Kiss Me Deadly: Tales of a Paranormal Romance

The old-fashioned velvet curtains are open, and the stage is empty of any kind of set or backdrop. Empty, that is, apart from a richly designed blood red carpet spread over the wooden boards.

Empty, apart from the Afarit sitting cross-legged in the center of the carpet, surrounded by a ring of stubby white candles.

My mind shows me a fleeting image of flying carpets and Arabian Nights. I remember fairy tales Mom used to read to me, so many years ago.

The Afarit grins at us with white teeth that shine behind Bilal’s black beard. “How kind of you to join me,” it says. It doesn’t look surprised to see us.

Adam steps forward. He is pale but composed, and I can’t help admiring his courage. “Just let Hasna go. You don’t need her now.”

“Foolish boy,” the creature replies. “Of course I do. Her spirit allows me to walk this plane of existence. I cannot release her without killing myself.”

“I could just rip your goddamn head off,” I say, keeping my voice pleasant and conversational. “How do you like them apples?” (I’ve always wanted to say that.)

“I think,” Bilal says, “that you are very lucky to be alive.” His eyes are cunning. “If we can call what you do ... living.”

I swallow anger and keep a smile pinned to my face. “Let’s see you finish the job, Ugly.”

Adam glances at me from out the corner of his eye, but I pretend not to notice. He’s trying to tell me something, but as far as I’m concerned the time for talking is officially over.

My fangs extend, making my gums ache. I have already fed too much tonight, but I am going to end this one way or another.

I leap up onto the stage in a single movement, stride across the carpet, and lunge at the spirit-possessed magician—

—only to bounce off a barrier that surrounds him like an invisible bubble. I fall on my butt and try to catch my breath. My hands are tingling from the impact, and it feels like one of my wrists has snapped. I test it by clenching both hands into fists. Thankfully, everything seems intact.

The only thing damaged is my pride.

I look up and see that the ceiling over the stage is painted dark blue and scattered with silver stars. Somehow, this seems appropriate.

Adam is beside me on the stage, helping me to my feet. “I tried to warn you,” he whispers.

“No you didn’t,” I retort. I’m not really angry with him, but right now he’s an easy target.

“I did,” he says with exaggerated patience. “I gave you ‘The Look.’”

“What look? I didn’t see any look. You’re just—”

“Amusing as this is, children, I am ready to complete the ritual now.” The Afarit stands in an inhumanly graceful movement. The invisible shield begins to shimmer around him, kind of like a city street under intense heat—the sort of heat I have to keep out of now.

We stop quarreling and stare. The Afarit raises its right hand to the fake night sky and begins chanting in a language I don’t understand. He is reading from the book and, as he continues to chant, smoke begins to rise from the aged pages. Theo once told me that not all magical books actually contain magic, but maybe this one does. Maybe that’s why it’s so important to him. I can’t help wondering if the stupid thing is going to burst into flames.

Light glints off something in the Afarit’s raised hand and, just for a moment, I think it is one of the rings that Bilal was wearing.

Then I see that it’s a small glass jar; the sort that might hold honey under normal circumstances. Adam notices at the same time and grabs my arm.

“The spirit jar!”

He is practically crushing my bicep through the padding of my jacket. I shake him off with ease and push him behind me. “Stay back,” I say, trying to sound like I know what I’m doing. “I have a plan.”

Anyone who knows me knows that when Moth says she has “a plan,” they should keep their heads down and stay as far away from ground zero as possible. Sadly for him, Adam doesn’t know me, and he insists on sticking to me like freaking glue. Fine—it’s his damn funeral.

I almost surprise myself with the knowledge that I really do have a plan. It’s not a very sensible one—in fact, even based on my colorful history of crazy ideas, this one is probably the worst I’ve ever come up with. Still, in the last few hours I’d already been beaten, thrown around, stabbed, and licked... Tonight could surely not get any worse. I’d just have to deal with the consequences when I got home.

The Afarit places the book down gently on the floor but continues to chant all sorts of mumbo jumbo. The spirit jar is in both hands now, and I’m sure I can see something silver white swirling inside. I frown and blink my eyes, wondering if I’m imagining things. As a young vampire I have genuinely struggled with the concept of “the soul”—do I still have one? Why doesn’t my reflection show up in mirrors if I do have a soul or spirit? But tonight I’ve had my perceptions shifted.

Not only can I see something in front of me that looks a whole lot like it could be a human spirit trapped in a freaking jar, but back in the alley the Afarit told me my soul is “too old” for my body. This indicates that not only does the human spirit exist as a potentially separate entity, but maybe I still possess one.

I push these philosophical ponderings aside, but resolve to think on it later; this isn’t the time or the place for existential angst.

Adam is pounding on the outside of the invisible shield, his eyes deepest gold and his mouth set in a grim line.

I grab his shoulder and swing him around. “Can’t you just teleport through it?”

“That’s the first thing I bloody well tried. It doesn’t work.” He shakes his head and gives the barrier a savage kick. “What’s this plan of yours? We’ve got to hurry—the ritual must be almost over by now.”

I take a slow breath, enjoying the feel of air in my lungs. I still feel strong as hell thanks to Adam’s generous donation. “Have you ever tried to transport someone else?”

Confusion crosses his face. “You mean, take them with me when I teleport?”

“No, I mean send someone or something else away ... independently of you. Without you actually being the one who teleports.”

“I don’t think it’s possible,” he says. He sounds disappointed, as though my Great Plan has already been shot down in flames.

“But you’ve never tried, right?” I am feeling more excited as each moment passes. This could work. I really think that this crazy-ass plan of mine could work.

Adam isn’t convinced. “I can teleport myself and anything I’m holding or wearing that’s made of natural materials. I told you that. It only works over short distances. And we found out earlier that if an object has magical protection on it, no matter what it’s made from, then it won’t travel.” He nods at the book inside the barrier of candles.

I hold him by both arms and make him look at me. It is important that he knows I’m deadly serious. “Adam, I want you to try teleporting me inside the barrier.”

“No way.” He’s already trying to pull away. “You could get hurt.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” I flash him a grin. “Already dead, remember?”

“I said no —you’re crazy.”

“This is our only chance,” I say, anger heating my face and making me wish I had the ninja skills to glamour him.

He glares at me. “You mean it’s your only chance to get the book back for your boss.”

“Adam, I don’t give a rat’s ass about the book any more. I want to save Hasna’s soul.” I am genuinely surprised to discover that I mean it, and if Adam knew what I was planning he’d know I meant it, too.

“I don’t understand how my powers work,” he says slowly, “but I do know that it only works on me. It has to be my essence that travels.”

I want to slap him for being so dumb. “I just drank a whole load of your blood, you moron. I’d say that