Rain Dance (Sunshine & Scythes Book 1)

by D. N. Erikson

  Her eyes sized me up, trying to scan the depths of my soul. It was hard to sort out the clashing souls in here, but being this close to her and concentrating the brunt of my attention on her presence told me all I needed to know. And it was a shock.

  “You’re half-shifter,” I said, furrowing my brow, slightly surprised I hadn’t noticed before. “How—how’d you hide that?”

  “It’s hard to find what you’re not looking for.” The FBI agent took a sip of her beer. I could tell from the lack of condensation that she’d been sitting here for awhile. The kind of woman who always wanted to be in control of a situation. Didn’t do well with surprises. Wanted to catch her suspects off guard, like she had done to me this morning. I resisted the urge to keep talking, keep asking questions. The trick to acquiring intel was listening. The trick to giving it all away was trying to fill awkward silences.

  An entire song played on the jukebox before Rayna spoke again. It was a far cry from the full-court press she’d put on this morning. All part of some invisible plan, no doubt.

  “Do you know how long I’ve been watching you, Eden Hunter?”

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me.” I gulped the vodka through the straw, momentarily forgetting my drink order. It burned like I’d poured gasoline down my throat. I stifled a cough, chucked the straw, and downed the rest, flagging down the bartender for a refill.

  “Since that little scam you were running in New Orleans.” The woman wiped her finger along the condensation on the beer. “I’m sure you have no problem with that math.”

  Four years. I brought my new drink up to my lips, then set it down. Better not to get too hammered. “Here you know so much about me, and I know nothing about you.”

  “Is that what you think, Eden?” The woman turned to me, eyes suddenly blazing with anger. “That you can run a grift on me? Build rapport, maybe get me to admit my mother was difficult, say that yours was the same, and then, bam, we’re both girlfriends for life?” She sipped her beer. “You’re a killer.”

  Her gaze chilled my blood. All sensible thoughts were screaming to hit eject and bail from the situation. Agnes Willsprout would no doubt have a stroke if she caught wind of this off-the-books meeting. But my curiosity was enough to keep me rooted to the rough stool. If Rayna had wanted to jerk my chain in an official capacity, she’d have dragged me back to the field office on some thin bullshit.

  So, I sat still. But I took a long drink while I waited for her to continue. Rayna’s eyes didn’t leave me. It was like being watched by a vengeful servant of justice.

  “Well, can you at least tell me what the hell you want?” I flashed a weak smile, which was about all I could muster. The vodka was beginning to take effect, creating a pleasant blanket of warmth that dulled my throbbing shoulder.

  Instead of answering, she reached into her blazer pocket and pulled out an evidence photo. I briefly saw her service weapon in its holster before it disappeared back beneath the jacket. She placed the photo on the counter, in the middle of the drink residue and crumbled bar peanuts.

  I gave her a funny look. “Is this another trick?” I asked.

  “Look at the photo, Eden.”

  I wanted to resist, but my curiosity—and buzz—got the better of me. So I pulled the glossy picture toward me. If I’d been feeling less than glib before, the contents of the photo made me feel positively nauseous.

  Seeing your own murder photo will do that.

  “I saw you die four years ago, Eden.” Rayna snapped her fingers to pull my attention back to her. I guess we were done with the awkward silences. She had her interrogation techniques down cold, and now that she had me off-guard, she was mashing the accelerator to the floor. “Not many people come back from the Elysian Fields. Especially with new names.”

  I would’ve asked her how she knew about that, but the half-shifter lineage explained that away—maybe. Some creatures were in the dark about the mystical world at large. However she’d uncovered the knowledge, one thing was certain: she’d done her homework.

  “Why were you watching me in the first place?”

  “Because you were morons, and we were building a case against the three of you.”

  I shivered, despite the place being about a hundred degrees. “What is this, a threat?” As secrets went, my coming back to life wasn’t really one of them. It was a prerequisite to becoming a Reaper. One of those you have to learn how the sausage is made type of training scenarios. In this case, the sausage was dying and experiencing the misery that was much of the afterlife. After that, you had a better idea of a Reaper’s cosmic significance.

  “Please.” Rayna took the evidence photo and crumpled it up in her well-manicured hands. “This is old news. Unexciting news.”

  That wasn’t just empty talk. She reached back into her blazer and took out an evidence bag containing something that made me almost fall over. The gold bar that had fallen out of Roan’s pocket. This one she didn’t offer to give me.

  “Isn’t it illegal to show evidence to suspects?”

  “I know you killed him, Eden.” The gold bar waved in front of me like a hypnotist’s metronome. “What I need to know is where you stashed your cut.”

  I laughed in her face. I couldn’t help it. The whole thing was ludicrous. Roan had shown up, running some grift or scam, and somehow—one way or another—his antics had bought him two bullets in the back of the skull. Clearly, whoever didn’t like him very much also didn’t like me, since I was being roped into this crap.

  “Does that actually work?” I sipped the vodka and giggled. Here I thought Rayna had been a master manipulator. Luckily, it was all a smoke show. “Like, on anyone, ever?”

  “If the gold is not in my possession by Friday, then I’ll make sure the FBI is aware of your past. And your connection to Roan Kelly.” She drummed her fingers on the rough bar top. “I believe that’s what they call motive.”

  “I’ll get right on retrieving the gold.” I tapped on the counter along to the rap-rock remix playing on the loudspeaker. “Right after you go fuck yourself.”

  With a wink, I slid off the chair and turned to leave. Her hand dug into the bandage on my shoulder this time, those manicured nails pressing into the wound. I winced, my knees buckling a little.

  Her lips came up to my ear, tongue almost pressed inside my earlobe. “There’s no escaping from me, Emma Miller. Ever.”

  I tried to shake loose from her grip, but she held fast.

  Which is when the vodka took over and I punched her right in the face.

  Unleashing a punch in the Loaded Gun—as its name might suggest—was like putting ten tons of dynamite into a microwave prone to electrical fires. To call the results explosive would be the understatement of the century. No sooner had I landed my right hook on Rayna’s cheek did the music stop. It was a unique magical feature, a warning against violence.

  Rayna didn’t take it in stride, though, and she retaliated in kind with a leg sweep from some martial art I wasn’t acquainted with. I dropped the Reaper’s Switch as we tumbled to the ground, kicking and grappling as we bounced off the stunned patrons. The problem with starting a fight with no training whatsoever was quickly becoming apparent: I couldn’t finish. Rayna might’ve been caught off guard by the brashness, but now I was losing. She had my shoulder twisted at a bad angle, and her knee was in my ribs.

  A disquiet settled over the rest of the room, discontented grumbles brewing as I tried to plunge use my free arm to claw at Rayna’s eyes. I missed, although I succeeded in smearing her eyeliner, which made her look like a psychotic raccoon. Unfortunately, I didn’t get points for making her ugly, nor did I get points for making others think she looked crazy. Because while Rayna wanted something I didn’t have, the truth was simple.

  She wasn’t crazy at all. All told, her terms might have been amenable, had I possessed the gold—or known anything about it.

  I coughed, gasping desperately for air as her crazed eyes stared at me with all the fire of an unshield
ed solar eclipse.

  “Is that what you think? You think you can just say no and walk on—” Before she could finish her screaming tirade, Rayna’s body shook like it’d been hit by a lightning bolt. I smelled burning hair, and felt the sharp tingle of electricity rush over my own skin. The FBI agent crumpled, landing face first on the floor.

  The room erupted in a raucous cheer. For a brief moment of vodka-inspired delusion, I thought perhaps I’d awakened some latent power that had lain dormant within me until now. But that hope was soon crushed when I heard a thunderous clap that silenced the room.

  “There is no fighting upstairs, morons!” The man’s deep voice seemed to shake the very foundations of the bar itself, like a sudden seismic event. But I knew from experience that this was no earthquake or act of God. It was the owner, who I might have had a little history with.

  As in, not allowed back.

  Ever.

  But what were rules really for, other than breaking?

  The mish-mash of souls vying for attention suddenly parted like the sea, overridden by one extremely strong—and old—soul that could belong to none other than Magnus. His presence brought about an uneasy calm—the kind one might expect before one hell of a storm.

  I pushed myself off the table and brushed a few splinters from my legs. Rayna groaned on the ground next nearby, still recovering from the lightning blast. The ground rumbled as the tree trunk of a man rumbled toward us. I kept my eyes on the bar, wondering if I could get to my vodka glass before the dwarf Jötun arrived.

  Not for any defensive purposes.

  Just to make the next few minutes more pleasant.

  Before I could take a step, however, a massive hand enveloped my unscathed shoulder.

  “You are not allowed here, Eden.” His voice rippled over my skin.

  “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

  He cleared his throat, and I finally turned. I got a full view of the bottom part of his burly torso and the baggy sack-like fabric that covered it. His entire backstory was fuzzy, but Magnus wasn’t from around here—and he was old, with his own customs. You could’ve put two of me next to each other, and I wouldn’t have been as broad as his shoulders.

  My eyes traced up his bare, scarred arms. I had to crane my neck at an uncomfortable position to see him. He had at least two feet on me. A dwarf Jötun—or giant, if you’re not familiar with old Norse terminology—is kind of like a dwarf polar bear. Scrawny only in comparison to its brethren. To all other creatures, it was still massive and intimidating. He’d been cast out

  I finally managed to meet his ice-blue gaze, nearly having to stand on my tip-toes to do so. Two sigils, supposedly bestowed by ancient Viking shamanic practitioners of seidhr, glowed from on his neck. Under normal circumstances, the bolt and hammer would simply appear to be standard tattoos, albeit the result of an ill-fated stylistic decision. These were not normal circumstances, however, and the sigils now glowed with enchanted energy—the bolt an electric white, the hammer more amber than the hottest forge.

  His blond hair was shaved into a mohawk.

  No one else in the Loaded Gun moved.

  “This is the second fight you have caused up here.”

  “You know what I think, Magnus?” I glanced around at the crowd.

  “I care not what you think, Reaper.” His thick arms folded in front of him, like a stern guardian ordering someone to turn. “You are not welcome here.”

  “I think it’s fucking weird that a giant runs a hipster dive bar.” The vodka was getting to me. But whatever. He could ban me again. Woo, scary.

  “Never provoke a creature’s baser nature,” the dwarf giant said. When he loosened his shoulders, I saw a necklace of what looked like teeth caught in the flowing fabric around his neck. They looked like they belonged to werewolves. Fresh, from the looks of it. Trophies. I stared at the glimmering teeth, a faint sense of dread churning in my stomach.

  Then the vodka took control again, and I smirked at the ancient giant and said, “Words you should live by, my Viking friend.”

  I gave him a buddy tap on the shoulder and walked to the counter to grab my phone and money, feeling everyone’s eyes on my back. Then I found the Reaper’s Switch on the ground where I’d dropped it. No one said anything. They couldn’t believe I’d openly disrespected him.

  No one did that to Magnus, because he was right.

  Provoking any creature of magic was a dangerous game.

  11

  I rubbed my jaw out in the bar’s parking lot, trying to coax feeling back into my numb cheeks. Even through the alcohol jacket, I could feel my shoulder. Today had been a long day. I could’ve used the shut eye, but I had a nagging feeling things were only going to get worse. I shook off the fog and got a coffee from a twenty-four-hour diner a couple blocks away. Then I napped for a couple hours in the car to sober up. By the time I awoke, half the cars had cleared from the lot. The sun wouldn’t be up for another few hours.

  I sipped the cold coffee—noting its distinct lack of improvement with age—and contemplated my next move. Rayna had thrown a rather unwelcome monkey wrench into the proceedings. Sure, my past was going to catch up with me if they really started digging into the past. But I figured that wouldn’t happen for another couple weeks, maybe more. It dawned on me that if they linked old Emma with the new Eden, they’d likely revoke my bail. I’d be flagged as a flight risk and career criminal. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Just wait for the executioner’s ax to remove my head from my neck.

  It looked like every piece of my past was turning up on Atheas: first my old flame Roan, now the ghostly trail of scams and deceit I’d left behind. All I needed was for Sierra to show up, and the whole band would be right back together.

  Although the general picture remained fuzzy, there was one thing I knew for certain: Rayna was a relentless bitch. And her obsession with the gold also made her a prime suspect. Killing Roan and framing me in the process? I made for a good fall girl. She’d known about my previous activities, which meant she would’ve known about my relationship with Roan. I’d gotten a glance at her sidearm in the bar—not surprising, since Atheas doesn’t exactly have strict gun control laws—and it’d been a .45. Not one of those lady versions, either—if there was such a .45, which to my knowledge, there wasn’t; this was something a sheriff in a western would carry during the drawdown, with a 6” barrel. Loud enough to sound like thunder, even from a couple hundred yards. And plenty of stopping power to put down a full-grown man.

  Realizing I was too buzzed to drive, I chewed over the FBI agent’s not-so-veiled threat. She could bury me, and she wasn’t going to stop unless I handed over the gold. I didn’t know if it was sheer greed, or there was another factor at play. It didn’t really matter. Friday was now a hard deadline, and it was already, technically speaking, Tuesday morning.

  That made solving the murder my priority. Even if I didn’t get the evidence necessary to convict Roan’s killer, finding the truth would lead me to a gold cache. After that, I could decide whether to hand it over to Rayna or shove it up her tight ass.

  I reflected on other possible suspects.

  Aldric had seemed genuinely surprised to hear about the second murder. But he was a sociopath and well-seasoned warlord who had survived for centuries. Lying would be old hat. And the wolf had been a wake-up call, anyway—high risk, sure, given that I could’ve easily ended up adrift in the Pacific instead. But a backup hitman didn’t make a lot of sense, since Aldric’s goal hadn’t been to put me six feet under.

  Or so he claimed. Then again, had he wanted to, he could have guillotined me with my own snapped femur in his penthouse office. No, he just wanted me to perform better in the field and collect more souls to feed his criminal enterprise.

  Which led me to another obvious suspect: this mysterious rival Reaper. He’d already cut in on my territory and made me look bad. Maybe his ambition had grown, and he wanted the entire pie. Framing me for murder would mean no competi
tion for souls.

  I bit my tongue and watched a taxi pick someone else up. I didn’t really feel like driving at this hour. Which is how I found myself in a cab, speeding toward the one person you didn’t want to visit late at night on Atheas. Meaning the mayor, of course. The warlock with the hidden foot-fetish, and all around creepy, creepy dude.

  But the mayor was also a well-connected creepy dude, which made him a key cog in my information network. The FBI had its databases, Aldric had his paid spies, and the DSA had their little demonic bureaucrats—among other species, of course. What I had, though, was a carefully cultivated web of contacts. This was how I filled my quota every week. It wasn’t to play charades. Right now, I was going straight to the man who had his pulse on everything important—and probably unimportant. If someone’s gold stash had been ripped off and they were making noise, the mayor would know.

  The small city’s lights dwindled in the rearview, giving way to the suburbs that covered the northwest quarter of the island. You had to hand it to Aldric: for an uncharted island filled with beasties and magic, he’d done a remarkably good job of getting the word out about real estate opportunities. And this wasn’t some land of misfit toys, where wolves and vamps and warlocks lurked in every house. There were honest-to-goodness families living out here, with humans outstripping the supernatural presence by a factor of ten to one.

  The cab cut down an idle cul-de-sac that terminated in an ostentatious pink mansion. All the lights were out.

  The driver said, “I wouldn’t fight with this guy, lady.”

  I caught my reflection in the rearview. A minor cut leaked blood over my right eye. Thanks, Rayna. “You know the mayor?”

  “This is the mayor’s house?” The thick guy in the front seat shrugged. “I was just sayin’ that ’cause the house is huge.”