Soul Fire (The Eden Hunter Trilogy Book 2)

by D. N. Erikson

  “And being angsty is for bitches, Kai Taylor.”

  The warrior sigil on his arm flashed brightly, his annoyance channeled through the magical ink. Then it subsided into a faint glow, like a ship heading out to sea. “The vampire brings out my worst nature.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re a regular fucking man of mystery.” I feigned helping him into the car, then slipped my hand into his back pocket for the keys. I spun away before he could grab them back. “Oh, you thought tonight was finished?”

  He frowned, looking like I’d just shoved arsenic garnished with cyanide into his cheek. “Give me the keys.”

  “You have two options. Both of them suck, but that’s life.”

  He ground his strong jaw, trying to come up with a response that would make me reconsider. When I cocked my arm—aiming toward the rolling sea—his face relaxed into an expression of beleaguered resignation. “Let’s hear them.”

  Not an enthusiastic request, but I’d take it. “One, I leave you on the docks.”

  “And?”

  “And I pursue Hall myself.”

  “I doubt he’s important,” Kai said, trying to bluff me.

  “Oh, is that so?” I asked.

  “We know it was Deadwood. He copped to it.”

  “Yeah, Xavier Deadwood—that murderer we can’t find?” I smirked as Kai folded his thick arms. “The one who got his special syringe from Thomas Johns, who bought them from Ferdinand Hall? That Xavier—”

  Kai waved me off. Blood dripped from the gash, staining the rolled-up cuff of his Oxford. “You obviously listen better than anyone expected.”

  Oooh, point Mr. Taylor. I denied him the satisfaction of reacting, though. Instead, I skipped right over his zinger and said, “Wanna hear option two?”

  “Only if it’s better than option one.”

  “Not enjoying the ambiance?” I spread my arms toward the rusted shipping containers. “Option two is we let it ride. That’s a gambling term, by the way.”

  “I’m aware,” Kai said. After tonight’s festivities—Deadwood arriving at my door, breaking into Johns’s apartment, and Aldric visiting us at the docks—he looked dubious about remaining at the tables.

  But I was in a gambling mood.

  Besides, Deadwood had threatened Sierra, and the whole island sounded liable to go up in flames.

  Playing it safe seemed like the real gamble.

  “Just making sure you’re keeping up, here.” I shot him a cocky smile. “So, option two—we go pay a late-night visit to Hall. See how he’s involved in this scheme. Maybe see if he knows where Deadwood’s holed up. Together.”

  “One problem,” Kai said.

  “Just one?”

  “Aldric told us to lay off.”

  “I can moon the cameras, too, if my position on that asshole isn’t abundantly clear.”

  Kai snorted, but said, “He tried to kill you once already.”

  Summoning the last remaining bravado from my almost-tapped reserves, I winked and said, “He killed me once, too. But we’ll see who gets the last laugh.”

  Probably him. Since, you know, he had the army, the KGB-like network of spies, the billions in cash, and—well, if I kept ruminating on all his advantages, I’d get seriously depressed. That wouldn’t help me shove my sneaker right up his ass.

  But I was getting ahead of myself. Yes, I desperately wanted to be free of this place.

  First, though, I needed to make sure it didn’t burn.

  And that meant solving this thing.

  “It’s too soon to rattle Hall’s cage.” Kai cracked his shoulder with a wince. Or maybe he was thinking about Aldric’s security footage. “But we have one other suspect.”

  Guess that was his way of choosing door number two.

  “I saw purple lip gloss on the cigarettes back at Johns’s house.” I got in the driver’s side of the SUV and started the engine. “So let’s pay sweet Samantha Williams a visit.”

  Kai climbed into his seat with a groan. Aldric had really worked him over, even if the agent was trying to hide it. I suspected, most of the wounds were psychic in nature: When a man is defeated in battle by a stronger adversary, that can mentally break him.

  Hopefully Kai wouldn’t fold like a cheap suit.

  After grabbing a bandage from the glovebox’s first aid kit, Kai took out his phone and showed me a mugshot. “Not so sweet.”

  “I said Samantha Williams, not some guy named Will.”

  “That is indeed Miss Williams.” Kai scrolled halfway down her rap sheet. “And she has quite the resume.”

  I stared at the buzz-cutted, angry woman in the photograph—she had tattoos up to her collarbone, and knotty ropes of muscle bulging from her neck—and said, “Good thing I have backup, then.”

  “I thought you said you were going to drive, Eden.” Kai raised his eyebrows.

  Another point, Mr. Taylor.

  It was time to let things ride.

  22

  At the very least, this case’s cast of colorful suspects had afforded me a nearly complete tour of the city and its outer limits. We’d already hit Atheas’s crumbling armpit, then the eye-searing waterfront. Now, we were cruising around the slow death that was picket-fenced and green-lawned suburbia, hunting for Samantha Williams’s residence amidst the copied-and-pasted subdivision.

  I parked the SUV in front of a tall palm that gave the sidewalks a Long Beach vibe. Sprinklers spritzed across the last grass of the season as we walked against the stiff breeze. An army of automatons waited in the dark houses, ready to be activated by the smell of instant coffee and the sirens’ call of a gray cubicle.

  Dad had done that grind for years. Then he’d died with nothing to show for it.

  I wasn’t a fan, although one could argue my career trajectory hadn’t gone better.

  Samantha Williams’s house was devoid of flourishes differentiating it from the row of clones. It featured two stories, a beige paint job, and a garage. No cars were parked in the driveway, and the lawn resembled a dirt pit—a sore point amongst the neighbors, no doubt.

  A security camera at the front door hinted at minor paranoia. I banged the brass knocker.

  A light snapped on inside the darkened house instantly.

  Samantha Williams was awake.

  I nodded at Kai. “Maybe this one will go better than the last—”

  You know what they say about famous last words.

  A murder of crows smashed through the nearby window.

  The birds dive-bombed us with razor-sharp talons, chasing us off the porch and up the street.

  A spell—they had to be from a spell. Unless Samantha was keeping strange house pets.

  More crows flooded through the shattered glass, crows upon crows, swarming like a black cloud. Their molted feathers stank of decaying flesh.

  They’d claimed other victims, and they would claim us, too.

  Kai’s pistol barked in the tranquil night as we sprinted across the dead lawn. Houselights toppled on like dominoes, the neighbors awoken by the maelstrom of screeches.

  One bird bit me, and I punched it straight in its dead eyes.

  It slammed against the house. A streak of black blood ran down the beige paint.

  It twitched, then stopped moving.

  But three more took its place, pecking and scratching at any open skin they could find.

  Kai’s Glock clicked empty. He holstered his sidearm, grabbing one of the hundreds of birds by its neck. His warrior’s sigil blazed brighter than I’d seen at the docks.

  The vicious bird’s bones cracked. He hurled the feathered corpse across the ruined lawn. But it was like bailing out a row boat with a tin cup. We would drown in the black sea if we didn’t make it to the car.

  And that seemed like miles away.

  I summoned a ball of light to my fingertips, my own little lantern sigil glowing fiercely in the dark. The ball’s kaleidoscopic strains flashed over the thicket of beating wings.

  The crows stopped.


  Then they retreated to the eaves of Samantha Williams’s house. Their heads were all cocked at the same angle, awaiting my next move.

  Clothes torn and covered in pecks and scratches, I said, “Please tell me you have at least two bullets in the car.”

  “For what?” Kai asked with concern.

  I realized he probably thought I was talking about for us.

  Dying from a pack of overly aggressive birds wouldn’t be my legacy, though.

  “One for the door,” I said. “And one for Samantha’s skull.” I brandished the ball of light at the hundreds of birds. They recoiled, in awe of my power. Fake power, of course, but their avian brains couldn’t recognize that.

  All they registered was the distinct possibility of immediate and total immolation.

  Even a crow summoned from the ether must’ve considered survival a precious thing.

  Kai grabbed multiple additional magazines from the SUV’s glovebox. I noticed people peeking out from behind their curtains. Hopefully they were all so doped up on Ambien that they’d write off this little interlude as a midnight hallucination.

  After reloading his pistol, Kai led the way to Williams’s house. Kai shot off the lock and kicked in the door. We slipped inside, and he quickly slammed the splintered door shut. Not that it would keep the birds from streaming through the windows.

  But hopefully it sent a clear message.

  My fake ball of light cast red and purple shadows over the plain interior.

  “Samantha Williams.” Kai’s voice rolled like thunder, shaking the very foundations. “This is the FBI. Come down with your hands raised.”

  Two stray crows flew to the top of the stairs and landed on the wooden newel post.

  Their beady yellow eyes watched my glowing ball of light with trepidation.

  Kai shot them both in the head, then reloaded in case an onslaught was coming.

  “Final warning, Miss Williams.” The magazine clicked into place with a decisive snap.

  “All right, all right.” The voice was high pitched and aristocratic. Not at all what I’d expected, which was more along the lines of a chain-smoking truck-stop hooker.

  Neither was the woman who appeared at the top of the carpeted stairs. She looked ruefully at the dead birds—like they were dear friends—her thin arms raised high. Like her mugshot, she was pale, and her body was tattooed, but the bulging neck and buzz cut were gone.

  She was rail-thin—pretty, even—with a short, smart haircut stopping right above her terrified eyes.

  Sigils were hidden in her multitude tattoos, much like Kai’s sleeve. Her collarbone glowed in the dim light. I saw the outline of a crow, another of a gust of wind. A third glowed on the top of her shoulder—but I couldn’t make it out.

  “Ma’am, please call off your birds.” The statement would’ve sounded absurd, but with Kai’s calm baritone, it somehow seemed semi-normal.

  Samantha rubbed a copper bracelet on her wrist and chanted softly beneath her breath. Kai kept his pistol trained on her. I maintained my totally bogus light show, too, although if she decided to summon anything with a little more stopping power, we were both screwed.

  Luckily for us, however, she called off her attack crows. A sea of black feathers streamed through the broken window, morphing from talons and wings into a flutter of particles as they approached the bracelet. The copper dutifully absorbed the murder of crows, gradually turning black.

  By the time they’d all returned, it was darker than a starless night.

  “Please, if you’d put away your magic. There’s no need for threats.”

  “Toss the bracelet down,” I said.

  “Is that necessary—”

  “Do it.” I made the ball surge in size to emphasize my point.

  The bracelet bounced down the carpeted stairs, landing at my feet. I pocketed it, feeling the power within.

  Then I held up my end of the bargain, smothering the ball of harmless light in my palm. As retribution for the cuts now covering my skin, I was tempted to tell her she’d been bluffed.

  But only dumbasses showed their poker hands.

  “Miss Williams, we have a few questions about the death of a woman named Anya.”

  Her thin brows rose in surprise. “You’re not—you’re not here to…kill me?”

  “That option remains on the table,” I said cheerily. Kai shot me a look, spoiling my enjoyment.

  Kai slowly removed his badge and flashed it for her. No one in their entire life had been so relieved to have the FBI in their house. She practically bounded down the stairs like a fawn in a meadow.

  I noticed, however, that she was winded from the spell casting.

  “Oh my God, I am so, so, sorry.” When Samantha reached the bottom, she bowed her head in apology. A silver ring glinted on her finger, and two diamond studs in her ears. “Water? Cookies?”

  “Do they spawn little crows that devour our insides?” I said, suspect of mea culpas from a woman who had tried to kill us ten minutes before. “Just your other jewelry, if that’s all right.”

  “This was my mother’s,” she said, hiding the ring from sight.

  “All the same,” I said, holding my palm out.

  “You don’t understand. I thought you were” Fear flashed in her eyes. Then, with a resigned sigh, she placed the studs and silver ring into my hand.

  They seemed to be run-of-the-mill valuables, but I slipped them inside my jeans anyway.

  “Let’s sit down,” Kai said calmly. He kept his gun out.

  Smart move in my book.

  We headed to the living room, which, other than the broken window, was tidy. Samantha had a copy of Good Housekeeping on her silver-trimmed coffee table.

  When we were all settled—Kai and I on a floral print couch, her on a matching recliner—the agent holstered his gun. I would have objected, but I recognized it as a gesture of trust. He could draw in an instant if she went for some other magic.

  I’d seen him outduel a warlock.

  He was quick.

  The display of good faith put Samantha at ease.

  “Who did you think we were, Miss Williams?”

  “I—it doesn’t matter.” Her words ran up against each other like cars piling up at an intersection.

  “It does. Attempting to murder a federal agent is a serious offense.”

  Her face fell. “I just made a mistake. I’m sorry.”

  I gave Kai a glance. She feared someone, but she wasn’t telling us who. I looked around the living room. No photographs on the walls. No sign of anyone else living here. “Place is a little big for one, isn’t it?”

  Samantha tensed. “I like the space.”

  “I’m sure the crows enjoy having their own guestroom.” I got up and walked around. It was almost like a demo unit a realtor would show—a facsimile of a house. I circled back around, getting right into her face.

  There were traces of purple lip gloss. That shit didn’t rub off easily.

  And she smelled faintly of cigarettes.

  “Do you mind?”

  “I mind that you tried to kill me,” I said, backing away with a shrug. “Tell us about Thomas Johns.”

  An oh shit realization flashed over her face. “Don’t know him.”

  “That’s funny. Because your lips were all over the cigarettes at his place.” I raised my eyebrow. “Among other things, I presume.”

  Instead of looking embarrassed, she flashed me a glare that could cut through bone. If she’d had that bracelet on her wrist, she might’ve unleashed the crows again, consequences be damned.

  The sigils glowed softly. With her sitting down, I could see the third one was an ancient symbol.

  “We’re just trying to find who killed this woman,” Kai said, reentering the conversation at the exact right time. “That’s all, Miss Williams.”

  I returned to my post on the couch. After a minute of drumming her fingers against the recliner’s arm rest, she said, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”r />
  “Then tell us how it was supposed to go,” Kai said, his voice gentle.

  And then Samantha Williams said, “If you’re not going to arrest me, then I need you to leave my house.”

  23

  Kai barely hesitated. He got up, extended a scratched hand, and said, “Thanks for your time Miss Williams.”

  Then he left the house. I trailed out the door behind him. She called, “My belongings.”

  Kai turned and nodded to me.

  With reluctance, I tossed them back on the carpet.

  I hurried to catch up with Kai. “Hey, she tried to kill us.”

  Kai shook his head. “Everything is inadmissible.”

  “Bullshit. Her fingers were on the syringe.”

  “This will get tossed out of court faster than we can file it,” Kai said.

  “What about the lip gloss? That’s a goddamn smoking gun.”

  “And totally inadmissible.”

  Nothing like bureaucracy to get in the way of justice. Williams was definitely part of this quagmire. We’d practically solved the case, and here we were, stuffed at the one-yard line with nothing to show for it. If I had to guess, Williams had been in charge of magical procurement—either she’d crafted the Turncoat Curse, or she’d found someone who could.

  I recalled that Deadwood, down in the embalming room, had said their plan was a success.

  I snapped the SUV’s door handle against the chassis. “Who do you think she was afraid of?”

  “Could be Deadwood,” Kai said, rubbing his jaw. “That house strike you as odd?”

  “Like a rental, maybe.” I got in the vehicle, and Kai followed suit.

  The agent stared at the identical lawns in front of identical townhomes, as if they might answer his question. Fatigue tugged at my eyelids. The prudent thing, with the clock ticking toward four, and an important psych eval in the morning, would be to turn in.

  I said as I pulled away, “Tell me if this tracks to you.”

  Kai turned, all ears.

  “Deadwood is the trigger man. Makes sense, right—he’s a trained assassin, went rogue from the DSA. Probably does murder for hire.”