by M K Mancos
“Great, I’m going to show up on YouTube.” Her casual comment didn’t match the stark look in her eyes.
“I doubt that.” He moved closer, unable to be separated from her by even a few feet. It was dangerous territory he’d crossed into.
“Why? Because cops are above posting something like that on the Internet?”
“No.” The warmth of her body seeped through his clothes and ignited another brush fire in him. Her lips called him like a siren. “Because there was nothing on the video to see.”
A frown creased her brow. “I don’t think I understand. Then how did you see this supposed video if there was nothing to see?”
“It was there when I looked at it on-scene. By the time I got it to the station, it was gone.”
She laughed. “I would have liked to have seen your face.”
“You aren’t denying you were there.”
“I didn’t admit I was either.” She reached above her head into the cabinet for mugs.
Josiah leaned in and got them down for her. Their bodies touched the entire length. He knew by the little intake of breath and the fact she stilled completely as she felt his erection against her.
“You don’t have to admit you were there. I know you were,” he whispered into the shell of her ear.
When she stood quiet and still, he asked, “What are you?”
“A bartender. A student.” She leaned her head back onto his shoulder. “A woman.”
He turned her in his arms, claiming her mouth again. This time, her hands ran down his back and held his butt cheeks, pulling him slightly forward.
Oh, yeah, that was hot.
A small moan escaped her and landed on his tongue. He ran restless palms up her back, loving the feel of her shape. She was every erotic dream he’d ever had.
“I know what you are. You’re a siren.”
“No,” she said between kisses.
“Then you’re one of those demon women who make men their sexual playthings.”
She laughed. “A succubus?”
“Yeah. Even the name sounds like sex.”
Keely pushed back from him. “I’m not a succubus.”
Josiah caressed her smooth cheek, running his hand up into her hair. His gaze locked with hers. “Then how is it possible you are the only thing that disappeared on that video, leaving the rest of the footage intact?”
“I wish I knew.”
As he looked into her eyes he knew at least that much was the truth.
13
Dr. Dunwitty stood at the lectern with perfect posture, wrapped in all the class and dignity of Morgan Freeman. Keely thought he favored the beloved actor somewhat, though Dr. Dunwitty was probably only in his early-to-mid fifties. Yet he seemed an ageless man. Since becoming a Scythe, she’d wondered more than once if he were an angel sent down to spread understanding to mortal beings. Stranger things had happened.
There was something so calm and reassuring about the professor. He had the ability to put anyone, no matter how fractious, at ease.
“The need for love and connectedness is tied directly to our sense of who we are and our importance in the world.” Dunwitty’s sincere gaze took in the students before him. “It can elevate us to achieve the near-impossible or paralyze us with self-doubt.”
Keely looked down at her notebook when that assessing glance landed on her.
“Every one of you has felt love, passion, heartache, grief, and doubt. They are universal emotions and thus connect us to the world. Those who have a hard time receiving love are more likely to have a difficult time demonstrating their love for others.”
Heat climbed to her cheeks.
Josiah hadn’t acted as if he had trouble giving or receiving love—at least the physical aspect of it.
“Something to share with the class, Ms. Montgomery?”
Keely’s head snapped up and she instantly felt like a deer in the headlights. Had she said something out loud and not realized it?
“No, sir. Just thinking about what you said.”
There was a twinkle in his dark eyes. “I thought maybe you wanted to give an example.”
She smiled and shook her head.
A guy named Rocco, who sat beside her, leaned over. “Whoever he is, he’s one lucky bastard.”
“Not yet, he isn’t,” she said with a grin.
Dr. Dunwitty laughed in a good-natured way, not at all upset his lecture was about to be hijacked. As a matter of fact, he’d said from the first class, people learned more from simple, effective communication than an entire series of lectures. Taking the concepts gleaned from textbooks and putting them into working models and everyday experiences were valuable tools in the learning process, which made the fact she’d dodged Josiah’s questions at every turn terribly ironic.
“So that would mean Keely’s receiving love, but she’s not giving it,” said Martin, a young man who looked more like an artist-cum-beatnik than a serious student of social norms.
The class laughed and Keely’s face burned brighter.
By the time the lecture ended, the high she felt had dimmed to uncertainty. Here she’d finally found a man with whom she could actually see herself getting serious and there was no way she would ever be able to confide in him.
She took the train home. Looking out the window at the black nothingness as they passed through the tunnel under the Hudson River, she stared at her reflection in the glass. Getting involved with Josiah required full disclosure of her Scything activities. He’d expect nothing less. Not that she blamed him. Honesty was the basis of all successful relationships, for a very good reason. Who wanted to be with someone if trust was an issue?
Nico’s was doing a brisk lunch business when she entered.
The handsome African-American man Josiah had come in with sat at the bar with a woman in roughly her mid-to-late thirties. They were both dressed in Water Point Station Emergency Services uniforms.
She gave him a smile, glancing at the huge greasy burger and fries in front of him. His soda glass was almost empty. “Want a refill?” She pointed to the large plastic cup in front of him.
“Yes, thanks. It’s full strength. None of that diet crap for me.”
The man had an awesome physique. He didn’t need a diet anything. She asked the same of his partner who declined.
“So, you and Adler get it together the other day?” There was a lecherous smile on his face that Keely found oddly charming.
“I guess you could say we came to an understanding. He asks questions and I evade the answers.”
He let out a loud booming laugh. “I like you,” he said then wiped his hands on a napkin and offered his right to her. “John Stevens.”
Keely let her hand be swallowed by John’s massive palm. “Keely Montgomery.”
Something was off in that handshake. It wasn’t in his grip. The handshake was everything one should be—firm, confident, brief. The underlying concern Keely felt had more to do with John’s health than something intangible like character.
She frowned as the word diabetes flashed in her mind like the day’s secret password. What was that all about? But the feeling was so strong it wouldn’t leave her alone.
“Is something wrong?” He frowned at her then began wiping his hand on his napkin again. “Did I get grease on you? I’m sorry.”
Keely set his forgotten soda back down in front of him. “No.” How was she going to bring this up without him thinking she was a lunatic? Well, better that than have him think he’d offended her in some way. Which he hadn’t. He was perfectly warm and had a smile that should grace toothpaste ads.
Better just to jump into the deep end than fart around in the shallows. “Have you ever been tested for diabetes?”
He looked at her with a stunned expression. “A few years back. It runs in my family.”
“You might want to have it checked again.”
He looked at his partner then back at Keely. “We’ll do one in the rig and then later this afternoo
n. If I don’t like what I see, I’ll call the doctor.”
Keely gave him a smile and patted his hand where it rested on the counter. Satisfied that John would follow up on the question of blood sugar, she turned her mind to exactly why it was that she knew about the diabetes and how she’d picked up on it from a handshake?
“It was the weirdest thing in the world,” Keely told Samson later that evening as they started on their rounds. “Then I went to the public library to do some research for a school project and bumped into this woman coming out of the big glass doors in front. The words breast cancer hit me like a fist to the gut.”
Samson rubbed his chin and frowned. “Reapers and Scythes are created with the ability to read life-threatening diseases in mortals. It makes us more proficient in our duties. To use the vernacular, it gives us an edge.”
“I said something stupid to her like, ‘it’s breast cancer awareness month,’ just to put the thought in her head to have a mammogram.” A sick feeling rolled in her stomach.
“It may have been pointless, but it wasn’t stupid. She will either heed your reminder or write it off as an odd exchange in the course of her busy day.”
“Not good enough. Either give me a way to help those people who still have a chance or take the power away. I don’t want it.” Chilly wind blew down her coat collar. She reached up and wound her scarf tighter.
“I do not believe there is a way to separate that skill from your other abilities. I’ll have to look into it.”
“Please? I don’t want to be afraid to touch people because I might discover they have a disease.” Her life as a Scythe had already started to curb her personal relationships.
What would she have done if she had noticed something while kissing Josiah? She nearly choked on emotion. He was so alive and vital. No. She couldn’t think that way. It would slowly drive her insane.
They walked around to the back door of a funeral home. The director and his wife owned the place and made their home in the apartment behind and above the large Victorian mansion.
The wife was the first name on their list of clients for the night’s rounds.
Samson grabbed her hand. “We need stealth mode for this job.”
He was right. The funeral home was locked up and there weren’t any visitors around. The parking lot was deserted.
Keely held onto Samson as he waved his hand over the door and she heard the locks disengage. Now that was a skill she could use, not the one where she was a walking medical diagnostic tool.
The door opened slightly, and they slipped inside.
Samson led her around the house and down into the creepy, dark recesses of the basement. Low light filtered from a back room. The soft shuffle of feet against bare concrete sounded loud in the cavernous space.
Keely nearly gasped out loud as they rounded the corner.
The funeral director stood over his wife. She was on a metal table, with tubes waiting to be hooked to her various orifices.
“Drink, my darling,” the man said, lifting a tiny cup to the woman’s mouth. “It will make you sleep.”
The woman thrashed her head back and forth. Her hair had fallen out in clumps, leaving uneven bald patches over her head.
“It will make you feel better.”
Oh, God! The animal was poisoning her.
Keely started to move forward. Her grip loosened on Samson’s hand. Her body began to materialize.
The man jerked his head in their direction.
Samson wound his arm around her waist, pulling her back against him. “You cannot interfere.” It was the worst command he’d ever given her.
Keely struggled against Samson, trying to break free and save the woman. “We can save her.”
“We cannot. Her name is on the list.”
“Then cross it out.” Keely tried to force Samson’s arm down so she could wiggle free.
His grip only tightened.
She kicked her legs back and forth. Still he didn’t drop her.
The murdering husband forced his wife’s lips open, pouring the poison into her mouth. She gurgled and strangled, spitting some of the deadly fluid out.
Keely drew in a breath to scream. Samson clamped his hand around her mouth. Tears of rage filled her eyes.
How could a merciful God stand by and allow an innocent woman to die at the hands of her murdering husband?
What kind of organization turned its collective back on such an act? It was morally reprehensible. Against everything she stood for.
Helping people, that’s what she wanted to do with her life. Not stand in the circle of a heavenly being’s arms and watch as a life was snuffed out as if it never mattered.
From the opposite side of the room, a black glossy shadow separated itself from the darkness, moving forward like a gentle wind. A Reaper.
The man leaned over his wife, waiting for the poison to work.
If she was to act, it had to be now!
She lifted her leg, kicking Samson in the shin. His grip slid, but he quickly firmed, holding her in place.
She watched in pained witness as the events began to unfold as if they played out on the silver screen.
The Reaper reached a hand composed of ethereal matter to the woman and touched the middle of her forehead in a delicate caress.
The struggles stopped and her breathing ceased.
The man set about his work as Keely took her sickle from the pouch and sliced the cord, vowing to see the bastard husband behind bars.
As she and Samson moved between the man and the table where his instruments of trade were placed, Keely noticed the vial of poison. She hesitated before pulling her hand up in her sleeve and picking up the vial to keep the fingerprints intact. He’d probably try to get rid of the evidence. And from the way it looked, he was going to embalm his wife himself with all haste.
If Keely was going to report the murder, she’d better do it quickly.
When they passed into the next room on the way out of the house, Keely hid the bottle behind a bookcase. Somewhere she could tell the police where to find it, but that the murdering funeral director would never look.
14
The anonymous call originated from Keely’s neighborhood. The deli across the street from Nico’s to be precise. Josiah entered the deli and looked around at the patrons waiting for their numbers to be called.
A big man behind the counter looked up from his work and nodded, indicating the ticket machine. “Take a number. I’ll be with you when I can.”
Josiah pulled out his badge, flashing it. “Detective Josiah Adler. WPSPD. We had an anonymous call originating from this address about a possible murder. You know anything about that?”
The man’s eyes widened. “No one here’s been murdered.”
“The murder didn’t happen here. It was across town. The reporting call came from here.”
The poor man still looked shocked and his customers were inching forward to listen to the exchange. Some of them suspiciously eyed the blocks of deli meat.
“Have any of your employees acted strangely? Mentioned witnessing anything?” The man shook his head. “Neighbors? Have any asked to use your phone?”
If Josiah hadn’t been watching the man’s face closely, he would have missed the slight dilation of his pupils. “Someone used your phone?”
He shook his head again. “No. No.”
The man was lying and doing a piss-poor job of it.
“Look, I understand you want to protect your neighbor’s anonymity, but by doing so you’re also protecting a possible murderer. You want that on your conscience?”
“Christ.” It came out as a disgusted sigh. The man’s gaze shifted to something outside the windows.
Josiah turned in time to watch Keely walk by, heading toward her apartment. “Thank you, sir. You’ve been very helpful.”
He stuffed his notebook back into the inside pocket of his jacket and hurried after Keely. Why was he not surprised she might be tangled up in something like
a possible murder? Dead bodies had a way of showing up at her feet.
When he caught up to her, he slid his hand into the crook of her elbow and stopped her.
She screamed and turned, raising her hand to hit him. At the last second, she pulled back, melting into his arms.
Her entire body shook from head to foot. She burrowed into his body as if trying to step into his skin with him. “Shh. What’s wrong?” He stroked her hair. After placing a comforting kiss on her temple, he pulled away to look at her face. Stark pain turned her violet eyes into watery pools.
“Come home with me and I’ll tell you, but you have to promise to leave my name out of this. I can’t live with…” She dissolved into tears.
“Anything. Anything you want.” The promise was only as good as the information she’d give him. If she witnessed something, he’d not be able to shield her for long.
They walked the block to her place in silence. Misery surrounded her like a force field. Whatever she’d witnessed troubled her, and more so than the shooting a few days before.
They entered her apartment to freezing temperatures.
“It’s like a meat locker in here.” His breath froze in the air, rolling up in little white clouds.
She shrugged. “It’s been doing that lately. Nico still hasn’t gotten someone out to fix it. Don’t worry, it will warm up in a minute. It always does.”
He followed her into the kitchen.
“Do you want coffee or tea?”
“Coffee and an explanation.” He reached out, brushing a hand down her wild mane. For such curly hair, it was so freaking soft. A man could go crazy running his hands through all that golden silk.
She shifted and picked up a card off the counter, frowning as she read it.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. Just a business card.” She slipped it into her pocket then began rummaging around in the cabinets.
She set the coffee on to brew and then led him back into the living room, where she folded up into the corner of the sofa. Watching her struggle to find the right words to tell him her problem was downright painful to watch.
“Why don’t you just come out and tell me what happened?” he encouraged.