Broken Pieces

by Deja Black

  Slowly he turned away from the door, lifted the stark yellow tape securing the home and moved toward the stairs to get to his truck. His shades on, Remi looked around carefully, trying to see what he was missing. His Ford F250 sat next to the curb.

  He didn’t see any black cars with tinted windows, but there were a few cars parked on the street. A couple was out walking a dog. A mail carrier hurried along to his truck tapping away on his phone. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it was there, taking in his every move.

  The doctor felt like she was being followed. She was onto something because right now as a chill snaked along his spine, he was being followed, too.

  * * * *

  Behind the trees, they were able to get a prime view of the human while he walked toward his vehicle. He paused sensing them, they were sure, so they stepped further back into the shadows.

  Finished with the human female, they lingered with the hope that a grief-stricken friend would arrive to console the family.

  Closer. They were getting closer. None missed the quakes of energy so like a homing beacon from the former Korol’s offspring.

  Hidden among the humans, this would be the first of many attacks to draw him out for the Korolova. The coven would sense the cracks, the openings as the pain and suffering of the last Romanoff removed his shield.

  Discovering Peter Romanoff attended the university, then finding the professor was a gift. Unfortunately, something or someone touched the mind of every human coming in contact with Peter Romanoff so that his image remained a blur, never complete.

  Even when they pressed, reached beneath the layers of brain matter to dig into the psyche, there were no pictures, no images to go by.

  He was a smudge protected by an ability to control human perspective. This was not a gift possessed by base creatures like the wolves, animals that should bow before them, yet somehow, they gained a foothold of power in the US and allies among children of the blood.

  As nelapsi, they were the upper hierarchy of the blood’s children. Impervious to the sun, more deadly than their weaker vampire brethren that humans romanticized in movies and stories, this ability was beyond their grasp.

  And yet, the abilities produced from a hybrid relationship was unknown. Was it Peter’s skill? Or, had he gained the aid of another paranormal with the talent to shield?

  The Korolova was enraged, and a few of their brothers received the punishment for her displeasure. Their wailing was long and terrible before they finally succumbed, their torment echoed by all around them.

  Alonya was not to be disappointed, her fury brutal to any who failed her.

  So, they waited, both desperate for anything to save their own lives.

  Ilarion watched as the tall swaggering human slapped a cap on his head and moved toward his truck. From where they stood, they could detect the scent of a fellow child of the blood. He would bet his incisors the human didn’t know he carried the mark with him, the aroma noticed by one of their kind as a stamp of ownership.

  He watched as the detective paused, sharp brown eyes searching. There was a moment when his eyes flashed in his direction. Then, rolling his shoulders, he moved on toward the truck so crimson it practically quivered with life. Humans and their toys. His eyes shifted to his brother. Their Korolova would be pleased.

  * * * *

  “Watched,” Kaden questioned.

  “Definitely. Like, as soon as I turned to lock the door. Before I left the house, I noticed something there,” Remi turned into his driveway.

  “Cars? People? What?”

  “Nothing to put my finger on.” The mailbox was empty, not even any bills. He pulled into the garage, stepped out and grabbed his keys.

  “A feeling?” His partner took those words seriously. There were a few times when Remi’s feelings saved their lives. “Maybe, wait until I get back to do anything else for now?”

  “No, I’m fine. I dropped by the house to feed the dog since it was on the way. Going to take that trip to Bowling Green. I’ll catch up with you when I get back.”

  “Okay, I’ll check in with the guys and see if they’ve found anything.” It was wearing down on both of them, not being any closer to the killer.

  “All right.” Remi sighed. “Catch you later.”

  Remi’s cell went off just as he entered his home.

  “Mon petit.” Audrey Devereaux’s words lilted over the phone.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “So, your sister says you’re not certain you want to come home for your father’s birthday or Christmas?” Way to get to the meat of the subject, there.

  “No, not really. Work and all.” Remi didn’t know what else to say.

  His dad picked up. “We understand that, boy. Doesn’t mean your family doesn’t want to see you.” Ah, so it was an ambush.

  “Yes, bring a young lady home with you. You’d be happier if you had someone to cook for you, take care of you.”

  He laughed. “Mom, times change. Some women need a man to cook for them, and besides, the life of a detective is difficult for a wife, or a partner at home.”

  Never slow on the uptake, she responded, “Well, son. Do you think this is something I don’t know? Goodness, as the wife of a retired lawyer, I’m well aware of your life. I’m also aware there are women and men out there willing to support their lovers who serve.” Remi’s breath stuttered, but his dad cut off his response.

  “Audrey, let the boy be for now. Remi has enough to deal with living in Kentucky without you placing the burden of marriage, wife, and kids on the boy.”

  “I’m just trying to look out for my son. You hear me, Remi, honey? We’re here, both of us, no matter what.” Her words were filled with love. She cleaned up his wounds, shouldered him when he cried, then worked to mend the divide between him and his father.

  She’d always been there for him. He counted himself one of the lucky ones.

  “He knows, don’t you son?”

  “Yeah, Dad. I know.”

  “And, you’ll be here for Christmas,” Armand questioned.

  “Now, I—”

  “Excellent. I’ll tell the family to expect you. We can examine your plans for the future while you’re here.” With the matter apparently settled in his father’s head, Armand hung up.

  Remi shook his head in frustration.

  The trip to Bowling Green wasn’t a total waste of time. The professor there confirmed De La Cruz mentioning her fear of being followed. He believed her. As for where he was the day she was killed, he provided an alibi which didn’t take long to corroborate.

  They were getting nowhere with this, and time was winding down. The phone rang, so Remi put the food he was preparing on the counter and wiped his hands, quickly answering after he checked the caller id.

  “Darren?” he asked.

  “Yes, busy?” A thundering voice battered the phone.

  “No. Just getting ready to eat something for dinner.”

  “Meet us at the basketball court we went to the other week. Need another player.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes.”

  “Cool. See you there.”

  Why not? It would help to get away, give his mind some downtime.

  Sometimes stepping away helped develop clarity, helped view matters in a new light. Remi grabbed his shirt tossing it on as he walked out of the house locking the door behind him.

  There it was again, the feeling of eyes drifting over him. He looked around but didn’t see anyone. Reaching around his back to his waist, he checked for the imprint of his gun in his holster. Good enough. He glanced around once more before getting in his truck and making sure Sam Smith was playing. With Sam’s voice settling his nerves, he drove on.

  Chapter Twelve

  “It will be greed that will eventually lead to the downfall of humankind,” Ilarion said. The desire to have something for which they did not work, to covet another’s property without the blood, sweat, and tears it t
ook to earn it. This would cause their destruction.

  For example, the little human wearing the hideous yellow sweater, constrictive pants, and expensive heeled boots that drew Ilarion and his brother to him, would soon learn the cost of such avarice. They followed the human for a few paces, playing with him. Seeing him flinch and cringe, then quickly stop and turn around like a cornered animal was amusing.

  The prey felt their approach but failed to see what hunted him. His heart sped faster and faster. His fear was an enticement to their hunting drive, a siren call to their need to seek prey and devour it.

  “Is this the one?”

  “It is.” Cash was invisible. None knew the bearer or the receiver, but credit? It was an entirely distinct entity.

  Credit was traceable, and with the name Peter Romanoff, it took very little to attach the use of an exclusive credit card to the creature that scuttled before them.

  The item purchased? A five-hundred-dollar pair of boots, boots that hurriedly raced along wet pavement but not nearly fast enough to outrun them. “That is far enough. Stop him.”

  Vadin stepped ahead, one footfall surpassing the distance in seconds. The vein throbbed in the human’s neck, his muscles tense. The scent of terror drenching him was more than appealing, but before they sampled him, answers needed to be gleaned.

  Vadin rose before him, a slight smile on his face as he stepped toward him. The human stumbled back, eyes so dilated Ilarion nearly saw a window to his brain.

  “What? What do you want?” The tremor in his voice was lovely as he moved to the side trying desperately to back away, but Ilarion was there grinning down at him, canines descending, his icy blue gaze hungry and focused.

  He laughed when the human tried to run. Dropping his bags, the human raced away, the panting of his exertion carrying on the wind.

  Ilarion looked back to his twin brother Vadin who nodded then signaled for two others who traveled with them to pursue.

  They followed the human to an apartment building, his heat signature a homing beacon as he climbed the stairs. When Ilarion and Vadin leaped and landed on the balcony, they shattered the glass and stepped into the apartment just as the human shoved keys into the lock and pushed open the door, closing it quickly surely hoping to keep his pursuers away.

  His breath rushed in and out, his heartbeat loud and concussive as he thanked his God.

  Reaching out to turn the light switch on, he gasped as Ilarion sank his canines into his neck, the muscle shredding easily for him. Vadin stepped in behind the human and bent to press against the other side. Other hands reached for his mind, passed through his thoughts while the twins fed their hunger.

  Gurgling, he cried, “What do you want? What do you want? Please, no. Oh, God. No!” His screams were cut off quickly as claws ripped at him, the violent wrenching of his body spurting arcs of blood against the wall as he was ripped in two.

  * * * *

  “Shit,” Remi walked into the apartment. There, on the floor, was what was left of Mark Dannon. His head decapitated, body torn apart, his intestine strewn over the floor like a capsized bowl of pasta sauce complete with lumped masses of meatballs.

  His clothes were drenched in blood, a garish yellow decorated with a blackish brew of gutted meat.

  “Shit.” Remi prayed it happened fast, that he didn’t suffer much. But, by the head tossed to the floor away from its other pieces that lay like discarded toys, and the grimace it wore, it was horrific and unbearable pain.

  “Shit,” he said a third time when he saw another message on the wall. In Russian again, so he’d need a linguist.

  Udalite koren’, i derevo budet sledovat’

  “That’s what I said when I got here,” Sporting a lightweight blue jacket and a neon green t-shirt underneath, Kaden was pushing the fashion constraints just a little with the bright cherry red jeans he wore. Remi gave him a long look up and down, then smiled.

  “Shut up. Was on my way somewhere when I the call came in.”

  “To where? Tryouts for a Ninja Turtle movie?”

  “Ha Ha.”

  Remi snorted, then regretted it with the extra whiff of the sickening sweetness from the corpse.

  “Karma.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Okay, so what do we know?”

  There was a cough, then Sammy stood, face hidden behind a wad of Kleenex barely able to breathe, honey blonde hair pulled back into a severe bun, what he saw of her face swollen and pained. After a hard blow, she tucked away the tissues she used, sprayed her hands quickly with some medicinal scent and produced her pad to take notes.

  “Sammy,” Remi greeted.

  “Remi,” Sammy groaned.

  “That awful, huh?”

  “Welcome to Louisville,” she coughed. “So. Mark Dannon. Accountant. A graduate of UofL. A neighbor heard screams, called 911, but it was too late, and no one came out of their apartments to check to see what was happening.’

  “Too afraid to, I’ll bet.”

  “Well, people keep to themselves around here, and no one seems to know Dannon too well. From what I gathered, he hadn’t made any efforts to get to know them either,” Sammy sniffled.

  “Life,” Kaden grumbled.

  Gone were the days of know thy neighbor. People were too busy to watch where they were going much less take the time to find out who was living right next door.

  “Yeah.”

  “So, the body’s not even cold which indicates that it wasn’t that long ago someone decided to make him a jigsaw puzzle. And, from what we’ve seen around here, it wasn’t theft. Nothing taken from the crime scene would attract a sterling price on the street. Every—” Sammy sneezed.

  “Bless you,” said Remi and Kaden together.

  “Thanks.” Another swipe at the reddened nose and Sammy continued. “So, as far as we can tell, everything of value is still here. The wallet still has the money, a few condoms, important cards, etc. Nothing taken. Nope, this was definitely a crime with Dannon as the intended target.”

  “And the message on the wall,” Remi asked.

  “Right. We decided to bring in your guy in from the department. Took a photo and sent it to him. Trevin says it means, Remove the root, and the tree will follow.”

  “A leader, maybe? Hm. We’ll also need to take a look at his possessions then see where to go next,” Remi said.

  “I don’t know where you’re going, but I’m visiting the doctor to get some help with this Kentucky crud. I suggest you look into this, along with the death of De La Cruz, because there is most definitely a connection.” Another swipe and she moved away.

  The message on the wall dripped in blood. Dannon lay scattered in broken pieces decorating the floor.

  Yes, there was most definitely a connection.

  * * * *

  “Nothing!” Alonya stood, her rage visible to every creature in the room. The tension was high, brittle. Gliding forward, she faced Ilarion whose slight step back was not missed by others in the room.

  “My Korolova. As your Second, I will do everything in my power—” Ilarion said, his voice louder in the face of her anger. To anyone outside of the coven, he was calm, in control. The others in the room took a step back.

  Alonya struck, and his next words were silenced. Reaching forward, her hands were talons easily parting Ilarion’s skull so slivers of his face fell away like slices of bread in a loaf. The blood barely pooled before the nelapsi fell to the ground lifeless.

  “No need, my love. You have failed me for the last time.” Alonya’s red eyes rose from her Second to find a man standing behind him. He held a book, shivering like a leaf in the wind.

  “Stop shivering, fool. You may yet have time to please me before you find yourself in the place of my former love.” She turned to the wings. “Take him away. Feed him to those kept in the cells. He’s freshly killed and may nourish them, give them strength when he gave me nothing.” Turning back to her seat, she fe
ll into its arms and beheld the quaking leaf in front of her.

  “Come, my leaf. Show me what you hold so close to your chest.” Her smile was inviting, sweet, nothing like the vicious rapier that sliced a man’s head open, parting flesh from bone.

  Now, Alonya was a Korolova, a mother to the men around her, beckoning a human subject to approach her. She held open her hand and gently called him to her.

  He went. He could do nothing else. Kneeling before her, he held up a book.

  “Speak to me, sweetheart. Tell me what I’m looking at for it doesn’t seem like much. Still, for you to bring yourself before me, you must have a treasure to share, yes?” The human trembled, its teeth rattling in its mouth.

  “Yes, my Korolova Alonya.”

  “Oh, you are a tempting one. So very warm.” Alonya’s hands ran along his shoulder-length brown hair, her fingers sliding the strands across her fingers. “Such fine hair, too.” She wound the hair tighter and tugged him closer.

  He gasped, his lips falling open.

  “Speak quickly or be fed to my men. What is this you bring me, cyka, bitch?”

  Trembling, he answered. “I was asked to keep a book for him. It is a photo album, one of many albums Mark Dannon kept.” Mark Dannon, the human with connections to Peter. Instead of the abomination, she was given a photo album?

  “So.” Alonya tightened her grip.

  “My sponsor felt it would be helpful to identify the face of Peter Romanoff. It is dated back several years. He felt if we looked through the pages, we’d find pictures of the Kor—The former heir to the throne.” Alonya smiled at the human’s quick correction. Not so foolish, this one.

  “Your sponsor?”

  “Yes.”

  “And, who is your sponsor?”

  The voice was a whisper this time. “Ilarion was, my Korolova. Ilarion was my sponsor.”

  “Ah. So, he was trying to fulfill his duty. Pity he did not speak fast enough.” Alonya looked at the face upturned to hers. “My, and such a waste on him.”