Soul Bite

by D. N. Erikson

  “This isn’t just some demon hunter.”

  “I gathered that.”

  “You don’t understand, Eden.” Cross pushed off the wall and grabbed a shirt. “This woman has been around for centuries.” He shrugged as he wriggled into the fabric. “Well, some form of her. It’s a burden passed down from generation to generation.”

  “And how do you know that?” My eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “Simple.” The treasure hunter jammed the map into his back pocket and strode to me. “I used to know her. Or her ancestor.” Cross scratched his head. “Magic gets complicated. And it was long ago.”

  “Is that so?” By this point, I was ready to punch him in the jaw. Kai was out there, alone, without backup, maybe already dying, and Cross was taking his sweet time getting to the point.

  So, of course, Cross leaned in and said, “It is.”

  I snapped out my Reaper’s Switch and pressed it to his throat. “Enough games.”

  “You’re quite attractive when you’re angry.”

  The obsidian-studded edge dug into his tan skin. A trickle of blood snaked down his neck. “Anything else I should know?”

  His golden-flecked eyes stared back in amusement. He leaned a quarter inch forward, causing the blade to nip into his neck. He grimaced. “If you meet this woman, you won’t emerge the same.”

  The taste of his adventurer’s soul was overrun by bleak desolation. Something I’d only tasted when he’d realized Tamara Marquez—his one and only love, whom he’d killed to attain eternal life—had come to the island.

  I wasn’t sure if that was a warning or a threat. But I said, “And how would she manage that?”

  Dante Cross swallowed hard and cracked his jaw.

  And then he said, “Because her darkness will rub off on you. And that is something that can never be washed away.”

  11

  I let the blade slowly drop away from Cross’s throat. The wound mended itself in real time, leaving behind only a pink line and a glistening trail of blood.

  Perks of immortality.

  Cross took a dirty shirt from the ground, wiped away the blood, then tossed it back in the corner.

  It went unspoken that, whatever this demon hunter had done in the past, it had something to do with Tamara Marquez. I didn’t bother to pry, since the mere mention of her name a couple months back had sent the treasure hunter into a drunken stupor.

  After snapping the blade shut, I said with quiet intensity, “Kai’s not dead.”

  “Then may the gods have mercy on his soul.” Cross looked more serious than I’d ever seen him.

  If I had to guess, the little prayer was as much for him as it was for Kai.

  “Tell me about this demon hunter,” I said. “Everything.”

  “There’s not much I know, Eden.” Cross wiped up a stray spot of blood. “It’s a mantle passed down between generations.”

  “Then anything else you know.”

  “Some might call it a curse.”

  “Call it whatever you like. I need details.”

  “The legends say the first demon hunter was the only person to visit the Elysian Fields without dying. Saw the lowest tiers of suffering. Grew a hatred for demons. An insane thirst for vengeance.”

  Demons were usually born in the Fields’ sixth tier, forged in the hottest fires of a place worse than hell. One reserved for those the gods wanted to punish.

  You know, people like me and my sister.

  I didn’t remember much of my few weeks there. A flash occasionally returned in a nightmare, but then vanished when I woke in a cold sweat.

  I could only imagine what a trip there would do to someone fully alive.

  Fully aware.

  Cross retrieved a pistol from beneath the bed and tucked it into his waistband before heading up the stairs out of the basement. I followed him into the sunlight. He whispered a few words to the blackened stairs to reactivate the wards.

  “And the demon hunter you met—what was her name?”

  Cross bit his lip, but didn’t say anything.

  “You want my help, you’re going to have to go digging up some shit you don’t like,” I said.

  “Miesha.”

  I’d heard that name earlier—Kai pleading with his captor. “Is she immortal?”

  Cross’s expression of discomfort melted back into languid ease. “Nope.”

  “Then why does this demon hunter have the same name?”

  “Tradition.”

  “Anything else you care to share?”

  “Let’s visit Orianne.” Cross nodded toward his gleaming convertible. “She deciphered that list for Miesha.”

  I said, “We find her next target, we find out where she’ll be next.”

  Worked for me.

  I wasn’t ready to let Kai slip into the darkness.

  Not even if it meant joining the demons in the Elysian Fields for all of eternity.

  12

  Cross kept the top down on his Porsche Boxster, allowing the pleasant winter breeze—not too warm, not too cold—to caress our skin as the car knifed through the dense jungle. The wind made conversation impractical, which was fine by me.

  A perfect sky peeked through the lush canopy, but it didn’t fill me with hope.

  I was too tired and had too many problems for a pleasant day to lift my spirits.

  Cross’s warning burned into my ears: he might never be the same.

  Could an hour or a day really change a man that much?

  Twist him into something unrecognizable?

  I didn’t know.

  I didn’t know if I wanted to hear the answer, either.

  The jungle thinned, starting to reveal a pastoral countryside dotted by large houses.

  That meant we were in the middle of the island, where vast swaths of jungle had been slashed and burned away centuries ago to plant crops. Most of these farmsteads were now sprawling country estates for the rich.

  Cows chewed impossibly green grass as Cross navigated the convertible up a bumpy gravel road.

  One of the cows poked its head through the wooden slats as we passed.

  “Orianne’s loaded,” I said, as a three-story mansion with a swimming pool came into view. A collection of imported sports cars—Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and brands too exotic for me to even recognize—dotted the cul-de-sac.

  “Thirteen million goes a long way,” Cross said.

  “She’s the one you hired to crack the first map?”

  “Among other things.” Cross winked as he threw the car into park.

  “Eww.”

  “You don’t mean that.” He vaulted over the car’s door without opening it.

  I opted for the conventional route and used the handle.

  Before I could take two steps across the tan brick, the mansion’s front doors flung open, and an attractive woman of about fifty strode out. Silver-streaked black hair hung down to her slender waist, contrasting against her dark skin.

  Her soul—and posture—were confident and as bold as the tropical-colored cars sitting in front of the house.

  I searched for darkness, but mostly I just tasted fun.

  Orianne loved the finer things in life and was unconflicted about it.

  “Been cougar hunting, huh,” I said to Cross, under my breath.

  “I’m almost five hundred years old, Eden,” Cross replied.

  “Right. You just act like you’re fifteen.”

  Orianne bounded down the steps and threw her arms around Cross. The treasure hunter returned her affection with a long, deep kiss.

  After the greeting continued well past my comfort zone, I cleared my throat and said, “Kind of up against the clock here.”

  Orianne’s neck snapped toward me. “Is this the one you were considering, Dante? She’d be perfect.”

  “She’s not interested, babe.”

  “I think she can be made interested.” Orianne glided over and circled me, brushing her finger lightly to my cheek. “Needs a shower,
though.”

  “You trek through the sewers and see how you smell,” I said.

  “It’s hardly a dealbreaker, my love.”

  “Yeah, I’m good on the weird threesomes,” I said. “Shit to do, places to be.”

  “It can wait.” She whispered the words in my ear. I wasn’t sure, but I felt like they were bolstered by magic—a Heartbreaker sigil, maybe, lending them a sultry flare that could melt the iciest of hearts.

  Except mine, because I said, “I swear to God, lady, if Kai dies, I’m going to burn this place down with you locked inside.”

  “Is that you came for, my pretty friend? To save the one you love?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  She smiled. “Then what is it like?”

  I dodged the question and replied, “A woman came to you with a list of names. We need to know what names were on the list.”

  “And why would I tell you such a thing about another client?”

  “Because this woman might inadvertently bring down the entire FBI.”

  “That is not the reason you wish to find her.” Orianne bounded up the front steps on bare feet and beckoned to us. “But let us begin.”

  As we stepped into the foyer, I said to Cross, “You sure know how to pick them.”

  “Upset that Orianne sees through you?”

  “I’m not upset.”

  Cross winked.

  I steamed silently.

  We trailed the cipher-sorceress through a cornucopia of gilded rooms—half of which I couldn’t properly name—before settling into a comparatively spartan conference room. Whereas the furniture had been regal and bespoke in the previous areas, here it was straight from the local Ikea—office utilitarian, as if someone had needed things assembled in a hurry.

  Orianne gestured across the conference table and said, “Please sit.”

  I glanced at the vinyl office chairs and said, “Really, this will only take a minute.”

  “It will take a little while to search through my records.”

  I glanced at Cross. “We don’t have that long.”

  “Then you are free to leave.” Orianne smiled warmly. “Please. Make yourself comfortable.”

  “Do you have the list or not?” I asked.

  “You can wait and find out.” With that, Orianne glided out of the room, the silver streaks in her hair sparkling in the friendly overhead lighting.

  I drummed my fingers against the plastic laminate.

  A minute passed, then another.

  “Is your girlfriend jerking us around?” I asked.

  “Patience, Eden.” Cross put his feet up on the table to display his ease.

  My mind jumped ahead to possible next steps if this proved to be a bust.

  But this was it, other than striking a deal with Tamara Marquez.

  Who knew where the Soul Eater was right now, anyway.

  Cross’s boots wiggled on the table.

  “What’s bothering you?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “That skepticism must be stressful.”

  “That’s why I keep a fifth of whiskey around,” I said.

  “I’m not convinced we can crack the final cipher.” Cross adjusted his posture to take out the ancient parchment. He flung the map onto the table like it was a brochure someone had handed him on the street.

  “You said Orianne was close.”

  “Close isn’t the same thing as cracked.”

  “Another few rolls in the hay ought to do the trick.” I couldn’t tell whether he was distracting me from the larger albatross—Kai’s disappearance—or whether the map’s secrets were actually proving difficult to unravel.

  Either way, it made for a welcome distraction.

  “If that was the solution, then we’d have cracked it weeks ago.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Spare me the details.”

  “See the final cipher.” Cross swung his feet off the table and slid the map closer. He tapped his finger in the center. “The symbols floating?”

  I leaned over. Faint golden letters hovered a quarter inch above the parchment. “Latin.”

  “Only the worthy shall pass,” Cross said.

  “And you don’t know what that means?”

  “I’m worried that I know no one worthy.” The mood darkened as Cross slumped in his chair.

  I kept staring at the map, like it might give me Kai’s location.

  The letters shifted.

  I punched Cross in the arm. “It turned.”

  Cross glanced over. “Another riddle.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “Many will seek the Sword. But only a man of great strength and a woman who has seen the dead may melt the ice that encases its unparalleled bounty.”

  The magical letters dissolved into a familiar symbol.

  “Holy shit. That’s his.”

  Cross looked uninterested by my sudden outburst. “What’s his?”

  “That matches the spear on Kai’s arm.” I jabbed at the air, where the thin outline of a tribal spear glowed. “I think this riddle is talking about—”

  A shriek knifed through the mansion, followed by shouting voices.

  Cross snapped upright.

  Then, clear as a bell, a vicious voice yelled, “Aldric appreciates your information.”

  “He promised me safety—”

  “And what would happen to his empire if he granted every thief a free pass?”

  “Please, wait—”

  But Orianne’s plea was cut short by a single shot gunshot.

  13

  Cross drew his pistol and sprinted from the conference room.

  “Wait,” I said.

  But he was a man possessed, running toward danger like a man who was unkillable.

  I grabbed Drake’s treasure map off the table and rushed out behind him. The unnamed stream of rooms passed in a blur.

  Cross’s pistol barked amid a sea of shouts and groans. I heard bodies crumple and fall.

  I scampered into the foyer. A gunshot snapped from the second floor balcony overlooking the foyer, and Cross spun.

  Three shots later, the gunman tumbled over the railing. His bones cracked against the floor.

  Voices traded commands on the second floor, militant and all business.

  Cross headed for the wide stairwell. I went for the downed body. Human, judging by his features and how I hadn’t felt his soul. I rifled through the man’s pockets, finding no identification.

  Except for one thing that confirmed what I already knew.

  I turned the playing card over and looked at the cloaked rider atop a galloping horse. Aldric of Scythia’s insignia—a little homage to his ancient homeland.

  “Motherfucker.” I tucked the card in my jeans and dived behind a mahogany dresser as gunfire peppered my feet.

  Cross returned fire. Casings clinked against the stone steps as he reloaded.

  I peeked out from my hiding spot. But I couldn’t see much from this vantage point.

  “Cross?”

  A stream of bullets slammed against the dresser. I huddled in the fetal position—as if that would stop a high-velocity round.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  Two more thunderous shots answered the rifle.

  A moan. “Please—”

  Another shot, and the thud of a dead skull slamming against the hard floor.

  Cross called, “All clear.”

  I scrambled out from the battered dresser. The expensive floor had been pockmarked by dozens of rounds.

  Aldric’s hitmen weren’t messing around. Hopefully Orianne had another thirteen million dollar client lined up, because she’d have to get everything replaced.

  Although I suspected she wouldn’t be making any more purchases.

  I craned my neck toward the second floor, seeing no sign of Cross.

  A shot barked out.

  “Son of a bitch.” Cross’s gun fired haphazardly until it clicked empty.r />
  I rushed up the stairs, drawn to the gunfire. Cross lay on the ground halfway inside the master bedroom’s doorway.

  Blood pooled beneath him.

  He tried to push himself against the doorframe, but slipped.

  I reached down to help, but he weakly brushed me off.

  “Did I get him?” Cross smiled painfully, blood staining his teeth.

  I glanced at the bed, where a body lay face down on the white bedspread. A growing red stain spread over the expensive cotton.

  “I’d say so.” I watched Cross wince and touch the gunshot wound.

  “Check on Orianne,” he said.

  “I think she sold us out, man.”

  “She wouldn’t do that.” Cross wasn’t getting up off the floor. Which was odd, considering how fast he usually healed.

  “She conveniently left the room right before Aldric’s goons showed up.”

  Cross’s eyes slipped to half-open. “Just…go…look.”

  His head bounced off the carpet as his body went slack.

  I rushed over and checked his pulse.

  Barely present.

  What the hell? He was supposed to be immortal.

  I ripped off his t-shirt, finding a bullet hole oozing blood. I touched the wound’s edge, and he snapped awake, grabbing my hand.

  Wild-eyed, Cross said, “That fucking hurts.”

  “You’re dying,” I said, only realizing it once the words escaped my lips.

  “Don’t be crazy.”

  “Who do I call? What do I do?” I was frantic. I stood up, scanning the massive bedroom for help. The cool, flat tones—browns and whites and grays—suddenly felt menacing and claustrophobic.

  Nothing jumped out.

  I paced back and forth in front of him, trying to come up with a solution.

  “Maybe it’s meant to be.” Cross’s voice was faint and distant.

  “Don’t get philosophical on me, asshole.” I stopped pacing. “Orianne must’ve told them how to kill you.”

  “I told you, she didn’t sell us out.” Cross coughed. Blood dribbled down his stubbly chin. His head lolled to the side.

  “And like I told you, bullshit.” I kicked him in the shin to keep him awake. “You’re not dying, remember?”