Page 3 of Death Warden
I wish he’d been able to save my parents too.
I fingered the amulet again.
It had been passed down from generation to generation in my family. An heirloom that was supposed to be powerful. Although it hadn’t done much for me while I’d had it. My parents’ deaths had left me the last of my bloodline and the amulet had passed to me. I’d pass it down to my kid one day, provided I had one.
I preferred to do more than that. I preferred to live. I scoffed the last of the pizza, downed my beer, stood, and stretched.
Fin let out a soft snore.
Yeah, he’d sleep until I woke him. It was almost two weeks since his last meal. Bad Adi, I should have taken him out sooner. It was my responsibility to ensure he was fed.
To feed Finley I had to play bait. I fucking hated playing bait, but there was a perk to this trip, one that was long overdue.
* * *
The Beer Bottlewas a sleezy bar on the edge of the city. Smoky and dimly lit with shit music, it was a hangout for the depraved, and for some reason, a hotspot for empties.
I came here every few weeks, bought one drink, chatted, laughed, maybe even danced, and then left with empties trailing after me like drug addicts desperate for their next fix because for some reason, empties were attracted to me.
Maybe they sensed what I was, what I could have done for them. Maybe somewhere in their blank minds was the knowledge that I could have helped them find a doorway. But there were no doorways for the empties. No light.
Just me and Finley waiting to feed.
Did I feel bad about it?
Not any longer.
The empties were echoes of people. No memory, no past, no future, and Finley needed to eat. He needed souls. It was either a bunch of empties or a ghost with all its faculties.
There was no competition.
I pushed open the door and made my way to the bar, boot heels sticking to the tacky floor with each step.
Jerry looked up from wiping the counter and grinned, showcasing gold-capped teeth. Only his fangs remained uncapped, but then he needed those to feed. Jerry, perpetually in his mid-forties, was one of the oldest-looking young vampires I’d ever met. Less than ten years turned. And his reason for being turned was walking across the bar toward me. Bernard, age unknown, looked to be in his late twenties. Dark hair, sparkling brown eyes, a wicked sense of humor, and the love of Jerry’s life approached with a warm smile.
“Adi, sweetheart, long time no see.” He kissed my cheek.
“Been busy.”
“Oh?” He arched a brow. “Ghosties or a new job?”
They thought I hopped from job to job, it was the only way to keep my real source of income under wraps. Maybe it was silly to hide that I held a lucrative publishing deal, but I liked my anonymity.
“Bit of both. Thought I’d pop in and catch up.”
He joined me at the bar and Jerry plonked a bottle of beer in front of me. “You want food?” he asked.
“You know what I fancy? A plate of your dirty fries, extra dirty.”
Jerry grinned. “You got it, girlie.”
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up at the greasy-haired guy with a frown.
“You wanna dance?” he asked.
A slow, grinding track was playing.
“Beat it, Harry,” Bernard snapped, eyes flashing.
