Laura Bickle - Embers

Anya gestured to the symbol on the floor, the mark of the Horned Viper. Did yousee him do that?

Virgil nodded. Damndest thing. He drew on the floor with his finger, and it glowed,bright as coke in a steel mill.

The spirit was messing with her, or hed lost his grip on reality over the years, or... her logical mind refused to contemplate what the alternative meant, if he told the truth. She crossed her arms over her chest. He didnt have a torch or welding equipment?

No, maam. He came in here with empty hands. He set that mark on the floor, and then.

.. this wave of fire rolled up from the floor. It was like looking at the ocean, only red, theway it moved... Virgil made curving shapes with his hands. It was beautiful, he admitted.

Thank you, Virgil. I appreciate your help.

Virgil tipped his hat and melted into the wall. Its a pleasure, Miss Anya. Good luck.

Anya turned to look at Brian. Did you get any of that?

Brian showed her a voice recorder. Well see. I take it from your end of the conversation that he positively IDd your suspect?

Yeah. But its not exactly the kind of evidence that will stand up in court. I cant put a ghost on the stand.

Brian surveyed the wreckage of the basement. Somehow, I think thats going to be the least of your problems.

Embersis also available as an eBook

Embers

BICKLE

The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as unsold and destroyed. Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this

stripped book.

Pocket Books

A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

[http://www.SimonandSchuster.com] www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or

are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2010 by Laura Mailloux

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department,

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Juno Books/Pocket Books paperback edition April 2010

JUNO BOOKS and colophon are trademarks of Wildside Press LLC used under license by Simon & Schuster, Inc., the publisher of this work.

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc. For information about special discounts for bulk purchases,

please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949

or business@simonandschuster.com.

The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the

Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049

or visit our website at [http://www.simonspeakers.com] www.simonspeakers.com. Designed by Jacquelynne Hudson

Cover design by John Vairo Jr., illustration by Chris McGrath Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ISBN 978-1-4391-6765-6

ISBN 978-1-4391-6767-0 (ebook)

Dedicated to my infinitely patient husband.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

THANKS TO MY WRITING GROUP, the Ohio Writers Network: Linda, Michelle, Melissa, Rachel, Emily, Tracy, and Faith.

Thank you to my editor, Paula Guran, for teaching as you work.

CHAPTER ONE

TRUTH BURNED.

It always burned, even in the dark, cold hours of the morning when nearly everything slept.

Anya stood on the doorstep of the haunted house, hands jammed into her pockets, stifling a yawn. Shed taken a cab, not wanting her license plates to be seen and recorded in the vicinity. The cab had peeled away, red lights receding down the gray street. The twostory brown brick house before her looked like every other house on the block, windows and doors ribboned in iron bars. Cables from the beat-up panel van parked curbside snaked under the front door, but no light shined inside. Empty plastic bags drifted over the cracked sidewalk until trapped by a low iron fence.

She poked the doorbell. Inside, she heard the echo of the chime, the responding scrape of movement. Anya wiped her feet on the doormat duct-taped to the painted stoop, waiting.

A lamp clicked on inside the house, and the door opened a crack. Thanks for coming,

the masculine voice behind the door said.

Its not like I could say no.

That was the truth; it was not as if she could turn down what they asked, even if she wanted to. She held back a larger truth that scalded her throat: And I wish you would stopcalling. I wish you would stop asking me to do this.

Anya stepped over the cords into the circle of yellow light cast by a lamp with a barrelshaped shade in the living room. The shades wire skeleton cast dark spokes on the ceiling, illuminating a water stain that had been carefully painted over. But the water had still seeped through, yellowing the popcorn ceiling. A wooden console television sat dark and silent as a giant bug in the corner, rabbit-ear antennae turned north and east, listening for a dead signal. A shabby plaid couch dominated the room, covered with out-of-place pieces of tech equipment: electromagnetic field readers, digital voice recorders, compact video cameras. Laptop computers were propped up on TV-tray tables, casting rectangles of blue light on the walls.

Anyas gaze drifted to the video cameras, then shied away. I dont want to be recorded.

We know.

Jules, the leader of the Detroit Area Ghost Researchers, leaned against the wall, nursing a cup of coffee. No one would ever suspect Jules to be so deeply interested in the paranormal that he would lead a group of ghost hunters. He was the epitome of an ordinary guy: early forties, slight paunch covered by a blue polo shirt, well-worn jeans. A tattoo of a cross peeked out underneath his sleeve. Exhaustion creased the mahogany face underneath the Detroit Tigers baseball cap. Judging by the amount of equipment and the rolled-up sleeping bags in the corners, DAGR had spent a number of nights here.

Anya perched on the edge of the couch and rubbed her amber-colored eyes. Whats the story?

Jules took a swig of his coffee, creamer clinging to his dark moustache. We first took the case two weeks ago... the little old lady that lives in the house was convinced that her dead husband was coming back to haunt her. She described lights turning off of their own accord, dark shapes in the mirrors.

Did she come to you or did you find her?

I found her. Jules worked as gas meter reader in his day job. He had a knack for easy conversation, and people instinctively trusted him. Anya suspected he might have some latent psychic talent in getting a feel for places and people. He had an affinity for most people, anyway. Jules seemed wary of Anya. She didnt think he liked her much or thought very highly of her methods. But she got the job done when Jules couldnt.