Revenant Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  EPILOGUE

  “Fun and intense . . . highly original.”

  —#1 New York Times bestselling author Patricia Briggs on Wraith

  Praise for Phantasm

  “A fast-moving paranormal adventure of danger, love, and heartbreak. Phantasm is filled with change and surprises that will keep readers glued to the pages.”

  —Darque Reviews

  “An exhilarating, serpentine story line with so many puzzles to solve; readers will wonder how the paranormal can protect the newcomer. Zoë is a kick-butt heroine . . . Character-driven though action-packed, Phaedra Weldon’s third Zoë urban fantasy is fantastic.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  Praise for Spectre

  “An excellent follow-up to Zoë’s first outing, and the ending will leave readers hungry for more.”

  —Booklist

  “The supernatural beings are fascinating characters in Spectre . . . a great urban fantasy.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “This follow-up to Weldon’s debut urban noir paranormal mystery, Wraith, provides intriguing background information on Zoë’s birth and sets the stage for further adventures. Fans of urban fantasy and supernatural detective stories should enjoy this foray into the borderlands between life and death.”

  —Library Journal

  “Weldon takes readers on a fast-moving adventure of murder, mystery, the dark side of survival, and a romance that is ready to bloom. Spectre provides fans with action and danger at every turn.”—Darque Reviews

  “This novel is full of twists and turns . . . fun and intense.”

  —The Witching-Hour Inquirer

  “The darkness and graphic danger that permeate the novel make it a chilling and scary read.”

  —Romantic Times

  Praise for Wraith

  “A highly original addition to urban fantasy . . . I look forward to reading more about Zoë Martinique and her world.”

  —Patricia Briggs, #1 New York Times bestselling author

  “With a quick-witted heroine and truly frightening baddies, Weldon offers a fantastic kickoff to what promises to be a vibrant new series.”

  —Booklist

  “Launching with a bang, this new detective series/urban fantasy crossover plunges its astral-traveling heroine in the middle of the action. Martinique is strong, resourceful, self-deprecating, and fascinating.”

  —Library Journal

  “Weldon’s lively debut . . . keeps Zoë and her readers off balance with brisk pacing and brain-wrenching plot twists, drawing the story to a satisfying close while leaving enough loose ends to set up Zoë’s next adventure.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Interesting, off-kilter characters . . . I can only hope that we will see more of Zoë Martinique and her family . . . Everything is so matter-of-fact that you come to quickly accept these fantastical trappings—not because of Buffy and other TV shows, but just because, well, it seems so solidly real within the context of the book.”

  —SFRevu

  “This fresh urban fantasy series keeps the action intense with its first-person point of view. Heavy on pop-culture references and quirky dialogue, it features original characters the reader will want to befriend. With a penchant for finding trouble, like Kim Harrison’s protagonist [Rachel Morgan], and witty banter akin to that of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Weldon’s astral-traveling heroine, Zoë, makes this series a hit.”

  —Romantic Times

  “[A] worthwhile debut that bodes well for disembodied adventures to come.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  Ace Books by Phaedra Weldon

  WRAITH

  SPECTRE

  PHANTASM

  REVENANT

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2010 by Phaedra Weldon.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Ace trade paperback edition / June 2010

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Weldon, Phaedra.

  Revenant : a Zoë Martinique investigation / Phaedra Weldon. p. cm.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-43463-5

  1. Martinique, Zoë (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Single women—Fiction.

  3. Astral projection—Fiction. 4. Atlanta (Ga.)—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3623.E4647R′.6—dc22

  2010008672

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For my father, Leonard C. Weldon, Jr., my mother, DeLois, my sisters, Amber and Tara, my brother, Marc, my husband, Ernest, and my beloved and most precious gift, my daughter, Indri.

  Why, then ’tis none to you, for there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison.

  —William Shakespeare, Hamlet

  1

  SUPERMAN makes this shit look easy.

  Flying, I mean. Just points his beefy hand out with a mighty fist and away he goes. Up, up, up. I do th
e same and crash into—through—and past a building. I guess this is a good thing since I don’t actually break anything in the process. No bones or concrete.

  Though that last condo I blasted through had some seriously questionable stuff happening in that middle unit—was that a cato’-nine-tails I saw? I tumbled out and put the brakes on, backpedaling in midair as I concentrated on the darkened world, looking for the telltale signs of the Fetch I’d been chasing.

  What’s a Fetch? Hell if I knew. The only intel I’d been given was that if I could catch them easily, I would graduate from grasshopper to padawan. Yes. I know. Mixing media here. It’s good practice, going after the small baddies. Gets me in shape for the big baddies, right?

  What I did know about Fetches was what I’d read in the Dioscuri notes the Society of Ishmael had let me read. Was still reading.

  Nasty little suckers. Really nothing more than a stray bit of Abysmal essence discarded by its creator. They were a lot like Daemons, brought into existence to spy or do icky things. Some were used as assassins. They weren’t given forms like me or you—but left naked in a way so they could blend into their environment. This one’d been made out of office supplies—like an Office Depot transformer. And every time it’d gone through a wall, its accouterments had been ripped off, and then it’d pulled whatever else was nearby to itself, giving it form again. Last time I checked—this one was made of toilet paper—two-ply.

  Oh—let me explain. My name’s Zoë—and you’d think I’d get tired of reintroducing myself. But see—I never know where people join the adventure. Or tragedy. Depends on how you look at it.

  Martinique. Last name.

  I’m a twentysomething former retail salesgirl turned Wraith.

  Wraith. That’s what I am. All because—and let me make sure I got this straight in my own head—I was born an Irin, the child of an angel, and was touched by the Abysmal plane.

  Got that? Good, ’cause I ain’t repeating it.

  “Hey—lover—” came a deep voice to my left. A voice that rightfully belonged to a detective I knew but was being used by my companion at the moment. I was hovering as I got my bearings, my arms crossed over my chest, and turned my head to take a look at my enemy, my nemesis, and the reason all this shit had happened to me.

  Let me introduce you to that part of the Abysmal plane I was touched by.

  The Archer. TC to me and my buddies. Trench Coat.

  That would be the bald guy with sunglasses hovering to my left. Not that he knew what would happen back then—or I. But apparently we’re irrevocably linked together in all sorts of oogy ways. Before he touched me, I could go out of body, or OOB as I called it. Astral projection. But then things changed—I changed when he marked me. I glanced at the light red hennalike tattoo of his handprint on my left wrist, could only imagine the streak of white in my otherwise-dark Latina hair.

  My being was now a miasma of both planes—existing as one.

  Mutt.

  This bastard next to me had kidnapped my mother’s soul. And then I lost my ability to OOB because of a spell my mom did when I was a child. Because of this, my dual soul split down the middle. And the evil half of me possessed the man I loved.

  Detective Daniel Frasier.

  Love.

  My . . . darker half drove him to do things against his nature. To kill. And enjoy it. The consequence of that was madness—and an undying passion to kill me.

  He tried, but killed his captain instead. Kenneth Cooper.

  That’s when I started seeing the skulls. Death masks. I’d seen them before—on people—when they were about to die. Now I saw them on everyone. I didn’t go out much anymore. Not in the daylight. I didn’t want to see them. Not anymore.

  A week later, I learned I no longer needed to go OOB to go Wraith. And Archer was there. Waiting on me.

  Daniel was insane and committed to an asylum. Out of state. Away from me.

  That’s my life experience. Getting one’s heart ripped out and stomped on a few times. Oh yeah—and condemning one’s soul.

  Oh—but we haven’t confirmed that one yet. That whole condemnation thing. Seems to be one of those vague provisos in small print. In a language nobody speaks anymore. Except for Rhonda. And a guy named Dags.

  Dags.

  No, no, no . . . not going there. That boy is gone. Out of the city. Out of my life. No thoughts to him. Nope. No, sireeee.

  I moved a good one hundred feet or so above the reconstruction of the Bank of America Building. I sort of blew it up a month or so ago when I rejoined with my darker half. The Abysmal part of me. The media said it was a tornado.

  Man . . . my life’s so screwed up. Most women when they have a bad day throw clothes all over the floor. Me? I screw with construction. Can’t say it wasn’t my fault. Because it was.

  TC moved closer to me, dressed in a long black trench coat, drivers’ gloves, and dark glasses, hovering eye level with me. Vin Diesel—with a smirk. “I lost it.”

  His smirk deepened. “Because you’re not looking.” He pointed past me to my right. “There.”

  I turned my entire body, my wings working independently to keep me afloat in the air. I saw it, an iridescent paper-covered blob moving below us, back into the building. I dove down after it, managed to go incorporeal long enough to move through the building’s walls, then through the offices, right on its tail.

  Stay with it, TC said in my head. That was getting annoying. One of these little new things that kept cropping up since rejoining with my Horror self. Oh . . . might need to explain that too, huh?

  Maniacal laughter echoed through the halls.

  Uh, hold that thought.

  Wasn’t sure if the laughter belonged to the Fetch—or something else. The little fucker blasted past me and through a door at the end of a long hall. I willed myself forward, imagining myself as a bullet, and sieved easily through the door. Wood. Easier. Though . . . I always felt like I needed to pick splinters out of my teeth afterward.

  I stopped abruptly. The thing wasn’t moving—just hovering in the center of some schmuck’s office. A piece of toilet paper fell from its body and drifted to the floor. In the darkness, the Fetch glowed a soft aqua green through the paper. Usually, whatever it attaches to itself forms into some sort of face—and this one was no exception. The paper looked as if it’d been moistened and molded into some old bald guy with a look of surprise. Made me think of a sand sculpture on the beach.

  A beat later, I realized the face wasn’t looking at me, but up at a point above my head. It looked as if it wanted to scream, to bolt out of there—but it was frozen in place.

  Every Wraithy hair on my back and arms shot up as I was overcome with the freaky factor—

  There was something behind me. Above me. Something this Fetch was so scared of it couldn’t move.

  TC—

  Get out of there! came his reply in my head—his response so loud I felt it reverberate against my skull.

  I turned just as something struck the side of my head, the force sending me to the right of the Fetch and into the wall—oops—I’d forgotten to go incorporeal. But then—I was a little preoccupied with whatever it was that’d just knocked the shit out of me.

  I landed on top of the office-desk bureau, doing some serious damage to the wood, then bounced forward onto the wheeled chair, which popped out from under me. I settled on the floor with a cracking thud.

  Ow.

  Laughter filled the awkward silence after my ten-scoring nose-dive, closely followed by the scream of the Fetch. How did I know it was the Fetch screaming? I’d popped off a few of them. There is nothing more disarming than their cry of pain. Imagine taking a million nails and pulling them down a chalkboard.

  Your hair standing on end now?

  That’s what I heard as I moaned and righted myself, feeling my wings pull in and vanish. I could tell from the dark charcoal color of my taloned hands I was still Wraith—sans flight apparatus. Twisting my neck to the left and right, I started
to push myself up from behind the desk.

  “Stay down!” TC yelled, and the mental force of his warning yanked me back into a crouch.

  I sensed that the Archer was in the same room—and peered up over the side of the desk as I heard the sound of scuffling. For me, seeing at night was the same as seeing in the day—only with the added shadows and wispiness. I could see TC wrestling in midair with—

  My eyes bugged out.

  What the hell is that?

  From what I could see, he was doing an alligator death roll in midair with—red hair?

  Standing up to my full height—which is nothing to sneeze at—I moved closer, waiting for the opportunity to wail on the big red hair ball. Seriously—it looked like the comic character Dawn’s red hair had walked off her head and was attacking Vin Diesel, wrapping itself around his neck, his body, his arms and hands.

  But he wasn’t exactly losing though. He was yelling at the top of his lungs, yanking the hair out by its roots. Of course when he let go of it as if to throw it away, it just got right back up and rewrapped around him.

  “Zoë—”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Kill it!”

  “How?”

  “Yell at it!”

  Well now, how in the hell was I supposed to do that and not hit him?

  Boy . . . that was a reversal of roles. I could remember that night months ago—with Daniel’s broken body at the base of that building—taking aim at this asswipe and screaming him into oblivion.

  And now I was afraid of just nicking him.

  “Zoë!” he bellowed. “Stop fuck’n around!”

  Asshole.

  I held out my arms, took in a deep breath—

  Abruptly TC was tumbling in midair toward me. I squeaked and went incorporeal just before he sailed through me and into the wall behind me, physically smashing into the bureau I’d already mangled. I winced as I re-formed and looked around for the thing he’d been fighting.