Dark Gift

by Kim Richardson

  “Nice,” said Tyrius.

  While the policeman was throwing up, no one was watching the doors. I took that as an invitation and strode across the street, up the wide steps, and into the church.

  “You going to be okay?” I asked Tyrius, knowing we were about to enter a church.

  “I’m not going to burst into flames as soon as we walk in,” mewed the cat. “If that’s what you mean by okay?” Tyrius lowered his ears. “I’ve got that dreadful charm on me. You promised you’d change the ribbon to blue, but it’s still pink. Why is it still pink?”

  I sighed. “I didn’t have time to change it. We kinda left in a hurry.” Before we left, I’d slipped on the charmed pendant I’d made for him months ago, invoked with a dark spell that disguised Tyrius’s demon energy from the church, making him appear as a regular cat. It was the only way he could enter hallowed ground.

  “Suit yourself.” I smiled as I pushed the doors and walked in.

  There were two rows of six pews each. The air stank of a sickly sewer-like smell and sulfur, a nauseating mix that had me gagging. The walls and stained-glass windows had been covered in demonic symbols, the same demonic language I’d seen on the first victim. They were painted in blood and still wet. It was the same word, repeated over and over again, at least a hundred times if not more.

  “Half-breed,” whispered Tyrius, reading the demonic language on the walls. “Damn, Rowyn. This is either some sick joke, or whatever demon did this is...”

  “Insane,” I finished for him, as I kept my slow pace forward. Shit. I didn’t want to have a crazy-ass demon on the loose in the city. Granted, it was killing half-breeds and not humans, but it still didn’t make it right. Was a half-breed’s life less valuable than a human’s? Not in my book. An innocent life was an innocent life, no matter the color of essence that flowed in their veins.

  A loud commotion pulled my attention to the right side of the church where a cluster of people were shouting. Policemen. I also recognized the black slacks and black shirts with the stark white squares of their clerical collars. Priests. I caught one staring at me, his eyes strained through his glasses. But as I kept staring, he turned away, never truly seeing me.

  I kept walking, my heart thumping madly in my chest. Then my eyes flicked to the floor and I halted. Blood. A crap load of blood. It began near my feet, in long splatters on the pews, as though the victim had fought hard, staining the gleaming wood floor with crimson.

  “There’s so much blood,” Tyrius whispered.

  “I know.” My eyes followed the path of the bloodstain to the back of the church.

  I set my gaze on the raised stage with the altar at the far end of the room and my stomach clenched. Hanging, on the enormous cross over the altar, was a body.

  The body was naked and male, but it was impossible to guess his age with the torn flesh and dark, savage bruises on his face, arms and legs. His hands and feet were covered in blood, and some toes and fingers were missing.

  With my boots echoing on the hard floors, I moved towards the body for a closer look, keeping my distance from the forensic team as they labeled, photographed, measured, and took samples.

  The victim was a large man with short dark hair and thick muscles—the kind only obtained by working out every day at the gym. His head fell to the side, facing away from me.

  I stepped up onto the platform and walked around the corpse until I could get a good look at the face. I wanted to see if I recognized him or maybe catch a glimpse of some vamp teeth. Fleshy, bloodied holes sat in place of his eyes. From the ragged slash marks around the edges of the sockets, I’d venture they were cut out—probably while he was still alive.

  Through his slightly opened mouth, I could see his bloodstained teeth. They were straight, but they were no longer my focus. As soon as I was close enough, the smell of wet dog and sulfur rose up around me.

  My stress levels spiked. Crap. This guy was a werewolf.

  “That’s a seriously dead puppy right there,” whispered Tyrius, aware that the forensic team was looking at us. “Poor bastard. Look what they did to his eyes.”

  Werewolves were one of the strongest half-breed races. They were big, fast, mean, and stronger than the average black bear. Contrary to popular myths, a single silver bullet couldn’t kill a werewolf. Silver burned them, yeah, but it would take a hell of a lot of silver bullets to actually kill a werewolf.

  Try twenty. I know because it’s what I used on a demented old werewolf that had ravaged a small town in Connecticut two years ago. His own pack couldn’t do it. They were afraid they’d catch whatever had made him sick. Yeah, they were superstitious that way, so they called me. He only went down when I finally got a head shot. And that was only after he’d killed two more humans with nineteen of my silver bullets already in him.

  Looking at this poor bastard, it was obvious the multiple stabs wounds had killed him. Maybe not at first, but the loss of blood finally did him in. He died slowly and painfully. Damn.

  His belly and chest had been sliced up with the same demonic word—HALF-BREED—I’d seen on the female vampire. I could sense faint demonic energies still lingering in the air. How had the demon entered the church?

  “A dead vampire and now a dead werewolf,” said the cat. “What’s the connection?”

  I took a deep breath. And then another, letting my gaze travel to the victim’s stomach. “Only that they’re both half-breeds,” I whispered, which sounded really lame right now. “But it doesn’t explain why the demon feels the need to put them on display like this. Demons are experts at covering their tracks. They don’t want you to know they’re around while they’re preparing to suck out your soul or feast on your flesh.”

  Tyrius’s whiskers brushed my right cheekbone. “It’s a bad way to die for a werewolf, all that misguided pride, testosterone, hairy chests and beards. This is disgraceful to a werewolf. The demon did that on purpose.”

  “They butchered him,” I agreed, feeling ill. I looked up at the dead werewolf, wondering if he had a family, a wife, some kids. Somewhere in the city, he was being missed. Someone loved him.

  “So you agree with me?” I asked, though it was more of a statement. “A demon did this.”

  “I’ll have to get closer to know for sure,” answered the cat, “but it all points to a demon killing.” The cat let out a breath. “It’s almost like art.” His voice was low and I shivered. “Too bad they haven’t strung up a couple of faeries. I’d pay to see that.”

  “Yeah, well,” I said softly, a pang of guilt hitting me at the thought of the faerie Nimi I’d left unconscious in the kitchen of Sylph Tower. “I haven’t seen any fae, not even one since Sylph Tower came down.” I hoped she’d gotten out.

  “Good,” said Tyrius. I could feel his animosity towards the faeries through the stiffening of his posture as he shifted his weight around my shoulders. “You know who you have to call. Don’t you?”

  I clenched my jaw. I had to call Steven Price.

  My heart gave a hard pound at the thought. I had to make that dreadful call to tell him one of his pack had been murdered. Then I’d stab him in the back—literally.

  And now I knew where the alpha would turn up later tonight...

  “We all know most demons hate half-breeds,” Tyrius said, leaning forward to whisper in my ear. “It’s an ugly business. But this... this is something else.”

  “There’s got to be something here that’ll tell us more.” I turned, feeling someone’s eyes on me again. “Tyrius, see if you can figure out how the demons entered the church,” I whispered and the cat nudged my neck in answer.

  Detective Walsh was making his way up the altar towards me, his plump face sweaty and red. He did a double take when his eyes found Tyrius.

  Here it comes.

  “Ms. Sinclair,” said the detective, though his eyes hadn’t moved away from the cat. “Thank you for coming.” He stopped next to me, seemingly out of breath from that short walk up the platform.

&
nbsp; “No problem,” I answered, trying hard not to smile. “Anything to help.”

  Detective Walsh’s mouth hung open as he stared at the cat wrapped around my neck. “Are you a witch?” he asked, frowning.

  God, humans were clueless. “No. I’m not a witch.”

  “But there’s a real cat around your neck,” he said pointing.

  “Really?” I raised my brows. “Didn’t notice.” I heard Tyrius chuckle as I walked past the pudgy man and moved closer to the hanging body. “Some people have work dogs. I have a work cat.”

  The detective’s brows were raised in question. “Hmmm. Never heard of a work cat.”

  “Well, you have now,” I answered, knowing that Tyrius was probably smiling. “The F-9 Unit,” I added just for Tyrius. “The feline unit.”

  Detective Walsh didn’t look convinced as he asked. “Really? What does it do? Smell out the drugs? Can it find a missing person?” He started to laugh and only stopped when I frowned at him.

  “He’s a he, not an it.” I gave him a tight smile. “But he tells me that you had pancakes for breakfast,” I offered, while Tyrius whispered in my ear. “And four cherry-filled donuts.”

  The detective’s eyes widened. “He told you that?” He frowned. “Nah. You’re just playing with me. A good guess. That’s what that was.”

  “And he’s got a real mean purr,” I assured him with a smile.

  A thread of angst spread across the detective’s face. “He’s looking right at me.” He hissed a breath through his teeth. “He’s doing it again. Look!” His eyes flicked to mine and then back to Tyrius again. “Your cat, can he... can he understand me?”

  Tyrius gave a snort and I hid it with a clearing of my voice. “Tyrius. Go find,” I commanded, knowing all too well I needn’t say more. Tyrius could practically read my mind.

  I felt a brush of fur against my cheek as Tyrius leaped off my shoulders and landed next to me on the wood floor. Tail in the air, he padded towards the body and began sniffing along the werewolf’s feet to the puddle of blood on the ground.

  “Wait! He can’t go there!” exclaimed the detective with a horrified look on his face. “He’ll contaminate the crime scene.”

  I looked to the forensics team who had already bagged most of their own evidence and were pulling off their purple gloves. “Looks like they’re done taking their samples, but don’t worry. He won’t contaminate anything. He knows what he’s doing.”

  The detective was red in the face but didn’t say anything more as he watched Tyrius tiptoe skillfully around the puddles and streaks of blood like a seasoned pro.

  “What do you expect to find?” asked the detective.

  “Anything that’ll help us find the killer,” I answered. To find out which demon did this. “Residual particles, scents that only Tyrius can find that your forensic team probably missed. We’re looking for a motive. A pattern.” The pattern was the half-breeds. The motive was an insane, bloodthirsty demon? No. It didn’t make sense.

  There was a moment of awkward silence then. “You were right,” said Detective Walsh.

  I turned to him. “About what?”

  “You said there’d be more bodies. I just wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon.”

  I exhaled long and low. “It’s one of those times I wish I wasn’t.” I watched as Tyrius sprang onto the platform and crept closer towards the dead werewolf, expertly avoiding stepping on the splattered blood with his paws.

  Detective Walsh raked his chubby fingers through his hair. “That’s two bodies in two days. We’ve got no leads. No idea who this man was and nothing yet on the female vic. How do we find these bastards before they do this again?”

  Without a real motive, tracking this demon was going to be hard as hell. I hoped Tyrius could give me something to work with.

  I stifled a sigh. The scent of blood and wet dog became increasingly pronounced, making my head spin, and the silence grew awkward.

  “So, how long have you been working with your partner?” asked the detective. “I thought you worked alone.”

  “Tyrius?” I pulled my eyes away from the corpse to stare at the detective. “He’s been with me for years.”

  “No, him.” Detective Walsh gestured to someone behind me.

  I spun around. A man with a dark fedora and a long black trench coat was crouched next to one of the pews, inspecting the blood splatter. His ears weren’t visible, but I knew under that hat were the pointed ears of an elf.

  5

  My gut tightened as I stared at the Indiana Jones elf wizard who’d saved my ass twice and had some serious magic dust. We’d lost touch after he’d driven me home the night Sylph Tower came down. I didn’t think the elf had a cell phone, but he had my number. Still, he hadn’t called and I never expected him to. I never expected to see him again, let alone at a crime scene pretending to be my partner, of all things. Very interesting.

  However, I could really use his help on this.

  There was a dark cloud of mystery surrounding the elf that had me franticly wanting to figure it out. I was a curious creature, and I wanted to find out more about this secretive elf and his pullomancy, his elf dust.

  “He said he was your partner,” said the detective, seeing the surprise on my face. I needed to work on my poker face. “I would never have let him through otherwise.”

  Partner, eh? “He is. Excuse me.” I stepped off the platform and walked towards the elf.

  Gareth looked up at my approach and our eyes met. A curious sensation of hesitant trust and tension swirled inside me, sparking even more desire to figure out the elf. He was also easy on the eyes, and I liked to look.

  Still, what the hell was he doing here?

  Gareth stood and straightened to his full six-foot-two frame. “Rowyn,” he said, in that same melodious and surprisingly deep voice. I always liked the way his voice carried, rich and soothing like a good wine. There was a strange smile on his face. The heavy steps behind me told me Detective Walsh wasn’t far.

  I raised my brows. “Find anything? Partner?” I asked, giving him a sideways smile.

  Gareth’s smile widened, making his pleasant and rugged features handsome. “Actually, yes,” said the elf. His dark eyes moved over my shoulder just as Detective Walsh came into my line of sight.

  “The way the blood spatter patterns... here,” he gestured to the blood on the pew. “And here,” he added as he pointed to the floor. “Tells me there was a struggle. And the different footprints suggest there was more than one killer.”

  Damn. My pulse throbbed. “How many?”

  “At least four,” said the elf, and my pulse jerked faster. “Possibly more. Three to subdue the victim while a forth did the... cutting.” Four psychotic demons. Swell.

  Detective Walsh’s face hardened. “And you’re getting that all by looking at some blood on the floor and the pews here?”

  Gareth watched the detective with his eyes narrowed slightly. He hesitated, eying me as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his long coat. “I am.”

  The detective didn’t look convinced, but I was positive Gareth was telling us the truth. And it didn’t make me feel any better.

  Detective Walsh gestured grandly. “How about you tell me who the killers are. You seem to have a real gift with all that... hocus pocus.”

  I rolled my eyes. What a dumbass.

  But Gareth still had an amused smile on his face as he answered. “All I can tell you is that you’re looking for four killers, possibly five. Not just one.”

  A muscle feathered along the detective’s jaw as he looked at me. “I need more. What else can you tell me?”

  “Well,” I answered as I shifted on my feet. “I’m going to need more time.” Which was true. I looked back at the corpse, seeing Tyrius moving around the body, his ears forward as he took in scents near the victim’s feet.

  A ring tone chimed, and Detective Walsh pulled out his phone from inside his jacket. “Walsh here,” he said as he moved away from
us.

  I waited until the detective was out of earshot and whirled on the elf. “What the hell are you doing here? My partner? Really?”

  Gareth looked over my head. “Tyrius’s found something,” he said as he moved past me, deliberately not answering my question.

  God, that elf is infuriating!

  Clenching my jaw, I followed him back up towards the altar to the corpse where Tyrius sat waiting.

  “Hey, Gareth,” said Tyrius, his tail whipped about him until it curled around his feet. “What brings you into our neck of the woods? A couple of mutilated half-breeds?”

  “Something like that,” answered the elf, making my temper flare.

  I picked up the cat and settled him on my shoulders so we could have a quiet conversation between the three of us without alerting the nosy policemen or the clergy that we were talking to a cat.

  “What’ve you got for me, Tyrius?” I asked, looking at Gareth. His eyes roamed everywhere but to me as he stood next to me, so close I could sense the familiar pull of demon magic and the soft traces of sulfur and lavender, the scent of elves.

  The cat’s paws were cold as he snuggled in between my neck and hair. “Five distinct smells, apart from the werewolf who’s about to be infested with worms if they don’t put the corpse somewhere refrigerated soon.”

  My eyes traveled over the elf’s face, impressed. “You were right.”

  Gareth’s eyes finally landed on me with an unexpected intensity. I felt my cheeks warm.

  “But something doesn’t feel right,” said the cat as I looked away from the elf, not understanding what I saw in his eyes.

  I twisted my head so I could get a view of Tyrius’s face. “What doesn’t?”

  “For one thing,” said the cat, and I could hear the puzzlement in his tone, “with all the blood and the gore and the fighting, it must have taken all the demons to subdue the werewolf and then actually kill the poor puppy. There should be more demon energies in here. But I’m only getting faint traces.”

  “I feel them,” I said, recognizing their cold, familiar pull as I stood there. “I can still feel them. They’re faint, but they’re there.”