Forsaking (Vampire Assassin League Book 26) Read Online Free PDF Page A

wreckage of the scaffolding before reconsidering. She couldn’t disappear for a bit if she left markers. She ran it along to the back.
    The Number Eight Saloon was backed by another building. If she remembered right, it had been a hotel. And despite what she’d told the girls earlier, rumor had it underground tunnels connected most of the structures together. The space between the buildings wasn’t large. And there was a lot of stuff back here. Old planks. A large spool that might have held wire at some point. The remains of a barrel. A lot of dirt. Marielle shoved her bike into the midst of a mass of weeds nobody had tended in decades. Wow. Nobody had cared much about the backs of these buildings. Back here, the plank walls weren’t even fitted. The evening was airless. Not a breath of wind stirred a speck of dust. Marielle peered into the saloon through the cracks. The last bit of daylight percolated through the windows, lighting the inside of the saloon. She caught a breath. It should have been creepy. It was instead, incredibly beautiful.
    The space looked forlorn. Lonely. Sad. The only thing in that span was the length of bar with a huge square of wood behind it that might have held a mirror at some point. Or a bawdy painting. Even if the bar wasn’t affixed to the floor, hiding access to the tunnel system, it would have been difficult to move. It looked to be marble topped. The rest was a lot of wood. Heavily carved. They’d even fashioned the corners into spiral pillars that held the boot rail she’d grabbed earlier. The plank she’d been on was shoved against the wall. It looked like it belonged. All told, this would make a fantastic painting.
    The sun set. Shadows that had been threatening took over, enveloping the entire area. Darkening. Obscuring. The moisture on her skin chilled in place, sending shivers in its wake. Whispers that resembled words rushed past her ear. The sound of creaking footsteps started emanating from just about everywhere. She heard more than one long sigh that ended with a groan. All of it raised hairs at the back of her neck. She’d forgotten this was a ghost town.
    And then she told herself to cease the stupidity. There was no such thing as a ghost. The sounds were merely insects stirring. The sound of old buildings settling as the wood rapidly cooled from another day of desert heat.
    But she really shouldn’t be here. This was crazy.
    She shuffled through her backpack for her headlamp. Strapped it around her forehead. Turned it on. It wasn’t the best, and it needed fresh batteries, but it would do.
    The saloon looked pretty scary as she slid through the opened side of the door, and stood against the wall for a moment to get her bearings. And wonder anew at her sanity. What was she doing here? Was she seriously considering leaving her job? Again? She kept making bad life choices. That’s why she reaped bad results. That’s what the counselor had told her. It must be true. But she’d never have guessed her new choice would be a mysterious hole in the floor of a ghost town saloon.
    This was beyond idiotic.
    She’d left a poverty-level job at an art gallery in Phoenix for this chance. Mister Stimson had come by during a show. He’d been accompanied by his fourth or fifth wife at the time, surrounded by other billionaires. Marielle had thought she’d reached the big time with his employment offer. She’d thought he was interested in her artistic talents.
    Okay.
    Maybe it was beyond idiotic. She should leave. Go back to her apartment. She could come back tomorrow. In daylight. When she came to paint. Marielle actually tried to turn back, but something stopped her. Something that contained an absurd sense of alertness. Enticement. Temptation.
    And that got her feet moving.
    The boot rail was in good working condition, although she had to press on several spots before she got the right one. It didn’t even squeak as the metal moved. She was around the bar and watching as the