Bound to Shadows (Riley Jenson Guardian 8)

Sometime in the last few hours, he'd been in close contact with one of us. And if Surrey had been in the van Johnson's soul had mentioned, then he'd just given us our first clue as to who his partner in crime was.

I rested my arms on my knees and waited. For some odd reason, humans seemed to believe that vampires had no souls. Maybe because, for most vampires, the turning process did involve the death of their human forms as their bodies evolved into vampire - and for humans, death generally meant the soul moved on. But whatever the reason, it wasn't true. Although right now, it seemed Surrey's soul was a little afraid to come out and speak to me.

I shuffled back a fraction, hoping that by giving him a little more space, he'd feel a little less jumpy.

I'd never met a soul that was scared of me before. Confused and frightened by what had happened to them, yes, but not actually afraid.

It took a few minutes, but gradually the chill of death began to infuse the air. Wispy strands of smoke began to rise from his body, the tendrils gathering several feet above his flesh until they'd formed a ghostly, almost humanlike figure that had no features. He didn't swirl as so many other souls did, but I felt the sharp tug of him sucking at my energy.

You lied, he said, his voice far clearer, stronger, than was usual for the dead. But maybe that was merely a result of the freshness of his demise. Usually I didn't arrive on the scene until at least an hour afterward.

"Anyone who shoots at a guardian needs to be prepared. We don't often miss. " Although I could have, if I'd just taken a moment to think rather than react. It would have been better to interrogate his live body rather than his dead one.

But I didn't kill anyone, he said. His anger and fear swirled around me, through me, in a bitter, vengeful cloud.

It was the same bitterness I'd tasted in the park.

"If you didn't kill Johnson, then why were your prints found in the van? And why was your scent at the murder scene?"

He just sat there, a pulsing cloud of conflicting emotions. And he didn't seem more inclined to talk in this form than he had when flesh.

"If you want to move on and find peace, you'd better talk to me, Mr. Surrey. "

I had no idea if it actually worked that way, but I was betting he didn't, either.

He stirred, sending a tendril of smoke swirling outward from his main form. The energy flowing from my body increased sharply, and pain stabbed through me. Obviously, I needed more recovery time between souls.

The bastard deserved what he got, he spat. He killed my family. Tortured them.

"He went to prison for his crimes - "

Hah, Surrey retorted. Twenty-five years for my wife and her daughter. Does that seem fair to you?

"That's not - "

Yeah, yeah, you bastards all stick together. Well, I don't regret my actions. He deserved it. I can move on in peace now, knowing he can't do that to anyone else.

"But you didn't actually do anything, did you, Mr. Surrey?" It was a guess on my part, but a pretty certain one. Surrey might be a vampire, but he didn't seem to have the balls for torture. Sure, he'd had no compunction about shooting at me, but I think that was more fear and panic than courage.

His sullenness swirled around me. The pain of him sucking at my strength was growing, as was the dull ache behind my left eye.

No, he said eventually. I hired someone.

"Tell me who. "

I never knew his name and he never got out of that stupid costume he was wearing.

"The demon costume?"

His smoky form moved, which I took as assent. Maybe he'd forgotten he no longer had flesh.

"How did you get in contact with him, then?"

There was an ad in the paper.

I blinked. Contract killers were now taking out ads? "What sort of ad?"

A problem-solved ad. I contacted them, told them about Johnson, and they said they could help me.