Falling to Ash Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by Karen Mahoney

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Marie O’Neal used to have a life, a family . . . and a pulse.

  But now, everything’s changed. Marie is dead, and in her place newly-made vampire Moth stalks the streets of Boston, struggling to make sense of a world in which she no longer belongs . . .

  A thrilling tale of paranormal adventure and forbidden romance from the author of THE IRON WITCH.

  For Veej –

  my sun and stars.

  I have long ago lost my belief in immortality

  – also my interest in it.

  Mark Twain

  Prologue

  He raises his head and she looks into the eyes of a predator.

  So dazzling . . . She almost has to look away from the blaze. They seem to drip silver – like liquid mercury escaping from a broken thermometer.

  But even though she is transfixed by the terrible beauty of his eyes, it’s his teeth that suddenly draw her fascinated gaze. Teeth that have extended inhumanly, the canines sharp and dog-like as he bares them and growls.

  The spell breaks and she has the sense to struggle. She kicks and pushes at him, trying to make an impression on his strength. She bites the hands holding her down, her own teeth blunt and meaningless. Even as she begins to hyperventilate, she knows there is no escape. He’s too strong; his arms feel carved from cool stone. Strange how, even in her terror, she can think about how bright he burns – his face, his eyes – and yet his body is cold.

  Somewhere in a very dark place inside her mind she starts laughing hysterically, and she thinks: I have gone insane. Mad, crazy, like in the movies.

  How can she be laughing in her head, but screaming on the outside?

  Because she is screaming, loud and shrill and hopeless, a bird in the jaws of a cat that’s been stalking it forever. Never getting bored. Endlessly patient.

  Her screams in the face of the impossible are filled with the knowledge of blood – and death.

  Chapter One

  I KNEW MY morning was off to a bad start when I sneaked home from an illicit night out to find two cops waiting at my apartment door.

  It didn’t take me long to figure out who they were despite the regular street clothes – I can smell a cop from a mile away. Once a police officer’s daughter, always a police officer’s daughter. For a split second I considered leaving again before they saw me, but it wasn’t like I had anything to hide.

  Apart from being a vampire, I mean.

  It’s not as though I’d killed anyone. Lately.

  No, I’m kidding. I don’t do that – not unless someone makes me really angry.

  OK, now I really am messing with you. I may be a member of Boston’s underground undead (that nobody is supposed to know actually do exist, outside of colorful legends and the Twilight franchise, of course) but I like to think of myself as one of the good guys.

  I took a moment to watch the man and woman as they knocked on the door again. One was white – the woman; the man was black, and actually the shorter of the pair, but I couldn’t tell how old they were from here. My eyes are good, but even I can’t see through the back of people’s heads. Though now that I think about it, X-ray vision would be pretty cool.

  The woman turned and I tried to look like I hadn’t been hesitating. Nothing to see here, Officer, just your average teen vampire. Totally harmless.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, as I walked toward them. I flashed them a fangless smile (I might be inexperienced but I’m well-trained in this) and produced the door key by removing one of my chunky knee-high boots and shaking it upside-down.

  Thanking God that I was still wearing my contacts to hide my vamp eyes, I grabbed the key off the floor, replaced my boot and tugged down the short skirt of my black dress. ‘You want to come in?’

  I set about making coffee, turning my back to the detectives and measuring grounds, taking my time, adding water and trying to remember if there was anything vampire-y in the kitchen that would give me away. The clock on the microwave told me it was 7:55 a.m.

  Noticing that made me think guilty thoughts about the microwave. That’s where Holly and I heat up the blood we drink when we can’t stomach it cold from the bag.

  Pushing that thought hastily away, I swung around to face my unwelcome guests.

  Detectives Alison Trent and Denmark Smith had introduced themselves and showed their ID before following me inside Holly’s North End apartment where Theo had put me six months ago. They seemed surprised that I could afford to live in such a nice place, but I wasn’t going to tell them about all the interesting ways that the vampire Family of Boston finances their affairs. Not that I know much about it myself, only what Theo or Holly see fit to share. In the year since my life changed forever, I’d been told very little. So little that I was reduced to sneaking in and out of the apartment while my roommate was at work or out socializing, and picking up scraps of information where I could.

  Trent was probably in her late thirties and had shoulder-length blonde hair tied back in an untidy pony-tail, with lots of scruffy strands hanging loose. Her face was make-up-free and her blue denim jacket looked well worn, kind of like the rest of her clothes. She smelled of cigarette smoke and mints, and her wrinkled pants and fitted sweater were plain black. She also looked vaguely familiar in that really annoying way that sort of itches at the back of your mind. Maybe my dad knew her and I’d seen her at some kind of police social event, back before he’d been quietly retired off the force.

  Detective Trent’s intelligent blue eyes took in everything around her, cataloging and filing it all away for later examination. She seemed intense and direct. Way to make a girl feel nervous.

  Denmark Smith on the other hand, the younger of the pair, was everything that his partner wasn’t – at least in the sartorial stakes (no pun intended). He was dressed in a beautifully cut charcoal-gray suit, and his shoes were shiny enough that you could see your face in them. If you actually had a reflection. His black hair was close-cropped and perfectly sculpted and even his fingernails were neat and tidy. He was obviously handsome, but a little too handsome for me. I wondered that he even had time to solve crimes, what with all the personal grooming he must do.

  I turned back to the counter and pulled down the only two clean mugs I could find. They were large and decorated with comic-book characters; one was Wolverine and the other Batgirl. I poured the freshly brewed coffee from Holly’s secret stash and shrugged as I offered Batgirl to Detective Trent.

  Smith raised his eyebrows, but accepted Wolverine without a word.

  Trent stirred sugar into her coffee and watched me. ‘You live here alone?’

  ‘I have a roommate.’
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br />   ‘She wasn’t out dancing with you?’

  Dancing? I smirked, but let the old-fashioned term slide without my usual snarky commentary. ‘No, she works nights.’

  Of course she works nights. She works nights, parties nights, sleeps days. She’s a vampire.

  Smith took a sip from his mug. ‘What does your roommate do?’

  Drinks blood! ‘She’s a motorcycle courier.’

  ‘And you? Work? School?’

  I blinked at him, feeling stupid. I hadn’t even thought about how I’d answer a question like that. Theo had me so sheltered that I never even thought I’d have to worry about it. What did I do? Good question, Detective.

  The cops exchanged suspicious looks.

  Say something. Anything!

  ‘School,’ I blurted.

  Trent tapped short fingernails against the side of her mug. ‘Which one?’

  ‘U/Mass. I’m an art major.’ That much had been true a year ago, at least.

  She nodded, holding my gaze. ‘Records show you dropped out last year – just after the course started, in fact.’

  Crap. I scrambled to cover the lie. ‘I didn’t actually drop out. Not officially.’

  ‘Marie, you haven’t attended any of your classes for months. It’s November now, but you haven’t even gotten started this year.’

  ‘Just don’t tell my dad,’ I muttered.

  Smith quirked a smile. ‘He doesn’t know?’

  What? That I got turned into a monster? That just as Theo had told me, I hadn’t been able to go to school because every time I did try I got overwhelmed by the smell of humanity – all that hot blood pumping through veins, just begging to be—

  I realized that the detectives were looking at me strangely. Please don’t say I said any of that out loud. I swallowed, wishing I’d made myself a drink. Of coffee, I mean.

  This was why Theo, my Maker, insisted I should stay tucked away; at least until I learned to control it: the bloodlust.

  ‘Marie?’ Trent leaned forward. She seemed genuinely concerned.

  ‘I had some problems, OK? I’m going back. Maybe next year.’

  She nodded, but didn’t look convinced. They clearly had me pegged as a slacker. I hated that, but what could I do to change their opinion? All they saw was a young adult who’d dropped out of college, didn’t appear to have a job, and was most likely living off her roommate and family hand-outs. What did they care about my dreams? I’d always wanted to put my artistic talents toward a career drawing superhero comics. Dreams die, though.

  I hoped the questions about my home life were over and that we could now get down to business. ‘Do you think maybe we could get to the point? It’s been kind of a long night . . .’

  ‘I should have thanked you sooner for seeing us so early, Marie,’ Trent said. ‘I realize it must be something of a surprise, us just turning up like this.’ This was said in a no-nonsense kind of tone that made it quite clear that she didn’t care whether I minded or not.

  I nodded, schooling my face into an expression of polite interest. I’d already gotten them to assure me that they weren’t here with bad news about Dad or my sisters, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t bad news of a different kind.

  And I have more than one Family. Theo will never let me forget that. Two names too: the old me – Marie. And the inner me, the vampire me that Theo had named Moth.

  Smith tried a tentative smile. ‘We’re hoping you can help us with an investigation.’

  The cops were taking up the only two chairs at the table, so I moved to the windowsill and sat down, removing my leather jacket and laying it down as a substitute cushion first.

  ‘OK,’ I said.

  Trent took over. ‘Do you know a boy named Richard Doyle.’

  Who? My mind raced and I searched my memory. Life since being turned was becoming more blurry as each day passed. Especially when I was anxious.

  I slowly shook my head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You don’t think so?’ Trent gave me a cop stare I recognized well from my father. ‘You either know him or you don’t.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I replied. ‘Can you tell me anything else? Something that might help me to place him?’

  ‘You mean, something more than his full name?’ Smith’s tone dripped sarcasm.

  ‘I don’t have a great memory,’ I replied, smiling sweetly and fiddling with my long black curls.

  He didn’t respond to my feminine charms. I was tempted to show him my fangs; perhaps that would get a reaction.

  ‘Miss O’Neal,’ he said, ‘are you on any substances at this time?’

  ‘What?’ I didn’t blush – couldn’t blush, at least not until I fed properly, which was a good thing considering how guilty I felt and probably looked. ‘What kind of substances?’ Like, blood? Do you mean blood?

  Trent pushed Batgirl away and scowled. ‘Don’t play us for fools, Marie. We’re talking about narcotics. Do you take drugs?’

  ‘Of course not, Officer,’ I said sincerely.

  ‘Detective.’

  ‘Of course not, Detective.’ I cringed. This wasn’t going well. I already knew they were detectives, but I was suddenly nervous and couldn’t think straight.

  Authority figures do that to me.

  Trent stared at me. ‘Richard Doyle is dead, Marie. He was murdered, that’s why we’re asking you about him.’

  I leaned back against the winter-chilled glass and shivered. Murdered?

  ‘He attended the same art course at U/Mass that you dropped out of last year,’ Smith said. ‘Maybe that’ll help you place him.’

  I resisted the urge to give him the finger. Not because I have oh-so-much self-control, but because suddenly I did know who they were talking about. Of course I did. It’s just that a lot can happen in a year (like, for example, being turned into a monster against your will), and those things take up a lot of space in your head and heart.

  Sometimes, it’s hard to remember your own name, let alone the name of someone you only knew briefly as the skinny dude with the shock of red hair who worked at an easel on the other side of the room from you.

  ‘I’m sorry, Detectives, I really am. When you called him “Richard”, I got confused. I knew him as Rick.’ Which was true enough. ‘Or Red.’ Also true. ‘Some of the guys called him “Doily”.’

  Trent raised blonde brows. ‘Why would they call him that?’

  ‘Um . . . his surname? Doyle? And the whole Irish thing. You know.’ I shrugged.

  Smith looked at me like I was from another planet. ‘The “Irish thing”? You’re going to have to explain that one to me.’

  I tried to look like I wasn’t crazy. ‘Irish lace, you know. Doilies. Doyle.’

  Smith’s blandly handsome face was blank.

  I sighed. ‘I guess it made sense at the time.’

  His partner came to my rescue. ‘Marie, we need you to tell us everything you know about him.’

  ‘I don’t know much, I swear.’

  Smith snorted.

  I glared at him. ‘I mean it. We just took the same class for a couple months and it’s not like we stayed in touch. He had a twin sister, Erin. I talked to her once or twice, maybe. We were hardly BFFs.’

  He still didn’t look convinced and I wondered what else was going on here. For some reason these two cops thought I knew more about Rick than I was telling.

  ‘What about others from your class? Even though you weren’t there for long, did you stay in contact with anyone else?’

  ‘No,’ I said. I regretted that, but it wasn’t like I’d been in a fit state to go out for coffee with friends. Not . . . after. There’d been some girls I thought were actually OK; people I figured I’d have time to make friends with beyond those first weeks of getting-to-know-you. Rick’s sister, Erin, might even have been one of them. But becoming a vampire changed you right down to the bone. People became prey. That’s not a good basis for friendship.

  I licked my lips. ‘How was Rick killed?’


  ‘I’m afraid we can’t share that information at this time. There wasn’t much evidence at the scene of the attack, and he died during emergency surgery, so we were really hoping you’d be able to give us something to go on.’

  ‘But why would I be able to do that? I keep telling you, I hardly knew the guy and haven’t even seen him for ages.’

  ‘Because we found this on his body.’

  Detective Trent produced a small, clear plastic bag from an inside pocket. She laid it on the table and I could see a scrap of white paper inside. On the paper there was a hastily scrawled note in a rust-colored ink that, to my suddenly feverish brain, looked like it could have been dried blood.

  A note that consisted of my name and address.

  Well, that can’t be good, I thought.

  Chapter Two

  AT LEAST NOW I knew why I was getting the attitude from Detective Smith.

  Alison Trent continued to fix me with her steady gaze.

  The bagged slip of paper glared at me accusingly from the center of the table. What did it mean? Why would Rick Doyle, of all people, have my name and address on him when he died? We hadn’t known each other well – there hadn’t been time. And where would he have gotten those details from, anyway? The university’s records department would hardly just hand them over to a fellow student.

  ‘Considering you hadn’t seen the victim in so many months,’ Trent said, ‘do you have any idea why he would have this in his wallet?’

  I really didn’t. I could count the number of people who had my full address on one hand: Holly (obviously), Theo, Dad and my two sisters. That was it, apart from school. Theo didn’t know I’d given the university my change of address when I officially moved in with Holly. He wouldn’t like it, but I’d wanted to have those lines of communication open – just in case I could go back to the course. One day. When I got my bloodlust under control. If I got my bloodlust under control . . .

  But there was nothing that would explain why a note of my home address had been found on Rick’s body after he’d been murdered.