Bone Cold: A Soul Shamans Novel (Volume 2) by Cady Vance Page A

Cline’s fallen body, slivers of life winding from his curled form and into the spirit’s open mouth. I jumped up and rushed forward, throwing out my hands to try again. My fingers brushed against the spirit and ice ripped through my veins. Screaming, I pulled back, stumbling against the bunched up rug and falling flat on my ass.
    My astral projected form felt nothing other than the violent sting spreading through my arms. Grimacing, I pushed myself up again. If I could touch the spirit, maybe I could drag it away from Jeff Cline before all of his life force got sucked dry.
    But just as I stood, my body ripped in half. Pain tore through my head, and when I blinked my eyes, Laura’s face hovered before mine. The familiar sight of Mom’s ceremonial tapestries on our living room walls crowded in on every side of me, forcing a claustrophobic tightness in my skull. My eyebrows crinkled together as my mind tried to process what had happened.
    Two rough hands grabbed my bare arms and hauled me to my feet, spinning me around to look up into the masked face of a shaman task force member.
    “What the hell?” I jerked away. “You can’t just stop an astral projection like that.”
    “I can, and I did.” His voice was low and dark through his helmet. “We’re under strict orders to stop you from interfering.”
    “Seriously?” I threw up my hands. “What was I supposed to do? There’s a spirit next door killing someone.”
    “That’s not up for me to decide,” he said. “I’m taking you to see your father.”

CHAPTER 9

    T he thought of seeing my dad would have overjoyed me two years ago. Even two months ago. And to be honest, that’s exactly what I’d wanted two hours ago, too. But now, I felt like a little kid getting slapped on the hand for misbehaving, and I wasn’t very fond of being told what I can and can’t do. Especially by someone who hadn’t given a damn about me until now.
    After his team member, a guy who said his name was John Smith—I didn’t believe that bullshit for a second—found us doing shaman magic in my house, he’d locked us up in his SUV so he could do whatever it was he did to get rid of the spirit inside Jeff Cline’s house. A moment later, he climbed in to join us while the blaring alarm of an ambulance shot through the dark.
    “You shouldn’t be killing them, you know?” George leaned forward from the backseat to tap John on the shoulder. “I thought the banishing shit was bad enough, but you guys are taking it to a whole new level.”
    John twisted to glance over his shoulder, frowning at George. “You’re not a shaman. What do you know about it?”
    “George is…special.” I propped my feet on the front dash and eyed his military-looking uniform. Black cargo pants, tight black shirt, black leather gloves. “What do you guys do exactly, anyway?”
    John frowned at my feet and revved the engine. “That information is on a need to know basis, and I’m sure your father would agree that none of you fall into that category.”
    “You can’t be serious,” I said as John whipped out of the driveway. “We’re more involved in this than he is.”
    “Well, we’ll see what he says about it. How does that sound?” He twisted the knob on the radio and blared Metallica over the speakers, a clear signal that he was done talking. Leaning back in the stiff seat, I eyed John now that his face was no longer shielded by his helmet. He was younger than I would have expected. Eighteen, maybe. His chin looked as if he’d tried to grow a beard and failed miserably, a five-o’clock shadow scattered in uneven bunches. As he gripped the steering wheel, the muscles in his arms rippled. Eyes hard and focused on the road, he was all business, but I could see a finger tapping in time to the heavy beat of the drums.
    “How long have you been working with my dad?” I raised my voice to be heard over the blaring guitars.
    He flicked his eyes toward me and then back to the icy road,