Shadow Born

By Rebecca Hamilton and Heather Marie Adkins

Chicago Police Detective Brooke Chandler is keeping a secret…and if she’s not careful, it could get her killed.

Brooke is no stranger to the supernatural. In Chicago, vampires are just as prevalent as drug lords, and infinitely more bloodthirsty. So when her partner and fiancé dies in a mysterious fire while chasing down a lead in Salem, she suspects something dark and otherworldly is at play.

Blessed with the ability to see into the past by touching inanimate objects, Brooke transfers to the Salem PD, hoping her talent will help her get to the bottom of things. Between dodging assassination attempts and being stonewalled at every turn, the going is tough. Add in a mysterious fae club owner with secrets of his own and a personal grudge against her, and it becomes nearly impossible.

If Brooke wants to play in the supernatural sandbox, she’s going to have to roll up her sleeves and get dirty. But how many people will have to die for Brooke to discover the truth about her fiancé?

Find out what lurks in the SHADOWS OF SALEM, the latest Urban Fantasy hit series that readers are comparing to Karen Marie Moning and Patricia Briggs.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Evershade Publishing
• Release date: Jan 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781949112481

Rebecca Hamilton

New York Times bestselling author Rebecca Hamilton writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance for Harlequin, Baste Lübbe, and Evershade. A book addict, registered bone marrow donor, and indian food enthusiast, she often takes to fictional worlds to see what perilous situations her characters will find themselves in next. Represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA, Rebecca has been published internationally, in three languages: English, German, and Hungarian.  You can follow her on twitter @InkMuse

Book preview

1

Wallet. Check.

Toothbrush. Check.

.1911 pistol. Check.

Vampire bullets.

I paused, my fingers curled around the small steel case tucked into my duffel bag full of essentials. Standing at the edge of my crappy motel bed in Buffalo, I lifted the box to the dusty shaft of light filtering in through the window and cracked open the lid. Each of the hand-crafted wooden bullets inside were filed to sharp points. Mini ballistic stakes that worked just as well as the real thing—provided you were a good enough shot to take out a preternaturally fast vampire.

I was a good enough shot.

Thank you, Uncle Oscar, I thought, closing the box and tucking it back into my duffel. Shooting wasn’t the only thing he’d taught me; Oscar also taught me how to make these bullets. And while uncle wasn’t entirely accurate, he had raised me since the day my parents dumped six-year-old me on his doorstep. He was the only family I knew.

Oscar didn’t like magic or anything supernatural, so my questions usually went unanswered. But Chicago was infested with vampires. Rather than trying to fight a losing battle at play-pretend, he’d trained me to protect myself. I may have been leaving Chicago behind, but I’d used these bullets all my life. I wouldn’t feel safe without them.

Besides, who was to say my destination didn’t have vampires, too? For all I knew, Salem could be the supernatural Mecca of New England. I couldn’t rule anything out.

I zipped up my duffel, did a quick check around the motel room to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, then grabbed my luggage and headed outside.

I’d slept fitfully on the flat, wiry mattress, and the late morning sun reminded me of the time I’d lost trying to catch just a few more minutes. I blinked away the fog of sleeplessness and strolled across the empty parking lot to my Jeep.

Between the vampire gun strapped beneath my jacket, the police-issued S&W .40 at my hip, and the detective’s shield hooked through my belt, my don’t-fuck-with-me bases were covered. Even so, I took a good look around the lot. A heavily armed cop caught off-guard in new territory—especially a shady area like this—was a recipe for disaster. I didn’t want to end up on Buffalo’s News at 9 because I was skittish.

Safely in my Jeep, I made a pit-stop for coffee and a breakfast sandwich, then merged onto I-90 to finish the last leg of my journey.

The Chief of Salem PD had approved my request to come out on loan from Chicago PD a week ago, and I’d wasted no time packing my stuff, getting someone to sublet my apartment, and finding a place to stay in Salem before hitting the road. Unfortunately, the Chief wouldn’t be there herself. She left town due to a death in the family, but she had assured me that the captain handling Tom’s case would roll out the welcome mat for me in her stead. If not for the fourteen-hour trip, I would have done the whole drive in one shot, but I wanted to arrive at the station to meet my new team as alert and fresh as possible.

Team. Yeah, right.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and fought against the ache in my chest. The only team I wanted was my long-time partner. Of course, Tom Garrison had been more than just my partner—he’d also been my fiancé. The love of my life, the first man who’d understood my needs and desires and accepted me for who I was.

Well, at least who he figured I was.

Tom knew about my vampire-staking ways, but he didn’t know about my strange ability. Oscar made it clear from the beginning that revealing my talent would put me and those around me in grave danger. I hadn’t wanted to put Tom at risk, so I’d held off from telling him.

Look how that turned out.

Maybe if Tom had known what I could do, he would have taken me with him to Salem when he’d gone back to check into that missing person’s case. If he hadn’t left me behind, then maybe he’d still be alive.

Stop that, I muttered, placing my breakfast sandwich on the passenger’s seat so I could swipe at the stray tear trailing down my cheek. I blinked away the rest of my tears, chiding myself for the moment of weakness. It wouldn’t do to arrive at my new precinct looking as if I were a mourning girlfriend instead of a badass cop. If I showed up looking like a pitiful damsel in distress, they’d put me on traffic duty, which was not what I wanted.

I had no time for emotional weakness or writing parking tickets. Salem wasn’t simply an opportunity to escape Chicago or the specter of my dead fiancé; I was on a mission to find out what had happened to him.

And why.

Initial reports stated his motel room had caught fire, and no evidence had survived the blaze. The investigating officers hadn’t been entirely forthcoming with details. To be honest, they’d been evasive to my barrage of emails and phone calls. If they weren’t going to offer me the information I needed, I’d hunt down the truth myself.

And when I found out who killed my fiancé, I’d make sure they were brought to justice.

Tom had gone up against his fair share of Chicago vampires, just like me. He was a skilled fighter. Strong and quick and maybe even a little lucky. Whoever killed him had to be at least as strong as a vamp, but possibly even stronger—a chilling thought. The best place to start would be with finding Salem’s supernatural pulse.

Sighing, I focused on the world outside my window, hoping its beauty would temporarily relieve me from my dark memories. The early-fall hillsides burst with color from the turning oak and maple leaves that flanked either side of the highway. I tilted my head, enjoying the nip of winter that kissed my cheeks. I’d been born in Nevada, or so Oscar told me, but after being raised in Chicago, I was a winter girl through and through. I loved the cold weather, and I was looking forward to the snowfall in a more rural area, instead of watching it get stomped to a muddy slush in the big city.

Just as I was passing the sign for Wakefield, I caught sight of a woman kneeling next to a beat-up Crown Victoria, struggling to change a flat tire. It was still daylight, but sunset streaked the sky with brilliant reds and golds, and I didn’t feel right about leaving her alone on the highway when I knew night would fall soon. So I pulled over to the shoulder, parked my car at a respectable distance behind hers, then strolled over to help.

Hey there, I said with a friendly smile. Need a hand?

Oh yes, please! the woman said, a southern twang in her voice as she flashed me a grateful, if harried, smile. She looked to be in her thirties, wearing a plain white tee shirt, faded jeans, and a messy brown bun half-unraveled by the wind. Her dark gaze flashed curiously over my mercury-colored hair.

As a kid, I’d been teased for having the hair of an old lady and strange lavender-blue eyes, but I’d shown I wasn’t afraid to sock my bullies in their teeth. They’d kept their mouths shut after that. Adults knew better than to say anything in the first place—at least most of them. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t subject to their curiosity.

What seems to be the problem? I asked before she could comment.

She lifted the wrench sheepishly. I know I should be able to use a wrench at my age, but I can’t get this to cooperate.

No worries. I’ve changed a few of these in my time. I kneeled beside her and took the wrench, then set to work on the first rusty bolt. Oof, I grunted. No wonder you’re having trouble. This thing doesn’t want to give.

Okay, so it wasn’t actually hard to remove the bolts, even if they were rusty. Being a cop gave me a leg up in reading situations and emotions, and I could tell by her strained smile and the way she fidgeted that she was embarrassed another woman—a younger woman—was doing this for her. Judging by the lack of a ring on her finger and the fresh-looking Salem High School bumper sticker on the back of her car, I figured she was a single mother and likely prided herself on being independent.

I could dig that.

So, you’re from Salem? I asked.

Not a native, but I’ve lived there a few years now. The woman relaxed, comfortable with the idea of conversing over sitting around and watching me work. It’s a nice town.

That’s great to hear. I’m actually moving there.

Are you really? she said, her tone friendlier. Where from?

I opened my mouth to answer, but just as I touched the final bolt, a flash came to me. Suddenly, I was crouched in a driveway on a moonlit night, watching my new acquaintance fight with a man.

You’re not leaving me, Shelley! the man shouted. Both of the woman’s arms were caught up tightly in his meaty fists, and their wedding rings flashed in the moonlight.

Yes, I am! She struggled against his grip. Her dark hair whipped to the side, revealing a black eye and bruising on her cheekbone. I’m taking Jason, and we’re leaving! I can’t deal with this anymore!

Like hell you are! The man let go of one of her wrists, and the woman cried out as he punched her in the face. The crunch of her nose breaking split the night. The only way you’re leaving me is in a body bag, bitch.

Are you okay?

I blinked as the scene fell away, Shelley’s voice drawing me back to the real world. She peered at me, her dark brown eyes round with concern.

Yeah, I’m fine, sorry. I wiped a hand across my face, then cursed inwardly as black grime from my fingers streaked across my nose. I’m just really tired from all the driving.

Oh, I’m sure you are. Shelley laughed, perhaps at the scrunched up look on my face, then stood. Here, let me get you some of Tyler’s baby-wipes from the car.

While she rummaged in the back seat for baby wipes, I finished changing the tire. Judging by the fussy baby sounds and mommy’s subsequent cooing, Tyler must have been the owner of that car seat. By the time she calmed him down and retrieved the wipes, I was done with the tire.

Thanks so much, she said as I stood. I really don’t know what I would have done without you.

No problem. I smiled, reaching for the baby wipes in her hand. The silver ring on her middle finger brushed my skin, and I stiffened as another vision swept over me: a shadowy figure with glowing red eyes standing in a darkened alley. He opened his mouth, and I caught a flash of white fang.

Vampire.

Are you sure you’re all right? Shelley asked, breaking through the vision. Maybe you should sleep for a few hours.

No, no, I’m fine. I’ve got coffee in the car. I shook my head to clear it, then took the wipe and cleaned my face and hands. I paused, then decided to go for it. I should have introduced myself. My name is Brooke Chandler, and I’m the new detective on Salem PD. If you ever need any help, please don’t hesitate to come to me.

Her eyes widened. I’m Shelley Williams, and I appreciate the offer.

She dug a diner-quality napkin from her purse. I scribbled my cell number on it, then pressed it into her hand. She bit her lip, and by the glimmer in her eyes, I could tell she was considering whether to tell me about her troubles. But in the end, she only smiled. Maybe I’ll call you up for coffee sometime.

That would be great.

But as I walked back to my car, I wasn’t thinking about coffee. I was thinking about vampires. And about how nice it was that I’d chosen to pack my wooden stake bullets after all.

2

Fuck going down to the station, I thought as I collapsed onto my bed with a groan. By the time I’d finished unpacking, I barely had the strength to pull my cell phone out of my jean pocket and order pizza. The long drive, plus my lack of sleep, had well and truly exhausted me.

At least I’ve got a place to live, I told myself as I stared up at the peeling paint on the popcorn ceiling of my new bedroom. The walls weren’t a hell of a lot better, and the linoleum in the kitchen needed redoing, but I couldn’t complain since this wasn’t my apartment. My current plans didn’t involve Salem permanently, so I’d chosen to sublet a rental on Airbnb instead of paying through the nose for a long-term motel room. The peeling paint and outdated kitchen were my prize for going cheap, but it wasn’t as if I needed fancy digs just to sleep and shower. As soon as I accomplished what I came here for, I was going back home.

I probably would have stared up at the ceiling until I passed out if the pizza delivery guy hadn’t decided to lean on the doorbell. The tantalizing promise of hot mozzarella and yeast pulled me from bed and into the living room.

I paid for the pizza with a suddenly growling stomach, and then grabbed a blue-and-white ceramic plate from the kitchen cabinet before I plopped down on the faux-leather couch with my dinner. A couple of slices later, my energy hovered somewhere higher than half-dead. I entertained the thought of sliding down to the precinct, but the normal nine-to-five had passed, which meant the brass wouldn’t be there anyway. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to pass out on my new mattress now, I sucked the pizza grease off my fingers and grabbed my laptop. Might as well keep looking into the rash of disappearances that Tom had come out here to investigate.

One of Tom’s first correspondences about the case came from a Captain Devon Randall at Salem PD. According to the email dated two weeks’ prior, kids were going missing from a local orphanage. What dragged Tom back to Salem to help was the fact he’d grown up in that orphanage.

That he’d wound up dead just a week after couldn’t be a coincidence. I had little doubt that whoever was responsible for the kidnappings was also responsible for Tom’s death.

You’d think the case would have reached national news with kids disappearing from a government-funded orphanage. But my initial web searches found squat. The only article I could find about the kidnappings was the one I’d discovered when hacking into Tom’s email address, and it didn’t say a lot.

I pulled up the piece—which had been shoved into a tiny corner on the Boston Herald’s website—and read it again. The article featured a photo of two Asian boys, brothers who had been left at the New Advent Home for Children, Boston’s orphanage, when they were only two years old. A statement from the home stated the two boys had been put to bed with the rest of the children, and the next day they were gone. There was absolutely no trace of them, and no clues as to where they might have ended up since they had no known family.

Scowling, I chewed my bottom lip and tried for the billionth time to figure out how that made any sense. Two-year-olds didn’t just up and disappear—either someone had crept into the orphanage and stolen them, or someone from the inside had done it. Tom must have questioned the orphanage staff, because that was the logical place to start. I would have to do the same, once Captain Randall handed over the case file to me.

God, I wished Tom would have given me more details about the kidnappings. But the few times we spoke on the phone, he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. I’d found that strange—we were partners and discussed cases all the time—but I’d let him have his space. After all, I figured he’d be home soon.

If only I’d pushed harder, demanded some details, I’d have been able to help him somehow. Hell, I should have just hopped on a plane and flown out here the moment I felt something was off.

Pulling out my cell phone, I dialed my own voicemail, then sorted through the messages until I found the one from Tom. Taking a breath, I ordered the voicemail to play, then waited for my heart to break all over again.

Hey, baby. His voice was hushed and strained, as if he didn’t want to be overheard. I know you’re sleeping now, but I just wanted to call you and tell you that I’m sorry. I know I fucked up, but I was just trying to do what I needed to. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I hang up this phone, but I love you. I love you so much, and I know you love me, too. But whatever you do, don’t come looking for me. It’s not safe.

The clip ended, and tears slipped down my cheeks as a cool female voice asked me if I wanted to replay the message. I jabbed the END button on my cell phone, then tossed it back onto the couch as rage burned in my chest.

Just what, exactly, had he meant? Whatever was happening, it was way bigger than a case of a couple missing kids. Especially if Tom was telling me it wasn’t safe in Salem. For fuck’s sake, we lived in vampire-infested Chicago. For Tom to tell me a small town like Salem wasn’t safe meant that something big was going on here.

And damned if I wasn’t going to find out what.

* * *

I woke up bright and early, scrounged some cereal from the cabinets, and had enough time after that to put some work into my appearance. I didn’t typically care about looking nice when capable suited me fine, but since this was my first day on the job, I figured a little extra couldn’t hurt. I didn’t know what was considered business casual in Salem, so I dressed as if I were heading into work at Chicago PD on my first day as a detective—sensible black flats, crisp grey slacks, a black blouse, and one of three special blazers that I never left for work without.

I loaded my .1911 with wooden vampire bullets, then tucked the gun into the concealed carry pocket built into the left side of my blazer. Since I couldn’t officially carry a non-police-issued firearm while on the job, and there was no way I could explain firing wooden bullets anyway, I had to take extra measures to keep myself armed and dangerous against vampires. The work was worth it, though. No way was I going out, even in broad daylight, without my gun. Not after that vision I’d seen when touching Shelley’s ring.

I wonder if she made it back to town, I thought as I trotted down the stairs and headed out into the early morning sunshine. There were definitely secrets lurking behind those shadowed eyes of hers, and if she was tangled up with vampires in any kind of way, she would need my help eventually.

I just hoped that when she came knocking on my door, she wouldn’t be bringing a horde of the undead with her.

Since the station was only a ten-minute walk from my apartment, I hoofed it so I could get a feel for the town. The chill wind ruffled my ponytail as I traversed the sidewalks, passing by colonial-style houses and brick storefronts. There were plenty of people out and about, rushing their kids off to school or heading for work themselves, and I exchanged smiles and nods with them as I passed. Salem was definitely a small town compared to Chicago, but newcomers didn’t exactly stand out in a place steeped in colonial history and tourist dollars.

The station was a two-story brick building off Margin Street: less industrial and a hell of a lot smaller than my precinct back in Chicago. The place couldn’t fit more than our homicide division, if that. Then again, there was only about one homicide a year in this place, so it wasn’t like they needed a lot of cops.

I let myself in through the front door, then glanced around at the white walls, reddish brown floor tile, and boring black carpet. Law enforcement chic. To my left were the bathrooms and a waiting area, and in front of me, walled-off greeting stations protected by bullet-proof glass. Despite the morning hour, most of the different department windows had drawn shades, except the one in front of me. A hard-faced blonde sat behind the scuffed glass, tapping at her keyboard. As my shadow darkened her cubicle, she glanced at me over her spectacles.

Good morning, she greeted me in a brisk Boston accent. Can I help you?

I’m Detective Brooke Chandler, on loan from Chicago PD. I flashed her a friendly smile. I’m reporting to Captain Randall.

Ah! Yes, he said to expect you. The uniform snatched up the phone on her desk. Just a moment.

A couple of minutes later, the uniform cleared me and gave me the passcode to enter the doorway that led to the rest of the precinct. After successfully punching in the code, I followed her directions, trotting