“Let’s see what kind of power you have.” He gingerly tugged at her skin—and then stopped.
“I have an idea. What if we change things?” He sat in the dark, tapping a finger scalpel against his chin. She writhed, struggling to exist.
“What if tonight were not a quest for resolution but rather a challenge between rivals? Because like it or not, Sherlyn, you’re my nemesis. You certainly have unrivaled power over me. It’s true, you do. I never put a ring on a woman’s hand before. Wouldn’t even consider it. Then you came along, and I felt weightless in your touch, your gaze, your smile. Your eyes captured my heart, and I didn’t even know I had a heart. I mean, do you know how many women I’ve cut open? And I’m not even talking about the ones they found back in Whitechapel. Those weren’t women, just working-class beings.
“But I digress. All you did was walk into the room and make eyes with me, and my palms went all sweaty. That is raw, unadulterated power. And what’s worse is you never knew you carried it. So naive. So let’s run with this idea and see where it goes. What if you could be more powerful than either of us imagined?”
He nodded, staring at the ceiling, light mumbles escaping his lips, before moving to her side. His eyes were dark holes staring into hers.
“Remember the time you discovered the killer of that woman in the alley was her own brother? And you had so little information. It was his shoe imprint in her blood, wasn’t it? You followed the little dog, remember? The little dog was licking the blood all the way up to the brother’s house. And then to prove it, you bluffed him in front of the police, said you saw how he used his left hand to murder her and he surrendered. The police thought you were clever, but they told you to mind your business. Tsk, tsk. Idiots.”
“You enjoy untying the knots of enigmas, don’t you? Finding joy in discovering clues in the dead. You seem a natural at it, and as you can see, I’m a natural at creating crime scenes. So let’s see who’s the more powerful between the two of us.
“Come find me, Sherlyn. And I will leave you breadcrumbs of viscera and goblets of sanguine fluid. Yes?”
He removed a small box from his jacket, giving her a cold, reassuring smile as he held a sewing needle and black thread.
“Hold still, dear.” His hands worked swiftly and soundlessly, suturing the gaping wound in a matter of minutes. He tied off the end of the thread before cutting it with his teeth and ran a finger along the dark red line with salve. After inspecting his work, he flashed his white teeth, the same smile he’d used many times while they were together. He leaned in close.
“I have one rule.” He held up a finger. “Tell anyone—the police or other law enforcement—and I will go into hiding. You will never, ever find me. Ever. But I will allow you to join the police force and use their resources. Stretch your boundaries. Work with others, put those brilliant skills to work and show them how moronic they are. You’d enjoy it.”
He leaned in and kissed her fevered head before tapping her long wound. “This will heal over time, and then you can pursue me, my sweet. Until then, I’ll be leaving bodies in my wake. Hope you find me soon.”
He stood, tousling her hair, smiling his smile.
Coyle jolted awake and grabbed her chest, opening her eyes to a dark blue. Soft light filtered down and highlighted the edges of fixtures, pipes and crates, but nothing looked familiar.
Sharp pain spiked through her back and shoulder. She winced and scooted to the wall, looking for her lamp. It wasn’t on her helmet; she reached where it should have been but found an empty space instead.
And then she remembered the creature.
Adrenaline rushed through her veins, feeding her senses with heightened awareness. She pulled herself into a crouch and waited. Every muscle tensed, waiting for an attack. Nothing moved except her and the ship in the sky, but her mind refused to believe it. She had shot it—dead? It had slumped to the floor, anyhow. And there were no sounds. It had to be safe.
She stood, unfolding herself, and winced again. But her safety was more important than aches and pains. A quick check of her belt made her grimace. Her gun was missing. The holster was empty. She pulled out a long knife and took a step, when something tapped against her boot. She looked down and smiled—it was the lamp.
She switched it on, and the familiar soft glow burned away the dark. But after a few seconds, the light shut off. She switched it on, and it clicked off again after a few seconds. She sighed. She’d have to make the best of what she had.
She clicked it on. The ladder was to her right. She followed the rungs up into the darkness.
I must have fallen when I was walking backward.
She scolded herself and looked behind. Another ladder led down to where the rest of the crew were, perhaps, still waiting. The light blinked out, and she turned it on again.
She wrestled with curiosity. The creature was above, and she was an investigator, wasn’t she? And maybe clues about the creature’s identity could help her. A chill rolled down her back. It would be disgusting, of course, but she was on the ship for a reason. Answers above and resources below.
She flexed her fingers and stepped toward the ladder. If she wanted to be a detective, then she had to act like one. That meant going up to the cadaver and inspecting it with a broken light.
She stuck the light between her teeth and flicked the light on with her tongue, illuminating the ladder for a few seconds before it shut off. She muttered a curse and pulled herself up the ladder.
A scrape against metal froze her blood. She stopped, looking up, waiting for something to appear. The rattling of her heart canceled out all other sounds. She flicked the light on to bare metal rungs and darkness. The creaking of the ship prompted her to move.
Light off. Did she see a face?
Light on. No one there.
She climbed, trying to ignore the trembling shadows of her hands. She couldn’t help herself, though. This entire ordeal ran counter to the safety and comfort of normal life. Breaths came short and quickened with each rung while her mind whispered dark fears. She flicked on the light. A few more rungs to the landing.
Light off.
Her hand reached the landing, but noises made her withdraw. She hugged the ladder, waiting, listening. What was that? Scraping. Crawling.
Someone whispering my name.
She panicked and stepped down, flicking on the light. She looked up, expecting the worst.
Light off.
She flicked it on again and turned her head. Metal walkways. Pipes. Empty spaces. Dim lights below.
Light off.
She took a deep breath and pulled herself up to the landing and peeked over the edge as she flicked the light on. Light illuminated the sloppy, glistening heap of the body.
Light off.
She ducked down, instinct exhorting her to flee, her ears suddenly picking up every sound. The ship creaked and groaned and rasped.
Something moved beneath her. The light came on, and she looked down. Nothing. She glanced up. It was all in her mind, and she cursed her vivid, overactive imagination.
Light on. She pulled herself up, peering over the edge at the body. It was motionless. She gripped the rail, just in case.
Light off. She wondered if all detectives had to deal with things like this.
Light on. She whispered a short, quick prayer.
Light off.
Light on. She crawled closer and the details came into view: a gaping hole in its head, glistening in shades of crimson; the unnatural shape of its limbs; blood and pink bits splattered the wall.
Light off.
Light on. She drew closer and sat within reach of its skinless, dead hand.
Light off.
Light on. She kicked it. No movement. No sounds.
Light off. The ship groaned.
Light on. She kicked harder. No response. It lay still. For good, she hoped.
Light off.
Light on. She leaned in, poking its head with the knife. No response.
>
Light off.
Light on. She reached with her other hand. Her trembling fingers were inches away from the head.
“Bzzztt-fzzt—I say, can you hear me? Repeat, Coyle-fzzzzt—”
She jumped back and swung at the empty air.
Light off. Adrenaline blasted through every fiber of her being.
Light on. She stared at the trembling creature, but it was only her light and eyes and imagination.
Light off. She pulled the lamp out of her mouth, flicked it on, and answered. “Yes, this Coyle. Who is this?”
“Heaven’s sake, what took you so long to answer? This is GEM. How goes things?”
“GEM,” she said. “I’ve had all the adventures I care to have in my lifetime. There’s a million things to share and nothing good. My radio went out after we landed on the ship, and I haven’t been able to communicate with anyone.” She kept her eyes on the creature. “I’m in the dark and alone. Well, sort of.”
“Bzzfsst—I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Coyle. Do you have a few moments?”
She frowned and shrugged her shoulders. “This is as good a time as any, I suppose.”
“Fzzss—Perfect. Now listen carefully.”
After GEM’s lengthy explanation, she tapped a knob on her left hand. Soft white light glowed from tiny bulbs on her shoulders, illuminating the floor in front of her. She leaned back and forth, side to side, testing the lights. She sank to her knees and sighed.
“Do the lights work, Miss Coyle? Everything functioning?”
“Yes, GEM, but I have a million other questions. Why—”
“Fzzsstsss—the suit will take care of you, Miss Coyle. Fzzztt—it’s one of a kind. In a sense-fssszzt-have to-szzssst.”
She adjusted the radio knobs, but there was no response, and the static transmissions faded to nothing. She was alone again. But she felt much more confident knowing she was wearing a valuable, one-of-a-kind suit. She didn’t have resources of people, but she did have what she needed on her person.
She looked down at her left wrist and slid open a compartment. A small button with the words Tesla Mode stitched next to it. She stared at the button. GEM said it should be used in the most of dire of emergencies. She wasn’t too sure what would happen if she pushed it. In fact, she wasn’t too sure about any of the suit’s capabilities. The lights worked, and that’s all she needed for now.
GEM’s explanations and directions had been rapid and vague. She pushed a knob on her right wrist, and the tip of a dart appeared. She tapped the knob twice, and it slid backward into a slot. There were a few surprises, and she definitely would have appreciated a one-day course on the subject, but this situation had degraded very quickly.
GEM had mentioned some of the choices were voice-activated. It would take some time to know where everything was. But, for now, she had a single job. She looked down at the cadaver, cracking her knuckles.
“Surgical instruments,” she said. “Please.”
An invisible tap against her right thigh indicated the location of the tools. She pulled the compartment open and found a set of five stainless-steel precision tools set in a leather sheath. She pulled out a scalpel, catching her reflection in the polished metal, and remembered how he had held the scalpel next to her skin. She squeezed her eyes, forcing the memory away, before examining the corpse.
“I filled its body with bullets, but nothing happened until I shot its head. This leads me to believe a head wound will terminate these creatures ... again.”
She flipped the magnifying lens over her goggles, peeling the flesh away from the face with forceps. A few tugs, and the flesh lifted with a wet, sticky sound.
Thin cracks spread out from small clusters of dark puncture marks embedded deep into the bone. The marks surrounded both eyes and were prominently in the center of the forehead.
She leaned back. They looked like bruises. But bruises didn’t shape themselves into perfect lines, they bloomed from burst capillaries. Unless these marks were purposely set there. Is that what had happened? Had someone tapped these marks around the eyes and center of the creature’s forehead? What would the purpose be when they were just turned into a creature like this?
Her eyes focused on its face. Its wide mouth was slack and full of jagged teeth. A thread of thick, dark blood bubbled and seeped from its nose and disappeared into the darkness below.
She sighed.
There were so many things she would rather be doing right now. Hot bath. Eating. Sleeping. Lounging on the sofa with a good book and a cat warming her lap.
Alas.
She pulled the torn shirt aside and found more of the curious marks etched across its chest, shoulder joints and wrists. She refrained from pulling away the trousers, but guessed she would find similar marks on his hip and knee joints.
There was something else here, but she wasn’t sure what. She slid the most powerful lenses over one eye and returned to the marks on the head. Using her handkerchief, she brushed away seeping blood and other debris. Then she squinted and studied.
“Oh!” she said. Staring at the marks. These were not random wounds caused by an outside source. Rather, they were distinct formations with lines, curves, abrupt angles, similarities, patterns. What was the term?
Ah. Runes.
“This is what the book does,” Coyle said. “And here’s the end result. The curse, as it were.”
She studied more carefully, curious as to what fae inscriptions looked like. Her face was mere inches away from the corpse, and the scent of it was unbearable. But the payoff was worth it. Her lenses magnified the script until it was as large as her hand.
She leaned back and frowned. Why did the fae characters seem familiar but at the same time... not? There was something there, but she couldn’t quite place her finger on it. And then...
“Oh!” she said again. She started searching her suit. “You can’t be serious. This can’t be happening. It just can’t! Wait. What do I ask for? A pad of paper and pencil?” A brief vibration pulsed against her abdomen, near the left side. She reached down and pulled out a pencil and pad of paper.
She wiped away all the moisture she could from the creature’s forehead before she placed the paper over the runes and with the pencil at an angle, she rubbed until all the runes were transferred to the paper. She peeled the paper away and inspected her work.
A small dark smudge of graphite surrounded the empty spaces of the inscription. She was looking at a reverse image of what she’d found on the corpse.
Her hands trembled, but this time from excitement. If this worked the way she thought it might... She turned the paper over and shone a light behind it.
“Oh!” She covered her mouth with her hand, her mind refusing to believe what she was seeing. But it was there. Plain as day. The runes were written in backward English. The message read,
Reverse the darkest deed,
In ageless artifacts dwell,
Repeat the faithful creed,
Mirror cast the spell
She leaned against the wall, her mind racing through different emotions: relief, exhaustion, disbelief, exultation. All coursing through her head all at once.
But despite the joy of finding such a clue, of course, the more difficult questions loomed: who crafted the message? And what exactly did it mean? Was it designed for anyone to find ... or only her?
She looked at the creature. This was all Moreci’s doing, she was sure of it. This poor soul was turned into a monster when Moreci used the book. But the translation was in direct contrast to the book’s effect. ‘Reverse’ and ‘mirror’ meant the opposite of what had transpired. And why, and how, was this written in backward English?
She bit her lip, staring at the darkness, tapping the back of her head against the metal railing. It was Moreci who used the book, but this message couldn’t be from him. Who, then? She frowned. Mumbled. Tapped her foot. Tapped her head.
She froze.
This message was created for me.
She
stood and paced. This message was for her. She was supposed to stop Moreci, and she didn’t know how. She looked down at the corpse. Her mind became a mixture of excitement and confusion. She clapped hands and smiled.
“Like Christmas!” she said. “Except this time I’m getting something I wanted.” She hopped on the metal floor. “Like Christmas!” She stopped and covered her mouth. Her hands curled into fists.
She let her mind race along the new path she’d uncovered. The message was for her. From...? Who would make sense? Treece? But how would he have—
No. Not Treece. Dame Graethe?
She slapped her forehead. Of course. She was fae. She would know the language. It had to be her! But why was Dame Graethe involved with this? She chewed her lip more. Paced more. She cracked her knuckles. Dame Graethe was dead. It couldn’t be her. Then who? Fang? She was definitely helping, but this wasn’t the type of work Fang would be involved with.
She looked at the paper again, even though she had memorized the verse.
Reverse the darkest deed,
In ageless artifacts dwell,
Repeat the faithful creed,
Mirror cast the spell
The ship groaned. She had to find the others, get them involved, and share her knowledge. More brains were better than one, she had heard somewhere. She would need help figuring out how to use this vital information.
She slipped the tools back inside the pouch and stepped lively down to the next landing, the new light revealing her gun. She reloaded the weapon, took one last look above and moved deeper into the ship.
Chapter 22
Main hangar bay
Dawn’s Edge
The sharp odor of antiseptic floated through the empty space. Survivors lay in groups throughout the cargo bay. The wounded were being treated with the few medical supplies they had. Arms were bandaged, legs sutured, faces gauzed.
The unfortunate dead lay in rows, their bodies under emergency blankets. Quolo kneeled beside a victim and pulled the corner of the blanket away. He stifled a cough. The man’s flesh was peeled away from the bone in ragged strips. An eyeball had been gouged out. Gaping bite wounds on his shoulders and neck had been bandaged, but to no avail.
Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1) Page 19