Page 86 of Shadows of the Soul

“I already do, which is why I am asking you to leave. Not the house, but my stables.”

“No.”

I groaned and glared at him. “You have the emotional intelligence of a toad. I am not joking. You said you’d leave once Aunt Liz wasn’t possessed—well, she’s not possessed.”

He folded his arms. “I said I would leave once you weren’t in danger. Death has come stalking you, Cora. That is the nature of danger.”

“Death isn’t dangerous, evil is.”

“This isn’t over,” he growled before turning on his heel and striding out of the door. Perhaps when this was over, I could get myself a nice little house somewhere remote. Everywhere needed guest houses, right? The door banged closed. He wouldn’t follow me, not with the pack demanding his attention. I would be blissfully alone, like now. Time to do some research. Lucifer fucking Morningstar had met his match. He thought me to be vulnerable and weak, he should know better. A Roberts woman was never vulnerable or weak. Even laying bloody and broken in the dirt, we would always be stronger than evil.

Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

Pineapples and primordials.

Ishoved another book away from me with a huff. There was nothing in the lore about bloody roses that turned black. I’d been at this for hours and had devoured too much useless knowledge and far too many cookies. But other than restocking my plate, nobody had disturbed me in my office.

Maggie barreled through the door brandishing a tea towel like it was the Olympic torch. I spoke too soon.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She darted a look around the room. “We got ourselves an Elvis.”

I frowned. “A what?”

“An Elvis,” she repeated with a huff.

I glanced around the room currently devoid of spirits—because while I can see dead people, no one famous had turned up yet. “Where?”

She jerked her head at me. “Come, I’ll show you.”

She hustled down the hallway, past the kitchen and sitting room. I waved to the Sampleton’s, a pair of vampires who visited three times a year and never failed to tune in for the reruns of Cheers. The sofas around them were packed full of supernaturals, all chuckling at the classic show. Most probably remembered it the first time around.

Maggie turned right. Where the hell was she going? The only thing down there was…

She threw open the toilet door, and suddenly everything made sense.

“He’s dead,” she told me. Thank you, Captain Obvious, thank you very much.

“That’s Colin, the mailman,” I hissed, moving closer and grabbing Maggie’s arm to draw her into the cramped bathroom before closing the door. “Why is Colin the mailman dead with his pants down around his ankles while he pops a squat on my toilet?”

Maggie squinted at me and wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you take your pants down when you go to the toilet?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Why me? “Why is he here at all?”

She blinked and looked back at Colin. “He said he felt unwell. I asked if he’d like some homemade lemonade. He came in, drank the lemonade, went to the loo and didn’t come out. I gave him fifteen minutes and four knocks before I forced the door. Then I found him like this and came to get you.”

“Your lemonade?” I wondered. Had she finally killed someone with her cooking?

She shook her head. “No, one of the aunts made it.”

I dug into my pocket and pulled my cell out. “What are you doing?” Maggie asked.

“Calling the sheriff.”

“Why?”

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