Nightshade (17 tales of Urban Fantasy, Magic, Mayhem, Demons, Fae, Witches, Ghosts, and more)

by Annie Bellet

  “But,” Crwys looked at the Request for Paid Leave form. “I’m not mentally anything.”

  “If you want to keep looking into this, in a manner of speaking, then you’ll do as I say.” Denton finished packing the folders into the larger one, turned in his chair, shoved that stuffed folder into a backpack, and zipped it up. “Officially, you’re no longer involved. Unofficially, I’m giving you seventy-two hours to figure this out before I make your brush with each of them public. I repeat, so hear me, I don’t believe you’ve done anything wrong, Crwys. But with the push from the governor to find someone and arrest them, they get a look at what’s in those files and other agencies like the FBI will zero in on you.”

  Crwys understood what his captain was getting at. He trusted Crwys enough to hand over evidence that could potentially make Crwys a suspect. He filled out the request, signed it, and handed it to Denton.

  Denton put it in a new folder and handed the backpack to Crwys. “Go put some of your things in that bag to make it look legit. And you call me the moment you figure something out.” Denton held out his hand.

  Sighing and feeling like he’d been railroaded, he shook Denton’s hand, careful that his skin temperature wasn’t too hot. “Just…keep Rhames on a leash and away from me, okay?”

  Denton’s handshake was cool and firm, and he smiled as he let go. “I’m not saying he’s the one that gave me the evidence.”

  “No, but I’m pretty sure it’s him. He’s trying to get rid of me. And I didn’t almost get him killed. Idiot wasn’t watching where he was going and nearly walked out into oncoming traffic. I yanked his ass back and he stumbled and fell.”

  “Which is exactly the testimony I’ve already received from a few uniforms who witnessed it. I’ve known Rhames for a long time. You’re just another newbie in a long line of them for him. Only this time,” he nodded to the backpack Crwys had thrown over his shoulder. “This stuff looks bad. Oh,” he turned and moved things on his desk before he grabbed a stack of phone messages. “There’s a detective in Atlanta calling here several times a day trying to talk to you. He wanted your cell but I didn’t give it to him.”

  Crwys took the pink paper and looked at the name. “Detective Levi Tulose?” He shook his head. “Never heard of him.”

  “My guess is he’s been watching the news about this case and wants in on the action.”

  Shrugging, Crwys crumpled the papers and tossed them into the trash can by Denton’s desk. “Can’t help him,” he paused. “Thanks, Captain.”

  “Thank me when we catch this guy. Now go, do your performance, and I’ll let the others know you’ll be at the hospital with Miss Crossley.”

  ***

  Crwys drove straight to Parkridge Medical Center on McCallie and headed inside. A few of the nurses waved to him and he almost stopped to talk, but the idea that maybe someone was killing women he spoke to, even briefly, kept him at a nod until he got to Emma’s room and passed the security check with the uniformed officer posted outside.

  She was sleeping. No one had been checked into the bed beside her, so he kicked off his shoes and spread the folders out on the bed so he could make an imaginary white board in his head to figure this out.

  The fact he even had a girlfriend was somewhat of an oddity for him. Crwys Holliard wasn’t exactly human. He’d lived a long time and had a history few people knew about. As far as he knew, maybe six people in the world knew his real name, his race, or whom he was, meaning his name in history. Or some historical records. The name Azazel wouldn’t mean much to the average person. A biblical scholar would know it, but not really understand it. They would also know his birth name, but that was something he kept a closely guarded secret, as he did his true self.

  Emma made a small noise and he looked over at her. She was beautiful, with reddish hair that fell around her delicate face. Her neck was heavily bandaged and he frowned at the IV in her arm. He’d gotten off late from work and headed straight to her place after she texted him that she thought she’d seen someone outside her apartment.

  But when he got there, he’d found her on the bathroom floor, the cord of her hair dryer around her neck. She hadn’t been breathing, so he’d given her CPR as he waited for the paramedics to get there. She survived. But she hadn’t regained consciousness. The MO wasn’t exactly the same as the other girls.

  The others had their necks broken but with no signs of strangulation. Whoever did it was strong, and fast. Emma had been attacked in her home and strangled. The only thing linking her to the other nine is me.

  Did he have a stalker? Some crazy girl…or guy, given the strength used to break their necks, who had some fascination with him?

  Could it be someone who knew what he was? Or just suspected he wasn’t human?

  And if so, how did they know? And where were they hiding? Cryws had pretty good senses, much better than the average human’s. He’d have noticed someone following him to all these locations.

  That thought prompted him to sort the folders by photo date, which was luckily stamped on them from the personal phones and the surveillance cameras.

  The first three victims’ pictures were taken after victim nine and victim four was taken a month before all of them. This ruled out the idea the perp was killing them in order of him meeting them. So did they have anything else in common? All of the places with surveillance were places he frequented often. Maybe three or four times a week. And the photos were taken at events that involved Emma’s class. The car wash, a basketball game, and a party at a local pizza place after a winning game. He held the picture up and saw it was taken from a distance as he paid for the food at the register. The victim was taking his cash. So…who took this picture and how did Rhames get a hold of it?

  “I remember that night,” came a voice to his left.

  Crwys nearly came out of his skin when he turned to see Emma sitting up in bed. He went to her, slipping his arms around her. She was cold, so he warmed himself for her and held her close. “You scared me.”

  “I scared myself,” she said as he released her and then held her hands as he sat on the bed facing her. “I’ve never fallen in the bathroom before.”

  “Fallen?” He narrowed his eyes. “Emma, you didn’t fall. Someone tried to choke you.”

  Her eyes flew open wide and she put her hands to her neck. It was obvious she didn’t expect to encounter a bandage there. “I…someone tried to choke me? Who?”

  “We were hoping you could tell us.” He pulled her hands away from her neck and held them. “You don’t remember being attacked?”

  “No.” Her eyes searched his face. “Honestly, Crwys. I remember…I called you because I thought someone was outside my apartment. Then I decided to take a bath because you said you were coming over, and I—” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at her hands in concentration. “That’s it. I turned on the shower.”

  “The shower wasn’t on when I got there. It was dry.” Crwys wasn’t sure what to think. He knew what he saw, but Emma’s memory was different. He couldn’t see into her mind. His kind wasn’t built like that. If only he knew where Ashur was, his closest friend and Vampire. Vampires could look into the minds of others. Sometimes. There had been a few minds over the years even Ashur couldn’t see into.

  But Ashur’s whereabouts had been a mystery since Crwys woke in his retreat in the Appalachian Mountains two hundred years ago. He wasn’t even sure if the Vampire had the same host body. For all Crwys knew, Ashur could be a girl by now.

  Tears glistened in Emma’s eyes so he pulled her close to him again. “Why…why would someone attack me?” she asked, though her voice was muffled against his shoulder.

  “I don’t know, Emma. But I’m not leaving your side. I…I took a leave of absence until we find who it was.”

  She pushed back from him. “But…what about all those girls? Weren’t you trying to find out who killed them?”

  “I still am. But you’re more important, okay?” He tucked a few strands of hair
behind her ears before he pulled her to him again.

  He knew he was falling for her. His heart was his biggest weakness. When he loved, when it happened for him, he gave himself unconditionally and without reserve. Because his kind were capable of great love, as well as great destruction.

  The last time he’d felt this way… How many years? Five hundred maybe? The world had been so different then. But the one thing that never changed for him was his ability to love. His need to find his mate. And after a long and troubled life, he’d found her in Ireland of all places. A place of green rolling hills and women with wild hearts and tempers to match.

  Her name had been Maggie. At first, they’d hated one another. Two opinionated people. He was a young lord having just moved to Cork, to a mansion in the countryside. And she was a barmaid. Thinking about it now reminded him of how ridiculously average the pairing was. She’d thrown a pint of ale in his face his first night in the pub. Everyone had quieted in that moment, thinking the rich young man would demand she be punished.

  But instead he’d ordered a round for everyone and declared he would prove her wrong.

  He couldn’t remember what their argument had been about, only that he’d lost himself to her. And after six months of refusing his advances, she finally confessed her own love in more than just words.

  And with that came the pact, the bond he couldn’t stop. His blood sang to hers. He’d found his mate, his life’s soul, and he wanted to be with her always. He’d travel to the doors of death to be with her, and Maggie, now educated in what her lover was and what powers he had, wanted to know if there was a way to prolong her own life.

  So he asked her to marry him and Maggie accepted.

  It was to be a grand wedding in the chapel on the hill. He spared no expense and paid for the village to enjoy themselves. But when he stood at the altar and waited, Maggie didn’t come. Nervous mutterings could be heard as he stood with the priest until they heard the blood-curdling scream.

  Crwys ran so fast to the church’s rectory that he nearly took flight. And it was there they found Maggie dead at the foot of the tallest tower. The pharmacist had declared she’d thrown herself from the window. She’d committed suicide, the ultimate sin, and was not allowed to be buried in the church’s cemetery.

  So Crwys had taken her body with him and buried her under an oak on his estate. His heart broke then and he closed his eyes to Sleep and never wake.

  Because you see…Dragons mate for life. The tragedy was their human mates always died, and they, continued on, many hiding for centuries with a broken heart.

  ***

  After the doctor examined Emma and reassured Crwys she would be fine for discharge later that evening, he decided to run by her place and grab a bag of her things. She would stay with him until he caught the bastard attacking these women, especially his Emma.

  The single uniformed officer on duty let him into her place. CSI had come and gone already, and Crwys frowned at the black dust covering every surface. He made a mental note to organize a clean up by the basketball team for Coach Crossley’s apartment. That kind of thing would make her happy.

  But as he stepped inside the apartment, he knew immediately he wasn’t alone. There was someone else inside. But not just any normal someone—something supernatural. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but it wasn’t human.

  Orange and amber flames licked and spread around his fingers and palms. He held his hands out as he pressed his back against the wall next to the bedroom door. He listened to the sounds coming out of the bedroom and counted to three before he dashed through the door and shot flames into the bedroom.

  “Whoa! Dammit Apollo! You know me and fire don’t exactly get along!”

  Apollo?

  No one ever called him that except…

  “Ashur?” He stood just inside the doorway as a tall, mocha-skinned African American stepped through the door to the bathroom with his hands up. His golden eyes stood out against his skin and his smile would probably break some hearts. Hello Azazel. It is good to see you again.

  Vampires weren’t anything close to what Hollywood and the latest best sellers wrote about. They were demons, plain and simple. Demons inhabiting human bodies. Most of the time the humans invited the demons in. When this happened, they called themselves Revenants. But when the more foul-tempered demons took a body against the human soul’s will to enjoy the physical delights of this world, everyone else called them Leviathans. Revenants coveted and shared life with their hosts. Leviathans destroyed their human’s soul.

  Ashur was a Revenant and he was the oldest friend Crwys had. Vampires did need blood to survive, but this act was used more as a way of anchoring the demon to the host and keeping them human…in appearance. A demon’s influence over the human muscular patterns could be quite alarming, and when Ashur steps forward and takes control of a body he’s possessing, it becomes physically obvious. Not only did their eyes become black from the enlarging of the iris, but also their features harshened, their fangs descended, and their voices took on a dual tone of that of the demon and the human.

  Crwys doused his flames the second he heard Ashur’s voice in his head and tackled the man in front of him. The bro-hug ceased with a parting and Crwys was the first to speak. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Me? You disappeared after—”

  The end of the sentence hung in the air between them. They both knew how to finish it, but neither of them wanted to. Crwys felt a pang of guilt because he’d left Ashur alone in the world, unable to deal with the grief of Maggie’s death, and hid in his lonely mountain. “I did. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t keep going…after…”

  “You don’t have to say it.” Ashur slipped his hands into the pockets of his expensive pants. “So why haven’t you been returning my calls?”

  “Your calls?” Crwys narrowed his eyes and then pointed at Ashur. “You’re Levi Tulose?”

  “That’s me, the host. Originally from New Orleans, transplant to Atlanta, where I’ve been busy cleaning up the streets.” He tilted his head. “I was surprised to find out you’re a cop.”

  “Doesn’t really fit me?”

  “Actually, it fits you pretty good.”

  “Is that how you found me?”

  “No.” Levi reached into the interior pocket of his suit jacket and retrieved a phone. “My captain called me in to take a look at the killings here in Chattanooga. We have a similar set in Atlanta. Happened about five years ago, then stopped.”

  “I was in Atlanta five years go. That’s where I went through academy training.”

  “I know. I tracked you as far as Georgia, but then you’d changed your name again. Not sure about Crwys…where the hell is that from?”

  “It’s Welsh for cross. What? I like it. I created this ID a decade ago in case I ever needed it.”

  “Uh huh.” Levi arched a brow at him. “Did you know someone was following you? Has been for a while.”

  Crwys felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “How did you know?”

  “You don’t remember these killings, do you?”

  “No. But there was a lot happening then. Are they the same MO?”

  “Broken neck? All women. And all of them,” he turned his phone to face Crwys. “Have this same guy in their lives.”

  Crwys took the phone and his jaw dropped. He recognized himself from five years ago. His hair was shorter because of training, but it was him at a checkout counter. He took the phone and started swiping across to see more pictures. There were five in all, and he was talking to a girl in all of them. “This…is me. Back then.”

  “Someone called the zone six precinct asking about you because you’d done your rookie training there. So when I heard the name and saw the spelling,” Levi shrugged. “I didn’t really suspect it was you just yet.”

  “You didn’t know where I was?”

  “Dude…there were over six hundred academy graduates in a ten year period. The trail I’d picked up jus
t ended in Georgia. I didn’t get a job there as a cop thinking you were a cop. I was passing time just to see if you’d show back up.” He nodded to the phone in Crwys’s hand. “Then when the call came in from Chattanooga asking about a Crwys Holliard, my captain knew I was already working on the mysterious deaths we had so he gave the call to me.”

  “So you spoke to Rhames?”

  “No. He didn’t identify himself as Rhames.”

  “You remember a name?”

  “No. Captain said he was a detective with SID in Chattanooga and I didn't ask. Guy was a real prick, though.”

  That sounded like Rhames. But there was no proof. Crwys didn’t know whether to think he’d been wrong about Rhames. Didn’t matter. “Did you find a similarity besides me?”

  Levi’s face changed and Crwys knew Ashur was in control. His voice was low and dual. “I didn’t see it at first. It took me a few times to make the connection.” He plucked his phone from Crwys’s hand and swiped the front. “The names of the Atlanta victims were Illiana, Faith, Odetta, Umeko, Natalie, Darla, Yoko, Olive, and Unice.”

  “And I met every one of them.”

  “Crwys, take just the first letters of each name in the order I gave them to you.”

  Crwys made a rude noise and looked around the bedroom. He grabbed a paperback from the nightstand and a pen before he asked for the names again. He wrote out each letter inside the back cover.

  IFOUNDYOU.

  I found you.

  “Is this serious?” He looked up from the book as a deep chill ran down his spine. A sense of foreboding he’d not experienced in over half a century snuck back into his life. He ran to the car to get the folders out of the backpack, brought them back into the apartment, and wrote down the names in the same fashion.