Malik al-Khan.
My ghostly heart thudded: why was he looking at her with his usual impassive expression on his perfect, pretty face? Didn’t he realise that it wasn’t me in my body but Hannah? And why wasn’t he killing her? I clenched my fists. I wanted to shout at him to get on with it, but knew he couldn’t hear me. Then my heart thudded for a different reason. What if Moth-girl hadn’t woken up? What if she hadn’t managed to find him, or pass on my messages?
Damn. Plan A wasn’t working; time to find another one.
I scanned the room, but I couldn’t see Necro Neil anywhere. I looked back at Hannah, wearing my body. She had her hand tucked into Malik’s arm. They made a striking couple, her in her ballgown, him in what had to be a hand-tailored evening suit and shirt, both black, the only relief the triangle of smooth, pale skin at his throat where he’d dispensed with the bowtie.
‘Here she is.’ Hannah stopped in front of an alcove—Rosa’s alcove.
I moved forward until I was standing near enough to watch both them and the vampire lying in soulless state on her altar of stone. Candles lit the interior of the alcove, casting wavering shadows over the white shroud that covered Rosa’s body.
Malik drew back the sheet with the hand not claimed by Hannah and stared down at the grimacing, fangs-drawn vampire, his eyes as unemotional and opaque as black glass. ‘You are certain you will be able to restore her soul to her body?’ he asked.
Hannah smiled and patted his arm. ‘Of course, Malik. I told you, with the soul-bonder knife you gave me, all I need is a small spell. It takes a matter of seconds.’
Malik had given her the knife? She hadn’t stolen it? And he knew ‘I’ wasn’t me! What the hell was going on here?
‘And Joseph is correct? She has not been harmed?’ he asked, still with no change of expression.
‘There is no wound other than where her flesh was taken for the original spell.’ Hannah lifted the sheet to show the bloody circle on Rosa’s hip. ‘But that will heal once she is herself again.’ She let the fabric fall.
‘Once her soul is returned, her body will become her own again, will it not?’ He turned to her. ‘There will be no tie between her and this body you now wear.’
Anger warred with confusion and I felt the sharp edge of betrayal slice inside me.
‘None at all,’ Hannah assured him.
‘Good.’ Satisfaction flickered so quickly across his face that I though I might have imagined it. He stroked a finger along her jaw. ‘What of the sidhe’s soul? What has become of that?’
‘There’s no need to worry.’ She took his hand and cupped his palm to her cheek. ‘After tonight, her soul will be gone. Then this body and the power in its blood will be fully mine.’ She lifted her chin and pressed his palm to her throat. ‘And it will be my pleasure to share it with you, in any and every way that you desire.’
He smiled, wide enough to show a glimpse of fang. ‘Then I fear you are wearing too many clothes,’ he said softly, trailing a line down to her cleavage. ‘Shall I tear this from you, or would you prefer to remove it yourself?’
A hopeful suspicion started to edge out the anger and confusion inside me.
She laughed, a low, husky sound. ‘Soon, Malik.’ She stilled his hand. ‘Have patience; it will be better if we wait until after midnight. We will have more time then.’
‘No, I have waited long enough for this body.’ His eyes gleamed, predatory. ‘And now the prize is within my grasp, I do not wish to play second fiddle to your demon.’ He threaded his hand into her hair, tugged her head back and melded his lips to hers. She made a low moan of appreciation, her hands rising to grasp his shoulders, her body visibly shuddering. His hand tightened on the silk dress, then he ripped it down to her waist, the sound violent in the quiet alcove. He placed his palm between her breasts, over her heart, and she trembled, her fingers clutching desperately at his arms, and whimpered.
An answering shudder rippled through him.
I watched, gripping the ghost knife, as a long-ago memory surfaced and cut away the last of my confusion.
The forgotten memory told me he was killing my body, his cold kiss searing like fast-freezing ice through my veins, stealing my breath, stopping my blood from flowing and my heart from beating.
It was how he’d killed me when I was fourteen, how he’d managed to give my lifeless body back to the Autarch all those years ago ...
... while his bond with my soul had kept me from fading.
I took a breath, releasing the tension in my gut.
He was doing what I wanted him to.
Hannah’s body stilled. Her hands dropped away and her knees sagged until Malik’s mouth on hers and his hand on the nape of her neck and over her heart were the only things keeping her from falling. A shimmer moved under her skin, her head turned—only it wasn’t her head, but a transparent shade—and pulled away from his kiss, pushing at his shoulders, trying to break his hold.
Slowly he raised his head and I saw his eyes, incandescent with flame.
Now I needed to do my part.
Gripping the ghost knife, I plunged it into my body’s back—
—and a screech of rage shattered the quiet. Hannah’s ghost stumbled backwards, then swung round to face me. I stabbed her again, under the ribs and up into her heart, as she’d stabbed herself when she’d stolen my body. I used the knife and my hand to push her back until she was wedged between me and the stone altar behind her. She clawed at my face and yanked at my hair as I thrust the knife higher, then buried my face in her neck, biting and tearing at her throat, going for the carotid. She might not be living flesh, but neither was I, and Moth-girl and Scarface had taught me that while ghosts couldn’t touch the living, they had no problem killing those already dead. Hot blood spurted over me, blinding my sight, filling my mouth with its salt-copper taste, and I fed, mindless, desperate, insatiable, drinking it down, as some instinct told me I had to take it all and let not one drop remain in her body, not if I wanted her truly dead.
The blood slowed and thinned, turning as liquid as water, and her flesh dissolved under my hands until the taste was faint, almost insubstantial, and I held nothing more than wisps of air. And still I reached out, to trap each fleeing wisp and shred it with my fingers, until even the scent of her vanished into the darkness.
I slid down and huddled against the side of the stone altar, feeling sated, bloated with power that writhed around my bones, like snakes slithering in ecstasy through my body.
It was not an easy feeling, and yet it was seductive, and with a promise of more, if I would just let it in—
‘Genevieve?’
My murmured name intruded on my languor and slowly I raised my head. Tavish was frowning down at me, his delicate black gills flaring at his throat.
‘I am calling her back to her shell, kelpie, but I no longer sense her presence.’ Malik’s voice attracted my attention: he was kneeling over my limp body, his hands pressed to my bare chest. ‘Is her soul still here?’
‘Aye, she’s here, vampire,’ Tavish said softly, crouching down in front of me. His eyes shone dark pewter in the candlelight, the same colour as the beads on his green-black dreads. Apprehension and concern crossed on his face. ‘But the sorcerer’s darkness has tarnished her brilliance; it weighs her down, it swims like polluted eels in her consciousness, and still it tries to lure her away with it.’
The snakes flicked out their tongues and slithered down my arm, eager to taste. I reached out my hand and pushed it deep into his chest and he jerked back, snorting, his nostrils flaring and a rim of white fear showing round the edge of his dark silver eyes. And I tasted him: oranges, cut tart with terror and sweetened with yearning.