“Nah, it’s not. You’ll see.”
She sighed. She handed him the twenty she’d been given earlier, glad to get rid of it. “Here, a tip. Put it towards the new battery.”
“Thanks, Sis.” Not one to turn down a gift, he pocketed the bill without bothering to ask who it came from. Money was money to him.
“Okay, come on, I’ll drop you off.”
“Good night all.” Johnny spread his fingers in an arc as they walked out. A couple of the regulars, still nursing their last drinks, smiled or returned the wave.
“’Night, Morey, see you tomorrow,” Cassandra told their boss.
“Tomorrow, kids,” Morey muttered, propped up behind the bar, his head cradled in his heavy arms. He didn’t look up when they went out the door. He’d told her earlier he’d helped a friend move that day and was exhausted.
The world was hushed. It was the middle of the night, yet the moon’s lopsided grin cast a pearly shimmer over the empty streets and buildings around them. She used to love this time of night before the strange things began to happen to her.
“Whew,” Cassandra said, “it’s still like an oven out here. I’m sweating already.” And she hated sweating. It ruined her good clothes. “I’ll be glad to get home and bask in my air conditioning.”
“It’s normal for July, though. Summer in St. Louis, don’t you love it? Even the storms haven’t broken the heat wave.”
“At least it isn’t raining. At the moment, anyway.”
“One good thing. I’ve had about enough of those weird storms. Rain’s too heavy. Wind’s too fierce. Too much lightning.”
“It has been sort of freaky, hasn’t it?”
“I’ll say.” Johnny stared upwards as if he were afraid a storm would come out of nowhere and attack them by surprise. Then his eyes went to a commotion down the road from the bar.
Cassandra looked too, she couldn’t help it.
Sirens screeched and flashing lights drew up to the crowd of people on the sidewalk.
“Wonder what’s going on down there.” Johnny craned his neck. “Looks like a meat wagon.”
“Looks like it.
“Come on, let’s go.” Turning her head, she hurried towards the car. Johnny straggled behind her because, as usual, he was gawking at the hubbub, wanting to know what was going on. He should have been a vulture the way he was drawn to disasters.
“What’s going on down there? Aren’t we going to go see what’s happened?” Johnny demanded, not getting in the car. The night breeze ruffled his long hair, his face in silhouette.
“Someone got hit by a car, that’s what,” she snapped a bit too sharply. “Let’s go. It’s really late and I’m really tired.”
“Hold on a second. I’m going to see. Don’t leave without me.” Johnny strode down the street towards the crowd and she had no choice but to traipse after him like some groupie. She dragged her feet on purpose, not wanting to see what she knew she was going to see.
Since the fire, her brother had had a morbid fascination with accidents, death, and she was sick of it. She didn’t want to go down there. She didn’t want to see anything. It’d live in her memory for days like a bad taste. No, it was better not to look. Better not to know.
Johnny was the only one who knew that she saw death before it happened, which made his fascination in horrific events and other people’s demises even more of an irritation. She could have kicked him for dragging her to the accident scene, yet she couldn’t stop him.
She caught up as he stood by the ambulance watching the paramedics load the victim into the back. The crowd surged closer to see more.
“What happened?” Johnny asked the paramedic nearest him.
“Hit and run. Car got him as he was crossing the street here.”
“How is he?”
“Guy is dead. He bled out before we could get to him. Poor sucker.” The man shook his head, shoved the gurney completely in, and closed the doors. To him, it was just another pick-up in a long night. Just another corpse.
In the interior lights before the gurney disappeared, Cassandra glimpsed the maroon shirt peeking out from under the sheet.
Sorrow nipped at her for a moment and ebbed away.
I’m not responsible. I can never stop it. God knows I’ve tried so many times, but it never makes any difference what I do. They always died. Simple as that. She was only a spectator. Don’t, she bit her lip to keep it from trembling, start blaming yourself again.
I should have done something. Said something. Stop it! The way she’d come to see it, if she’d wanted to prevent the deaths she’d have to either convince the victims they were going to die–as if that would ever work–or tail them and physically try to save them in one way or another. Both impossibilities. It’d take all of her time and she’d have to give up her life as she knew it. If she could even save them. She didn’t think so. Ha, and if she began stalking strangers all over town like a berserk P.I., people wouldn’t understand. Heck. They thought she was weird enough the way it was. Not having a regular job, singing all night, and sleeping most of the day. Everyone knew musicians were crazy.
Why, she asked God, had she been given such an insight and what was she supposed to do with it? But he never answered.
Not caring if her brother followed or not, Cassandra walked to her car, got in, slammed the door shut, and stuck the key in. The engine roared to life as Johnny, breathing hard, slid into the passenger seat. She pushed down hard on the accelerator.
“Sorry,” her brother spoke contritely and fell quiet for a block or two. And, as she knew he would, then rattled on. “When I got to the ambulance they were covering up the dude who got hit. He was in the bar tonight. I saw him talking to you.” She knew what he was going to ask next.
“Don’t ask it,” she growled softly. “You don’t want to know.”
Johnny didn’t push it. It meant she didn’t have to knock him in the head.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. She dropped him off at his apartment and five miles later pulled into the driveway below her flat.
Being it was after two in the morning, her aunt and uncle’s lower apartment had no lights on. “Please, Aunt Ellie,” she murmured, “stay in bed tonight. Don’t go wandering out in the yard again.” The night before, her aunt had snuck out of the house and Uncle George had had a heck of a time finding her. Good thing he got her back in the house when he did, because later, one of those fierce storms had blown in. It would have been awful if Ellie had been out in it.
Time to have her aunt checked out again by her doctor. The old dear forgot things and took off, getting lost more often all the time. That wasn’t normal. Aunt Ellie was getting worse. Yet George believed he could still take care of her. All he had to do was try harder. Yeah, sure, he was in denial big time. truth was, Ellie was becoming unmanageable and Uncle George wasn’t spry enough to keep up with her, much less keep her corralled.
Cassandra was still fretting about her aunt’s strange behavior and her uncle’s failing health and what she was going to do about it all, when she bumped into the man.
Only he wasn’t a man.
When her body came into contact with his, she knew something was wrong immediately. Images and feelings she couldn’t understand rushed into her head like vignettes from a horror movie...of dripping blood, dead bodies, and creatures that morphed into other creatures.
What was that about?
Caught off guard and overwhelmed by the images, she blurted out, “What are you? You’re not a remnant, but you aren’t human either –”
The man who wasn’t a man spun around and disappeared into the night’s shadows. Had she completely and finally lost her mind? Now she was bumping into and seeing ghosts, too.
Like a few nights earlier. She’d been driving past a cemetery on her way to work and saw this smoky wraithlike thing resembling a woman flitting around a fresh grave’s headstone. The apparition, floating beneath a willow tree, had stared through the twilight and wi
ggled pasty fingers at her, wanting her to come nearer.
She’d swerved the car onto the shoulder of the road, her body trembling. An eerie cold sensation sank into the pit of her stomach as she got out of her car. What did it want? But when she stomped up to the wraith, it just wickedly smiled at her and evaporated into the ground mist as if slipping back into its grave. It was the third time that week something unearthly had beckoned, but then refused to speak to her, from a graveyard. It was giving her the willies. This has got to stop. Now, on top of everything, she was seeing spooks. Sheesh.
What next? Vampires?
Shaking her head, she went around to the rear of the house and climbed the steps to her rooms, wishing she’d seen the direction the man had been coming from when he’d stumbled into her, wishing she’d gotten a better look at him.
She wished the encounter had never happened so close to her home.
Pushing the incident out of her head wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be. The uneasiness the man had left behind, the sharp whiff of evil that clung to him, wouldn’t go away. She knew evil when she saw or was around it–another side effect of her curse.
It was bad enough she could see death coming. Why was she also seeing these other things? She must be losing it. Big time.
Slipping inside, she locked the door behind her, dropped her guitar and purse on the sofa, and peered out the window between the blinds. The moonlight showed her there was no one outside. The yard and street in front of the house were vacant. Across the road, the familiar outlines of the park’s trees swayed in the night breezes. Nothing was out there that didn’t belong. Her fingers drew back from the blinds as she sighed. She was home. Safe.
She liked her apartment with its private rear entrance. Her aunt and uncle lived below her and were close enough to keep an eye on. The city, noisy and vibrant, surrounded her. Stores and theaters were within walking distance. Lush and beautiful Forest Park sprawled before her. She could meander in the woods under the shade trees or visit the zoo animals on sunny days, though there hadn’t been many of those lately.
A frown settled on her lips. So far it’d been the stormiest spring and summer she’d ever seen, with horrendous heat, lightning storms, flooding, and monster tornadoes. The weather had been exceptionally destructive. So unusual.
She switched on the light and slumped down on the couch. Shutting her eyes, she ran her fingers across the slick fabric. Great couch. It had a bed inside, too; was almost like new, though she’d found it at an estate sale a year ago and had gotten it dirt-cheap.
How she loved a bargain. She looked around her flat with a smug smile. Spacious for a top floor, it had a living room, kitchen, bath, two bedrooms, and a walk-in storage closet that was actually large enough to double, in a pinch, for a small room.
She’d worked hard to make the flat comfortable. Thrift store purchases aside, it did look nice. Fluffy rugs on the floors and original paintings of angels and pastoral scenery in muted colors hung on the walls. The paintings hadn’t cost much, either. Some of her friends were artists, and some were mystics, or crackpots, as her uncle affectionately called them.
One of those crackpots, Sarah, was her best friend. She told fortunes and read tarot cards for a living and wasn’t too bad at either. Problem was Sarah also thought she was a spirit medium. She’d been performing séances for years, but hadn’t heard or seen an actual ghost...yet. She believed it would happen any day. It was only a matter of time and patience.
Yeah, sure, wait until she does see a spook. Ha! It’ll scare the bejesus out of her, too.
What would Sarah have made of that creature out in the street? Hmmm. A grin slipped out. Sarah would have most likely invited it to tea or something. Offered to read its cards. Ooh, she’d like to be at that reading. The thought made her chuckle.
But then, someone else’s take on the encounter might not be such a bad idea. What would Sarah think of the man-who-wasn’t-really-a-man who’d bumped into her?
Undressing, she took a shower, made hot chocolate, and crawled into bed with the cup.
She couldn’t get that strange man out of her mind. The uneasiness wouldn’t go away. Was he out there somewhere watching her? He could be. She had the sudden premonition their paths would cross again. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.
Her eyes went to the scorched crucifix on the wall above her head. The wooden cross had been her mother’s and it would protect her from anything evil out in the night. God would protect her. She finished the cocoa and put her head to the pillow.
There was nothing she could do about the stranger out in the street or the way she felt or the things she was seeing. But she could go to sleep and put it out of her mind for the remainder of the night. That she could do.
The gentle cadence of the rain began outside and calmed her.
When she was on the verge of sleep, her cat, Snowball, hopped on the bed, and purring loudly, snuggled into the curve of her body. She cuddled the cat to the sound of the rain and allowed herself to drift away, knowing she was safe.
Chapter 2
Rayner
RAYNER SKULKED THROUGH the shadows that muddied the dark sidewalks. People who rushed by as he passed saw what they wanted to see. A man in sweats or in a business suit with forgettable features they thought they might have known once.
They’d forget him a moment after he’d disappeared into the night. A twirl of mist. An after breeze. They never saw him for what he truly was.
He stopped outside the nightclub and slithered up against the entrance wall.
Most humans would call him a vampire. They didn’t know any better. He was an ancient blood demon. There were no vampires, werewolves, or supernatural beings. No true mass murderers or serial killers, either, for that matter. No such things. Only demons.
And he was ravenously hungry again.
The din of humans laughing, singing, and cavorting like mindless children beyond the doors maddened him. They were unaware of the danger so near as he lurked outside in the early morning hours. Waiting for his prey. It was like plucking appetizers off a plate. His victims would be drunk. He’d suck their ninety-proof blood and get tipsy himself. Which is fine with me. Inebriation helps me to forget.
Every noise made his eyes blink. Bouncing from foot to foot, a snarl escaped from his mouth. His hands were clenched fists at his side. He had to fight the urge to smash something, hurt something. Why wouldn’t they stop tormenting him?
Those enraged or frightened faces of his victims, some misty, some clearer, that were everywhere in the air around him. One moment they were there, another they were not...his dead humans. Only recently had they begun to haunt and follow him. Their remnants falling into line behind him must stretch out for miles and miles. He didn’t dare look, but could hear their soft and squishy breathing; their zombie-like footsteps as they tracked him from place to place. He could no longer escape them.
That’d never happened before.
Sliding into an entryway, his eyes peering into the gloom, he waited. He’d already fed, but didn’t yet want to return to his apartment. When he was in silence, alone, the centuries taunted him with their swift passing, their endless emptiness. The everlasting accumulation of years was driving him insane. That and waiting for the final battle with humanity to begin. Perhaps it never would. Perhaps all the legends were lies and his kind had no final purpose. No great destiny at all. They simply existed to kill...kill...kill...and be tormented century after century with the futility of their continuation.
His dead victims stalked him; the voices in his head tortured him. And his irritability was getting worse. It was a sign.
Something big was about to happen. He could feel, sense, and almost smell the carnage, the upheaval coming. The last time he’d felt this way had been the start of a world war. This time the forewarnings were worse. No amount of warm blood alleviated his discomfort, but he kept moving and killing anyway.
It was all he knew.
He drank
blood until he could drink no more. It didn’t help. He shoved the troubling thoughts from his mind. It didn’t help. Frustrated, he’d retreat to his lair and pass out until the next night. Then the cycle would begin again.
With what he was, he couldn’t stay long in one place, couldn’t afford to form close ties to anything or anyone. Growing attached was a problem because he never aged.
Soon, he’d be packing and moving on. Forever alone was the story of his existence. Humans were only for sustenance and he didn’t get along with his kind. They believed he was too soft.
And he had enemies everywhere who mustn’t find him.
Often, he questioned why he should go on at all. The melancholy, as he called it, had again captured him. It happened that way. Every few centuries he’d sink into depression between the highs of basking in the spectacles of a new age and the lows of having done everything so many times he was bored silly. Very little surprised or interested him anymore.
I’ve been among the humans too long. Their passivity has infected me.
He’d thought of ending himself–as an ancient one, he knew there were ways–and had been close to doing it many times. But something, the scent of fresh blood, the lust for the hunt, or a new challenge would beckon him back at the last moment and he’d go on until the next melancholy. But truth was, they’d been coming closer and closer together.
He hated his wretched existence.
A lone woman, her steps wobbly, exited the bar and headed for her car. Her skin glistened with sweat. It must be a sultry night, though he couldn’t feel the heat. Oh, how he’d love to be able to feel those tactile sensations of warmth and cold. How he’d love to taste anything but blood. All else tasted, smelled, like cardboard.
In all his time, he’d never experienced love or hope. Compassion or mercy. He was a killing machine that hated, despaired, and, lucky him, could feel physical pain. Some life.
The woman had too much to drink. Past her prime, there was no wedding band on her finger and there was too much make-up smeared on her face. He followed her, spying on her thoughts. She wasn’t going home to anyone. No one waited anywhere for her.
A Time of Demons and Angels Page 2