by J. A. Saare
I took a step back, pulling away from him. “I have a lot of work to do. In case you’ve forgotten, I have to repay a debt to a fallen angel.”
Marigold Vesta had returned me to the present time to save Disco, but her assistance had come with a price. If I didn’t find her resting place and return her to the land of the living, I would have to offer my own body as a vessel. She would take over my mortal form while my soul took a trip to Heaven or Hell.
“Listen to me.” Disco grasped my arm and tugged me close. “If Marius believes for one moment you’re a danger to our kind, you won’t have to worry about your debt. He’ll try to kill you, and I’ll be forced to do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” His voice dipped an octave, thick with emotion. “I won’t allow anyone or anything to harm you, even if it means going head to head with my maker. Do you understand what I’m telling you, love?”
Damn him. The endearment sent shivers down my spine. “He’s older than you.”
“He is.” Disco moved closer, until our hips touched.
I closed my eyes, breathing him in. “And stronger.”
“That too.”
“You care for him.” I sagged in his embrace, allowing him to hold me.
“I do,” he whispered against the top of my head. “But I love you. I never stopped loving you.”
Despite the nagging voice that warned me I was going to make a monumental mistake, I caved. I hadn’t saved Disco’s life only to place him in danger. Older vampires were far more formidable. Still, that didn’t mean I had to be totally stupid about things.
“I have a few stipulations.”
“Name them.”
“I’ll stay at your home until Marius leaves. After that, it’s back to my apartment.” I could already hear his brain churning. Knowing Disco, he thought he could change my mind.
“If that’s what you want,” he said softly. “What else?”
“I have a lot of work to do.” Christ, could my voice get any deeper? I tried to get my hormones under control and continued, “Between working at the BP and searching for Marigold’s resting place, I won’t be home a lot.”
“Actually, Marius might be able to help you. He has a lot of connections and his maker is a half-demon. He’s indicated he would assist us in severing your debt and wiping the slate clean.”
There was something else Disco wasn’t telling me. I could feel his hesitation due to the open mark between us. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
“He wants you to destroy the knife.” I tried to pull away, but he kept me close. “It’s the true threat to half-demons. Once it’s gone, Marius can leave and put all of this behind us.”
Sucker was the only thing that could kill a half-demon, so it made sense they’d want me to destroy the blade. Created from a pact between a demon and an angel, the blood that instigated the dagger’s craving had also made it strong enough to behead a demon—something a normal weapon wasn’t capable of. Too bad I’d grown attached to the knife. Even if Sucker demanded its fair share of blood, I felt it was worth the sacrifice.
I couldn’t lie to Disco considering the danger, so I didn’t try. “I can’t promise that.”
“I had a feeling you were going to say that. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” He ran his hand down the length of my hair. “Anything else?”
“You and Paine have to stop going at each other.” This time he tried to pull away, but I kept him against me, speaking into his chest. “He’s become a close friend. That’s it. There is nothing more between us. You’re going to have to accept he’s done nothing wrong. What happened is on me. The fighting between you is causing problems, and Marius will know it.”
“I don’t like him anywhere near you.” Disco’s voice was laced with venom. “Just knowing what you did together eats me up inside.”
“That’s just it. He didn’t do anything,” I reminded him. “The Paine of the future is not the Paine here and now. You’re going to have to cut him some slack.”
Disco ripped free of my embrace. I’d seen him this angry once—when he’d learned I’d been with another man and forcibly entered my mind. It was then he’d learned the man was Paine—a future version of his best friend, but Paine nonetheless. The memory of that night came rushing back, along with the misery I’d endured at Disco’s hands. Fear assailed me. I took several steps back and reached for the knife at my side. Disco glanced at me and his expression changed. The outrage marring his features became sadness. I lowered my hand when I realized I was prepared to fight the man I loved and detested.
“He wants you,” Disco said quietly. “If he thought there was a chance you would consider him more than a friend, he’d sever our ties and do whatever it took to make you his.”
“I don’t feel that way about Paine.” I cared for Paine deeply—even loved him in my own way—but it was nothing compared to the feelings I had for the vampire before me.
Disco looked at me through his long, dark lashes. “I know that, but it doesn’t make it any easier for me.”
“That makes two of us.”
We stood across from each other, so close that all it would take was a few steps to bridge the gap. Neither of us moved. The pain was too fresh, the betrayal too deep.
Disco slid his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “Are there any other stipulations I should know about?”
“Just one.”
“Which is?”
I picked up the pet carrier, reminded myself that I had to be strong, and looked him in the eye. “I might be staying at your home while Marius is here, but that doesn’t mean we’re picking up where we left off.” I stepped past him, started walking toward the door, and called over my shoulder, “If we share a room, I’m calling dibs on the bed. You can sleep on the floor.”
Chapter Two
Although I should have spent the following morning in the library—in an attempt to locate Marigold Vesta’s resting place—I decided to swing by a crime scene instead. After all, I was working on repaying my debt. Only my attention was on the sacrifice portion of the deal instead of the logistics. In order to revive Marigold, I had to kill a person. The bigger the spell, the higher the cost. Fortunately, not all lives are created equal. Someone who could kill an innocent woman in cold blood would be a perfect sacrifice.
At least that’s what I told myself.
I found where Autumn Geoffreys had been killed within minutes. The crime scene wasn’t difficult to spot. Yellow police tape decorated the alley, along with large brown stains on the concrete where the unfortunate woman had bled out. The evening news provided a few intimate details—her throat had been cut and she’d been raped—but it wasn’t enough to go on. If I was going to find the killer, I needed more information.
A lot more.
I studied the side of the building, instinctually knowing where she had died. The poor woman had been trapped with nowhere to go, and in an area like this one—isolated except for a wandering drug dealer or prostitute—no one would come running if they’d heard her screams. Considering blood was smeared all over the side of the building, as though she’d fought her assailant even in the grips of death, I was fairly certain her throat was cut during the rape. Had she fought off a sadist? A serial killer? A man with a mommy complex? Or was the grim reaper just your average crazy person?
It was too early to tell.
I glanced around the alley, taking my time and soaking in my surroundings. No one would have seen much. The alley was small, nothing more than a sliver between two condemned buildings. The club where Autumn had worked was only a few blocks away. I was tempted to go to The Pink Flamingo and ask questions, but since I worked for the competition I wasn’t sure that was a good idea.
Instead I strolled up and down the narrow stretch of walkway, hoping for a ghostly glimpse of the twenty-three-year-old who’d stripped as means to support her three-year-old son and pay for college. That was the primary reason she’d made the evening news. An exotic dancer who’d gotten h
erself killed wasn’t likely to cause a fuss, not when reporters could spread the good word about meth busts and convenience store robberies. An exotic dancer who’d left an orphaned child behind, however, was great for after dinner conversation.
Crazy fucking world.
An image of Autumn and her child flashed before my eyes, the snapshot burned in my memory like a brand. The picture on the news had been taken around Christmas, since a large tree with glowing rainbow lights was visible behind mother and son. The little boy shared his mother’s blonde hair and blue eyes, although his face was round and pudgy in that bittersweet stage between infant and toddler. Visualizing the two during happier times felt voyeuristic and wrong. Would they have smiled so blissfully at the camera if they had known what was coming?
Highly doubtful.
The visual vanished, forced aside since I wasn’t ready to go there. Instead I tried to mentally recreate the violent act that had killed her, sliding together imprints in time using my tortured, fucked up mind. Autumn had fought, and she had lost. But she hadn’t given up. Her struggles told me she wasn’t ready to go. There was something important for her in this life, something she refused to leave behind. The spasm in my abdomen caused bile to rise to the back of my throat. Of course she had something worth fighting for. Hell, she had something worth dying for.
In those final moments had she mourned the lost time with her son? Had she resented the fact she would never get to know the part of her who would exist despite the fact she was gone?
My stomach rolled, making me queasy. Inhaling a heaping lungful of stale New York air didn’t ease the sensation. The entire situation made me sick. Autumn had wanted to better herself and create a stable future for her child, only to have her efforts wasted in a violent and senseless act. Due to tragedy, her son would never know her, talk to her, or love her beyond a memory.
God, it pissed me off.
Move on. Focus.
After thirty minutes walking along the alley, I accepted what I already knew: Autumn had crossed over. Sometimes a ghost would remain in our dimension if they had a loved one they were leaving behind, but not always. Autumn must have seen the light, walked into it, and went on whatever journey it is we take when we die.
“Damn it,” I murmured and ducked under the yellow tape in my path.
Nothing useful to go on, nothing to help me find my target. There were only the dark images my perverse mind conjured that I didn’t want to deal with—of Autumn in the grips of death, suffering at the hands of a batshit fuck, fighting with all she had to stay alive.
I forced the thoughts away. If I wanted to find the person responsible for Autumn’s death and use him as the sacrifice to revive Marigold Vesta, I had to be patient and bide my time. That was the best way to go about ending my debt. The only way I could end someone’s life and face myself in the mirror. Killing someone who preyed on the weak was something I could deal with. I had to stay on my toes and locate the son of a bitch.
It was time to connect the dots elsewhere.
Now for plan two.
Another stripper was killed a week before: Lucy Mueller, twenty-four years old, who had worked at The Grind. Lucy and Autumn’s deaths were remarkably similar, leading me to believe the same asshole was responsible. The deaths had occurred in a close timeframe, indicating said asshole would strike again soon. Once a serial killer got a taste for death, he couldn’t help himself. The god complex started, he experienced the thrill that was ending a human life, and the rest was icing on his demented cake.
Focus.
Since Autumn had crossed over to the other side, Lucy became the key to locating the bastard. If I could establish contact with her, I would be able to see what her attacker looked like and start tracking him down. All I needed was a glimpse of his face, one good look at the man I was searching for. Since I worked at a tittie bar, there was definitely a good chance we’d rub elbows at some point in the future.
I pictured that—me and serial killer asshole facing off.
He’d think he had the upper hand until I introduced him to the ass kicking he had coming. Then I’d make him apologize for what he’d done and wish he could take it all back. It wouldn’t matter what he said, the words meaningless in the broad spectrum of things. Once it was time to perform the ritual, his life would be in my hands. He wouldn’t go easy, I’d see to that. He wouldn’t deny death or the hell that waited him.
No way.
The thought provided more relief than it should have, which in turn disturbed me enough that I stopped walking. I closed my eyes, tilting my head back to take a deep breath of more stale air. Handing out death sentences should have bothered me, or at the very least caused me to hesitate or rethink my life. But the truth was, it was getting easier and easier. Before I had some sense of right and wrong, a small amount of control.
Not anymore.
The amulet started to hum, easing my self-loathing and replacing it with calm. I wrapped my hand around the stone, hating myself as I lowered my head and waited for the feeling to evaporate like rainwater on simmering summer asphalt. The confusion scattered, leaving clarity in its wake.
Murders didn’t deserve a Get Out Of Jail Free card. I could use the bastard who’d killed Autumn and Lucy to revive Marigold—correction—I would use the bastard to revive Marigold. It was him or someone who’d done nothing wrong. Sacrificing a man who took life without remorse was the right decision. I wasn’t playing God. I was maintaining the balance between good and evil.
Keep telling yourself that and you just might start believing it.
Sirens blared a few streets over, pulling me out of my doom and gloom.
Hallelujah for small favors.
I released the amulet and looked down the alley. The cops had upped security, sending drivers through the area every hour or so. Mostly it was a ploy to keep the locals happy, a display of good faith.
Don’t worry, Sir and Madam. We’ll keep the streets safe for you.
Yeah fucking right.
After all, aside from a bartender who worked in a gentleman’s club and needed a human sacrifice, who really cared about two dead strippers?
I wasn’t even going to attempt to answer that question.
I walked by a dumpster, ready to put an end to my investigation and report to work, when a cardboard box wedged behind the trash bin caught my eye. The outer sticker was peeling, but I could see the box once contained a child’s kitchen set—one of those gigantic plastic numbers with a battery operated stove that made noises. The rectangular piece of cardboard was the perfect residence for a squatter. Maybe—just maybe—he or she might have some beneficial information.
“Knock, knock.” I tapped on the top of the box, bending at the waist to see inside.
“Go away.” The squatter was definitely a man. Judging by the way he sounded, he was an older hobo on his last lung who didn’t have a lot of time left.
“I’ve got a twenty with your name on it. All you have to do is answer a few questions.”
There was a lengthy pause. “You a cop?”
“Nope, not a cop. I work as a bartender over at The Black Panther. I’m just trying to find out what happened to the young woman who died here so we can keep a close watch on our girls.”
The thin plastic sheet hanging from the end of the box moved aside. The homeless man’s knuckles were gnarled, and his facial hair was so tangled you couldn’t get a good look at anything but his eyes. The smell coming from him was gagtastic—absolutely horrible.
I held my breath but didn’t move away.
The inside of the box wasn’t any better. A thin sheet, some canned food, a small teddy bear, and a half-empty bottle of wine rested in a corner. There was also a dark, yellowish stain near the entrance that explained the overwhelming stink of ammonia. No wonder the man reeked. He didn’t bother taking his business outside. What was he thinking? Even dogs didn’t piss where they slept.
“What makes you think I know anything?”
&nbs
p; “I don’t.”
He licked his parched lips and glanced from left to right, as if he wanted to be one hundred percent certain we were alone. “Fifty dollars, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
Wiley old bastard. “For fifty dollars”—I pulled a wad of money from my back pocket—“you’d better know a lot.”
He snatched the bill as soon as I extended the cash and started talking. “It was early, probably three or four in the morning. Most of the street walkers had retired for the night. I wouldn’t have noticed a thing, but I heard a woman laughing. When I took a look, I seen she weren’t alone and a man was with her. They started getting it on against the wall over there. It was a damn good show until he took things too far and she started fighting.”
He shook his head, exhaling slowly, the scraggly gray hairs above his upper lip shifting. Running his hand over his face, he said, “She was a little thing compared to him. He pulled out a knife and put it to her throat...” He folded the money, staring at his hands. “That was the end of that.”
“She fought him.”
The old man shrugged. “As much as she could, I suppose.”
“Then what happened?”
The crow’s feet around his eyes deepened as he scowled. “What the hell do you think? She’s dead, ain’t she?”
“I think I paid you for information,” I snapped. “Enlighten me.”
“She screamed once and that was it.” Hobo was as annoyed and obviously uncomfortable. “He cut her while he was fucking her. When he finished and left, I split. I’m no match for someone like that.”
As I studied the man, I knew he was right. If he’d have tried to help, he would have met the same fate as Autumn. He was well into his sixties, frail and thin, and his hands looked horribly arthritic. There was no way he could have stopped what had happened. He was smart to stay out of sight.
“What can you tell me about the guy aside from he was big?”
“He kills women in his spare time?”
