The Hollows Series Books 1-4

“You haven’t lived with Ivy very long, have you?” he asked. I looked up from the index, surprised, and his long face went slack. “I, uh, sorta got the idea that you and she weren’t …”

I flushed, dropping my eyes. “We aren’t,” I said. “Not if we can help it. We’re just roommates. I’m on the right side of the hall, she’s on the left.”

He hesitated. “Do you mind if I make a suggestion, then?”

Mystified, I stared at him, and he went to sit on the corner of the table. “You might want to try a perfume with a citrus base instead of a flower.”

My eyes widened. This was not what I had been expecting, and my hand crept up to cover my neck where I had dumped a splash of that awful perfume. “Jenks helped me pick it out,” I said in explanation. “He said it covered Ivy’s smell pretty good.”

“I’m sure it does.” Nick winced apologetically. “But it has to be strong to work. The ones based on citrus neutralize a vamp’s odor, not just cover it up.”

“Oh …” I breathed, recalling Ivy’s fondness for orange juice.

“A pixy’s nose is good, but a vamp’s is specialized. Go shopping with Ivy next time. She’ll help you pick out something that works.”

“I’ll do that,” I said, thinking I could have avoided offending everyone if I had just asked for her help the first time. Feeling stupid, I closed the unnamed book and rose to get another.

I pulled the next book off the shelf, tensing when it was heavier than I thought it should be. It hit the table with a thump and Nick cringed. “Sorry,” I said, pushing the cover straight to hide that I had torn the rotting binding. Sitting down, I opened the book.

My heart gave a thump and I froze, feeling the hair on my neck stand on end. It wasn’t my imagination. Worried, I looked up to see if Nick had noticed it, too. He was staring over my shoulder at one of the aisles the book racks made. The eerie feeling wasn’t coming from the book. It was coming from behind me. Damn.

“Rachel!” came a tiny call from the hall. “Your amulet went red, but no one’s out here!”

I shut the book and stood. There was a flickering in the air. My heart pounded when half a dozen books in the aisle pushed themselves to the back of the shelves. “Uh, Nick?” I questioned. “Is there a history of ghosts in the library?”

“Not that I know of.”

Double damn. I moved to stand beside him. “Then what the hell is that?”

He gave me a wary look. “I don’t know.”

Jenks flitted in. “There’s nothing in the hallway, Rache. You sure that charm you gave me is working?” he asked, and I pointed at the disturbance in the aisle.

“Holy crap!” he exclaimed, hovering between Nick and me as the air started to take on a more solid form. As one, the books slid back to the front of the shelves. That was even creepier.

The mist turned yellow, then became firm. My breath hissed in through my teeth. It was a dog. That is, if dogs can be as big as ponies and have canines longer than my hand and tiny horns coming out of their heads, then it was a dog. I backed up a step with Nick, and it tracked us. “Tell me this is the library’s security system,” I whispered.

“I don’t know what it is.” Nick was ashen-faced, his slow confidence shattered. The dog was between us and the door. Saliva dripped from its jaw, and I swear it hissed when it hit the floor. Yellow smoke rose from the puddle. I could smell sulfur. What the devil was this thing?

“Do you have anything in your purse for this?” Nick whispered, stiffening as the dog’s ears pricked.

“Anything to stop a yellow dog from hell?” I asked. “No.”

“If we show no fear, maybe it won’t attack.”

The dog opened its jaws and said, “Which one of you is Rachel Mariana Morgan?”

Twenty-Five (#ulink_e17fddba-898b-5f05-b041-6b28547692de)

I gasped, my heart pounding.

The dog yawned with a little whine at the end. “Must be you,” it said. Its skin rippled like amber fire, then it leapt at us.

“Look out!” Nick shouted, pushing me clear as the slavering dog landed on the table.

I hit the floor, rolling to a crouch. Nick cried out in pain. There was a crash as the table slid into the racks. It shifted back when the dog jumped off it. The heavy plastic shattered.

“Nick!” I cried, seeing him crumpled in a heap. The monster stood over him, nosing him. Blood stained the floor. “Get off him!” I shouted. Jenks was at the ceiling, powerless.

The dog turned to me. My breath caught. Its irises were red surrounded by a sickly orange color, and its pupils were slit sideways like a goat’s. Never taking my eyes off it, I backed up. Fingers fumbling, I pulled my silver dagger from my ankle. I swear a doggy smile curved around its savage canines as I shrugged out of my coat and kicked off my old lady heels.

Nick groaned and moved. He was alive. A wash of relief swept me. Jenks was on his shoulder, yelling in his ear to get up.

“Rachel Mariana Morgan,” the dog said, its voice black and honey sweet. I shivered in the basement’s cold air, waiting. “One of you is afraid of dogs,” it said, sounding amused. “I don’t think it’s you.”

“Come find out,” I said boldly. My heart was pounding, and I adjusted my grip on my dagger as I began to tremble. Dogs shouldn’t talk. They shouldn’t.

It took a step forward. I stared, mouth agape, as its front legs lengthened, pushing itself upward into a walking position. It thinned out, becoming manlike. Clothes appeared: artfully torn blue jeans, a black leather jacket, and a chain running from its belt loop to his wallet. It had spiked hair, colored red to match its ruddy complexion. Eyes were hidden behind black plastic sunglasses. I couldn’t move from the shock of it as a bad-boy swagger came into its steps.

“I was sent to kill you,” it said in a seedy London accent, still approaching as it finished turning into a cobbled-street gang member. “I was told to make sure you died afraid, sweet. Wasn’t given much to go on. Might take a while.”

I lurched back, only now realizing it was almost on me.

With motion almost too quick to be seen, its hand jerked forward like a piston. It hit me before I knew it had moved. My cheek exploded into a fiery agony, then went numb. A second blow to the shoulder lifted me. My stomach dropped, and I crashed backward into a book rack.

I struck the floor, books pummeling me as they fell. Shaking the stars from my vision, I rose. Nick had dragged himself between two racks of books. Blood ran from under his hair and down his neck. His face wore a look of awe and fear. He touched his head, looking at the blood as if it meant something. I met his eyes across the room. The thing was between us.

I gasped as it sprang, its hands grasping. I dropped to a knee. I swung my knife, lurching as it went right through it. Horrified, I scrambled out of its reach. It kept coming. Its entire face had gone misty, reforming as my knife passed through. What the hell was it?

“Rachel Mariana Morgan,” it mocked. “I’m here for you.”

It reached out and I turned to run. A heavy hand grabbed my shoulder. It whipped me back around. The thing held me, and I froze as its other red-skinned hand folded into a murderous-looking fist. Grinning to show startling white teeth, it pulled its arm back. It was going for my middle.

I barely got my arm down to block it. Its fist hit my arm. The sudden shock of pain took my breath away. I fell to my knees, a scream ripping from me as I clutched my arm. It followed me down. Arm held close, I rolled away.

It landed heavy and hot to crush me under it. Its breath was steam upon my face. Its long fingers gripped my shoulder until I cried out. Its free hand snaked its way under my dress and up my inner thigh, roughly searching. My eyes widened in astonishment. What the hell?

Its face was inches before mine. I could see my shock mirrored in its sunglasses. A tongue slipped past its teeth. Warm and disgusting, it ran its tongue from my chin to my ear. Nails dug at my underwear. It savagely pulled at them, making them cut into me.

Jolted into action, I knocked the sunglasses askew. My nails dug at its orange irises.

Its surprised cry bought me a quick breath. In the instant of confusion, I pushed it off me and rolled away. A heavy boot smelling of ash lashed out, striking my kidney. Gasping, I huddled in a fetal position curved around my knife. That time I had gotten it. It had been too distracted to turn misty. If it could feel pain, then it could die.

“Not afraid of rape, sweet?” it said, sounding pleased. “You’re one tough little bitch.”

It grasped my shoulder, and I fought back, helpless against the long red fingers that pulled me stumbling up. My eyes flicked to Nick and the sound of heavy blows. He was hammering at the locked wooden cabinet with a leg from the table. His blood was everywhere. Jenks was on his shoulder, his wings red in fear.

The air blurred before me, and I staggered as I realized the thing had changed again. The hand now gripping my shoulder was smoothed. Panting, I looked up to see it had become a tall, sophisticated young man dressed in a formal frock and coat. A pair of smoked glasses was perched on its narrow nose. I was sure I had hit it, but what I could see of its eyes looked undamaged. Was it a vamp? A really old vampire?