Kiss Me Deadly: Tales of a Paranormal Romance

I can survive without him. I have to try.

But maybe he can’t survive without me. I know too little about the way things work between a Maker and the vampires he creates. Theo doesn’t make many new vamps anymore. As far as I’m aware there haven’t been any others in the decade since he made me. And before me? I don’t know. The others in our Family tell me it has been a long time, and they were surprised that Theo turned me—especially given how young I was at the time. They still don’t know why.

All this is whirling in my mind as I watch Adam watching me. His black hair holds blue tones under the flickering light of the display cabinet; his skin the color of pale golden sand, and his eyes almost matching. I wonder where his family came from, originally.

He is edging toward the stairs. I remember that I don’t know how he got inside the store in the first place. Of course, he probably just did that handy teleportation thing. What was he? Some sort of spirit? I had to speak to Theo about this.

“Don’t try to follow me,” Adam says, his voice suddenly less confident. He sounds terribly alone. “I have to use the book.”

Now it’s my turn to look confused. “You know what it’s for? How can you ‘use’ it, anyway? I thought it was written in Arabic.”

“It is.” He is backing slowly up the stairs, almost to the corner where the narrow staircase turns and heads up the final short flight onto the main floor of the shop.

“So you can read Arabic, now, as well as do impressions of Houdini?”

“I can read it well enough,” he replies, stumbling on the uneven shape of the step that curves around the bend.

And there’s my lucky break; that minor slip is sufficient. I suddenly burst into action, bolting up the staircase and reaching toward him. I move so quickly that everything around me seems to happen in slow motion. My hand is stretching, fingers fully extended; the book is almost in my grasp. Adam is still wobbling, one arm flailing for the banister, the other trying to tuck the book inside his jacket.

But I am fast. Faster than him. As my fingers brush the old leather of the cover and I feel the grit of almost a century on my skin, Adam disappears.

I scream with frustration—I was so close! What will I tell Theo? How will I ever track down a kid who can teleport, seemingly at will?

I stop freaking out when I realize that I am holding the book after all. Adam has gone, and the book is in my hand. I’m so surprised that I almost drop the stupid thing, juggling for a moment to retain my grip on one corner of the slim volume.

Running to the top of the stairs I gaze around the store, my night vision not necessary up here thanks to the miniature display lights lining the bookshelves at intervals. Not to mention the added illumination provided by the streetlamps outside the huge front windows.

I can’t understand where he’s gone. Why would Adam just ... leave? Especially without the book he claimed to need so desperately. I’d believed him when he said how important it was. I’d actually felt guilty. But he flipped out the minute things got tough. Okay, so it wasn’t like we were best friends after a few minutes of brawling in the basement of an occult bookshop, but he’d—

Something flies at me from the shadows, and I feel a bone-crunching impact on my right shoulder. My quick instincts save me from broken bones as I throw myself out of the way just in time. I still get walloped, but it could have been a lot worse.

Rubbing my arm and cursing because I’ve dropped the freaking book, I face off with Adam. Again.

So the kid isn’t giving up. He’d simply teleported farther into the shop and waited for me to come up the stairs. It was simple enough for him to hide behind the counter cash register; there are no lights in that area, and I was distracted by his supposed “disappearance.” He is holding a heavy wooden tube of some sort. It looks like a bizarre musical instrument made of bamboo. It’s big, and I can certainly attest to the fact that it is heavy. The feeling is only just beginning to return to my right hand after Adam smashed his makeshift weapon into my shoulder.

The book is on the floor between us. Someone is going to have to make a move for it, and then the other will have an opening to attack. I eye him with irritation verging on respect, and I can’t help noticing that he no longer looks afraid. He looks kind of pissed.

“I told you, I’m not leaving without the book. Why can’t you just let me have it? What do you want it for?” His voice trembles with barely suppressed rage.

This has possibilities, I think. Maybe I can get him so angry he’ll slip up. “I have to give it to my employer. It belongs in a collection overseas, not here in London.”

“What collection? What are you talking about?” His fingers twitch convulsively around the wooden baton, and he raises it as though he might attack me again.

“I’m retrieving it,” I say. “That’s what I do. Retrieve things and return them to their rightful owners.”

I watch the delicate flesh of his throat move as he swallows. “Maybe we can make a deal,” he says.

This surprises me. I like deals; deals can be good, so long as I end up getting what I want out of them. “What kind of deal?”

“Let me use the book tonight, and I’ll give it to you afterward. I won’t need it after that.”

I snort. “Right. And I have reason to believe you’ll actually give it to me because...?” I let the words trail off and can’t help smiling at his nerve. This kid certainly has balls, I’ll give him that.

“Because...” His face creases in frustration, and then his expression clears and turns triumphant. “Because you can come with me and keep an eye on it. If you don’t let me—and the book—out of your sight, then you’re not risking anything.”

“How do I know you won’t just pull a disappearing act again?” I don’t know whether to believe him, but Adam has something intriguingly sincere about him. He’s either an excellent liar or he’s telling the truth.

“Well, I suppose you don’t know that I won’t disappear, but at least you’ll know you won’t lose the book.”

I raise my eyebrows, silently encouraging him to continue.

“Why do you think I dropped the book on the stairs when I teleported? I can transport myself and anything I’m wearing—as long as the clothes are made of natural materials—but I can’t take man-made objects with me.”

This would make a lot of sense, except for one little problem: “The book is made of leather. That’s a ‘natural material.’”

He looks vaguely embarrassed. “I thought so too, but either there are other materials used in its construction, or it has some sort of magical protection on it. Maybe both.”

I let my eyes leave his face for a moment and glance down at the book. It doesn’t look very magical. I shrug and meet his almost desperate gaze again. What do I know about sacred Arabic texts? It’s all Greek to me; I’m just an Irish-American girl brought up in Boston. This was my first trip out of the country since I was a child, back when we’d gone on regular trips to Ireland to visit Dad’s family. Mom’s had disowned her after she’d gotten pregnant with Sinéad out of wedlock and then dared to marry the man who was responsible. Bad enough to be a slut, worse still that she’d lived with the consequences and made a life with Rory O’Neal—a man my mother’s family had considered far beneath her.

“Okay.” I square my shoulders and meet his gaze. “Say I believe you. What then? What exactly do you need this thing for?”

Adam is staring at the book again. There is a muscle flickering in his smooth cheek. “I have to help my girlfriend move on,” he says. His voice is almost too quiet to hear.

“Move on?” I’m confused. A crazy image of a young couple clinging together flashes into my mind. Is he having trouble shaking loose an unwanted girlfriend? Surely that can’t be what all this is about.

“Her soul is trapped,” he says. “I have to free her, otherwise she’ll never find peace.”

My mouth is suddenly dry. “Is she sick?” It sounds like maybe she’s in a coma.

“No,” he replies, and I realize that he is crying. “She’s dead.”

* * *

We are sitting in a café at Victoria Station. Adam has been as good as his word and hasn’t tried to