The Judah Black Novels: Boxed Set of books 1-3

by E. A. Copen

  Chanter was silent for a long time behind me. I was getting used to his long pauses, and they felt less and less uncomfortable. That was part of speaking to Chanter. “We inherit from our same-sex parents. Boys from their fathers, girls from their mothers. It's how our kind is made. Lines are distinguished that way and, so, it is a father's duty to prepare his son for the change. It is a void only a father can fill. It's... difficult to explain. But the boy needed the presence of another strong male, one of his own line. And, to help him, I needed to know from what line Hunter had come.”

  “Line?” I turned around to look at Chanter.

  “Like clans or families. Once, there weren't so many. We're social creatures. We need the presence of our own line to be at ease. Raised alone, we lose control. The change takes us, makes us mad. I needed to invoke someone of his own bloodline.” He was quiet and I watched Valentino work. “There is something you should know, Judah.” I turned around again and watched Chanter drop his cigarette butt on the porch. He stomped it out before picking it up and continuing. “There are likely others of your husband's line out there. They may track him down someday. Or, you could track them down. Maybe you could learn a thing or two about your late husband.”

  I thought about what Chanter had said for a good long while. I'd always been curious about who Alex was, what the other half of his life was like. It was like he was two people and I'd only gotten to know one of them. He was as elusive as the wind. Maybe that's why he'd fascinated me so much. I've always been a sucker for impossible odds and hopeless causes.

  Sal came out of the house, his hands full of beers. He passed one off to Chanter and then offered one to me before setting another off in the grass for Valentino when he was ready for it. “So, what's the verdict on the Firebird?”

  There was a loud bang and a long stream of Spanish curses from underneath my car. I popped the top off my beer and swallowed a mouthful before answering Sal. “Depends on if you believe in miracles or not.”

  “It might surprise you what I can believe.”

  “That optimistic attitude isn't changing the tires on my truck,” griped Chanter.

  “Guess I could go give Val a hand.” He smiled at me and held his bottle out. “Otherwise, we're going to be here until the government finally gets that fence built between here and Mexico.”

  “Hell will freeze first,” Valentino grunted from under my car. He slid out from under it and wiped his hands on a rag hanging from his belt. “You work for the government, vieja. You should know first-hand all about the man and all his red tape.”

  “If there's one thing I hate it's red tape,” I grumbled, turning my bottle around in my hands.

  Valentino paused, sighed and then walked over to fetch his beer. He popped off the cap and raised it in the air. “Fuck the man,” he said. “And fuck all the fucking red tape. And fuck the government. They're the real monsters, what with all their taxes and their anachronistic organizations. FBI, CIA, BSI...”

  I chuckled. “I think you mean acronyms and, technically, since they're not pronounced, they're initialisms.”

  “Whatever. Fuck 'em. Who's with me?” He raised his beer higher, staring straight at me.

  Chanter raised an eyebrow and exchanged a serious look with Sal. I stood and tapped my bottle against Valentino's. “I'll drink to that.”

  Sal grinned and raised his bottle, too.

  “Bunch of anarchists,” Chanter muttered and then raised his bottle. “What the hell?”

  When I first came to Paint Rock, if you'd told me I'd be standing around in the middle of the day, drinking beers with a pack of werewolves, toasting my disdain for the agencies that signed my paycheck, I would have laughed in your face. I've never been a particularly good employee. I didn't expect to win any employee of the year awards. Still, before Paint Rock, it just was a job. I clocked out and went home. It always felt odd, as if I had walked into a different world. There, my work was my world. The people I protected and served didn't live in some far-off neighborhood. They were my next-door neighbors. They were the people that fixed my cars and that took care of me while I was sick. I suppose some people would have been freaked out by the idea of a doctor's office filled with zombies, a werewolf mechanic or a vampire owned laundromat. For me, that felt more normal, more real, than anything else. I was comfortable there.

  No, it was more than that. There were people there that would fight alongside me. Ed, Chanter, Valentino, Sal... For the first time since I found out there were monsters in the world, I had friends. For a moment, I felt like I had at least a partial understanding of what it meant to be part of a pack.

  And that’s how I deal with my job. I've learned to grab hold of every happy moment and hold onto it like it might be my last. Every night, things wake up, evil things. They crawl into bed with good people, people like Zoe Mathias and whoever Andre LeDuc had once been. It destroys them from the inside out, eating them alive. My job was to strike back. I ask the questions no one else wants to ask, go places no one else wants to go and kill things no one else wants to kill. Sometimes, I saved people. A lot of the time I didn’t. That kept me up at night. After the things I'd seen, it would worry me if I slept soundly.

  But, for one afternoon, at least, I got to drink with friends and pretend like the world wasn't full of blood thirsty monsters that wanted to kill me. I got to laugh. I got to live. That was more than some.

  BLOOD DEBT

  Judah Black

  Book 2

  Chapter One

  There was blood on the ceiling. It started dead center, next to a light fixture, and tracked down one side of the wall, coalescing into a pool of mashed meat when it reached the floor. The wet penny scent of blood and the distinct smell of human viscera hung heavy in the air. Tiny red specks dotted an array of film equipment as if someone had swung a paintbrush dipped in red paint. Given the sheer number of discarded boom microphones, cameras, lights and other film equipment, I would have thought the whole thing part of the movie set if someone hadn’t already told me otherwise.

  The room was a faux bedroom of sorts, though it didn’t have all the typical trimmings of such a space. There was a round bed with leather restraints at regular intervals and black satin sheets. The bed was an odd find in the back room of a nightclub like Aisling. Then again, I’d been hearing rumors Aisling sold more than dreams and desires for fifteen months now. I didn’t know why anything about the fae and vampire owned club should surprise me.

  A little-known fact about most crime scenes: they put a plastic lined bucket by the door. On entering, I made use of it with all the dignity and charm befitting a thirty-something professional female investigator. I turned, doubled over and threw up the coffee I’d chugged on the way there.

  A sympathetic hand came down on my back. “Jesus Christ,” Detective Tindall cursed, rubbing his arms. “Why the hell is it so damn cold in here? And what the hell is that smell?”

  When a grizzled old cop like Tindall gagged, you know it’s bad.

  Outside, it was still dark and the air cool, but it wasn’t cold. The ambient temperature inside the room made up like a bedroom hung somewhere near freezing. The contents of the bucket in front of me steamed. My stomach turned again, and I gagged. Thank God all I’d had so far was coffee.

  One of the cops at the scene came up to us. He was wearing an Eden PD uniform and little plastic baggies over his polished shoes. “You can’t be in here.”

  I spat and pulled a paper towel down from a roll someone had been thoughtful enough to put up, thankful for the bucket. “Special Agent Judah Black,” I announced, pushing the woozy feeling away and drawing my badge out of my pocket. “BSI.”

  The beat cop looked a little relieved. “Feds? Who called you guys?”

  “I’m not—” Tindall started, and I gave him an elbow to the ribs to shut him up.

  “A concerned citizen called with an anonymous tip,” I answered in Tindall’s place. “Who’s in charge here?”

  “I am.” />
  I turned around and almost ran into a red-faced, silver-haired cop in a county uniform. His forehead wrinkled, and he paused to draw a handkerchief across his face, leaving it in place over his nose and mouth, trapping clouds of warm breath. As he did, I spotted the sheriff’s badge on his chest. I offered him my hand. He paused, stared at it, and then reached out to squeeze it with palms as thick and soft as a baby’s cheeks.

  “Sheriff Butch Maude,” he said in a gruff tone and wiped his hand on his shirt after I let him go.

  “Good to meet you, sheriff. I’m a little surprised to see you here.”

  “And why wouldn’t I be here? I’m heading this case personally,” he said with a grunt. “Messy case like this, just weeks before the election? The opposition would eat me alive if I didn’t show. Who called you in?”

  I hesitated with my answer. My office was down the road on the Paint Rock Supernatural Reservation. Ever since I got shipped out there, I'd had my hands full with a pack of werewolves, shifty vampires, and the fae. It was all I could do most days to keep the peace. The reservation may have only been three square miles, but it needed a full-time presence from the Bureau of Supernatural Investigations. I was well within my rights, though, to pursue cases beyond the reservation, provided I cleared it with my supervisors.

  The case was going to land on my desk eventually, procedure or not. I viewed stepping in from the get go a much-needed foray into the dying world of government expediency. Cut out the middle man, I reasoned, and save the taxpayers a dime or twenty. Plus, a friend had called me with the tip.

  But I hadn’t expected to run into a sheriff with election fever. The election loomed just a few weeks away. I doubted Maude would be so present if this wasn’t an election year.

  “I got an anonymous tip from one of the patrons here,” I said with a shrug. “I figured you could use everybody you could get on this.”

  Maude, still red-faced, jerked his chin toward Tindall. “And you just thought you’d bring my opponent down here with you, huh?”

  Tindall sucked in a deep breath and worked hard to keep from muttering a curse. “Look, Maude, can we put all this election... crap behind us? I’m here to help, not to drum up votes.”

  Maude narrowed his eyes. The two men entered into a stare off until I cleared my throat. “Boys, come on. Can we get back to the dead bodies in the room?” I put a hand on Maude’s shoulder. “Walk me through what you know so far. Why the film equipment?”

  “Disgusting,” Maude spat, shrugging my hand away. “Smut movies. One of the vics was a porno director. Vampire. Hence the smell. Apparently, their guts have a special odor. That’s him. Or what’s left of him.” He pointed to the viscera smear on the wall. “Eden City Council’s been trying to shut him down ever since he filed for the permits but he’d greased enough palms to keep rolling. Been filming out here at Aisling for six weeks now. Name on the permit was Harry something.”

  “Harry Hardrata,” one of the beat cops chimed in. Maude leered at him.

  I paced over to one of the cameras. “Tell me they were rolling when it happened.”

  “If only we could be so lucky,” Maude said with a grunt. “Of course they weren’t rolling. I thought the same thing. I also thought witnesses would be more helpful but, so far, all I’ve gotten is two piles of Jack and shit. I don’t think you’ll find them talkative.”

  “There were witnesses?” Tindall asked. “Where? How many?”

  “Three, but don’t bother. One bit it just as the meat wagon showed. Surprised he made it so long. His torso was a pancake.”

  "And the other two?" I asked, trying to mask the hope in my voice. An open and shut case was exactly what I was hoping for.

  "Vampires." Maude almost choked on the word. "Some foreign diplomat who's been about as useful as tits on a boar hog."

  “I’d like to talk to them, just the same.”

  Maude let out a booming laugh at Tindall's request. “You must think I’m stupid." He leaned in closer. "Read my lips. Hell no. You’ve got about as much jurisdiction here as a cow does at the Burger Barn. The fact I haven’t had you escorted from the premises is a stretch of favors. This isn’t your crime scene yet, detective.”

  “It’s not technically yours either, sheriff, until Agent Black determines it is.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I tuned out the political mudslinging and went over to the second body. Harry’s wasn’t going to yield many clues in its current state. Maybe I’d get lucky with the girl. The medical examiner stood over the body, making notes on a tablet. Every once in a while, I’d hear the shutter sound as she positioned the tablet to take a picture.

  “I don’t suppose she had an ID on her?” I said.

  The ME, a falsetto raven-haired, pale-faced woman at least five years my junior, gave me an unamused frown before pulling back the plastic covering she’d put over the body. “Meet Jane Doe.”

  Jane was young, as in the barely legal sense. Her small body was pale except for the places covered in watery, inhuman blood. She was wearing a red velvet corset but not much else. Her stockings hung in delicate threads from black garters. Puncture marks of various ages dotted her neck, chest, and inside of both legs. Skin clung tight to the muscle and bone of her body. I was no medical examiner, but I figured the cause of death was pretty obvious. A two-inch hole was bored into her chest and went all the way through.

  The ME dropped the plastic back over Jane Doe.

  “There must be papers on file here,” I pointed out. “For taxes and stuff. The film crew would have them, too.”

  “Not my department,” the ME noted. “I’ve got enough paperwork trying to put these two back together again.” She looked up at me from behind her safety glasses. “What do you think it was? Was it magick?”

  “Magick doesn’t kill people,” I said with a wary glance at the blood spatter on the wall. “People who use magick kill people. Magick is a weapon like any other.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “That’s not how I’d put it. Anyone can pick up a gun, agent. Only a select few get magick.”

  “Magick’s a lot more common than people think,” I said looking over the girl. “Just not everybody’s got enough to trigger a positive test from BSI.”

  “That’s not what the government says.”

  “Ever get a tingling on the back of your neck when you were sure someone was watching you? Dream something before it happens? Some folks just get a rock in the bottom of their gut when something bad happens to someone they love.” I grabbed a glove from a box nearby and slapped it on. “It’s magick. It’s basic and most people can’t tap into anything more complex, but you’d be surprised at just how common it is.” I shifted the body for a better look at the hole in her chest. "Have you ever seen anything like this, doc?"

  "No. Never. But all the bite marks and the lack of any of her blood in the immediate area would otherwise suggest a vampire kill. If I were a betting woman, I'd put my money on exsanguination. I mean, I can’t put death by curse on the death certificate."

  "A lot of things could make a hole like that."

  “Come on," said the ME, exasperated. "How can it not be a curse?”

  “A curse, a true curse, takes a lot of mojo. I can’t just stand over a fire and say some magick words and then people fall over dead.”

  The ME chewed on her purple painted lip. “I didn’t realize magick was so specialized.”

  “There are a few people around who could pull off something like this as a curse but not many. I can name the number of capable practitioners in the area on one hand.”

  “If it’s not some kind of magick spell, what is it then? I’ve never seen someone explode without finding explosives at the scene.”

  “I’m going to find out.”

  “It looks like she was human.” The focus in her eyes wavered as she glanced at the stain on the wall. “He wasn’t. Anyone who will talk will tell you the scumbag director was a vamp. My guess is Jane here was his personal chew toy
for the camera before it all went down. It’s just a guess, though. I won’t know anything for sure until I open her up.”

  The commotion on the other side of the room got a little more heated. I turned my back to the medical examiner to see Maude’s nose two inches from Tindall’s face, still trying to stare him down.

  The sheriff pointed emphatically to the floor. “If you think I’m going to let you talk at my press conference, you’ve got another thing coming.”

  Tindall’s eye twitched. He had his hands on his hips, leaning forward. Maude must have forgotten Tindall interrogated vampires and werewolves on a daily basis. The glare Tindall gave the sheriff was a signature move.

  I jogged the short distance to push the two apart. I didn’t think it would come to blows, but all the arguing wasn’t doing the crime scene any favors. I needed the energy of the room to be intact if I decided to do any prying later. Those two knuckleheads were contaminating it with their machismo.

  “Enough,” I turned to Maude. “Whatever campaign plans you had for this case, you need to suspend them, sheriff. I’ve seen enough of the crime scene to warrant my taking it over. The victim was a vampire, Maude. It’s my case.”

  “I have a right to talk to the press,” Maude shouted. “They’ll corner me if I don’t.”

  “So long as you don’t go ruining my investigation, talk all you want. Just make sure your people keep me in the loop.”

  “Let me know if I can help,” Tindall offered and then pointed his chin at Maude. “Have your little press conference. Just don’t let any of this leak. Things are shaky enough between the vamps and the fae right now. Last thing we need is someone lighting a fire under this and them taking it as an excuse to go at each other’s throats.”