Page 36 of Death Raiser

He was a giant, walking red flag and instead of leaving me scared or worried, a different sort of reaction heated my body and left me breathless. Apparently, red was now my favourite colour.

“I’ll see you at six.” Kang spun around and stalked off toward the crime scene.

I climbed into my car on shaky legs and drove away, my mind still scrambled to catch up with what had just happened. Not only was Kang possessive as fuck and it turned me on, but Thursday night was a full moon. Kang hadn’t hesitated to say yes to a date on that day. At all.

Either werewolves no longer had to shift on the full moon or he wasn’t a werewolf.

But if he wasn’t fae or a werewolf, what the hell was he?

Chapter Eleven

My phone flashed 2:00 am. Despite the summer month, a chill clung to the air. Exhaustion pulled at my eyelids, but weariness and adrenalin kept my heart pumping at a steady beat and my muscles tense.

I stood on the sidewalk just down the corner from Cathy’s ground-level apartment. The spirit hadn’t shown herself yet, but that didn’t mean anything. I had shown up early in case the spirit did as well.

Death magic woven in the wind curled around me. I closed my eyes and reached out with my power. The well inside me vibrated, ready to burst forth. Tendrils of magic slipped along the pavement and caressed the outside of the building.

Nothing.

More nothing.

Wait.

My magic came into contact with the spirit and my skin tingled with energy and anticipation.

Was this the ghost or something else? Only one way to find out.

Keeping contact, I walked forward and opened my eyes. There, standing just around the corner, in plain sight of Cathy’s living room window stood a spirit. Souls could choose to show themselves to drabs, but many either didn’t care to or didn’t have the energy of rage or wrongful death to materialize. I couldn’t tell the difference. To me, spirits were always visible.

If Cathy could also see this spirit, though, either Cathy had magic of her own or this spirit wished to make her presence known.

Having met Cathy, option two seemed the most likely, which meant this wasn’t just a spirit.

This was a ghost.

Ghosts were spirits fueled with extra magic due to the nature of their death. Not every soul who suffered traumatic death formed a ghost like this one or Bernie. There were often other factors involved, but a horrific death was generally a commonality.

This ghost had long straight hair cascading down her back, a petite stature and features consistent with East Asian ancestry. With high cheekbones and Cupid’s bow lips, she would’ve been striking in life. In death, she had a hollowed-out, haunted appearance. A hazy outline of her clothes showed she’d worn jeans and a loose T-shirt at the time of her death. They were ripped and blood-stained and hung off her lean frame.

The ghost turned to me, revealing a large gash down the other side of her face. The moment her gaze met mine, she jerked back and started to fade.

“No!” I reached out with my hand. “I just want to talk. I don’t have your bones.”

The ghost hesitated, but she didn’t flee. Instead, she remained wavering on the corner of the intersection.

A car rolled by, and the woman in the passenger seat sneered at me but looked right past the ghost.

Huh.

Maybe not everyone could see her.

The ghost had dimmed in appearance. Instead of looking like a washed-out version of her former self, she’d become more of the glowing blue outline common to most spirits.

“I just want to talk,” I repeated. This ghost was strong if she controlled her visibility to drabs.

“What’s your name?” I asked, trying to keep her with me in the present.

The ghost swayed back and forth. “I…I don’t know.”

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