Aviira stared and shrugged. “I beat the shit out of one too many human targets on assignment,” she said finally. “Apparently there’s a limit and at some point you have to cut it out before they start talking about firing you.”
Jirel leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “You deal with mostly assault victims over in special investigations, right? Rapes and serial killers and that sort of thing.”
She took a long look into the bottom of her glass. “Yeah…apparently there’s something about rapists in particular that sets me off,” she said quietly.
He focused on the scars on the backs of her hands and put two and two together.
Aviira continued. “In any case the Society frowns on that kind of behavior, so. Time to send me off to a different division where I might not get so, uh, aggressive. Where I’ll have someone to, ah, keep me in line.” Her phone buzzed on the table and she took a quick glance at it.
Jensen
20:15 What are you up to?
Checking up on her already. She ignored it and raised her eyes to Jirel. “Okay, your turn.”
He cleared his throat and stared for a long time at the label on his beer. “Botched assignment.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “No offense but I know people who botch assignments all the time. You trying to tell me that the standards are that much higher over in Xander’s division?”
“Ah, no. No, I got someone killed.” He held up a hand. “I mean, I didn’t kill her, I just…fucked the thing up and someone else killed her.”
“Society?”
He shook his head, took another drink. Aviira could see the remorse on his face. “Civilian.”
She worked up what she hoped was a sympathetic face. “Sorry.”
“It was an accident, but it was an avoidable one. My fault. So. I’ve been on probation for two months, since I clearly can’t get my shit together without a partner.”
“What happened to your other partner?”
Jirel shrugged. “She met someone else,” he said. “Some new agent transferred in and they started hooking up. She asked for a transfer and started working with him instead.”
She nodded, though his story made her a little nervous. She didn’t want to be risking her career working with someone who could fuck up a situation enough to get somebody killed. Her job was in enough peril on its own, no need to let someone else muck it up.
“Well then. Here’s to us. And not fucking up our careers.”
July 15th – Wednesday
***
Aviira’s phone woke her on Wednesday morning. She fumbled to pick it up but it wasn’t in the place she normally left it. As the fog lifted she remembered she wasn’t in her own bed and that explained the difference in location. She managed to grab it off the floor next to the couch and answer it just before it went to voicemail.
“Hello?”
“Hey. It’s Jirel.”
One too many drinks the night before was still lacing its way through her brain, and the still-unfamiliar accent did not help. “Who?”
A pause. “Jirel.”
She sat up. “Sorry, hi.”
“Did I wake you?”
Aviira squinted to see the LED clock on the oven in the kitchen across the room. Only eight-thirty, which was still a perfectly reasonable time to be in bed, thank God. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. What’s up?”
“Xander just called with an assignment. Want to drive over together?”
She searched her brain for a moment to determine why driving to headquarters together would be a viable option. The memory was slow to surface. “Uh, no, that’s okay.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’m--I’m not at home right now.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth she put a hand over her forehead and mouthed, “fuck.”
He breezed right past her slip up. “Okay. I’ll meet you there then. Text you the address.”
There was no particularly smooth way to move on from that one, so she just said, “Sure.”
“Hey, Aviira.”
“Yep.”
“Don’t eat breakfast.”
Her eyebrows came together and she wondered if she’d heard him correctly. “What?”
“I’ve been asked to relay that message. From the cop who called it in.”
She almost laughed, except that the message had a gruesome subtext to it that she wasn’t sure she wanted to question. She thanked him and hung up, tossed the phone back on the floor.
Jensen was watching her from the pile of blankets in his bed when she walked into his room.
“Who was that?” he asked.
“Jirel,” she said. “We have a case.”
Jensen leaned up on his elbows and stretched to see the clock. “Jesus, it’s early. Hope it’s a good one.”
She picked up her jeans. From the message Jirel had relayed to her, she wasn’t sure if good was an accurate way to describe the scene she was about to walk into. “Yeah, me too. Mind if I use your shower?”
He yawned. “Go for it.”
Jensen was dozing again when she returned ten minutes later, wrestling her still-wet hair into a halfway decent braid. She had a few bobby pins clenched between her teeth. She was grateful at the very least she hadn’t seen anyone from work the day before, which meant she didn’t have to explain why she was wearing the same clothes again. She went to his side of the bed and sat down to put her shoes on.
“Hey. Goldeneye.” She flicked his forehead.
Though half asleep, he still managed to grab her hand. “Quit it, Scarface.”
“Sorry I have to run.”
“Whatever, I’m used to it.”
She scoffed and pulled her hand out of his. “Fine, fuck you too.”
Jensen grinned. “Happy to, but I don’t think you have time.”
“Please. You’d be in and out in about a minute and a half.” She stood up before he was able to grab her again.
He snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Maybe if you didn’t insist on sleeping on the couch every time you come over here.”
“Your bed is uncomfortable.”
“Get out of here. Remember you called me this time.”
“I didn’t realize we were keeping track.”
“Lock the door.”
***
Aviira was not quite sure what to expect when she pulled up behind Jirel’s car in an affluent neighborhood on the west side of Denver. Nice neighborhoods and gruesome crime scenes usually did not go together, but so far, that was the only context she had. He had parked across the street and several houses down from the address he’d texted her, which had several police vehicles parked in front of it. Jirel was leaning against his car, a dark blue Nissan Rogue, when she parked and got out.
It was still early in the morning and heat was already starting to radiate off the pavement. Jirel watched her pull a small messenger bag out of her passenger seat and slip it over her head before she approached, situated it so that it was riding at the small of her back. She had painted her fingernails with a deep purple lacquer; he noticed immediately because it seemed to be about the only overtly feminine thing about her, aside from the seemingly elaborate way she always wore her hair twisted up in a braid that looped around the side of her head. She didn’t wear any makeup—not that she needed to—and so far she’d dressed extremely conservatively, so the nail polish was a departure from the rest of her.
“Hey,” she said as she closed the car door. “Sorry.”
“Have a good night?”
Cheeky fucker. “Better than yours, probably.” She smiled.
A quiet sound that might have been a laugh escaped him, and she saw something flit across his features that told her she’d accidentally touched a nerve. “Look, I hope you don’t think I was trying to hit on you or anything when I called.”
She took off her sunglasses and gave him a strange look. “What?”
“I wasn’t trying to make a move or anything by suggesting we come over togethe
r. It just seemed to make sense considering we live in the same building.”
“I didn’t think you were making a move,” she said. “What, you think I was bullshitting you so that I didn’t have to come over here with you?”
“No,” Jirel said with a shake of his head. “Never mind. I was just trying to make sure things aren’t awkward.”
“Nothing was awkward till you made it that way.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “I--okay. Never mind. Shall we then?”
“Yes.”
They walked up the sidewalk toward the house. A police officer who was standing near one of the cruisers straightened and walked toward them as they approached. Jirel flashed his badge.
“Society,” he said. The cop—hardly out of the academy, he was so young—looked like he had no idea what that meant. Jirel raised his eyebrows. “You called us.”
From the front door of the house, another officer emerged. He raised a hand and walked toward them.
“It’s okay, I called them.” He approached and held out a hand first to Jirel and then to Aviira. A peculiar little smile touched his face when his eyes fell on her, and she ignored it. He was about her age, maybe a little older, with piercing bright green eyes that stood out even more because of his dark hair. “Lieutenant Patrick Devaney. Thanks for coming.”
They exchanged introductions and followed him up the yard to the house.
“What’s going on here?” Jirel asked.
“We got a call from a contractor who’s been hired on to do some work on this house. He’s out in the back marking electric lines and keeps getting a whiff of something nasty. Couple days later one of his workers is out in there working and…well, you’ll see. We’ve got the name of the homeowner but we haven’t contacted her yet, figured we’d wait to see if you wanted to take care of that.”
“Great,” Aviira muttered. Now she had an idea why the cop had suggested they not eat before coming over.
“I’m still not sure why you called us,” Jirel said.
Lieutenant Devaney held open the front door for them and gave him a grim look. “Well…you might be able to help a little more once you’ve seen them.”
“Them?” Aviira said. “Plural?”
He nodded. Inside, the house was empty and the walls were covered in plastic sheeting. Construction tools and painting supplies were stacked in various corners. A few brand new vinyl windows were leaning against the wall leading into the kitchen while they awaited installation. Several boxes of hardwood flooring were set at the top of the stairs. Devaney led them through the kitchen, which was missing all of its appliances, and opened the slider where they stepped out onto a raised deck. In the back corner of the yard was a sizeable shed, barely visible in the overgrown trees. A couple more police officers were standing around.
They could smell it before they reached the shed.
It was not at all what they were expecting inside. The interior of the shed was empty and the floor was ripped up and a set of cement stairs led down into the earth, like a root cellar.
“One of the contractor’s guys was in here looking for something and he fell through the floor, it had rotted away so bad. Nobody even realized there was anything under here,” Devaney said as he stood atop the stairs.
“I’m beginning to sense that someone wanted it that way,” Jirel said quietly.
“It’s about twelve steps to the bottom, and we’ve got a light set up down there,” Devaney said. He pulled a black flashlight from his belt and held it out. “Knock yourselves out.”
There was suddenly nothing else in the world Aviira wanted to do less. When she glanced back at Jirel, she could see that he had a similar look of unease on his face. With a small sigh, she took the flashlight from Devaney’s hand and started down the stairs.
The temperature dropped the second she got about three steps down and the earth enveloped her in darkness. She knew Jirel was only a couple steps behind her, but it got so quiet so suddenly that she had to look back and check.
“Okay?” he said. She could detect a waver in his voice.
“Yeah. You?”
He pulled in a breath and motioned for her to keep going, like he was afraid he’d lose his nerve if he had the chance.
“You claustrophobic?” she asked as she continued down the stairs.
“I’m an elf,” he replied. “Dark enclosed spaces and I don’t really go well together.”
“So, yes.”
She heard him sigh a little, but he didn’t say anything else.
When she got to the bottom of the stairs, the room opened up into a large cavern that was about ten feet by fifteen feet. The walls were carved out but still just raw earth. In the far corner there was a utility light on a pole that was pointed against the wall, and the light was bouncing off the floor in such a way that she could see a tarp on the floor but not much else. She looked back at Jirel as he came to the bottom. It was cold, but not freezing. He still had goosebumps on his forearms.
The air smelled of rotting meat mixed with something sickly-sweet, like an abundance of flowers that had gone past their prime. It was almost enough to be nauseating.
“How much work do you think this took?” she asked.
He glanced around and shook his head. “Not sure, but I have a feeling whoever did it never pulled a permit for it.”
She shined the light back towards the tarp on the other side of the room. “You want to do the honors or shall I?”
“Be my guest.”
“Thanks.” She walked toward the other side of the cellar and pocketed the flashlight. Jirel stood behind her and crossed his arms over his chest. Gingerly, she took the edge of the tarp between two fingers and pulled it back.
Behind her, Jirel said something that was not in English. She didn’t even bother to ask; the tone was enough to deduce it was an obscenity of some kind. She didn’t blame him.
There were three bodies on the floor, all appearing to have once been grown men. It was clear by looking at them why the police had called them, because just by looking at them, one could tell that there was something not right at all about the way they had died.
The both of them were uncomfortably still for a minute while they took it in. Aviira shivered.
“Any thoughts?” Jirel asked quietly.
She shook her head slowly. “I know those zombie shows are mostly bullshit, but call me crazy here if those things don’t look like they’ve been…” She didn’t even know how to say it.
“Reanimated?”
“Yeah. That.”
Jirel pushed his hair back off his face and blew out his breath in a sigh. “That’s the first thing that comes to my mind.”
The bodies didn’t look by any means like they had chowed down on each other; none of them had any bites of any kind, which threw away the wild zombie theory. However, there was the sense about them that they had been in motion for some time after they’d died. All of them had elongated claws instead of hands and their skin was the color of wet concrete, but not bloated like a typical body left to rot. In fact, their skin was tight and the muscles still visible underneath. There was a look to the bodies like the muscles under the skin had stretched and moved again after rigor mortis had set in. Further, for bodies that had apparently been down here for some time, they were looking remarkably well-preserved.
None looked like any dead body either of them had either seen.
“Knock knock.”
They both jumped, turned back. Lieutenant Devaney was at the bottom of the stairs. He gave them a little smile and said “sorry,” though his tone didn’t quite carry the weight of the apology.
“Something about this seem not right to you either? I mean, it’s a little spooky, isn’t it? Everyone keeps saying that it feels like something doesn’t want us in here.”
“It’s a little unusual,” Jirel said.
“I think the officers upstairs have been watching a little too much of The Walking Dead,” Devaney said with a for
ced laugh. There was something in his tone that told Aviira he was looking for them to confirm what they’d been ruminating.
“Well.” Jirel cleared his throat. “I don’t think you need to be paranoid about a zombie breakout, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Devaney nodded. “Any…thoughts?”
He was fishing for something to feed to the officers upstairs, but both of them knew better than to give it to him. The Society was formed in part to keep the human population from knowing the truth about the things that went bump in the night. All of those things that stemmed from horror stories and monster movies existed, but it was just better if most people continued believing it was fiction. Furthermore, it was just easier if the Society went about their work and the police went about their work and didn’t bother each other. That was the way both departments seemed to prefer it.
“Better tell your officers to get back to their show,” Jirel said. “Far more dramatic than anything we’re dealing with here, I can assure you.”
Devaney eyed them like he wasn’t sure whether to believe them, and then nodded.
“So how would you like to carry on from here forward?”
“We’ve got a crew that’ll come in and take care of the bodies. We’ll take care of the rest. If we find out identities and need some verification from your side, we’ll be in touch.”
Aviira pulled his flashlight from her back pocket and handed it over.
“You mind if I take a couple pictures and then you can have your light back?”
“Sure,” Devaney said, glancing for a long moment at the bodies one more time. “You know, my girlfriend’s an Ancient.”
Aviira wanted to ask if he wanted a pat on the back or something. Humans had relationships with Ancients all the time. For once, she watched her mouth, and nodded.
“Her ex works for something important…the Alliance? Or something? Is that one of your offices?”
“The Alliance makes the laws that keep our respective politicians happy,” Jirel said, gesturing between himself and Devaney. There was a disparaging note to his tone. Aviira knew it was the unspoken truth that pro-Ancient protection laws were in place because humans had a historically nasty habit of screwing over Ancients any time they had the opportunity. The subtext went right over Devaney’s head. “They make the laws, we enforce them.”
Shadows of Old Ghosts Page 3