by Diana Graves
“I wouldn’t know, I didn’t read the full article,” I said; my little way of letting him know that whatever he read probably wasn’t true, the parts about me at least.
Stanford placed a file on his desk and sat down. His eyes were a powerful blue. The thin white mustache did much to balance out his face. “I hope your work doesn’t spill over into your personal life,” he said pointing to Thomas, who was oblivious as he oohed and awed at a big black and white fish.
“Me too,” I said meekly. I looked to Damon but I had to look away. I couldn’t meet his eyes. He hardly spoke a word to me since I walked into the building. He was grieving the loss of a son, and it was my fault, somehow this was all on me.
Stanford picked up the newspaper, “It looks like Mr. Allegory has already made it personal. That is your brother that vampire is carrying out?”
“Yeah,” I said, and I left it at that.
“Well, on to business,” he said flipping open the folder he had in front of him.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Raphael?” I asked.
“No need. Damon has full custody of the boy. Raphael just hired me to seal the deal between you two. He trusts me to see to his wants.”
I looked at Damon. Raphael was forcing his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I said to Damon. He kept his eyes straight and said nothing. I could have read his mind, but I didn’t. Not out of respect for his privacy so much as I just didn’t want to feel his grief. I sunk into my seat and sulked.
“I have some paperwork for you to read and sign. Also, we need to fax your bank some documents for them to sign to attest that the money has entered your account and that the remainder of the money has entered a savings account for Thomas that meets our specifications.”
“What! What money?”
“Ms. Kirkland, the Press family had a fair fortune. It’s all been left to Thomas, but of course some will be allocated to you so you can take care of the boy, and yourself. I think twenty-five million should do it. The rest will go into the savings account I trust you’ve set up for him.”
I was in shock. Twenty-five, twenty-five million dollars? “I didn’t realize, I had no clue, I mean, I haven’t set up a savings for him. I didn’t know I had to, or that there would be money transferred anywhere. I’m sorry.”
“No matter, Ms. Kirkland. I just need your bank account information and I’ll transfer the whole lot. But, I will need you to provide proof of a savings account within the month. Understood?”
“Yes,” and I wrote down my bank information on the spare piece of paper he handed me. He put on a pair of small round glasses and read the paper carefully.
I turned to Damon. “Is the money being transferred from your account?”
He looked at me, and it was another one of those moments I wished I could read his face, but it was all blackness. “No, I refused the money. I told them to keep it until Thomas turned eighteen, but I have a feeling you may need that money.”
Mr. Stanford swiveled his chair so he could fax some documents to my bank. “Here,” he said, handing me a stack of papers three inches thick. “This may take a while,” he warned.
And, it did. In fact we entered his office at nine-forty and at noon I was done reading and signing all the papers. Demon law was hard to understand. I had to ask Stanford to translate into human terms much of the terminology.
“What does Raphael mean; I cannot live in mounds or rounds so long as Thomas is in my care?”
“Rounds refer to circular or dome-shaped structures that inhibits demons because there are no corners for which they might enter, but the term rounds is also used to refer to any structure built to withstand corporeal beings, such as temples or churches. Mounds are underground structures, also round in nature, like fairy mounds, but the term mounds is often used to refer to any blessed land. Agreeing to this basically means you will not live in or on blessed land, or in a demon-proof structure while Thomas is in your care. Both would inhibit his ability to visit the boy if he wishes to do so.”
I didn’t like the idea that Raphael could come and go as he pleased, but I couldn’t adopt Thomas without signing each and every stupid rule he made.
Stanford gave Damon a considerably smaller pile of paper to read and sign, so he left before me with a quiet goodbye from him and an unexpected hug from Thomas. I wasn’t taking Thomas home today, of course. One of the many previsions Raphael made was that I must have a home with a room for Thomas to call his own before he could come home with me. But, I couldn’t ask Fauna to give up another room and take on another person in her home. I’d have little time to find a rental once the money hit my account.
After my pile was signed and some of Damon’s papers had my signature on them too, I sat back with a sore hand and a headache. “Is that it?”
“Most definitely. We’ll be in touch about young Thomas’s savings account. It has been a pleasure, Ms. Kirkland,” Stanford stood with his hand out. I gave it a firm shake, and left in haste. The day was already getting late and apparently I needed to stop at my bank on my way home.
PUSHY
I WALKED QUICKLY through the lonely concrete parking garage across the street from Stanford and Sons. I had an eerie feeling of being watched, so with my keys ready in my hand I almost ran for my car. I slid into my seat and slammed the door fast, but as I looked forward through the windshield I found Bayard and an unfamiliar woman standing in front of my car. He looked the same as before. Same black suit, same mean face. I could run them over. I turned the key and revved my little engine. I had backed into the parking space, which meant all I had to do was put the car in drive and say I didn’t see them. I didn’t do that though. No, instead Bayard came to the driver side window and I made damn sure my car was all locked up.
“We need to talk Ms. Kirkland. My mistress is prepared to offer you a great deal of money for your services,” he said.
Boy did he pick the wrong time to try and entice me with money.
“I’m not impressed by money, Bayard, and I’m not licensed, so you’re wasting yours and my time…Wait, how did you know I would be here?” I asked.
He smiled and the woman with him walked to the passenger side window. She was in a black suit too, tie and all. Her chestnut brown hair was long and curly. I couldn’t see her eyes behind the large sunglasses she wore.
“We’ve been following you,” he said.
My first reaction was to panic. If they’d been following me then I could have led them straight to Darkness; to Nenet! Wait; if they found Nenet in Darkness then they wouldn’t be talking to me, would they?
“Still, I’m not interested in money or finding Nanuet’s daughter. If she ran away maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”
“She belongs to her mother,” Bayard said. “As a soon to be mother, you should know that.”
How did they know about Thomas? Who had they been talking to? “Was that a threat against the boy? Because, if it was, you’ve just made a big mistake,” I said. What the fuck was wrong with me!? Had killing an immortal given me a fool’s confidence? This was the second time in two days that I’d threatened a bad people who could kill me so easily. Who the hell did I think I was?
“Kirkland, we can be colleagues or a very big problem for you.”
“Just stay the fuck away from me and Thomas!”
“You will work for us, Ms. Kirkland,” the woman said.
“Find yourself another hunter,” I said. “Seriously, why all the fuss over me? I can’t be the only hunter in Washington.”
“There are others we could employ. Like those thugs, Fang for Hire,” the woman said.
If Nanuet hired Fang for Hire to hunt down Nenet, they’d find her, no doubt about that; which made me wonder why they didn’t just hire them in the first place. Why all the theatrics? What gives? Why me?
“I wouldn’t go to them for help,” I said. “They’re uncouth, if you get my meaning. It would be beneath you to hire such obvious garbage.”
“We need
someone to help us, if not you, them,” said Bayard, as he leaned on the car parked beside me.
“I’m not…” I began but the woman interrupted me. “We’ve been very nice to you, Kirkland. We don’t want to have to associate ourselves with the likes of Fang for Hire. As you said, they are garbage. But, if you deny us, we will cease being nice.”
“You call stalking me being nice?”
“Yes,” this from Bayard, “You don’t want to see us being mean.” They just stared at me for what seemed like forever. Apparently we all said what we were going to say. I fumbled with shaky hands as I put the car in drive.
“See you around,” said Bayard as I pulled out of the parking lot.
I watched them in my rearview mirror as I drove from the parking garage. I needed to make one more little stop before I went to the bank. I didn’t want to have to report a fellow non-human to the authorities, but these people were freaking me out, big time!
JERKY FILES
“WHAT BRINGS YOU here, Raina?” Detective Fillips asked. She was looking out of her window while she said it, not at me. Her face was slack. She looked exhausted as she stared out at the almost constantly grey sky. She was in every way the opposite of the last lead detective of EI. Travis was a big, boring, impersonal, impassionate jerk. Everything about Fillips was small. From the small brown curls on her head, to her size six combat boots. I would have never thought combat boots could be made so small. They looked strange with Fillips’ sleek black suit. Other than being small, she was passionate about life, and her job. I knew this about her because her thoughts were almost too loud to keep out of my head. The moment I entered the room I had to up my game to keep just one inner voice in my head, mine.
“Um, I wanted to ask you about a giane, Nanuet. She said she came to you about her missing daughter. She’s contacted me as well.” Fillips just nodded silently, not really hearing me at all. “I declined the job and now she’s having me followed, threatening me if I don’t help her.” That got her attention. She finally looked at me for the first time since I came into her office. “Are you okay? You seem distracted,” I said.
She smiled weakly. “It’s this case we’re working. Eight murders,” She shook her head, sending weightless brown curls flying. She closed her eyes tightly, bringing her brows together. “It’s the remains. I can’t get the images out of my head, and I have no clue what’s doing this!” she breathed a growl of frustration.
I leaned forward tentatively, “I might be able to help. I took a couple classes on preternatural biology in college. You never know.”
“You’re not licensed though, not yet.” She rubbed her eyes and then looked out the window again. “But, I’m not sure that’s a good enough excuse for my consciences right now. How can I pass up any help when there’s a possibility that doing so might mean I have to see more bodies like that?” She turned back and stared at me in silence for a short time before picking up her phone. “Get me the Jerky files.”
I inched my seat closer to the desk and she clasped her hands together, resting her head on them as an officer set eight folders on her desk. He was a field agent. Fillips had made a lot of changes since being given charge over the operations of the department. One of her changes was that field agents had to wear a uniform that identified them as such. I approved of them. They wore black armored officer threads with EID in metallic blue on their backs. They had heavy duty combat boots and two guns. One held silver ammo for were-animals, and the other held iron bullets for the more than a dozen flavors of fae out there.
“I won’t look at them again,” Fillips said, shaking her head. “Not if I don’t have to.”
I took the files into my lap. I was going to read the reports first, so I’d know what to expect before I looked at the pictures. But, then I decided I didn’t want someone else’s assumptions or interpretations to muddy my judgment. I flipped past the reports and pulled out half a dozen glossy photos from the first folder.
“The first body that was found was in an abandoned building in South Tacoma on 56th street,” she said.
The body was in a fetal position with one leg bent out at an unnatural angle, obviously broken, but there was no blood. It was a man, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him except for the small bundle of extra tissue at his groin. He was black, age unknown. He was just skin and bones, literally. He looked like he suffered from an extreme case of anorexia. His bones stuck out at sharp angles, his skin was pulled tight in some places and bunched in wrinkled layers against the skeleton in others. Jerky, indeed.
“How did he die?” I asked.
“You don’t think he was starved, or died from old age?” Fillips asked. She scratched her scalp, making her perfect shiny curls dance for a moment.
“If he had died of old age you wouldn’t have called it a murder and starvation doesn’t explain the broken leg. He looks like he’s been mummified, but he’s too fresh for that. His hair still looks shiny and clean; his nails look like they’ve been recently manicured.” Altogether I didn’t understand why Fillips was so disturbed by this body. It was horrible, no doubt about that, but I’d seen worse on the discovery channel.
“You can’t tell just by looking at him, but an autopsy revealed that his neck was sliced open, and then he was dehydrated, completely. Even the marrow from his bones is gone. It’s as though he were placed into a dehydrator.”
“Oh, well, then his body must have been dumped there.” I flipped through the pictures. “The place is too clean for that kind of kill.” I tilted my head in thought. The body was also too clean for that kind of kill. In fact, at first glance it does just look like a homeless man died of starvation and was then stripped naked. That was until you notice the expressive manicure and recently trimmed hair.
“Look at the next file, Raina,” Fillips urged. I gave her a raised eyebrow, but I put all the pictures back in the file and placed it on the desk.
“Who was that man?” I asked before opening the next file.
“Not sure yet. The face is too distorted to tell. His skin is too delicate to get fingerprints, too flaky. We’re waiting on DNA, but I’m not optimistic.”
The next photo made me flinch. “Whoa,” I breathed.
It was a woman, white-maybe. Her face was beaten in. Bone peeked through the dry skin and blond hair on her head. She was naked like the other body. Somehow, a naked woman was more shocking than a naked man. Her legs were spread in an awkward angle, broken, arms too. Unlike the previous body, her eyes were open, but the eye balls were gone. I turned the next glossy photo. It was a close up of her face. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, no tongue. The skin looked flaky and fragile, like overcooked puff pastry. There was something pale and stringy clinging to her cheek. The string, possibly a nerve or vein or something, was coming from her left eye socket and dried to her cheek. At the end of the string was something that looked like a cream colored raisin… a bit of brown in there.
“Shit, Raina,” Fillips exclaimed.
“What,” I said slowly taking my eyes from the picture. The raisin was her eye and once I found the first one, the right one was easily found, a lump of cream raisin in the corner of her right eye socket.
“You have some stomach.”
I didn’t say anything to that comment. Once you’ve dug your hands into a pile of rotting corpses, not much makes you squirm…certainly not a dry dead body. Wet, moist bodies, now that was something to lose your lunch over. Speaking of lunch, I hadn’t eaten yet, just coffee this morning, and my stomach was beginning to make a fuss.
“Blunt force trauma?” I asked.
“Yes, her head was beaten in. It was a slow painful death and then, like the other, she was dehydrated.”
“And, you have six other bodies?” I asked.
Fillips let out a long heavy sigh. “Yes, all the victims were murdered in different ways, dehydrated and then dropped off. The victims have nothing in common. Nothing as far as we can tell, and we can’t tell much because we can’t
ID any of them.” She leaned back and gave me a hard look. “What creature can dehydrate an entire body, Raina?”
I thought about it as I flipped through the other photos, more dry skin, more white bone and more random drop sites.
“Well,” I started, thinking out loud, “the dehydration means that bodily fluids are food for this creature, and the meat, bone and skin are discarded after the meal.”
“What makes you think they were food?” Fillips asked, leaning forward.
“There aren’t that many motives out there to commit murder: defense, erotic release, religious ritual, food and revenge.” I said the last part looking down at the photo in my hand. It was a dark body, lying in the grass with bones poking out at sharp angles and dry folds of flaky skin. “The killings don’t strike me as defense or revenge…maybe erotic or ritualistic, but I don’t think so…” I was talking, but my mind was busy elsewhere. “Where did you find this body?” I asked as I hunted for my own answer in the file.
“The last body was found in Graham. At a residence-John Newell, he runs a pit bull sanctuary.”
The file read that Mr. Newell found one of his dogs chewing on a human femur on July twenty-third. “You found this yesterday!”
“Yes, he has three acres out there. We can’t tell how old the bodies are because of their state, but Mr. Newell said he knows his land, and that body wasn’t there before yesterday.”
A creature that drinks the fluids of humans was in Graham, not too far from Mt. Rainier…and Darkness. A scary thought came to me then, and I couldn’t keep my eyes from widening, my pulse from jumping into my throat.
“You’ve thought of something, Raina. What is it?”
I looked up at her from a curtain of chocolate red hair. My palms were sweaty because I was afraid I was right. Larvae were an ancient evil from the heart of Africa, the cradle of all life. They were illegal in America, and for good reason. Larvae had three basic goals in their long long lives; fuck, feed, breed. Gianes are the offspring of larvae when they couple with humanoids. Nenet was a giane and Nanuet was too, and she may have brought Daddy along.