Yap, yap, yap, did she still want breakfast? I shook my head at her and went for a fry pan. The stove did its thing, slowly heating the pan up. I could have used my fire talents to cook things. But from what Emily and I discovered last fall, using fire talents indoors had a tendency to burn buildings down.
“Well shit, didn’t know you cared,” I said drily.
“You’re now the hand that feeds me, I have to. On that note . . .” I felt a plastic bottle smack against the back of my head, probably the same one I threw at her. “Hurry up, will ya?!”
She had no idea how close I came to flipping the fuck out at her. My phone’s texting tone helped quell the anger that began to flare up inside me. I went for my phone and viewed the message left for me.
“Who’s texting you at this time?” Emily asked.
I read the message, my face grinned at the opportunity that fell into my hands. “A new client.”
Church was the last place you’d expect to find someone that wields demonic powers. In truth, I was never one for going to church, though my family’s past with Shintoism did play a role in that, along with me being a straight-up bad girl rebel growing up.
The daylight late-spring sun hung high in the sky as I made my way to the entrance of the church. I wore a T-shirt with mid-riff and jeans, shamelessly exposing some of my Yakuza tattoos. There wasn’t a single person in sight within the church, it was a weird feeling given how high the ceiling was, as it echoed back my footsteps. I made way to a backroom where Father Henry Scott sat at a wooden desk, grasped in his hands was a pistol with glowing glyphs. It looked like the one Gabe had.
The pistol was promptly pushed into the drawer once I entered, making my presence known. He was plain-clothed like me. I guess he wasn’t expecting anyone to drop by. Henry faced me with a disappointed smirk. “I see knocking isn’t a regular occurrence with your kind.”
I gave him a smirk back, a smart-assed one at that, while leaning against the frame of the door. “My kind?”
He stood and walked over to the nearby cabinet. “If God had intended for us to weave the magic you do, don’t you think he would have gifted us all with it?”
“Maybe I’m just a miracle?”
“Demons played a role in the development of your abilities, I would hardly consider that a miracle.”
“That power let me save the city.” He pulled the handle to the cabinet, its wide doors swung open. “And your life.”
That last bit made him freeze, like my words were made of ice. As much as he would deny it, he owed me his life. Demons attacked him months ago when I went to pay him a visit for the first time. He learned two things that day, the truth about me, my talents, and their demonic origins, and that I used them to fight demons, not aid them. The second thing he learned was that it would be in his best interest to assist my campaign in any way possible, namely what I had come to ask him for that day.
Out from the cabinet came my katana, a pistol, and a fistful of shurikens. The pistol and shurikens I gladly accepted, the katana, well, he held it back for a second. “The enchantment was successful with the gun and your ninja stars—”
“Shuriken.”
“Yeah, yeah whatever.”
He handed my katana over. I held it before me, admiring my face reflecting back on the shiny surface of the blade, a blade which never dulled or tattered. There were no glowing glyphs on it to my disappointment. “No luck on this, huh?”
“I wish I could say that was the cause, but it isn’t,” he said, pointing at my blade. “As you know enchanting weapons to dispatch demons has a chance to fail, but the process will always start. It’s not until the enchanting is completed, however, when you discover if it worked or not. I couldn’t get the process to begin with your katana . . .”
“Shit.”
“Language, young lady.” I lowered my katana from my gaze and gave him the fiercest look of disapproval he’d ever seen. “Pardon me, demon lady.”
“Funny. So, now what?”
“You were right, it isn’t a normal weapon. There’s a force within it preventing me from enchanting it. Probably evil in origin, much like your powers. Consider distancing yourself from it.”
I grabbed my saya off the table using it to holster my katana to my side. “No can do, this thing saved me too many times.”
“Gifts from the devil always appear like that. Great at first, then they consume you and drive you down a dark path.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” In truth, I had no plans to. This weapon had been at my side since I was eighteen, given to me by my grandfather, a man who was related to a Shinto priest. Evil was something he was far from. My katana being unenchantable meant something else was at play. Henry was just pointing a finger at devils and demons, the easy way out.
I paid him for his troubles and looked at a photo on his desk while he counted the notes of green. Said photo was of a man remarkably similar looking to him, wearing a US Marine uniform out in an arid environment, probably the middle-east. Soldier turned priest that learns the secret art of enchanting weapons to slay demons? If that was true, that was one hell of a job change. Don’t ask me what prompted him to walk the path he does now and learn how to enchant weapons.
I got into my car and drove away, frowning at the thought that I won’t be able to use my return talent today. Conjuring a portal to your living room during the day with potential witnesses about was something the people of New York weren’t ready for. My phone’s notification light flashed, a constant and annoying reminder that my new client was really eager to meet in person. I was making them sweat it out, as I had shit to do beforehand.
If this client was going to hire me to track a demon, I needed to be prepared. Enchanted weapons were the first step, non-enchanted ones were the second, just in case human demon worshippers were in play. No point in wasting enchanted bullets on them when regular ones did the job. That’s where Wayne came in, a visit to the local, friendly, and highly illegal, arms dealer was my next stop. The cash from my last case came at a perfect time.
I got stuck in a traffic jam near Wall Street and Water Street, moving slower than molasses being poured from a bottle with a thin neck. At one point, my car was idle for three minutes as the symphony of honking, screaming and frustrated drivers, and middle fingers played on. People these days, if traffic bothers you that much, move to the fucking suburbs. My car moved half a yard forward and stopped again. Going against my original plan, I picked up my phone and thumbed a quick text to the client, stating I’d be late, and another one to my arms dealer, Wayne.
My phone chimed with follow-up text messages. My client was okay with the delay, but ultimately needed me to be there before the evening, in other words I needed to move it. Wayne, however, didn’t reply, which was odd, the dude practically lived on his phone, he never missed a message. This brought up the next issue as I didn’t know where he wanted to meet up exactly.
Twenty minutes later I saw the source of the traffic jam. The police had a section of the road blocked off and a tarp covered something on the road. Something . . . hell it was probably a dead body. The shattered window visible from the building next to the scene said it all, some stockbroker must have gotten depressed and leaped. The cars that drove next to the scene, slowed to take a peek at what the NYPD were up to before speeding off. The second my car drove past, the traffic vanished as if it were never there. The traffic jam was a result of people taking turns to slow down and watch.
Get fucked people.
Chapter Four
Emily sat looking out the passenger-side window of my car for nearly an hour. Upper Manhattan to Brooklyn, Brighton Beach to be exact, was no fun drive, especially with the traffic. I made the choice to ditch visiting the arms dealer as he failed to get back to me, opting out to pick up Emily and take her along for the ride. It prevented her from stealing shit in the neighborhood.
Emily was quieter than a church located in a heavily populated atheist neighborhood. The Google Maps
navigational app spoke more words than her as it directed me to our destination in a neighborhood that was quickly becoming more and more European influenced as I drove deeper into it. Posters written in Russian, stores that had Russian names translated underneath their logos, it was an interesting cultural mix.
I looked at Emily and was reminded of how much we needed to work on our whole professional appearance. I didn’t like jumping into my business attire, those outfits were used when I had undercover shit to do. Emily wore torn-up looking black jeans with her tail tucked inside and that same beanie, which from a distance, looked like a cat ear beanie, so that people wouldn’t question her ears. We so didn’t fit the appearance of paranormal PIs.
The silence was getting old. I turned the radio on, the news reporter began speaking about the new movie some world-known martial artist was filming this week in the city.
“Whoa, whoa, turn that shit up!” Emily shouted, springing to life, officially breaking her silence.
I turned the volume up and listened to what the broadcasters were talking about. “Ah shit, really?”
“Han Jae-geun! Han Jae-geun! He’s going to be in the city!”
Han Jae-geun, he was the sole reason I regretted allowing Emily to download movies onto my laptop. If she wasn’t meditating, practicing, stealing, or eating my food, she was watching his movies and fangirling hardcore over his body whenever his shirt came off.
“And moving on,” I said, switching the station, also regretting trying to break the silence.
“No wait! I want to know where they’ll be filming.”
“Why? So you could rob him clean?”
“Please, if I was to steal anything from that set, it will be his heart.”
Oh, my fucking God. “Pretty sure with all the money he makes he could pay for the hottest girls to keep him company.”
Emily smirked, placing her hands behind her head as she reclined in her chair. “Are you saying I’m not hot?”
“I’m saying you’re a cat, a demon cat.”
“I got all the goods a man desires in this form.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“After five hundred years?” She let out a high-pitched laugh. “You have no idea how much debauchery one can experience in that time.”
My face cringed. “I shouldn’t know that . . .”
“Is there any reason why we got to endure all this fucking traffic to come out here?”
“Like I said, client wants to meet face-to-face.”
“And went to you before Gabe and the paranormal team?”
“To my understanding, the precinct here hasn’t gotten their paranormal investigation force set up. In fact, nobody has, except Hell’s Kitchen, which is fine since all the demons hang out there anyways.” We hit a red light, freezing the traffic before and behind us in place within the urban sprawl. “Oh, this fucking traffic!”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“Any idea why nobody else got their shit together? Cause you know, demons possessing people is kinda a big deal.”
“The fuck if I know.”
“It’s been seven months, Reika.”
“Yeah, seven months of decent business for me.”
She crossed her arms. “What about the FBI?”
“Last I heard, plans were drawn up for them to have a division for this shit, but like everything else it’s moving at a snail’s pace.”
“I guess they’re having a hard time finding people with our résumés.”
“Want my opinion? I think there’s a trust issue. Lucifer and his faction got their hands on a lot of high-powered weapons without the FBI, CIA, and NSA knowing about it. He also had a member of the SWAT team possessed. I wouldn’t be surprised if people in those organizations had a member or two possessed. It’d also explain the cover-ups last fall.”
“That makes me feel safe at night.”
I snorted. “As if you needed them to watch over you.”
The red light changed to green. I accelerated my car forward as silence once again joined us, with the exception of the Google Maps GPS as we neared. “You have arrived.” The GPS revealed.
We exited after parking on the side of the road and approached an old two-story house in a decent neighborhood, all things considered. I threw a pair of sunglasses over my face while the sweltering end of spring sunlight baked the city.
I kept my katana at my side as we walked up to the front door. Why the fuck not? It looked so badass and less intimidating than a pistol as a sidearm. It was just hella old school, and full of magical mysteries I’ve yet to discover. Really wished my grandfather left me a note about this katana before he died.
I did the honors by banging my fist on the door. Pedestrians walked past on the sidewalk, speaking to each other in Russian as the front door unlocked and opened. An elderly woman greeted us while she adjusted the thick glasses on her face, stared and winced slightly at the two of us.
“Hey, I’m Reika from Araya Paranormal Investigations.”
“Ah, yes,” she said in her accent. “Please come in.”
We were let inside, not a bad place considering how old the house was. I was expecting something more beat up and dank as fuck. Too many years living up in Midtown will do that to you, I guess. She introduced herself as Ms. Nikolayev as we took a seat on a sofa in the living room. Ms. Nikolayev was kind enough to fetch us some decent tasting tea while she began to explain, the best she could with her accent and limited experience with English, something about her daughter vanishing last night.
My focus was divided, half was on her, and the other half was on Emily. There was some pretty snazzy silverware on the coffee table before us. Emily’s eyes lit up and remained fixed on it for some time.
One thing I learned during the last seven months was that if I used my talents hard enough, I could detect traces of Umbral energy. It didn’t always work, and in most cases, it had to be a large concentration of it. Ms. Nikolayev had zero Umbral energy coming from her body, meaning she either wasn’t possessed, or possessed by a lesser and weaker demon. The tea cups were clean too, though something did feel off about them. I wanted to say the water wasn’t natural, like created from a talent user, or maybe came in contact with someone that frequently used talents.
Needless to say, the two sips I took were the last. I only wished Emily didn’t down half of hers once I realized what was up—
“Excellent.” It was Lexi’s voice . . . I heard it. “You should see the bedroom.”
I frantically searched for the source of the voice, drawing attention to myself in the process, fuck me. “Have you sensed something?” Ms. Nikolayev asked.
I shook my head and restored my composure to where it had been. With my focus back on reality, Ms. Nikolayev handed us a photo of a young woman featuring blonde hair, baby blue eyes that sent my thoughts panicking. I knew this girl, or at least someone that looked like her. She was the one that fled the washroom in the club brawl.
“This is her, my daughter, Belyana,” Ms. Nikolayev said.
The girl from the club had a name, Belyana, if only I had known beforehand. I could have snatched her up and brought her back home, making this my first open-and-shut case. I looked intently at the photo. “How long she been missing again?”
“Since last night,” Ms. Nikolayev said. “I have given her everything I could ever since I adopted her last winter.”
My face lifted up and away from the photo. “So, prior to that you two never knew each other?”
Ms. Nikolayev handed us another photo, a selfie the two of them took together. “Yes, she was a troubled youth when I met her. This picture here was taken on her eighteenth birthday last month. As you can see, I just wanted to give her a home and a chance to have a normal life.”
I sighed, trying to hide the disappointment in my face, and then gave Emily a quick check, her hands were still to herself. “As unfortunate as it was for this to happen to you,” I said, trying to sound all professional ‘n’ shit, how
am I doing by the way? “This isn’t something I can help you with.”
“You can, you are the only one that can help me,” Ms. Nikolayev pleaded. “A friend recommended your service to me this morning.”
My lips twisted, it must have been Miroslava that sent the recommendation. In fact, let’s verify that shall we? “Was that friend Miroslava?”
“Yes, she spoke highly of your skills.” Nailed it.
Handing the photos back to her, I asked, “How can I help with this? This is a missing person case, as much as I want to see your daughter returned, I think the police should be the ones on this.”
Ms. Nikolayev’s gaze shifted to the floor, the hesitation to reply was strong. I was ready to make our exit at that point and suggest she should aggressively deal with the cops on this one. Seriously, who goes to a PI before talking to the police about something like this? Especially when taking into account her daughter had been missing less than twenty-four hours.
Then two facts hit me at once, right in the face. Ms. Nikolayev and her daughter Belyana probably weren’t in the country legally, that would explain the hesitation to talk to the police. Then there was the something about the tea or cup it was in, and Lexi’s voice. What was so important about the bedroom? Or the demon that tried to have his way with Belyana. Yeah, that was more than two things, wasn’t it?
Fuck it.
“The bedroom,” I muttered. “Ms. Nikolayev, can you show us her bedroom?”
Ms. Nikolayev’s body froze when I asked. Her lips curled as her face became lost in thought. Five seconds later, Ms. Nikolayev stood and led us upstairs to Belyana’s bedroom.
Halfway up the staircase Emily whispered to me. “And here I thought you were going to snap because of this being a misleading invite.”
“Something isn’t right . . .” We stopped as Ms. Nikolayev went to open the door to Belyana’s room. I had to remove my sunglasses, what we both saw inside the room made our jaws drop hella fast. Pentagrams were painted on each wall, demonic icons littered the floor, and dormant candles were lined up in a circular pattern around the bed.
Wrath of the Demon Girl Page 3