long as he didn’t empower the circle, it was just chalk.

Joe moved nearer to draw what looked like random symbols and runes. He scattered the herbs, lined the larger circle with salt, and started a second inner circle.

I really should have paid more attention to the witches.

The vigilante group she worked with was a hodgepodge of mostly Other Worlders dedicated to protecting anyone at risk from predators. Recently, Tabitha, the leader of a local witch coven, had come to them asking for help regarding missing, possibly kidnapped, witches.

That had led to Mischale finding Joe.

Tabitha had tried to give everyone a crash course in protective magic, but the symbols made no sense to Mischale. Her innate fire wanted to burn all magic.

Done with his doodling, Joe rose and stepped toward her, a smarmy smile twisting his lips. “All that’s left is the blood.”

Those words were delivered in an almost cheerful tone. Like she should be happy about it.

Mischale tensed. Her skin hardened to rock-like on instinct. Her appearance didn’t change, but she could make herself impervious to any knife, and heavy as a boulder.

Joe had surprised her by being a magic user, but she was the daughter of a Cherufe. He was about to get a surprise or two of his own.

She watched his hands for a blade.

Eyes locked onto hers, he opened his mouth in a wide grin to bare sharp fangs.

 Vampire.

Well, she could block a set of teeth as easily a blade. She kept still as he placed his hands on her shoulders, leaned close to put his nose at the crook of her neck, and inhaled.

But that was enough. Threatening to bite her was one thing. Sniffing her so intimately felt like a violation. Revulsion filled her. “Where are the other women you kidnapped?”

He reared back. A startled look flitted across his face. “What are you? How did you resist the potion?”

“Where. Are. They?”

Joe laughed. “You’ll see them soon enough.” He tightened his grip on her shoulders and lowered his head.

 She put her hands on his chest and shoved hard enough to send him reeling. Dragging her foot, she smudged the lines of circles and symbols so they were rendered impossible to use.

She’d learned at least that much from Tabitha.

Furious, Joe roared, “You stupid cunt.” He lunged, grabbing her ankle and jerking hard.

Mischale fell, rolled onto her back, and curled her legs to her chest. Turning her feet to stone, she thrust her legs straight as Joe threw himself at her. She struck his chest and tossed him through the air.

He crashed into the back wall, scattering bricks as the masonry burst. It hadn’t been as solid as it looked. The odor of rotting flesh poured into the room. Her heart sank. That confirmed for her the other women were dead.

Scraping sounds and inquisitive grunts came from beyond the remains of the wall.

Ghouls.

That answered the question about what happened to his victims. Joe fed them to ghouls. No wonder nothing had been found. She hoped the women had died first. Ghouls weren’t particular — they just wanted to eat flesh, and most of the time, the dead were easier to catch. But they had no problem taking a bite out of a living person.

Mischale scrambled to her feet.

Joe rolled toward the brazier, lit a torch, and threw it beyond the broken wall. It hit the dirt at the back of the tunnel, and rained sparks down on the ghouls, driving them, screeching and wailing, into the light from their hiding place.

Normally, ghouls were shy creatures, reluctant to leave their warren, but Joe’s magic, and the fire sent them into a frenzy.

They emerged, dark blobs separating into individual forms. All of them carried the stench of rotting bodies. Dirt and grime streaked their naked, skeletal frames and lank hair. Sharp, yellow teeth flashed in rictus grins from faces with skin stretched so thin and tight, they were more like skulls.

Dark eyes fixed on her. She took a step backward. One ghoul on its own was no threat, but a crowd of them was a problem. Too many hungry mouths to fend off all at once, unless she went completely rock-like.

In that form, she moved too slowly to escape. The ghouls could just wait until her magic wore off and she turned flesh again.

Maintaining her rock skin, and the strain of keeping her fire contained, would drain her energy.

Mischale staggered toward the stairs. Maybe she could lock Joe in here with his ghouls.

He grabbed her from behind, wrapping relentless arms around her.

 Gathering all her strength, she hardened her elbow and slammed it into his solar plexus.

His grip weakened, but he held on.

Her fire magic built inside her.

Joe swore and jerked away from her as her temperature soared.

Whirling, she shifted her knee to stone as she brought it up, aiming for his groin. The pain-filled shriek was music to her ears. A hard shove sent Joe crashing into the ghouls.

Mischale staggered toward the steps and took them three at a time.

She had to get out of here. Out of the cemetery completely. If her magic came out in a rush, she’d burn the place down and destroy any evidence. There was no telling what might happen if she released so much power in a place already soaked in magic.

It could set off an explosion that took out city blocks.