Dark (Beautiful Ashes #1)(9)

Viv had finally caught up to her prey and discovered she was too late. Or well, just in time, to confirm Keeley Kincaid never testified against her. The dead couldn’t talk. Thank the powers that be for that one. Still, she needed to be absolutely certain the tiny woman caused her no more anxiety. With a stealth she’d developed well over the years, she made her way over to the fay-like girl choking on her bile. She watched in fascination as the body fought for survival. Her physician’s instincts warred with her newest appetite—taking lives instead of saving them. Again, she could thank her former employer, Senator Caleb Reynolds, for her new hobby of choice. Somehow murdering the serial killer flipped a switch inside her. One that was bloodthirsty and yearned for more with each life she took. All for medical purposes, she argued with herself. But deep down she knew that wasn’t the case. Her laughter echoed off the walls as the struggle for life continued.

Viv turned to leave, knowing Keeley had maybe one more minute before death won, when the unexpected occurred. The girl’s body fell at an angle that actually opened her airway. Pfft…what were the odds? As if that weren’t enough, out from under a tarp, a homeless woman crept forward. Viviane’s mood lifted as she knew how ruthless the streets could be. She rubbed her hands together. “Yes,” she suggested from the dark corner she hid in, “kill her.”

But the woman did the most unexplainable. She swept a finger inside Keeley’s mouth, fully clearing it. Next, she pulled something out from under her coat. It was a plain brown paper bag. Viv watched in fascination. Would the transient suffocate Keeley? The woman pulled out what appeared to be rolls of gauze and placed them between Keeley’s legs. How the hell did she miss that? Blood was pooled there, but in the poor visibility it looked like oil. So many acrid odors hung in the air that Viv simply didn’t recognize it for what it was. She noted the homeless woman seemed to know exactly how to treat the wounded girl. Viv was about to take matters into her own hands, for Keeley could not survive this night, when she saw the syringe going into the vein of Keeley’s arm.

She backed further away, acknowledging this was the best thing that could ever happen: Give a recovering junkie a fix and watch the addiction slowly take them down. Didn’t matter if Keeley miraculously lived through it, the drugs would eat away at her as the demon took control. One way or the other, Keeley Kincaid was no more. Her sister couldn’t save her. No one would be able to. Statistically she would lose her mind.

Fucking perfect way to seal her fate. Now if Keeley did talk, she wouldn’t be believed. Viv chortled all the way to the unremarkable sedan parked in the alley. As she climbed in, a cold familiar voice met her. “Excellent. She’ll be ours again soon.”

She nodded to the specter in the backseat. “Yes, Master.”







She told herself to just leave the girl to die. Wasn’t the first one, wouldn’t be the last one she’d seen pass away on these godforsaken streets. Yet the nurse in her couldn’t just watch and do nothing. Funny how that training came back when it was needed most. Her leg had been crushed in that horrific accident, which stole all she lived for, so she couldn’t pick up the small girl fighting to survive. Instead, she gave her a good dose of morphine and dragged her to the hole underneath the tarp. Inside the warehouse, she’d made herself a nice little nest. It was warm and dry and as clean as possible in those conditions. She changed the dressings on the surgical wound as well as checked all the others. This girl had quite a story to tell. Once everything was tended to, she wrapped her patient in a warm blanket while singing. Her daughter had loved for her to sing when she was home sick from school. The song that was her precious little girl’s favorite “Blackbird” came out in perfect pitch and tone. She’d always preferred Sarah McLachlan singing the old Beatles tune.

The girl moaned, “Laaaaacey.”

She leaned over, stroking the pixie’s hair. “Who is Lacey, hon?”

No reply came, just more groaning of someone in great pain. More morphine was needed but there wasn’t any to give her. Rummaging through a bag, she found some generic acetaminophen. A bottle of water in hand, she took the pills over to the girl writhing in agony. “Hey, now. You’re going to hurt yourself. Here,” she lifted the patient’s head and placed a pill in her mouth, then poured some water, “swallow. That’s right. Good job. One more time. Perfect.”

She laid the patient back down once her mouth was clear. A tiny hand latched around hers as she turned. “Pl-please…sing.”