Breaking angelina (Paranormal investigations # 1.5) Page 2

  The handful of us who survived the passage hide

  who we are, pretending to be human. The last

  thing we want is for the growing evil we left behind

  to find us here.

  Shading my eyes, I look up at the client’s palace

  at the top of the rise. A staircase cut into the cliff

  winds up to a glass palace, beautiful and enticing.

  Not a large island, it’s big enough for the mansion,

  a beachfront far below me, and the servants’

  quarters—nothing but some stilted thatch huts

  along the beach. From the rooftop lounge, she

  could be watching my approach.

  I always do a background check on my clients,

  and my informant says Jezebarra likes toying with

  her prey … turning them into her sex toys until they

  die or she tires of them and adds them to her

  roster of mindless servants. The rumors appear to

  be true—several men and women were busy doing

  various jobs around the island, and all of them

  trudge through their chores like listless and

  haggard zombies. None of them talk to each other,

  a vacant look haunting their eyes, a creepy grin on

  their faces.

  But I should have nothing to worry about. I’m

  wearing an ugly glamour: a grizzled mountain of a

  man. Horrid, filthy, detestable.

  That should annoy the sorceress. Get your fill of

  my ugly mug. Too disgusting to add to your

  collection.

  With a growl, I force myself to hike up the last

  few feet at the slow lumbering pace she would

  expect from my large size. When I finally crest the

  top, heat builds up in my fur under the glamour,

  and I want to growl and snap at anything in my

  way.

  I pause on the landing and study the sorceress’s

  palace. A flowered path leads to marble stairs,

  which climb up to large, glass doors. The white

  walls gleam in the summer sun. The glass has to be

  magically reinforced to resist the occasional

  cyclone. I shudder. How can a place so beautiful

  feel so … wrong? The place looks bright and

  inviting. Why does it feel like walking into a

  demon’s lair?

  What fiend did she bargain with or what black

  rite had she performed to gain such dark power?

  A deeply tanned brunette in a gem-encrusted

  bikini descends the steps to greet me. Like a

  predator, I wait, watching her make her way to me.

  She walks slowly, pausing on each step to show off

  her long, bare legs, her large breasts and her tiny

  waist. Almond eyes, dark curly hair, she’s a

  Mediterranean temptress, maybe even some Asian

  or Latino heritage mixed in.

  Her long hair falls in waves down to her butt,

  and her youthful skin glows, but the cloying smell

  of powerful magic and centuries of age clings to her

  like maggots.

  To avoid the nauseating stench, I breathe

  through my mouth and turn my head away from

  her. My informant suggested she wears a glamour,

  but this is no glamour—my sensitive nose tells me

  she has magically altered her body. Magic works

  better than any plastic surgery, without stretching

  their skin too tight across their skull, and only the

  most sensitive noses can pick up the reek of decay.

  The spells need to be fed continually, and after a

  while, they begin to smell of rot. She studies me

  with a sneer pasted across her too red lips, and

  wrinkling her nose, she waves her hand.

  My glamour vanishes, leaving me in nothing but

  my loincloth and my wedding torc—traditional garb

  of my people. She runs a hand over my chest,

  brushing my white fur the wrong way, and I capture

  her wrist and hold her at a distance. Unable to

  suppress a growl, I snap my teeth at her, but she

  merely smiles.

  “Much better, why do you hide such a delicious

  form behind such a disgusting glamour? The

  majestic beauty of a white wolf, such a strong

  snout, glorious white hawk wings, the strength of a

  man.” She glances down at my loincloth, and a coy

  smile plays across her face.

  From my full height of seven feet, I glower down

  at her. If I were most men, I’d be tempted, but I

  had a wife and lost her. A good wife. I don’t need

  trash.

  “My business is my own. You didn’t ship me out

  here just to talk about my personal life.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. That could be interesting …”

  I sigh. It’s going to be one of those days. “We

  both know why I’m here. Cut to the chase, or I’m

  gone.” I spread my wings to remind her I don’t

  need her plane to get me off the island.

  “That won’t be necessary. Please come into my

  office.” She takes her hand away and sashays up

  the stairs. The skimpy bikini barely covers her ass,

  and her hips sway in front of my face. I can tell

  she’s trying for sexy but just being near her makes

  me want to shower … in bleach.

  I suppress a growl. Ten minutes in this festering

  heat, and I’m already shedding. The nauseating

  stench of her magic is overwhelming and the

  wrongness of the whole island makes my skin

  crawl. I want to rip something apart.

  It is possible I might be a little short tempered.

  Nothing a stiff drink couldn’t cure. Too bad I’m on

  the job.

  At the top of the stairs, the double doors swing

  open as if invisible hands awaited her bidding. A

  cold breeze greets me, but rather than the

  welcome feel of air conditioning, I smell death and

  sex.

  I ignore the warning bells chiming in the back of

  my mind and follow the sorceress deeper into the

  mansion to a spiral staircase. She leads me up to

  the top floor, passing several glass walled rooms,

  each one containing someone involved in one kind

  of sexual kink or another, until we finally come to a

  door twice as tall as any other.

  The door opens for her with a wave of her hand,

  and I follow her inside. The room resembles a glass

  tower. Large gems—rubies, emeralds, sapphires,

  diamonds, and others I couldn’t begin to identify—

  adorn the ceiling, creating a beautiful mosaic.

  Unless you look too closely at the obscene glyphs

  projected beneath them.

  The glass floor allows a view of the entire house

  from up here. Semi-naked men and woman scurry

  around beneath us, not all of them are human. A

  marble table dominates the center of the room, the

  scent of blood and darkness oozes from it like an

  open sewer.

  A sacrificial altar.

  Despite the smell of blood, not a drop mars the

  surface. I shudder. The dark magic must have drank

  it all down. I drag my eyes away from it with an

  effort.

  Over the mantel on the far wall, twin scimitars

  catch my attention. The blades are made from

  some kind of red material, shining like rubies, and


  the silver handles are crusted with black diamonds.

  “Aaah,” she says, “I see you’ve noticed my blood

  blades, forged from the blood of my master. He

  intended to betray me, to feed me to a demon in

  order to create an item of power, so I did it first.”

  Curling my lip in distaste, I slowly spin, taking in

  the whole room. Book cases line the wall, climbing

  high above my head, broken at intervals by gaps to

  let even more light pour in, until they disappear

  high in the crystalline brilliance, more than five

  stories up.

  “Do you like my tower?” she asks.

  I grimace.

  Laughing, she opens a drawer in the desk and

  pulls out some photographs which she hands to

  me. “This was stolen from me last month.”

  I study the first picture—a bracelet laid out on

  black satin. The intricate design features a silvery

  metal and a large, pinkish-red gem in the center of

  a mass of crossing vines. The next picture shows a

  close-up of runes and symbols overlapping each

  other as they cover the entire bracelet.

  “It possesses powerful magic, and I want it

  returned immediately.”

  “Any idea who stole it?”

  Her evil smile spreads slowly across her face.

  “Oh, I know who has it. An ex-apprentice of mine

  stopped by a month ago; he returned to me out of

  the blue, asking for some advice about a spell he

  was working on. One thing led to another and …

  well, you understand. Afterwards, I helped him and

  he left. It wasn’t until he had departed I noticed

  anything was missing.”

  “So what is his name?”

  “Alistrad Karamond Zavisto, but he calls himself

  Magellan and wastes his time running a circus. He

  has quite a collection of creatures from the Wylds.

  You should be able to find his show schedule and

  track him down that way, but I should warn you. He

  uses a pocket dimension for his performances.

  Saves the trouble and expense of traveling. It will

  be hard for you to get in and out undetected.”

  A pocket dimension. I’ve heard rumors that a

  few sorcerers and wizards are strong enough to

  create their own miniature dimensions outside of

  the two worlds, but I thought it was just that: a

  rumor.

  “Not a problem.” I have my own magical

  experts, but I won’t tell her that.

  “But this one will be. Alistrad will know you’re

  there just by the smell of your glamour. What you

  need is this.” She holds up a silver coin the size of

  her palm. “This will teleport you out if you get

  caught, and I have a gold dagger that will help you

  in a fight.”

  I shrug. “Fine. I’ll take the job. Along with your

  toys here, I want five thousand in gold, up front.”

  She looks good, really good. My eyes stray to

  her breast and down to her bikini as she adjusts it.

  Her fingers trail up her body as she reaches for her

  top. I inhale her … stench.

  What the hell? This isn’t my Sammi.

  I growl. “Get. Out. Of. My. Head!”

  Agony explodes through my brain. My vision

  dims.

  She steps close. “If you try to cheat me, pup. I

  will make certain your sacrifice is exquisitely

  painful.”

  Rage surges through me blocking out the pain. I

  grab her by the throat and shove her against the

  wall. “I don’t take kindly to threats. You contacted

  me because you know my reputation. I never cheat

  a client.”

  She licks her lips. “And they told me you like it

  rough.”

  I drop her as if she burned me. I never should

  have let my temper get a hold of me. “Then they

  probably told you I don’t take kindly to being

  played. If you try to double cross me, I’ll destroy

  this filthy little altar of yours and maybe take your

  blood blades as compensation.”

  Her eyes narrow, and her smile slips. She pulls

  out a velvet bag from another drawer in the desk

  and opens the drawstrings. “Five thousand

  imperials.”

  “Seven thousand.”

  “You had said five thousand.”

  “That was before you tried to screw with my

  mind. Limited time offer. Take it or I walk.”

  She takes a vase from a corner shelf, and I can

  smell a surge of magic. She tips it into her palm and

  puts it back on the shelf before adding the extra

  coins to the bag.

  I heft the bag in my hand; it feels like the right

  weight. An illusion can look real, but it won’t feel

  real. I tie the sack and turn to leave without a word.

  “Until we meet again,” she whispers huskily in

  my ear. Her arms wrap around me, and she grabs

  me between the legs

  I whip around, ready to shred the flesh off her

  bones, but she’s gone.

  Chapter 3

  ~ ANGELINA ~

  The sound of a car honking wakes me. I’m

  standing in the middle of the road—wearing

  nothing but my nightie, my bare feet frozen in the

  slushy snow on the ground—and a car veers

  around me. Three lanes of busy traffic separate me

  from the sidewalk.

  A semi truck barrels down on me. I can see his

  surprised face as he stares at me. He honks and

  slows, but he isn’t going to stop in time.

  My heart in my throat, I dash across the road,

  and when a car slams on its breaks in front of me, I

  dive onto the sidewalk. My knee burns and aches

  where I land.

  How did I get here?

  Nothing answers me but the sound of the voices

  cackling in delight.

  Nauseated, scared, cold and hurting, I stare up

  at the morning sky. All this to punish me because

  the blue lady didn’t give them what they wanted.

  They almost killed me.

  “You okay, miss?” An old man helps me up.

  “Yes, I just got a little lost.” In my nightie on a

  busy street. Right. I need to learn to be a better liar.

  Teeth chattering, I wrap my arms around my

  chest. The hotel where we are staying is right in

  front of me. At least I hadn’t gone far.

  I pad barefoot into the hotel lobby and to the

  elevators.

  “Nice legs, Angie. You should walk around

  campus in that outfit.” Tyler whistles, looking me

  up and down. A group of the basketball team is

  heading toward the cafeteria.

  My ears burn as I hit the button to call for the

  elevator. “I was sleepwalking,” I say. That’s not

  such a bad admission, right? People do sleepwalk

  even when they don’t hear voices.

  “You can sleepwalk into my bed anytime. I’ll

  keep you warm.”

  “Thanks, but I need to go get dressed.” The

  doors open and I step in, thankful to get away from

  him.

  My room is on the fourth floor, and I hurry past

  the maid’s cart to my room. I don’t have a key, but

&nbs
p; thankfully I left the door unlocked. I slip in and

  close the door behind me, leaning on the door to

  keep the rest of the world away.

  Never did four coffee-and-cream walls and deco

  art staring back at me feel so safe and secure.

  I look down at my knee. I’ve got a good road

  rash and a bruise, but thankfully I’m not bleeding. A

  clean bandage and a shower, and I’ll be fine.

  The sound of puking interrupts my thoughts. My

  roommate must be recovering from yesterday’s

  festivities.

  I push myself away from the door and force

  myself to the bathroom where Brianna kneels over

  the toilet. Her long, black hair falls forward, and I

  hold it away from her face and rub her back.

  “Come on. We’ll order room service. Get a

  healthy breakfast into you.” I help her up and lead

  her into the other room.

  “Don’t tell the others. Please.” Fear and worry

  surround her like a heavy cloud. Most people have

  a dulled aura after getting drunk, but hers whirls

  around dizzily.

  “I thought you’d been drinking. Are you—?”

  She looks away. “Yeah.”

  “Oh no, what are you going to do?” I wrap her in

  a hug. “It’s going to be all right.”

  Pushing me away, she goes to the window and

  stares out at the morning sunlight, her arms

  wrapped around her stomach. I stand where I am

  and wait for her to speak.

  The dark cloud of fear envelops her, masking all

  her other emotions. I’ve always been able to see

  what people are feeling simply by watching the

  colors surrounding their auras—yellows for

  happiness, blues for tranquility, reds for passion.

  Most people have a mix of colors swirling around

  them. People are complex creatures.

  My mother is an artist, and she taught me to

  draw what I see. When I drew the yellows and

  blues around the neighbor woman tending her

  flowers, my mom asked me about it. I told her

  that’s what I saw.

  “Angelina, that’s very creative.” She dismissed it

  as an art form, but my mom never really lived in

  the real world anyway. To her, nothing existed but

  art and artistic expression.

  Brianna coughs. “Tyler says he’ll take me to get

  an abortion next week.”

  “That’s a big decision. Is it really what you want?

  It’s your choice, not your parents’, not Tyler’s.”

  “I’ll ruin my chance at college, and I don’t want

  to hate my baby. But I’m afraid …” She shakes her