Page 7 of Twilight Longings

Izabela slammed the book shut. Without knowing what body he currently inhabited, finding him was virtually impossible.

It had been three years since she had bound Luca inside the soul-catcher. With luck, the vampires might be able to locate a trace of his remains, but the odds were one in a million. Still, it might be their only hope.

Kincaid frowned as he dropped his cell phone on the sofa in the hotel suite where he and Rosa were staying. He had hoped Izabela was calling with good news, but there was none. According to the witch, their only hope was to find some trace of Luca’s body—bones or teeth or hair or the like—and praythat the witch could use the remains to create a location spell that would lead them to whatever body the necromancer was currently inhabiting.

Muttering an oath, Kincaid scooped up his phone and called Saintcrow.

The master vampire answered on the first ring. “Well?”

“I’m afraid she didn’t have any good news. She said the only possibility is to find a piece of Luca. With luck, she might be able to concoct a spell that would lead us to whatever body he’s currently inhabiting.”

Kincaid held the phone away from his ear as Saintcrow unleashed a string of oaths, a few in languages Kincaid had never heard before. “You done?”

“Yeah. Shit. Are you busy?”

“No. Rosa went to visit her parents.”

“You game to go see if there’s anything of Luca left to find?”

“Damn right. I’ll meet you there.”

Standing in front of what had once been Luca’s house, Kincaid muttered, “Well, hell. I thought I burned the place to the ground.”

Saintcrow shook his head. “Somebody must have called the fire department at the first sign of smoke.” It was obvious part of the house had been rebuilt, the rest renovated. The house boasted a new coat of paint, new windows, and a new front door. Flowers bloomed in the yard, a rope swing hung from one of the trees. No trace of the necromancer’s evil remained.

Saintcrow glanced at Kincaid. “You game to go see what we can find?”

Taking a deep breath, Kincaid nodded.

Conscious of Kincaid’s reluctance to enter the place, Saintcrow climbed the stairs, and rang the bell. Jake stood behind him, fists tightly clenched. Saintcrow heard light footsteps inside and then the door opened and a middle-aged woman stood there wiping her hands on a bright orange dish towel.

Her gaze moved from Saintcrow to Kincaid and back again. “May I help you?”

Saintcrow nodded as his mind spoke to hers.You will invite us in.

“Please, come in.” Her voice was flat, her expression blank.

“Thank you. We’d like to see the cellar.”

“Of course,” she said, in the same, dull tone. “It’s this way.”

They followed her through the house and down the stairs. Kincaid’s gaze swept the cellar as memories of being imprisoned here by Luca filled his mind—memories of pain and torture and helplessness. If not for Saintcrow, he might have died here. The cages and the table and the instruments of torture were gone, as was the guillotine. A sofa, a pair of recliners, a big screen TV, and a pool table occupied the space now. The concrete floor had been painted dark gray, no doubt to cover the blood stains. A couple of large throw rugs added a touch of color to the room.

Saintcrow blew out a breath. He had known finding a trace of the necromancer was a long shot since Kincaid had set the place on fire. But it had been worth a try. “You ready to go?”

Kincaid nodded. He was about to follow the woman and Saintcrow up the stairs when he saw it, an antique silver dagger that had somehow escaped the fire. It had been framedand hung on the wall between two paintings. He recognized the dagger as Luca’s immediately.

“We’re taking the dagger,” Kincaid told the woman as he carefully removed the blade from the frame. “If anyone asks what happened to it, you will tell them it was stolen.”

The woman nodded. “Stolen. Yes.”

“We’ll be leaving now,” Saintcrow said. “When we’re gone, you won’t remember this conversation or that we were here. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” She led the way up the stairs.

“Remember, tell no one we were here,” Kincaid called over his shoulder as he followed Saintcrow out of the house and down the front steps.

“I guess our next move is to get the dagger to Izabela,” Saintcrow remarked.

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