Kiss Me Deadly: Tales of a Paranormal Romance

from the delicate silver chain links. I need to pinpoint that and ignore Adam’s signature scent—spicy, like a hot summer sun—and the leather of my coat.

I think I have it and slide the bracelet back into his waiting hand. Adam clutches it in his fist for a moment and then pushes it back into his pocket.

“Did you get anything?”

I nod, not wanting to tell him that I’m not sure. I get on my hands and knees on the wet ground and try to trace the remnants of this girl’s murder. Her blood was spilled here just three nights ago—that’s what Adam said— even if it had been cleaned up; even with all this goddamn rain, I should be able to pick up something. Anything. Murder leaves more than just a ripple.

“Here,” I say, my nose almost touching the concrete. There are stone slabs with overgrown weeds creeping out of the gaps, as though trying to drink in the rain. I point at the intersection of two large, flat stones. “Right here.”

“You’re sure?” Adam is almost on top of me.

“As sure as I can be,” I say, not wanting to get his hopes up.

He watches me for a moment, looking as though he is about to say something else. But he closes his mouth and nods. “Okay.” He pulls out the dagger. “Okay,” he says again, almost a whisper that only I can hear.

I wonder what he would have done if the “exact spot” had been on stone rather than the gap between slabs, but I figure he’s due a bit of luck. It’s not like Adam’s had it easy these past few days. I sit back and watch him work.

First, he begins opening salt packets and tipping out the contents in a rough circle around the site of the murder. It takes a lot of packets to cover the area with a thick enough layer of salt, especially because it keeps dissolving into the ground. Maybe that was why he’d given me extras.

As that thought crosses my mind, Adam nudges me and holds out his hand. “Salt.”

I pass it over, grumbling as I see that one of the paper packets has split inside my pocket. I toss a handful over my shoulder for luck, and wonder if Adam will be pissed that I wasted some.

But he’s not watching me at all, concentrating solely on his task. It’s like he is preparing some kind of ritual. It reminds me of something from one of those old black magic movies. He pushes dark hair out of his eyes; the damp air has given him a cute curl resting on his forehead that makes him look like a half-Moroccan Superman.

Adam senses me watching him and glances up. “What?”

I sit back on my heels. “Nothing. I’m just curious.”

“You’ve never seen magic before?” His face tells the story of his disbelief. “You’re a vampire.”

“So?” I feel suddenly uncomfortable under his gaze. Getting turned into one of the undead doesn’t make me an automatic expert on all things paranormal.

He frowns but doesn’t pursue it. “Are you ready?” he asks.

“For what?” I have no idea what to expect, and yet here I am in a deserted alleyway with a complete stranger who is trying to trap an Afarit. This is pretty weird even by my standards. I wonder if I can get away with asking Theo for a raise.

Adam has the book open in one hand and drives the blade into wet earth with the other, whispering words I don’t understand. A high-pitched screeching fills the air and drives me to my knees.

I clamp my hands over my ears, but I keep my eyes wide open. That’s how I see the black cloud take shape before me. It is like a plume of soot, and it smells of death. I choke on a cough, and I want to cover my mouth, but then I wouldn’t be able to block my ears against the horrendous screaming.

The cloud-thing starts to take human shape, and I try to look round it—hoping to see where Adam is. For one gut-clenching moment I think that maybe he’s tricked me. Has he summoned a monster and then teleported out of here, leaving me alone to face it?

But, no. He’s back, appearing in front of me, the blade is in his hand. He strikes at the creature before it can take human form, but the dagger passes through it.

“What are you doing?” I shout at him, over the shrieking wind that is whirling dust into my eyes and mouth. “There’s nothing to hit!”

Adam seems confused. He looks scared, which doesn’t fill me with confidence. “I thought—”

But I don’t get to hear what he “thought” because the next moment the black smoke becomes solid and a giant fist slams into the side of Adam’s face and knocks him to the ground. The only reason his head is still on his stupid shoulders is because he managed to twist to the side, just in time.

He’s still out cold, though.

Great, I think. Just perfect.

I look up at the smoke creature and wait for it to swat me like the insect I am.

But the smoke thing doesn’t attack me, not right away. Instead it swirls and becomes smaller and more dense. The wind that seemed to spring from nowhere drops, just as quickly as it arrived, and I wipe dirt from my eyes. I pull out the stupid blue contacts while I’m at it and take great pleasure in tossing them away.

I watch the black cloud take the shape of a man. I watch as it coalesces and winds around and around like a miniature whirlwind, until the magician, Bilal, stands before me. He bows and then reaches out a beautifully manicured hand. “Give me the book, little vampire, and maybe I will let you return to your master.”

* * *

Maybe it’s his use of the word “master” that makes me so angry, or maybe it is the way he so easily recognizes what I am. Adam lies quietly on the ground. I am wet and tired, and I don’t know what the hell is going on. All I know is that Theo sent me for the book, and I am going to take it back to him. No magician or Afarit or smoke monster is going to take it away from me.

I bare my teeth and clench my fists. Maybe I can’t fight a funnel of black smoke, but I can deal with a middle-aged guy in a suit.

The Djinn-in-human-form grins at me. Its mouth is sort of reptilian. I don’t quite know where I’ve got that image from, but the more I think about it the more perfectly it fits. It licks its human lips. “How does it feel to be the lowest creature on the food chain, little vampire?”

“What do you know of vampires?”

“I know enough.” Its voice is smooth and laced with an exotic accent that I don’t recognize. “You are beginning to smell dead, did you know that?”

My stomach lurches, and I suddenly feel sick. I don’t want to hear this.

It smiles a secret smile. “Your soul is too old for your body.”

What am I supposed to say to that? I can only watch this strange being as it toys with me, trying to manipulate my emotions as though I’m nothing. It reminds me of how I feel when my father speaks to me.

The Afarit cocks its head to one side. “Give me the book, and perhaps I will kill you and your little friend quickly.”

Another one who wants the damn book. I shake my head and give “Bilal” the finger. “Go screw yourself, Smoky.”

And then it raises both hands—human-looking hands—and blasts out with a column of black smoke that lifts and carries me across the alleyway, slamming me into the fence that runs along one side.

I am on my knees with my face pressed against the rough wooden fence. I can feel a splinter work its way into my cheek, and the sharp pain shakes me out of the weird sort of coma. I am staggering to my feet, as though I’m drunk, though it has been a very long time since I was last drunk. The Afarit—if that is what it is—lunges forward before I can turn.

Something sharp hits me in the ribs, just below my heart, and the sickening sound of blade on bone makes me want to puke. I fall forward and the Afarit catches me and, almost tenderly, lays me down on the cold ground. The dagger sticks out of me and ohmygod it hurts; it hurts so much and I want Theo to come and take it away and make the pain stop. I can’t draw breath to scream, and then I remember that I don’t even need to breathe—not all the time. Not anymore. I discovered that last year, and it had taken me several weeks to get used to the idea. Of course, I do still make myself breathe. I need to at least seem human. That is important to me.

I lie on the floor in a growing pool of my own blood and wonder why I am thinking of this now. I feel cold— colder than I have ever been, maybe even colder than when I died. Surely the dagger can’t kill me, I think. Not again.