Rain Dance (Sunshine & Scythes Book 1)

by D. N. Erikson

  “Which means?”

  “He’s got a lotta lawyers.” The cabbie held his hand out for payment, and I obliged. Indeed, I had little doubt the mayor of our fine little island had plenty of lawyers lurking in the shadows of his transplanted Miami Beach-style monstrosity of a home. But I wasn’t concerned about that little detail.

  He and I were friends. Of sorts. We enjoyed that vague sort of Russia-US “alliance,” where an uneasy truce existed because the alternative was bad for everyone’s health and mental well-being. The night I’d arrived on this island, he’d been the only one to find out my secret—Lucille was a goddess. And she would answer my call. Sometimes, at least.

  And that gave him power. But it also gave me power, because hey, I had a (drunken) goddess’s ear. Mutually assured destruction, if there ever was such a thing. Although I wasn’t sure Lucille would drop everything to help me. After all, her and I had our own uneasy alliance that was sitting in a rather precarious state.

  I approached the sprawling neon mansion, winding my way up the carefully designed cobblestone walkway toward the wide stairs at the house’s front. I was about halfway there when I saw something glistening on the marble front stairs. It was unmistakable, even at more than fifty yards.

  Blood.

  “Well, Lucille, if you’re going to answer a prayer…” I muttered. But my spirit goddess didn’t show. Not that I expected any of that deus ex machina stuff. You get one of those in your life. Asking for two was greedy. Besides, I was tempting fate with that one. The less I saw of her, the better.

  I flicked out the Reaper’s Switch. A pragmatic little voice, the one that made all the plans, told me to turn around and get the hell out of there. But all the planning in the world hadn’t saved me from this inferno of bullshit about to swallow me whole. So, without a plan, or much of anything else besides a morbid curiosity, I made my way up the polished concrete stairs.

  I knelt by the blood, which coated at least four steps. That meant a sizable wound. I touched the crimson pool and found it slightly tacky. Fresh, but not immediately so. It was impossible to tell with humidity, but it had to have been here for an hour or two old, at the least. Hopefully it wasn’t the mayor’s, although I had little doubt he could hold his own in combat.

  I wiped my finger on the stairs and rose. The tall, two-story bright turquoise front doors beckoned me inside. The voice of pragmatism told me the attacker could still be on the premises. Perhaps ransacking the mayor’s office, or holding him at knifepoint as he imparted some sort of demand. Or the mayor had gotten in trouble—maybe some girl hadn’t shown him her feet. Either way, entering the house was not the move.

  I headed to the door and placed my hand on the massive brass knob. To my surprise, it was unlocked. I pushed on the giant door, and it glided open effortlessly, without a single creak. The looming, shadowy foyer stared back at me. Two curved stair cases heading up a second floor. Straight ahead was the sprawling backyard, a pool visible through perfectly clear glass. The foyer split into east and west wings of the house—from experience, I knew his offices were to the right, and the living quarters to the left.

  Business and pleasure, all under one roof. Not my pleasure, mind you. I wouldn’t have been caught kidnapped and tied to the floor in this materialistic monstrosity. I’d have found a way to strangle myself with my own bonds. That would be better than the shame of anyone thinking I might’ve been involved with the worst Lothario in history.

  I crept inside, and the door slammed shut behind me. I jumped, and then about peed myself when the room said, “Hello, Eden.”

  I brandished the Reaper’s Switch toward the empty stairs. “Don’t take a step closer.”

  “Very dramatic. Fascinating.”

  The voice was as clear and featureless as glass. It was a smooth voice, a radio voice, the kind with the right lulls and rhythm that could trick someone not careful into doing his bidding—other than the fact that the flat tonality made it resemble a robot’s impersonation of human speech. It sounded like the mayor’s, but without the aww shucks accent that I’d always suspected was a little bit of a put-on. Still, I couldn’t be sure it was him, since my mystery companion was speaking over the intercom.

  I took a step backward and found that the front door was locked.

  Shit.

  “The mayor’s going to be very upset about this,” I said. “If you don’t let me go—”

  “Yes, yes, threats and hyperbole.”

  “Excuse me?” I glared into the darkness.

  “Get it all out. How you shall string me up by my ears, feed me my entrails for days, send me to a jail in the deepest pits of hell that the judicial system has to offer.” There was a pause. “That was where you were going with all this, correct?”

  He was annoying chipper about the whole matter, so I said, “No,” even though yes, my first plan had been to unleash a bunch of empty bluster and hope for the best.

  “But your eyes betray you, my little Reaper friend.”

  I scanned the massive foyer, searching for a pair of eyes staring back at me. But it was empty, so I turned my attention to the corners. To the right of the door, hanging right next to a painting of the mayor, was a security camera. It swiveled to meet my gaze.

  I walked over as coolly as I could manage and raised my fist to smash it.

  “No need for violence,” the man said. “Well, more violence than what has already transpired.”

  “Then let me out.”

  “I would propose an alternate scenario.” The back lights came on full blast, the light glinting off the perfect aquamarine pool. Toward the fence, far enough from the glow to be a shadow, I saw a man with a shovel. “Let us speak face to face.”

  Instead of smashing the camera and then escaping through the nearest window—wherever that might be—I lowered my clenched fist and walked slowly toward the backyard. An invisible sensor noted my arrival, and parted the glass doors for me.

  The moonlit night made the mayor’s backyard appear even more impressive. A few steps from the ceramic-tiled pool was a complete bar that would have required a liquor license to operate in most jurisdictions. Behind that was a sprawling cabana sporting multiple flat screen televisions, wood grain speakers, and variety of seating, from lounge chairs to massage tables.

  But I was less concerned about that than I was about the blood. It coated the concrete surrounding the pool, leaving a thick trail of red bread crumbs toward the shadowy figure hard at work in the grass. As I got closer, I confirmed that he was indeed digging. It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.

  Still, I swallowed my reservations and walked forward, careful to avoid the blood marring the otherwise idyllic scene. I could sense a disturbance in the ether—a general darkness that permeated the stillness. The rhythmic scratch of the shovel cutting into the dirt scored my cautious approach.

  I stopped five yards away. His back was turned to me.

  “Dangling your fingers into the cage is not much better than stepping in, Eden.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Stefan and I had a long talk before what you see here.”

  “And what do I see here?” The lights strained to reach this far into the backyard, cloaking everything in mystery. To answer my question, the unknown killer held an object up in the air. It, quite clearly, was a human hand.

  A wave of nerves dynamited their way through my stomach, and I quelled the urge to run. I tried to believe that the Reaper’s Switch could save me again. But that had been beginner’s luck, really, and I didn’t trust another roll of the dice. Besides, I had one death that was already going to cause me problems. Adding a second wouldn’t tip mercy’s scales in my favor.

  The wind danced through the yard, carrying the killer’s aura with it. His soul was blacker than a torched village, but like devil’s food cake, all that death and heart-stopping destruction was studded in a razor-sharp sweetness. Despite the darkness, he was genuinely happy and pleased with his
station in life.

  And he also liked feet.

  I gagged slightly, realizing that the mayor had been far grosser than I could have imagined.

  “What do you see, Reaper?”

  I shook the sensation away like a bad dream and said, “Nothing but an asshole wasting my time.”

  Stefan jabbed the shovel into the pile of soil with a decisive motion. I shivered, but didn’t take a step back. He turned around and winked.

  I said, “What the fuck?” The blade came up reflexively, offering the thinnest of protections between myself and the serial killer. So much for trying to play it cool. But I’d seen beyond the veneer. He’d cast some considerable cloaking wards over his soul to hide from me before.

  Stefan was covered in mud and blood. His bald head gleamed, and a big smile graced his toothy face. He looked like a murderous pig in shit.

  “You wanna know what the problem with politics is, Eden?” The grin widened as he slipped into the rhythms of his slightly twangy speech. The aww shucks thing really convinced people that he could be trusted. If only they knew. The Reaper’s Switch shook in my hand. I ground my teeth and gripped it tighter.

  “Jesus Christ, man.” I glanced in the hole, immediately regretting my decision.

  “It’s a damn dirty business.” Stefan jerked a thumb toward his garden shed. “And sometimes there are actual bodies to bury. Grab a shovel.”

  “I’m not grabbing shit.”

  “I really wish you hadn’t seen me like this.” Stefan mopped his face with his ruined collared shirt. The whites of his eyes stared out from his dirty face, completing the look of a maniacal murderer. It made me squeak. Just a little, but it might as well have been a gunshot. I put my free hand over my mouth, irritated that my tired brain had betrayed me.

  “I guess that settles it.”

  “Settles what?” I asked.

  “Eden Hunter can be rattled after all.”

  I regained my composure and said, “Bury him yourself.” I turned to go.

  “But when someone doesn’t have skin in the game, that can lead to the counterparty’s paranoia running out of control.” He leaned against the shovel, still wearing that friendly grin. But it seemed more like staring into the jaws of a Mako shark than anything else.

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “You know exactly where that path ends.”

  Well, that put things into perspective. This wasn’t a request. I stared at the pool, at the blood dotting the concrete, and concluded that burying the body was a better alternative to running. With a sigh to communicate that I was doing this under protest, I headed toward the shed. There was a biometric lock on the building’s exterior.

  Like a wraith, Stefan appeared behind me and pressed his thumb to the reader. It glowed green, and an automatic door slid open, disappearing into the walls of the shed. I saw the spare shovel. There were quite a few of them hanging from a rack along the back wall.

  But I saw the row of jewel-studded skulls lining the top shelf first.

  Without a word, I grabbed the shovel and walked back to the hole. The head—or what was left of it, after it had taken a substantial beating—peeked out from beneath a layer of dirt. From the hair and the eyes, it was definitely male. At least Stefan wasn’t the rape-and-kill brand of murderer. I hoped. I quickly covered the lifeless eyes with a thick mound of dirt.

  “You can reap his soul before we bury him.”

  I grunted to indicate no.

  “I heard your quota went up. You really should consider it.”

  I looked up, dirt trickling over the shovel’s edges. Goddamnit. He had a point. If I ever returned to the Elysian Fields, I’d be headed for the lowest ring of them all. Hell? That was like a free vacation in comparison. Swallowing my pride—and morals—I jumped into the hole.

  “Give me the Switch,” I said.

  “Why yes, certainly.” He handed the open blade to me. “Partner.”

  “Don’t call me that.” I plunged the blade into the dirt, right above where the dead man’s heart should have been. The silver-and-obsidian studded surface cut through the dead skin effortlessly. Then I reached into the moist soil and extracted the soul. It was hard to see in the dark, but I could feel that it was misshapen and bore the slight odor of despair. Not a good man, by any stretch of the imagination.

  Stefan offered a hand, but I pushed myself out of the grave. With no pockets, I placed the knife and soul down next to my phone before silently returning to work. I shoveled twice as fast, dumping dirt into the hole as the mayor tossed in the chopped up pieces.

  “So, why did you come here in the middle of the night, Eden?”

  I didn’t answer, choosing to focus on the work. It was amazing how quickly a six foot hole could fill up, though. I tried to figure out why they only buried people six feet deep. It probably was so they could spend as little time with serial killers as possible.

  “You’re thrown by the truth.”

  I patted down the final bit of soil with the flat end of the shovel and said, “Is that it?”

  “It has to be re-sodded.” I saw his pale finger point toward the shed.

  “Get it yourself.”

  “Eden.” His voice was laced with the hint of a threat.

  “The only way I’m going back there is if you add me to your collection.”

  I saw his lips curl into a smile-like expression. But I now knew that, whatever I had thought of Stefan before, it had all been an act. Not just a kiss-the-baby, glad-handing campaign trail act, but a stone-cold, sociopath emulation of something human.

  He walked past, chilling the warm air. It was probably an illusion, but it still felt like a frost had briefly rushed through.

  I stared at the patch of fresh soil. It was uniform and rectangular, about the size of a funeral plot. Running my gaze up the rest of the vast yard, to the fence, I did a quick calculation and promptly felt ill. Well, it turns out I had yet another suspect. Why he might’ve wanted to frame me was an open question, since he clearly liked taking all the credit—and keeping it just outside his bedroom window. But if he needed me out of the picture and wanted someone dead, he certainly had the stunning lack of morals necessary to execute such a plan.

  Stefan returned with a rolled up clump of sod. I didn’t offer to help. I just watched as he scrubbed the evidence of the kill from the face of the earth. But still close enough that he could look out from his bedroom window and revel in it.

  “They’re all bad men and women, Eden.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “But your entire posture judges.” He stopped patting the grass and cocked his head at me like a dog. “And I’ve heard you’re in some trouble of your own.”

  “Bad news travels fast.” I reached down to get my belongings. “Don’t go thinking we’re not alike.”

  “I would never dream of it.”

  “Can I go, now?”

  “I would offer to step in and assure the FBI of your bulletproof character.” Stefan performed a final smooth-down of the fresh grass. Satisfied, he gave it a last, almost loving tap and then stood. “But here you are, burying bodies in the dead of night.”

  “Funny.”

  “Yes, I suppose life is funny.” Stefan extended his hand. I looked at him like he’d just pulled down his pants. “If we can’t trust each other, then we have larger problems.”

  “I shouldn’t have come,” I mumbled.

  “That would’ve been a better night for both of us. Yet here we are, underneath the cloudless sky, sharing the night.”

  His speech was switching between the aww shucks fraud and his smooth-as-glass voice. Like he couldn’t decide which to use with me anymore, so he was testing both. I shook his hand as quickly as I could. After what I’d seen, it felt like shaking hands with the abyss itself. The plasticine smile stayed in place as his predatory eyes scanned my face.

  I’d say it was something in the water that got him elected, but let’s be real: this could happen anywhere. I kn
ew as well as anyone how easily people could be deceived. And how easy it was for you, yourself, to be fooled.

  “It would be a shame to leave without getting what you came for,” Stefan said. I took a final glance at the grave, which seamlessly merged with the rest of the yard. Might as well. This was no time to take a moral stand. My life was going up in flames, and all the firetrucks were actively trying to ensure things burned down. Allies were in short supply.

  “You know everything that happens on this island.”

  “It’s my job, Eden.” The way he said it, it made it sound like the only reason he took the gig was to find ways to indulge his little side hobby. Wouldn’t be a surprise.

  “You heard anything about a gold heist?”

  Stefan scratched his clean-shaven face and said, “Nothing.”

  “Send me whatever you can find on Roan Smith.”

  “Hoping to solve a murder, are we?” His mouth widened into that toothy smile. “The irony is delicious, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, yes, serial killer helps catch the bad guy.” I rolled my eyes. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

  “Was he missing his skull?”

  I wondered if he’d killed so many people that he legitimately couldn’t remember, or whether he was yanking my chain. Normally, I could tell when people were lying or fucking with me. But here I’d thought he was just your usual ladder-climbing slimeball with a foot fetish, and it turned out he was the island’s biggest health threat since the Europeans had introduced tobacco in the 16th century.

  “Roan’s head still had two .45 rounds lodged in it.”

  “That would ruin my shelf’s aesthetic.”

  The unpleasant image flashed through my memory bank and I bit my tongue. “Just get me the fucking information.”

  “And you’ll forget about this.”

  “About what?” I asked, staring at him blankly, and his eyes alit with the knowledge that his secret was safe, and that yes, we had an understanding. I turned and hurried away, feeling the fake grin crawling up my back as I avoided the blood spots.