by E.J. Stevens
Maybe I’d be lucky and find something the other Hunters had missed. From all accounts, the local Guild was stretched so thin, they didn’t have the manpower to do a proper search of each dump site.
But after a thorough search all I’d found were a few small bones that may have been from rats for all I knew, and a large grate that, judging from the smell, covered a discharge pipe from the sewers. I wrinkled my nose and tried to open the grate, but it was locked with a massive, iron padlock. I wasn’t getting inside that sewer tunnel, not tonight, not without heavy duty bolt cutters.
I wiped my hands on my pants and frowned. They weren’t coming clean. I held my fingers beneath the flashlight and gasped. The grate wasn’t wet with water and algae.
It was covered in blood.
The dark red liquid hadn’t been noticeable on the black iron of the grate, but against the contrasting paleness of my skin the telltale color of blood was obvious. I licked my lips and smiled. Someone, or something, had been using the sewer tunnels to access the canals where they’d dumped the bodies of their victims.
Eyes on the padlock, I let the tension in my body ease and I rolled my shoulders in a satisfied, catlike stretch. It would take more than a locked grate to keep me from putting an end to this killer. I’d be back.
I turned off the flashlight and returned to the ledge once my eyes adjusted to the dim light of the moon. I passed the splattered spider, its legs and mandibles still twitching. Doing a grid search beneath the bridge hadn’t taken me long. I still had time to check out one more dump site, if I was quick about it.
I climbed the embankment quickly, a black shadow breaking away from the murky canal and rising to the street, determined to find the monsters in this city—and make them pay.
Chapter 14
“The dead were annoying, but sometimes they remembered just enough to help find the creature that murdered them.”
-Jenna Lehane, Hunter
I leaned against a tree and scanned the small park that ran along Rozenhoedkaai and the southern bank of a narrow canal. I stifled a yawn, fatigue making me wish I’d gone straight back to the Guild and my bed. I was tempted to rush my search, but there was something about this place that made me cautious.
I didn’t like it, not one bit.
I took my time, examining the spaces between the trees, the park benches, and the surface of the canal. The only movement was a pale form sitting on one of the benches facing the water. A little boy sat there, tiny legs swinging back and forth, staring vacantly at the canal.
Yeah, that wasn’t creepy or anything.
I pushed myself away from the tree, and walked over to the bench. The boy didn’t look up—he didn’t even blink—but that wasn’t surprising.
He was dead.
The front of his shirt was missing, along with most of his internal organs. My chest tightened at the sight of all that damage. I looked up from his wounds and forced a smile on my face.
“Mind if I sit here?” I asked.
I normally make a policy of avoiding the dead. Acknowledging lost spirits was often all the encouragement they needed to follow you around wailing and moaning until they got bored or found some other poor sap. But I made exceptions while working a case. The dead were annoying, but sometimes they remembered just enough to help find the creature that murdered them.
This child though was a mere static image, a shard of trauma, nothing more. He didn’t respond, his only movement the swinging of his legs and the flicker of his transparent body as he wavered in and out of focus.
I took a seat on the bench anyway, examining the small child. He had been five or six when he died—when a monster had scooped out his guts like his internal organs were candy. I frowned, shaking my head. That part had been left out of the autopsy report.
The reason I’d been curious about this dump site was the difference in age of the victim. The other bodies that the Guild had dragged from the canals in the past few weeks had belonged to adults. The fact that a child’s body had been found dead either meant the killer was changing his MO or that we were dealing with more than one monster.
I was glad the kid’s ghost wasn’t experiencing the pain and horror of his injuries, but it was too bad that he wasn’t sentient enough to give me answers. The unfortunate fact was that there were way too many monsters out there with the ability to do that kind of damage to a child’s body.
Murder, especially the murder of a child, went against our laws, but I was all too aware that superaturals didn’t always follow the rules. It’s why I became a Hunter, to put down rogue paranormals who broke our truce and murdered innocent humans.
I sighed and turned my attention away from the ghost child, watching the canal where he continued to stare unblinking. The water rippled and I reached for my sword, jumping to my feet. A head resembling a large frog broke the surface of the water, its face breaking into a Cheshire cat grin.
The grindylow’s smile showed off a wide mouth filled with sharp, needle-like teeth that glinted in the moonlight. Of course, most people wouldn’t see those teeth—not until they were buried in their vital organs. Thankfully, I’d applied a generous amount of faerie ointment to my eyes before heading out on this hunting excursion.
“Come, child,” he said. “Fancy a swim?”
My lips drew back in a silent snarl. He wasn’t talking to the child on the bench. The grindylow was talking to me. That was a mistake, and if I found out he was the monster who’d killed this little boy, it wouldn’t be his first.
I held my sword in front of me and glared.
“No thanks, Grindy” I said. “I’d rather swim with a barracuda.”
He tilted his head, the smile never leaving his slick, mottled green face.
“Come now, let’s be reasonable,” he said, spreading his hands wide. “There’s no need for that shiny toy here. We have much better things to play with down below—treasure and playthings beyond your wildest dreams.”
He had long, spindly, webbed fingers, thin arms, and a frail body that didn’t look large enough or strong enough to support the considerable bulk of his head. But I wasn’t fooled. Grindylow moved awkwardly when on land, but I knew that so long as he remained in the water this guy was fast as a shark and just as bloodthirsty.
“Treasure?” I asked, taking a step forward.
The grindylow’s long, gray tongue snaked out and proceeded to prod at his eyeball, slathering it with mucous. I swallowed hard, momentarily regretting applying faerie ointment to my eyes. Without the magic infused ointment, I’d be seeing the creature’s glamour, the illusion of a young, handsome prince. The story of a frog being turned into a prince came from this illusion, though knowing that didn’t make the grindylow any more charming.
His body trembled with anticipation as he stared at my booted foot. I shifted my weight, the slight movement crunching gravel beneath my feet and holding his attention. Just a few inches closer and he could snatch me into the water.
“Yes, youngling,” he said, flexing his hands. “Come closer and I will show you treasure and toys, and we can play such fun games together.”
“Games?” I asked. I slapped my best “oh goody” look on my face, tossed my sword on the grass behind me, and dropped into a low crouch. “Let’s play.”
Before the grindy could snatch my leg and drag me into a watery grave, I drove a dagger down through his hand, nailing him to the ground. I rolled to the side, kicking out as I spun, smashing him in the face with one boot as I used the other to propel myself to my feet, just out of his reach.
The grindylow shrieked in pain, a ring of spiked cartilage flaring out from his neck. A second, larger fin sprung from his back while spines lifted along his arms. I shook my head and laughed at his attempts to look more threatening.
“I’m not interested in your games,” I said. “I know all about your false treasure. And in case you hadn’t already noticed, I’m no kid.”
I raised an eyebrow at the grindylow, hands on my hips, sw
ord back in its sheath. Not only had the creature underestimated me, but I’d taken advantage of its weakness for children. Grindylow preferred young flesh, and considered human children a delicacy. They could survive by eating fish, river rats, maybe even a few swans, if the swan maidens let down their guard, but he wouldn’t be the first grindylow to go native and start hunting innocent children. And what better location than a secluded spot in a public park for luring little kids into the water?
The grindylow’s eyes bulged, making him appear even more froglike. He jerked his head back and struggled to pull his hand free of the embankment.
“Let me go!” he yelled.
“I might set you free,” I said, giving him a hard look. “So long as you answer my questions honestly.”
He nodded rapidly.
“Yes, yes, I’ll tell you what you want to know,” he said. “Set me free!”
I drew a knife from a thigh sheath and he blanched, his slick skin turning a sickly gray.
“You know about the human bodies that have been turning up in the canals lately, right?” I asked.
I started to clean under my fingernails, using the tip of my knife. He nodded his head.
“Yes, I’ve heard, b-b-but it wasn’t me,” he said, voice shrill. “It wasn’t me!”
I raised an eyebrow and shook my head.
“I know how much you like to eat human flesh,” I said. “Why shouldn’t I suspect you?”
“B-b-because we grindylow don’t eat tough, old flesh,” he said. “Everyone knows that!”
“So what you’re saying is, you only kill children,” I said, eyes narrowing.
“No!” he yelled. “No, that’s not true. I eat fish, lots of fish.”
I gave the grindylow a hard look, rolling my knife along my knuckles.
“Well then, if you want to convince me of that, then maybe you can point me in the direction of the killer,” I said.
I wasn’t convinced that this grindylow hadn’t murdered the child, but I had no proof that he was a human killer other than his attempts to get me to go for a swim. If I could get him to work as an informant, I might let him live—for now.
But I’d sure as hell be keeping an eye on him.
The grindylow licked his lips, and his gaze darted back and forth. He knew he was up shit’s canal and I was either going to carve him to pieces, or back off. The crux of that decision was whether or not he made himself useful.
He better hope he got a paddle and not a sword.
“Talk to the Rusalka,” he said. He squirmed, mouth pulling into a frown. “That bitch Natasha knows everything that goes on in these canals.”
I stared at the grindylow a few minutes longer, and then drew a syringe from the folds of my skirt. I popped the cap, knelt, and pressed the plunger as I jammed the needle into the grindylow’s arm.
“What was that for?” he asked, baring his teeth. “I gave you the information you wanted.”
“It’s a tracking device,” I said. “I’m letting you go, that was the deal, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be checking up on you. And if you’ve lied to me, I’ll skin you alive and make boots out of your hide.”
“Fine, then set me free!” he yelled.
I set my jaw and stared him in the eye.
“Fine,” I said, shifting my weight. I could grab the knife and spin backward before the grindy had a chance to attempt revenge. I wasn’t stupid. I didn’t trust the little toad.
I bared my teeth, leaving the grindylow with a few parting words.
"I’ll remove the knife, but you even think about eating any children while I'm here and I'll take you apart piece by piece.”
If he valued his life, he’d take those words to heart. It was that or a slow, painful death. The choice was up to him.
Chapter 15
“It’s funny how well you can sleep after stabbing someone.”
-Jenna Lehane, Hunter
I slept late, finally catching up on much needed sleep. It’s funny how well you can sleep after stabbing someone, especially when that person might be a homicidal killer. I pulled out my phone and checked the grindylow’s location. He was still near Rozenhoedkaai. A grin touched my lips, but it didn’t reach my eyes.
I would have liked to have done more than stab the grindylow, but I had no proof that he was our killer. The fae can’t tell outright lies, but they were damned good at twisting the truth to their own purposes. My gut was telling me that he was guilty of something, and I swore that before I left town I’d discover what mischief the grindy had been up to. But right now, I needed to do some more digging into the serial murder case.
I strode to the window and looked out onto the training grounds below. There were archery targets along one of the stone walls that encircled the courtyard and Simon Chadwick was there practicing with a crossbow. I smiled and hurried as I rummaged through my things, tossing on jeans, a lightweight sweater, boots, and my leather jacket. I added the necessary accessories—knives, stakes, garrote bracelet, silver cross necklace—and headed for the door.
I looked back once and sighed. It was bright and sunny outside and I didn’t want to attract attention carrying the ski bag that contained my sword, so I was leaving it behind. I cast one last longing glance at my favorite blade and closed the door.
There was just one more thing I needed from the armory. I took the stairs two at a time, the sound of my boots echoing throughout the empty stairwell. The guildhall was like a ghost town except for the fact that there weren’t any actual ghosts here. The Guild must have special wards in place to keep the dead out. If I ever got on Celeste’s good side, I’d have to ask her about it. That would be a handy spell to know.
I hurried into the armory, making a beeline for the tool counter. The focus of the room was weapons and armor, but the Guild also stocked other handy items. I reached for a pair of bolt cutters, but I went rigid at the scuff of shoe leather on stone.
Chadwick was outside, and Celeste should be down in the infirmary with Martens, so who was in the room with me? I spun around to see a muscular man grinning from the other side of the room and juggling two grenades. He was wearing cargo pants and a tank top which made the fact he only had one arm all the more noticeable. The other arm ended in a metal hook shaped prosthetic.
The Guild had plenty of crazy, thrill seeking types, but there was something about this guy’s smile that was contagious. I returned the smile, raising an eyebrow.
“You do realize those aren’t toys,” I said, gesturing to the grenades he continued to juggle.
He nodded.
“And you realize breaking and entering is a crime in Belgium, yes?” he asked, in a thick Russian or Eastern European accent.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going on a crime spree,” I said, holding up the bolt cutters. “Just crashing a party.”
“You need to blow your way in?” he asked. “Don’t let the arm fool you, I’m the best demolitions guy in the city.”
“I’m guessing you’re also the only demolition’s guy in the city,” I said.
“Shhh, don’t let my secret out,” he said, holding his hook to his lips. “Don’t tell the others. You’ll ruin my reputation.”
“You’re secret is safe with me,” I said.
“Well now, since we’re keeping each other’s secrets, don’t you think it’s time you told me your name?” he asked.
“Jenna, Jenna Lehane,” I said.
“Aleksey Zharkov,” he said.
He lifted his hook and it took me a minute to realize he wanted to bump knuckles. I laughed and stuck out my fist. He now held the grenades in his good hand and in the crook of his arm.
“So, we blowing shit up or what?” he asked, eyes sparkling.
I shook my head.
“Not this time,” I said. “This is just a scouting run. I want to know what’s behind door number one, but if door number two has more than a padlock, you’ll be the first to know.”
“You know where to find me,” he said. “Good
hunting.”
I grunted my thanks and left the armory, managing to make my way out of the guildhall without running into anyone else. There’d been a close call when Chadwick had come in off the training field, but I ducked in behind a suit of armor until I no longer heard the stomping of his boots on the stairs. Chadwick might be my assigned contact here at the local Guild, but he was also a prick. I’d get more done and save more lives if I just avoided his inflated ego and sense of self entitlement.
Once on the street, I strode toward the canal. This part of the city looked different during the day, but one thing hadn’t changed. The buildings on either side of the street were filled with ghosts. I avoided their staring eyes and walked faster.
I made it to the canal in less than five minutes. Once there, I looked up and down the street. Satisfied that I had no living witnesses, I jumped over the safety railing and hurried down the embankment, keeping my body low to the ground.
I came out of my crouch where the embankment ended at the narrow stone ledge. It was still covered in slimy algae and moss, but the slick stone was easier to navigate in daylight. Humming a song I’d heard in the airport yesterday, I shimmied across the ledge without incident, dropping into the darkness beneath the bridge in seconds.
I was making good time. If I was quick about it, I could explore the tunnels beyond the locked gate I’d discovered last night and be back in time for a quick shower and lunch with Ash.
I clicked on my flashlight and pulled the bolt cutters from where I’d tucked them into the back of my jeans, hidden beneath my jacket. Someone had shortened the handles, making them easier to carry, like a sawed off shotgun, but it also made them more difficult to use.
It took me a few tries before cutting completely through the padlock, but it finally dropped to the stone platform with a thud. The sound echoed down the tunnel, and I flashed my light into the darkness.