I wouldn’t be surprised if Aldric was looking out at the cavalcade of FBI vehicles streaming through the streets from the comfort of his penthouse.
I also wouldn’t be surprised if he was tied to this murder, since he had the most to gain from throwing the FBI off its game. They’d been nothing but trouble for him since they’d set up official shop six months ago.
As I pulled into the lot, I counted no less than a dozen FBI vehicles. Almost the entire fleet.
It was all hands on deck.
A group of agents were interviewing residents in front of the complex. I glanced up at the four modern buildings. These condos were actually just cleverly rebranded apartments.
I nudged one of the agents. Sanders or Samuels or something—I didn’t remember his name.
I said, “How bad is it?”
He stopped talking to a small old woman and turned to me. “Bad.”
“What happened?”
He just shook his head, looking visibly shaken. “You just gotta see for yourself.”
“What room?”
“512.”
I nodded my thanks and let him get back to canvassing the residents. After I got inside the building, I took the stairs up and emerged in a wide hallway lined with black doors and warm lights. A group of agents stood at the end, conversing in hushed tones amongst themselves. Too shocked by the scene to bother with formalities, they barely glanced at me as I slipped by.
When I stepped inside the one-story condo, I understood why.
The interior looked like a snuff film set.
Blood spackling the stainless steel stove top.
Blood streaking the white walls.
Blood slashing over the light hardwood.
Blood coating everything like a macabre drip painting.
Despite being well acquainted with death—too acquainted, one could easily argue—it took me a minute to gather my thoughts. I leaned against the doorway and drew a deep breath.
Behind me, one of the agents said, “A fucking shitshow, right?”
I swallowed, throat dry, and pushed off the wall.
Rayna Denton and Kai Taylor stood in the room’s corner, over a body.
I followed the series of yellow cones on the floor that marked a safe path through the bloody chaos.
“How nice of you to join us, Hunter.” Rayna’s stylish blonde wave flicked as she gave me the faintest of nods. “I trust we didn’t interrupt anything more important.”
“I’m here,” I said. “That’s what you wanted, right?”
I looked at the corpse. The woman was a forensic tech I’d met once or twice. Young, pretty, must’ve only been a few years out of college.
I’d called her Blondie, but that wasn’t her real name.
Bonding with my colleagues hadn’t been a priority.
“Really, Hunter, your games won’t be tolerated.”
My neck snapped sharply as I turned to her. “Yours was the first call I got.”
“Don’t tell me this one didn’t call you first.” Rayna jerked a manicured thumb at Kai. “You two are close friends, from what I hear.”
I’d visited the hospital every day while he recovered from being by shot by Thomas Johns at the carnival. Despite nearly dying, he’d been back on the job within two weeks.
Desk duty—until today, apparently.
I narrowed my gaze. “Must’ve been out of cell range.”
Kai’s long black hair brushed over his shoulders. “We’ve only been here for fifteen minutes. Property manager called in the body when he came up to deliver a package Brenda hadn’t picked up at the office.”
Ah. So Rayna had been jerking my chain about being tardy.
Probing for weaknesses.
The usual.
Guess she still felt a little raw about the stunt I’d pulled a couple months ago—framing her for a DUI right outside FBI HQ. She hadn’t gotten booked, but that wasn’t an incident she was liable to forgive and forget.
If she hadn’t kidnapped me to kick the whole thing, I wouldn’t have had to embarrass her.
Oh well.
“The manager found the body?”
“Just saw the blood out in the hall and got freaked out.”
I knelt next to the corpse and examined the knife wounds raking across her forearms. “She fought back.”
“Like a motherfucker,” Rayna said. “One might even say a demon.”
“Odd choice of words.”
“Appropriate choice of words.” Rayna’s fingernail tapped against glass. “We think.”
I glanced up, finding a message scrawled in blood across the window.
“The Demon Hunter is coming,” I said, reading the still dripping words aloud.
“The MO matches three murders in the United States.” Rayna began pacing over the two feet of real estate devoid of blood spatter. “Philadelphia, Chicago, and Los Angeles.”
“All FBI agents?”
Rayna winced and said, “All FBI agents.”
“Did the Bureau investigate whether they were…” I wanted Rayna to say the word.
Yes, I was part of the FBI—but I was just a consultant. Tossing out wild-ass accusations like do you have a demon problem in the Bureau was a good way to get myself blacklisted.
“Those other field offices don’t have our resources.” Rayna played with the cuff of her slim-fit blazer. “You forget so soon, Hunter.”
“Forget what?”
“The mainland is much less accustomed to seeing…supernatural phenomena.” Rayna rubbed her boot across the ground, like she wanted to tell me something. “So we don’t have confirmation. But…”
Rayna looked hesitant to share. I glanced between her and Kai, and said, “Spill it.”
“There was another murder that matches the pattern recently. On the island.”
“How recent?”
“A month ago.”
“Why didn’t I get a call about that?”
Rayna gave me a look. “As you might guess, this murder spree is a sensitive matter, Hunter. One requiring…delicacy.”
“I can be delicate.”
“It would be stupid to expect a tiger to change its stripes.”
“But now you finally got desperate enough to call in the tiger.”
“Yes, well, the mainland would like answers.” Rayna gestured toward the blood-soaked walls. “As you might imagine, this type of crime scene repeated from coast to coast tends to aggravate the powers-that-be.”
Rayna was nothing if not pragmatic about her career. I suspected every move she made was with an eye toward climbing the government ladder.
“Any suspects?”
“None.”
“Leads?” I asked.
“The Bureau’s best agents have combed through the files for months. Nothing. The killer is methodical.”
I looked around at the blood spatter. “Methodical doesn’t strike me as the right word.”
“Nonetheless, we have no physical evidence. No eyewitnesses. Nothing to go on.”
I finally got to the elephant in the room. “Is this person actually hunting demons?”
“Unconfirmed,” Rayna said. “Until now.”
I glanced at Kai. “What does that mean?”
“Demons have no soul.” The agent scratched his strong jaw, broad shoulders loose. “So there’s only one way to find out for sure.”
The pieces clicked into place like gears in a machine.
“That’s why you called me here?” I glanced back at the collection of agents and forensic techs covering half the available floorspace. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“If you can’t do it, Hunter—”
“I’ll do it.” I reached into my jeans and pulled out the Reaper’s Switch.
Rayna placed her fingers in her mouth and unleashed a shrill whistle. “Everyone out. Classified business.”
The gathered personnel followed the cones outside and shut the door.
“It’s show time, Hunter,” Rayna
said, once it was just the three of us.
The four-inch stainless steel blade glinted in the light as it snapped open.
“What’s the plan if she’s actually a demon?” I asked.
The Field Director didn’t answer, but the truth was written clearly in her eyes.
She had no plan whatsoever.
With a deep breath, I plunged the silver-and-obsidian studded blade into the woman’s chest, right above her heart.
The knife was knuckle deep in her chest when I confirmed what one demon hunter already knew.
The Bureau had a little demon infestation on its hands.
And one person was taking it upon themselves to act as an exterminator.
3
“Shit.” Rayna paced across the parking lot like a caged animal, her stiletto boots tapping on the asphalt. “Do you have any idea what this means?”
“I can guess,” I said, glancing at Kai. From the serious expression on his face, he knew, too.
The FBI had been infiltrated by demons. Whether there were just a handful or hundreds didn’t really matter. If discovered, it would undermine the integrity of the organization and rock the world to its core.
Every case, every conviction, every bust—all would be suspect.
And, somewhere in the shadows, a puppet master pulled their demonic strings.
To what end, no one knew.
“We keep this between us for now.” She didn’t bother to look at Kai. Apparently, I was the only one liable to go off the reservation. “Understood?”
“I don’t know if there’s a rug big enough to sweep this one under,” I said.
“Then you’ll find the biggest fucking rug you have.” Rayna stopped pacing to glare at me. “The risk of collateral damage is catastrophic.”
“Your career, too. Just think of all the promotions they give agents with demons on the payroll.”
“You have a sarcastic response ready for everything, don’t you, Hunter?”
“I don’t mean to brag, but…”
Rayna shot me a look that could’ve melted butter.
I beamed back at her.
“Demon infestation.” Rayna sighed and looked back up at the condos. Red and blue lights danced across her cheeks. “Right in the goddamn FBI. I thought my evaluations would prevent this type of problem.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t crack when you kidnapped them and left them in the jungle.”
Not sarcasm.
Most people, even demons, would shit their pants at that type of psychological “evaluation.”
“That was a special occasion. For troublesome cases.”
“I’m touched.”
“Normal agents receive only a standard interview and battery of psychological questions.”
“Great. So everyone could be a demon,” I said.
“Not likely.”
“Cheer up,” I said, nudging her arm. “You’re the only one who’ll lose their job if we don’t solve this thing.”
“Need I remind you that we lost a colleague.”
“I mean, if you think about it, the killer probably did the Bureau favor.” I shrugged and glanced between them. Truth be told, I didn’t feel quite as devil-may-care as my words suggested. But, on the other hand, I couldn’t muster much sympathy for a soul-eating woman with unknown motives who had died a horrific death.
Rayna didn’t share my viewpoint. “I didn’t remember asking for your input.”
“Just saying.”
“We will be bringing the person responsible to justice. Is this clear?”
“And then what?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Rayna said, with an expression on her pretty face that conveyed she knew exactly what I meant.
“What are you going to do with the killer?”
“They’ll be dealt with accordingly.” Rayna glanced at her gold wristwatch. “Time’s wasting.”
“Was there a sudden influx of leads I missed?” I crossed my arms. “I have other shit to do.”
“Not right now, you don’t, Hunter.” Rayna’s too-white teeth gleamed as she sneered. “Visit Tamara Marquez. Maybe the Soul Eater will know something about these demons.”
“Pointless,” I said. “What the hell could she possibly tell us?”
“Resign if you don’t like the job.” Rayna opened the door to her SUV. “Otherwise, just listen to instructions for once.”
“Always a pleasure.” I fake-smiled and waved as she pulled out of the lot.
“We should get going.” Kai started walking to his own vehicle, and I hurried to catch up.
“So we’re actually going to catch this demon hunter?” I asked. “The only person trying to clean things up in the Bureau.”
“We can’t let a murderer walk, Eden.”
“Can you really murder someone who has no soul?”
“Not my call.” Judging from Kai’s grimace, he didn’t like this situation any more than I did.
We got in.
The engine crackled to life, and he began to back away from the scene.
I slammed my fist against the tinted windows as we rolled out of the lot.
Bureaucracy.
Had to love it.
4
Tamara Marquez was the owner of the Players Pad—an establishment one might generously call a gentlemen’s club.
Since I doubted many gentlemen ever crossed its neon shrouded threshold, I called it a strip club. Its flickering sign—a naked woman holding the ace of hearts—buzzed in the early morning as Kai pulled the SUV to a stop on the uneven road.
This wasn’t a nice part of town. The street was empty—a place even tumbleweeds avoided. The sidewalk was still chipped from the shootout between the FBI and DSA a couple months back.
Despite being over four hundred years old, Tamara didn’t have much to show for it.
Kai cut the engine, ending our long, silent car ride.
I got out without a word, darted across the street, and tried the thick door.
Locked.
My pounding fists didn’t bring an answer either. But that didn’t pose much of a problem. I wiggled out the hairpin taped to my Reaper’s Switch and jammed it in the lock. Then I jimmied the door with the blade.
The lock clicked open.
I glanced back at the car, finding the broad-shouldered agent looking at me with a stern expression. “Quite staring, weirdo.”
Kai rolled down the tinted window and called across the street, “You can’t do that.”
I hesitated, fingers hovering over the handle.
Living on Atheas, I’d encountered more than my share of crooked cops—the whole force was bent like a rusted coat hanger. I’d always had a flexible moral code, and working as a Reaper for the past four years hadn’t helped that.
But something must’ve changed since working with the Feds over the past five months.
Kai’s dedication to justice had rubbed off on me.
A little bit of order, a little bit of balance—these things mattered.
I locked eyes with him, knowing what I had to do.
That balance was threatened when the FBI had a demon infestation. Rayna was right about one thing: time was ticking off the clock.
But I had no intention of being part of her dog-and-pony show.
I’d find the demon hunter, and then I’d get a list of every corrupted agent from here to Boston.
“Eden, don’t.”
“You wouldn’t want their morning buffet, anyway,” I said, and disappeared inside.
The heavy door slammed shut behind me.
A spiky-haired bartender cleaning glasses turned to look at me. He leaned on the nearby bar. “Thought the door was locked. We’re closed.”
“I need to see Tamara.”
He looked me up and down. “This about a job? Place pays like shit.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” I said.
I walked past the three poles in the center of the club, each lined up about ten yards apart fro
m one another. Without music or flashing lights, the place felt like an abandoned theater—one that smelled like moldy beer and desperation, but still.
At the club’s opposite end sat another bar. As I approached, Tamara’s assistant, Max, popped out.
He tossed a shaker from one hand to another before pouring the contents into a martini glass.
Max, looking like he stepped out of a Fitzgerald novel with his black, shiny hair and bowtie, glanced at me and said, “I locked that door at closing.”
“Well, it’s open now.” I grabbed the drink while he was still pouring and downed it. “Not bad.”
The dapper man deftly pulled another glass from beneath the bar and poured another—keeping this one out of my reach. After he finished, he sipped it, eying me with a blank expression.
“And for what reason do you call upon Mistress Tamara?”
“Girl talk,” I said.
This was good enough for Max, who set down the glass and disappeared into the back hallway. I didn’t bother to wait for him to come back; I vaulted over the worn wood.
Tamara emerged from the back area just as I was about to turn into the hallway.
Before I could say anything, the woman jerked me into the hall and into a storeroom.
She pushed me roughly into a pile of empty burlap sacks.
“Demon blood.” Behind her, in the doorway, Max had a rifle trained right at my head. “You’re killing the demons.”
“So you know about that.”
Tamara extracted a blade from her tight leather pants. Her side-swept black hair, cut short, made her look extra dangerous.
The blade’s sharp edge pressed against my soft throat.
I really could’ve used some backup.
“Just—just hold up—”
“Four of Loki’s disciples have vanished.” She snapped her fingers. “You’re a better liar than even I realized.”
“Five,” I said, before realizing that filling in the grisly details wasn’t helping my case. “It’s not what you think.”
“Some things are exactly as they appear.” She snapped her fingers. “Take the shot.”
Max loaded a round in the chamber.
“Wait, wait.” This wasn’t how I’d imagined this going down. “Come on. We were under fire together. I helped you defend this shithole.”
Soul Bite Page 2