Of Blood and Monsters

by D. G. Swank

He fell into the horde, and the last thing I heard as the vortex closed were his screams of agony.

  My soul rejoiced.

  I didn’t have time to deal with my horror over my reaction.

  “Oh my God,” I heard Loretta say from the staircase. I wasn’t surprised she’d come to investigate, but I wasn’t prepared to come face-to-face with Detective Lawton, the Asheville officer who’d questioned me about Gill Gillespie’s murder. While the staircase was hidden from most of the basement, it had a front-row seat to the spectacle I’d just performed, which must have made me look like a crazy person.

  Jack stood on the steps between them, pure horror in his eyes, and I couldn’t help wondering what had put it there. The fact that I was likely about to get arrested for destruction of property, or had he seen the portal? Was he horrified by what I’d become?

  “Piper Lancaster,” the detective said with a smirk. “Long time no see. A few weeks, if I remember correctly.”

  I had no idea how much they had seen and heard. Had they seen Collin? I sent Jack a questioning look, but his face remained grave. Dammit. I’d better presume the worst.

  “Hello, Detective Lollis,” I said, purposely getting his name wrong. “What a surprise to see you here.”

  He descended several steps. “Likewise. We’ve been working an interesting case. Incident that happened in a warehouse along the French Broad River, and I dropped by to talk to Mrs. Corden about her husband. Imagine my surprise when I found out Father Owen already knew.”

  “I told you,” Jack said in a sharp tone. “I have a friend in the department.”

  “Nevertheless…” the detective said, eyeing me like I was a twenty-pound turkey on Thanksgiving Day. “I was just thinking to myself, ‘I wonder who might know something about this mess,’ and your name rose to the top of the list.”

  Lucky me. “You don’t say.”

  “What are you doing in Mrs. Corden’s basement?” he asked.

  “Don’t answer that,” Jack said, walking past the detective and stopping next to me. “At least not without an attorney present.”

  Detective Lawton gestured toward Jack with an amused grin. “New Tinder date? Looks like you’ve been a busy girl.”

  “That’s woman,” I said, “and who I sleep with is no concern of yours.”

  “True,” Detective Lawton said, “but I suspect you have something to do with what happened at that warehouse, and that most certainly is my concern. And I’m sure the mess you’ve created in this basement is a concern to poor Mrs. Corden.”

  I felt the color leach from my face.

  The detective removed a pair of handcuffs from his jacket pocket. “Ms. Lancaster, you’re under arrest for vandalism. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  “Don’t say a word,” Jack said as the detective gleefully finished giving me my Miranda rights. “We’ll get you an attorney.”

  It came as no surprise when Abel’s car sped to stop at the curb as the detective hauled me out the front door, my hands cuffed behind my back. I wasn’t sure if Jack or Collin had called him or if he’d just sensed I was in trouble.

  Before the detective had hauled me away, Abel had pulled me into an embrace and whispered, “Don’t say a word to him until my attorney arrives. Not even a yes or no. And only answer then if she thinks you should.”

  “I very nearly became a lawyer, Abel,” I replied, trying to hide my fear. “I know the rules.”

  He gave me a dark look. “Just because you know the rules doesn’t mean you follow them, Waboose. Promise me.”

  I nodded, and the next thing I knew I was in the back of Detective Lawton’s unmarked sedan, heading to the police department. It was only then that I noticed the familiar weight of my dagger belt was absent. My daggers were gone. I twisted to look out the back window, and there stood Abel, solemnly watching our car drive away, my dagger belt dangling from his hand.

  Never underestimate a demigod.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Piper

  Detective Lawton was chattier than I’d expected on the drive to the station, asking me question after question about the most mundane things—what was my favorite breakfast spot in Asheville? Who was my favorite band?—in an attempt to pull me into conversation. He even spent two minutes describing the flavor of the French toast at his favorite breakfast hole, and two more talking about how much he liked the Electric Monkeys. The entire time, he chided me for holding my silence. I had to admit it was hard not to respond, if only to tell him to shut up.

  My mind was racing with what they’d seen, what he had seen. He hadn’t mentioned seeing anyone with me in that basement, so I presumed, or at least hoped, Collin had gotten away.

  In the brief lulls in the detective’s monologue, I found myself thinking about what had happened in the Cordens’ basement. I’d stabbed him and sent him to hell. Had he not been dead, I would have happily killed him. If I were truly truthful with myself, I’d acted out of revenge. I tried to find comfort in the knowledge I hadn’t chosen where he’d gone—fate had decided; I’d only been the guide—but it still left a bad taste in my mouth.

  When we got to the station, Detective Lawton stayed with me, still talking nonstop while I was processed, then shoved me into a room and closed the door behind me.

  A woman stood from the table and held out her hand. She was my height and thin and not much older than me. Her highlighted blonde hair was pulled back into a smooth chignon. She wore a pale beige skirt suit and a white silk blouse. Her three-inch beige leather slingbacks looked fairly expensive. “I’m Mary Chambers. Mr. Abel has hired me to be your attorney.”

  From her clothes alone, I could tell Abel had paid her good money. The haste with which she’d arrived led me to believe he’d put her on a huge retainer, although I was sure his charm had helped sway her.

  “The homeowner has decided not to press charges,” she continued. “She said her husband was like a grandfather to you and you were overcome with grief.”

  My jaw dropped in surprise. “So I can go?”

  “Not quite. Now that you’re here, Detective Lawton wants to hold you for questioning. I’ve told him there’s no need for that, that you’ll answer his questions out of your own desire to assist the police so they can find out what happened to Mr. Corden.”

  If he knew about Robert, then he also knew about Hudson. But she was right. There was no time to spare. I needed to cooperate so I could get out of here. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

  She went to the door and told the guard that we were ready to talk to the detective. He led us down a hall to another room, this one empty and with a one-way window.

  I sat at the table with my attorney.

  The door burst open and Detective Lawton strode in looking a little too happy with himself given that Loretta had decided not to press charges.

  “Recognize the room?” he asked in a cheerful tone.

  I did. This was the very room where he’d questioned me about Gill’s death just a few weeks ago.

  “How do you know Robert Corden?” he asked.

  “He and his wife are friends with my grandparents.”

  “How close?”

  I hesitated. “Very close. Best friends.”

  “And you saw them often?” he asked.

  “When I was a kid, yes. They held an annual Christmas party and my parents were always invited. My mother had been going since she was a young girl.”

  “You saw them more after your parents were killed,” the detective said, not a question but a statement of fact.

  “Yes. I moved in with my grandparents, and as I previously mentioned, they were best friends.”

  “How often would you say you saw them?”

  I shot Mary a glance, and she gave me a slight nod. I had to wonder where Detective Lawton was going with this, but I saw no reason not to answer. “Probably once a week or so until I was about sixteen.”

  “And then how often?”

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p; I shook my head. “I don’t know. I stopped going to their weekly dinners. Maybe once every few months until I went to college.”

  “So it’s fair to say you weren’t around the Cordens much after you went to college.”

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s right.”

  “And when did you start your affair with Robert Corden?”

  I stared at him as though he’d sprouted a third eye in his forehead.

  My attorney stiffened. “Piper, do not answer that.” Her eyes narrowed at the detective. “What evidence do you have to reach such a speculation?”

  “I’m just trying to determine why Ms. Lancaster would be filled with so much grief that she would shatter over a hundred bottles of wine with an estimated value in the thousands.”

  Mary put a delicate hand on the table, but her voice was as firm as iron. “We’ve already established that Piper was close with the Cordens as a child. That alone entitles her to her grief.”

  Detective Lawton started to say something, then stopped and forced a grin. “Let’s shift to another topic. What do you know about the slaughter at the warehouse down by the river?”

  I nearly cringed at the word slaughter, but I knew I had to show surprise. I only hoped I could pull it off. “Slaughter?” I asked in alarm. “I heard about what happened at the warehouse in Fairview. Is this different?”

  He leaned back in his chair, feigning a relaxed position. “Come on, Ms. Lancaster. You’re telling me you haven’t heard a peep about it? It’s been all over the news this afternoon.”

  I shook my head. “I haven’t listened to any news in days. It’s nothing but doom and gloom lately.”

  “You would know about doom and gloom, wouldn’t you?” He flipped open the folder in front of him. On top of a stack of papers was a photo of Gill’s dead body—naked and covered in so many deep gashes he was barely recognizable.

  I sucked in a breath and shrank back in my chair, tears stinging my eyes.

  “Crocodile tears, Ms. Lancaster?”

  I blinked and jerked my gaze up to him. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s no secret you had a contentious relationship with Gill Gillespie. You had an ugly breakup with him.”

  My attorney cleared her throat. “The autopsy report says Mr. Gillespie was killed by a wild animal, likely a bear, and seeing as Ms. Lancaster neither owns nor controls any bears, her past relationship with Mr. Gillespie is irrelevant.”

  Apparently, Abel had filled her in on my history. Hell, he’d probably hired her weeks ago as a contingency plan.

  “Tears for a man to whom she was heard saying, ‘I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done’ mere hours before his murder?” the detective countered. “It seems like a stretch.”

  “It’s called empathy, Detective Lawton,” Mary said in a cold, direct tone. “A trait you seem to lack. And it was an accidental death…unless we’re charging wildlife with murder now.” She wasn’t taking shit from the detective. I liked her already.

  Detective Lawton eyed me for several more seconds before he slid Gill’s photo to the side and revealed the naked body of Abby, Rhys’s girlfriend who had killed herself at the urging of the mysterious voice.

  “That’s Abby,” I said, my tears returning. “Rhys’s girlfriend.”

  “So you knew her?”

  “No, but I was with Rhys and Jack when we went to her apartment to check on her.”

  “Abby’s death has been ruled a suicide,” my attorney said. “My client had nothing to do with it.”

  “True,” the detective said. “An animal attack. A suicide.” He slid out another photo from deeper in the stack, and my stomach twisted when I recognized Jack’s back from his own demon attack. He’d shown me the fresh scars the day I’d met him. “Do you recognize this man?”

  “From his back?” Mary asked dryly.

  He winked. “She does get around.”

  “My client’s sexual history has nothing to do with any of these murders.”

  “Humor me anyway,” Detective Lawton cajoled, sliding the photo closer to me. “Take a guess.”

  I saw no reason to hide my knowledge. “There’s no reason to guess. That’s Jack.” I gave him a tight grin. “The priest you mistook as my Tinder date at the Cordens’ home. Jack was attacked before we met.”

  The detective put one fingertip on Gill’s photo and another on top of Jack’s. “Two men associated with you were attacked by the same animal.”

  My attorney was getting pissed. “We’ve already established that Piper doesn’t own a bear. She didn’t even know Father Owen until a few weeks ago, after his unfortunate attack. The link is coincidental.”

  Detective Lawton’s eyes narrowed. “Is it, though?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” my attorney asked, irritation biting through her words.

  “Why did you seek out Father Owen?” he asked me. “You went to him. The receptionist at the church said you made an appointment.”

  I studied the smug man in front of me. He’d obviously spent some time investigating me even after I’d been cleared of any wrongdoing.

  “I’m considering converting,” I said evenly. “I wanted to ask him questions about the Episcopalian faith.” I tilted my head forward and lowered my voice. “But don’t tell my grandmother. She’ll be furious if I leave the Methodist church.”

  Hate filled his eyes. “You think you’re so clever.” He slid out another two photos, this time of the partially burnt garage and destroyed kitchen from one of my ghost jobs. “What can you tell me about this?”

  “The truth?” I asked with a raised brow.

  Detective Lawton shifted in his seat. “Honestly, Ms. Lancaster, the truth would be a refreshing change from you.”

  “That kitchen”—I tapped the photo—“is the result of a ghost who was reluctant to go to the next plane, not that I could blame her. I opened a portal to hell, and she didn’t go quietly.”

  He gave me a look that said give me a break. “You opened a portal to hell…?”

  “It was my first. To be honest, I wasn’t happy about it either. Usually they’re glowing lights.”

  “Glowing lights,” he repeated in a dry tone.

  I lifted my brow. “This will go a lot quicker if you stop repeating everything I say.”

  My attorney leaned into my ear and whispered, “I suggest you leave the attitude to me and refrain from mentioning ghosts and portals to hell.”

  I frowned but bit my lip. She was right. Most people weren’t receptive to talk about the spiritual plane, even if more people were believers after the Lost Colony of Roanoke had reappeared a few months ago. “Did the homeowner have a complaint?”

  “No, the fool claims you rid her home of a mischievous ghost. She was grateful, despite the destruction to her property.”

  I was relieved she hadn’t changed her mind.

  “What about the garage?” the detective asked.

  “Looks like it caught on fire,” I said.

  “Did you set it ablaze to chase out demons?” he asked with a wink.

  The demon had set the fire to get to me, but I kept that to myself. “I didn’t set that fire, Detective.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, pulling out another photo.

  This one was full of blood—on the floor and all over multiple severed body parts.

  I’d been in that warehouse. Twice. But for some reason seeing the carnage in photos made my stomach roil.

  “What do you know about this?”

  I looked away, feeling like I was about to throw up. “I need a trash can.”

  “Do you?” he asked, holding up the photo. “Or is that an act?”

  “She’s seen the photo, Detective Lawton,” my attorney snapped. “You got the reaction you hoped for, now put it away.”

  “You have no idea what reaction I was hoping for,” he countered. “And I’m not done.” He pointed to something in the gore. “Do you recognize this?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut.
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  “Look at it again.”

  I shook my head, refusing to speak.

  “That’s a leg belonging to Robert Corden, the man who was supposedly like a second grandfather to you. What a coincidence.”

  A metallic taste coated my tongue.

  “That’s enough, Detective!” my attorney shouted.

  “Look at the photo, Piper!” the detective ordered.

  You are Piper Lancaster and you don’t hide from anyone or anything, I heard Abel say in my head. Look at the photo, Piper.

  My eyes flew open in shock. He must have found the ring in my jeans pocket. But he was right. I was a fucking demon slayer. Why was I letting this man cow me? I steeled myself as I stared at the photo.

  “Do you recognize him now?” the detective asked.

  My gaze lifted to his cold expression. It struck me that this man hated me, truly hated me, and I had no idea why.

  “How could I recognize a leg?” I asked in a reasonable tone.

  His mouth pinched to the side. “True…” he said in a thoughtful tone. “Maybe this photo will help.” He pulled out a photo of Robert’s head, the stump of his neck still attached. His look of horrified shock was still on his face in death. “Recognize him now?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Detective Lawton!” my attorney cried out.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t quite hear your answer, Ms. Lancaster.”

  “Yes,” I said more clearly.

  “He was obviously ripped to shreds by something,” Detective Lawton said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Another bear?”

  “That’s outside my area of expertise,” I said, trying to sound rational, but I knew he was saving his prize photo for last—going in for the kill—and I needed to prepare myself.

  “So to recap,” he said, spacing out the photos. “We have three people dead who you personally knew—”

  “I didn’t know Abby.”

  “And one man who survived.” His cold eyes lifted to mine. “I’m sure you can see why my interest has been piqued.”

  “If you’re looking for a high body count,” I said, my voice hardening, “I’m surprised you didn’t bring my parents into it.”