Moon Burn (The Half-Demon Rogue Trilogy Book 3)

by D. N. Erikson

  A flat meat-packing warehouse devoured the rest of the block, its façade dotted with rusted loading docks. Despite being only two stories tall, it cut a looming presence. An appropriate place for a nest, if there ever was one.

  I looked at the nearest metal shield, only three-quarters shut. It had my name on it.

  And backup or no, I had no choice but to head inside and face what lurked within.

  17

  The plant’s exterior looked about thirty years out of date, and what greeted me inside was little different. A patina of rust spread over the steel hooks and conveyor belts like a terminal rash. I rubbed my arms slightly from the chill. It seemed like they had the refrigeration up and running.

  For what, I didn’t know. Maybe the cold made for optimal spawning conditions.

  The packing plant itself was a long building, about the size of three football fields placed end-to-end. Most of that area was taken up by the shop floor and various dormant machines. There were no signs of life. I had to wonder what Redmond’s game was, sending me out here to poke in the ruins.

  The cavernous space made it sound like there were about four of me as I walked. Water-warped cardboard boxes bearing the logo of a long-defunct company lined the floor. Kicking one made the rats scurry away, but little else.

  Everything down on the shop floor was a bust. At the far end, though, I spotted a stairwell leading up to a second floor area. It would be a strange place for vamps to congregate, since they usually liked things underground. Most rumors aren’t true, but the whole coffin thing started for a reason. Weird bastards liked sleeping in graves. Plenty of protection from the sun.

  I doubted that basic instinct was absent in daystriders.

  My gaze swept over the machinery one last time as I climbed the steep metal stairs. There were no safety railings present on the walkway, further marking the building as a relic of a different time. I listened to my boots shake the corroding grating.

  Trying to quiet my footsteps did little as I headed toward the first office and looked inside the cloudy windows. With the only light coming from the missing panels in the structure’s roof, it was difficult to see anything.

  I glanced over at the row of other offices. A half-dozen, all with a clear view of the floor. The managers keeping watch over the proletariat from on high.

  A sound chilled my blood. It wasn’t the clack of claws or patter of tiny, animal feet. This was a human-like rasp, the kind someone made when you startled them awake. I tentatively grasped the knob, ready to fire.

  The door groaned open, and the rasping grew. My eyes searched the darkness, finding two quicksilver eyes staring back at me. Fangs clicked out as the beast roared. Instinct took over as I pumped two shots into the dark. I heard its head pop like a milk carton splattering against the pavement, the muzzle flare briefly illuminating a grisly scene.

  Blood streaked the walls of the tight, wood-paneled room. Fresh and human, from the way it glistened. And, uh, from the way that it dripped down from the corpses nailed to the wall.

  Corpse seemed like the wrong word. For a couple of the bodies remained barely alive, eyes squeezed shut as the gunshots rang out. The many others, however, had been drained—pale and squalid in appearance, like a body exhumed after a month below ground.

  Those had been their rasps, not the daystriders. I fumbled with my cell phone to get a better glimpse of the nasty scene. But activity in the nearby offices forced me to abandon that plan. I backed away, the survivors begging for help in jagged whispers.

  I turned around in time to catch a just-woken vamp streaming toward me. With him slightly lethargic due to his drowsiness, I caught a bead on his head and put him down. His head smashed against the grated walkway before his body rolled off, landing on a pyramid of boxes below.

  If this was really a nest, it would just be the tip of the iceberg. There had been enough human bodies inside the first office to feed a decent handful of vamps. Multiply that by six offices, and I was looking at around thirty to forty of the bastards.

  Not enough bullets or fast enough reflexes to deal with them all.

  I crept toward the next office, relying on my ears to tell me if a vamp was about to attack. I needn’t have strained so hard. Instead of coming out the door, one leapt from a girder on the ceiling, flashing through the air before I could even raise my gun.

  Her solid form collided with mine, sending us both rolling to the ground. My head hung over the side, into nothingness. She snarled, teeth snapping at my jugular. I sent a forearm shiver to her chest, knocking the wind out long enough to roll away from the edge.

  The vamp backflipped away, toward the first office. She landed on her feet, smooth and controlled. The rest of my encounters with the daystriders had been too frantic to pick up much. But in the brief lull, I sensed an unwillingness—that her aura had been corrupted.

  Which might have been stating the obvious. Nonetheless, it was odd for such a creature of darkness to be conflicted. Fighting against what seemed its obvious nature.

  She didn’t struggle for long. Howling, she lunged forward. It was all I could do to avoid losing the .45. Her leg whipped against my knee as she passed, causing me to buckle. Before I could whirl around, she caught me with a backhanded elbow to the head.

  My cheek slammed against the bloody pool of her former associate. The fetid scent was so strong in my nose that I could taste it. Rough hands grabbed my back, and I tried to shake free. The grip was too strong, and I found myself flung to the walkway’s edge once more.

  The architects really should have built guardrails.

  “Blaise worried that you would pose a threat to us, demon,” the vampire said. Her tongue lapped in and out, thirsting for my blood as she stalked forward. “How foolish that seems now.”

  “Might want to ask your two friends how they feel about that.”

  Instead of answering, she closed the remaining distance with a leap, eager to rip my neck apart with her bare hands. I flipped my knees up as she landed, sending us both spiraling over the side, down to the first floor. Her claw-like nails scratched at my arms as we hurtled toward the concrete.

  But the flip had done its job, and the drop was too short for a reversal of fortune. Her body slammed against the unyielding ground, the impact magnified by my weight smashing on top of hers. The light in her quicksilver eyes dulled, unconsciousness threatening to overtake her.

  I didn’t plan on waiting.

  Feeling every century of my seven thousand years, I reached for my boot sheath. This time, no branches prevented me from extracting the knife. With a single, effortful stroke, I brought the sharp blade down against her neck, relieving her of her head.

  Her eyes blinked out into the blank stare of permanent death.

  I limped away and propped myself up against a rusted meat locker to catch my breath. The pitter-patter of tiny feet caught my attention. With weary, bruised arms, I brandished the knife and peered across the massive warehouse.

  A small red fox slunk out from beneath one of the conveyor belts and yipped. My ribs ached as I watched Kistune shift into human form.

  “I should kill you,” I said, panting heavily. It was hard to be convincing when all I wanted to do was lie down.

  “That would be a harsh reward for saving your life.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  The naked shifter came closer. Call it curiosity, but I didn’t stab her. She ran her fingers along my bloodied clothes. “This could’ve been yours.”

  “Plenty of it’s mine.”

  “You’re not curious why the rest have vanished?” Her piercing eyes gazed at me.

  “I was a little disappointed, yeah.”

  “Because I told their leader you were coming, ready to die.” She tried to gauge my reaction. “A lie to save your life.”

  “And they just up and left?”

&nbs
p; “Not out of cowardice, no. But because your suicidal assault would have ruined their mission. They left behind only those too sick to flee.”

  My shoulder throbbed. If these were sick daystriders in daylight, I was in deep shit.

  “So instead you ruined mine.” The knife shook in my hand. From the tenseness in her bare shoulders, I could tell that she sensed the change in my demeanor.

  “I gave you an opportunity to succeed. As well as this.” Seemingly from nowhere, Kitsune pulled out a photocopied paper.

  I grabbed it from her, and my breath caught.

  “Where the hell did you get this?”

  “Blaise did not give it to me, if that is what you ask.”

  Blaise must’ve been their leader—the one who had issued his howling challenge to me in the burning desert the day prior. But however Kitsune had acquired this document in the fifteen minutes she’d escaped my sight—through impressively hasty subterfuge and trickery, no doubt—didn’t matter.

  “You convinced him I was that dangerous after we ran from his drugged-up gunmen?”

  “I’m very convincing.” Her lips came up close to mine, the warmth of her body filling up the cool air. “Perhaps there’s a way for you to thank me, Kalos.”

  I pushed myself off the wall and walked past her without a second glance. “Password is password123. The world’s your oyster.”

  There was a screech as I hit the center of the plant. For a moment, I thought another vamp would come out of the woodwork, until Kitsune yelled, “Goddamnit, I risked my life for that?”

  “No one ever called Detective Scott the brightest fellow.” I didn’t mention that I’d changed the password to lock him out.

  There was something deliciously insulting about it being completely unsecure.

  “Will you at least escort me out of this dump?”

  “Sure,” I said, with a smile to no one at all. “if you run fast enough to keep up.”

  It was the least I could do after the mountain of gold she’d dumped in my lap. Because this little photocopy was going to blow everything wide open.

  And solve every one of my damn problems.

  18

  There was one other task to take care of before leaving.

  A cover story to satisfy Dylan Redmond. Fortunately, I’d discovered some gasoline in one of the plant’s meat lockers. After spreading it around the building, I’d lit the entire place ablaze with some soggy matches. A pillar of smoke hung over the shantytown as Kitsune and I walked out.

  Inonda’s minimal fire brigade passed us on the way, lights blaring.

  Maybe it was more than a cover story. I had no fucking idea how they made daystriders, but if the fire turned off the spigot, that was just a bonus.

  And, for the record, I didn’t leave the people upstairs to burn alive. I’d hauled my bruised ass up there and put them down. It was the humane thing to do. They weren’t going to survive—and if they did, it wasn’t a life worth living. Their minds were gone from the endless feedings.

  Kitsune, wrapped in a ratty blanket from the plant, arched her back at the crossroads. The tattered fabric slipped from her form.

  “It has been a pleasure, Kalos.”

  “Glad you saved the lies until the end this time.”

  “Texas does not suit my tastes.” The shifter scratched her arm as night and day merged in a blood-orange winter sunset. “Be careful, demon.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of what you might become.” Then the nude woman sprinted off, disappearing before I could extend the conversation. Not that I had really wanted to. The sooner she went away, the better. I doubted she understood the full impact of the paper she’d given me.

  I contemplated its contents as I made my way back to the good side of town, which seemed palatial by comparison. Once safely out of the shantytown—and away from the fire that would hopefully sate Dylan Redmond’s thirst for a little while—I debated my options. Ruby presumably remained at the loft, and while I’d love to get Argos’s input on things, I still didn’t want to see the Realmfarer.

  Losing yet another sliver of my soul out at El Capitan hadn’t encouraged me to be more trusting.

  Instead, I wandered through Inonda, a sprawling mixture of urban renewal and small-town Americana. It was tough to tell whether Starbucks or Joe’s Hipster Coffee was winning the battle. But I had bigger problems than the state of the local economy.

  Hitting Main Street, I found both sides of the wide road parked up with news vans and explorers. I got a bunch of strange looks due to my bedraggled appearance—although I preferred to think of it as rugged. Either way, the not-giving-a-fuck was strong, although the dimming light afforded me some cover.

  I hurried under the marquee of the old theater, the modern posters clashing with the worn brass trim on the doors. Kistune had been right about one thing: my decision making was off. One would never accuse me of being methodical, but my recent behavior bordered on lunacy.

  The stupid kind, not the genius type.

  Heading into a vampire nest alone was moronic. A daystrider nest doubly so. But when they were moon-burned, and the intel amounted to they may or may not be there in any number from one to ten thousand strong, that was something else.

  That was the human part of me dying away.

  Not wanting to go home, and having access to no immediate alternative places of work, courtesy of the Sol Council’s arsonist tendencies, I did the next best thing. I went up to the theater’s window, bought a ticket to a shitty rom-com that started in half an hour, and headed inside.

  Folding my arms over my bloodied shirt in a weak attempt to blend in, I rushed straight to the bathroom. I jammed the lock shut and dragged my aching body toward the mirror.

  The person staring back at me looked barely human. A consistent ember burned in my eyes, the demonic fire remaining stoked. My short black hair was tinged with dust from the computer shop, stiffened at strange angles by the dried blood.

  As for my shirt: well, wearing a white t-shirt hadn’t been the best call. I splashed some water on my face, the liquid running pink in the ivory sink. The shower at Gunnar’s was already a distant memory. Lifting up my shirt revealed a wicked bruise along my rib cage, already beginning to purple.

  “You gotta pull yourself together.” The image moving its lips seemed disconnected from me entirely. Like a distant memory of something that once existed, but was now just a shade.

  I stuck my head beneath the faucet and cranked the water as cold as it would go.

  The chill jolted me awake, blasting away the fuzz creeping at the edges of my mind. Instead of focusing on the hopelessness of my predicament, my mind began working on the photocopied paper sitting in my pocket.

  Not just any paper.

  The final, unrevealed page in the Journal of Annihilation. Guess Marrack and Isabella worked fast, because they’d managed to crack the code in hours. When the book had still been in my possession, Argos and I had devoted many futile weeks to uncovering the final page’s secrets. But where we had failed, Marrack and Isabella had succeeded in record time.

  However, all our studies weren’t for nothing. Because it meant that I could recognize the handwriting of the Journal’s scribe instantly. Matching it with the paper size, it was clear that this was the last key to a timeless puzzle.

  While the rest of the book had been exquisitely drawn and detailed, the final entry was remarkably spartan, focused only on utility. A set of criteria for choosing who would become “the vessel,” as it termed things.

  Despite not having the book before me, I could picture the sketch of the vessel on the next-to-last page. The image floated beneath my closed eyelids as the water cascaded down my neck. A naked woman, her face and eyes shielded by long hair. The magical artifacts within the book embedded into her skin, fusing with her essence. Power running in a reflexive loop,
reinforcing itself and evolving.

  And, of course, the essence gauge pictured, its line maxed out. The instructions clear: that the vessel required substantial magical ability for her to ascend to this role.

  I’d only hit halfway on the gauge. It’d made me wonder who in the world could possibly be powerful enough.

  But, thanks to the photocopied sheet, I had my answer. These persons would not be found, but instead created. Candidates robust enough to withstand the harshness of absorbing inhuman sums of essence.

  A knock at the door startled me from my thoughts. I jammed the faucet’s metal handle down, catching a glimpse of the soaking wet stranger in the mirror. There weren’t any towels—just a hand dryer.

  I shook out my hair as best I could, removed my shirt to turn it inside-out, and then unlatched the door.

  A fat guy with his kid backed away as I walked out. Even to mortals, I must’ve looked unpredictable. I hurried into the movie before anyone else could see me and slunk down in the back.

  It was a bad movie playing at a time when most people were just getting off work. That meant minimal company, which suited me well. My phone buzzed as I settled into the vinyl. A quick check displayed a text from Dylan Redmond, who was excited about the early reports regarding the nest.

  He wouldn’t be excited to learn they’d all escaped.

  But all I needed was a little time before he came breathing down my neck.

  I worked the folded sheet out of my pocket and spread it out on the seat next to me.

  The Journal’s final page contained only two criteria. One, the subject had to match the image on the previous page. I guess that meant a relatively young woman, 20s to early 30s. Pretty, too. All that seemed arbitrary, but I didn’t make the rules.

  Number two was slightly stranger. It referred to the essence gauge, finally driving home why the measuring tool was so important. The text stated, upon testing, that the candidates would trigger “hidden and unusual properties” within the gauge. After which essence would be transfused into their blood to further explore said properties.