One of the depressions in the grass was stained with a spattering of sticky, dark liquid. It held the same smell as before. Drag marks were present a few feet away. After another fifteen feet, they disappeared. Something must have picked up the baubas and carried it. The spicy smell had faded, overpowered by the lingering stench of smoke. I inferred a direction based on the angle of the drag marks and kept going.
The weeded lot thinned quickly. In minutes, I was on the sidewalk, down the street from where I’d stood earlier with Evans, watching the sewer drain gurgle and overflow. Most of the surrounding streets were open now. The only barricade remaining was at the end of the block, erected around the remains of the factory. No cars were in sight. There was no blood, no tire tracks in the mud. No sign of a struggle.
It was possible they never made it to the street. If there was a manhole or drainage tunnel hidden on the overgrown lot, they could have left the area via the sewer and exited anywhere in the city. Conceivably, such a tunnel could connect to the factory’s “super-secret sewer access”, allowing them to bring their victims into the basement unnoticed.
Either way, the “unhuman beast” who abducted the baubas left no trace of itself behind. Because it’s done this before. I eyed the factory again, struggling to wrap my head around how a sophisticated, mass serial killing rampage could go on so long, as to accumulate layer upon layer of trauma—and no one had caught wind of it. Not even me.
I was finishing my second sweep of the street, when Creed texted me a thoughtful, Where the hell are you? I soothed his impatience with a noncommittal reply and headed back.
Going slower on my return trip, I widened my search area. Not by much. Too far one direction, and I’d run into a highway exit ramp. Too far in the other would take me to a more well-traveled street. I found a few, newly flattened spots I’d missed on my first pass. They were farther away, like one combatant had thrown the other. The creatures clearly wrestled for some time.
I was nearly back at the trail when my light landed on a strip of black cloth, dangling from a branch. The piece was a good six inches long and two wide. The uneven edges and broken threads suggested someone had gotten snagged on the brush.
I put on my gloves and pulled the cloth free.
The black fabric was reminiscent of the uniforms worn by my nimble opponents in the factory. On the outside, at least. The inside was lined with a speckled, brown, leathery material. I raised it to my nose and breathed deep. It had no smell. Neither did the foliage clinging to the cloth or my glove. The odor of latex was gone, as if something had neutralized it.
The lining? I wondered. If so, and the odd leather was inside their uniforms, it might explain why whatever attacked me in the factory carried no scent.
Holding the flashlight in my teeth, I tugged gently on both ends of the strip. The sample was stretchy, like spandex; perfect for accommodating their agile moves. But why go to the trouble? What creature was so intent on covering their tracks, they’d resort to a concealment that felt human in nature?
I removed my gloves, folding the cloth carefully inside one, as I stuffed them both in my jacket pocket. If I decided to show Creed the “magical” properties of the lining, I wanted an explanation, or at least a theory, to go with it.
After hunting another minute for more pieces of snagged cloth, I resumed my walk. I found the spicy smell again and followed it to the blood splatter. Selecting one of the congealed globs, I took the knife from my belt and scraped off a sample.
A snap-snap of twigs echoed through the brush. Popping up, shifting my eyes, I checked the darkness for unnatural silhouettes and contours. A slight breeze pulled at the vegetation, playing with the shadows. There were no anomalous shapes. The night was quiet and still. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t alone. Something was out there, crouched in the brush, lurking out of view. Watching.
I turned at Creed’s call. “Nite!” He spotted me and lowered his voice. “Where the hell did you go?” Leaving the trail, he pushed through the overgrowth to my position.
“The street,” I said. “It was empty. But something disturbed the brush.” I pointed to one of the flattened patches. “Might be from a struggle. Might be animals, too. Deer, maybe?”
“Deer? I know wildlife around a city can be bold, but if they’ve taken to kidnapping, we’re in trouble.”
“I thought making bad jokes at crime scenes was my job?”
“I thought, your job was to help make sense of this crap. Not sell me on theories we both know are complete garbage.”
“You’re mad I stuck you with the crotchety witness, aren’t you?”
“No. I’m mad because you stuck me with her to go off alone and hide whatever evidence is out here. I thought we were past this.”
“I wasn’t hiding it,” I said, with the right amount of indignation to sound offended and not guilty. Given enough time, of course, I would have. Cornered, I had one option. “I was bringing it to you.” I held up the knife.
Raising his flashlight, Creed bent closer. “Is that blood?”
“You can guess why it’s gummier and darker than you’re used to.”
“And smells like dinner? I don’t have to. Do you know what it’s from?”
“Possibly. But I’d rather analyze it first and be sure.” We started back to the paved trail. “If I’m right, it belongs to our victim. I think our suspect is something else.”
“Then, our witness is telling the truth?”
“Seems like it. Which is why you need to call it in as a rabid animal and close both ends of the trail. We can’t have forensics poking around here tonight. I heard something.” I glanced back. “Whatever did this might still be here.”
Creed lurched to a stop. “Then why aren’t we—”
I grabbed his arm and kept him moving. “Think about where we are. The steel factory is behind us. The old jogging trail ahead runs straight to the river, a few blocks from the dump site. Between both places is mostly scrub and empty lots. If this creature has been operating is this area as long as I think, then we’re basically in its backyard.”
“Don’t you mean their backyard?”
“I do. Which is even more of a reason to go.”
As we reached the trail. Mrs. Wyzackalowski and Mr. Sparkles were with the uniformed officers near the underpass. They were out of earshot. Habit still had me speaking softly as we ducked under the yellow perimeter tape.
“Get the team down here in the morning to sweep the area,” I said, “but for now, wandering around in the dark, on their home turf, isn’t smart. They know the hiding places and vantage points. They’ve been in the city long enough to get an idea how humans work, while we know nothing about them. If something is out here, we aren’t prepared to fight it.”
“We’re not or I’m not?” he countered, crossing his arms. “You know, what? Save it. I don’t have time to debate with you. I have to go over there and lie through my fucking teeth in hopes of keeping anyone from getting eaten tonight by a goddamn monster with red eyes. Since I met you, that’s become my job. Damage control, false reports, make-believe, and wishful thinking.” Creed walked away, muttering, as I stood speechless, “I’m sure you can find a joke in there somewhere.”
Six
I lifted my head from the eyepiece, rubbed my eyes, then looked again to be sure. Scribbling the results in a notebook, my long, drawn-out yawn morphed into a groan as my pen stopped working halfway through. I tossed it and rummaged in the mess for another. There wasn’t an inch of free space on my desk, but it was mildly better than the floor. My spare room-slash-office-slash-makeshift lab looked like it had been hit by a small tornado.
My brain felt like it had suffered the same wrath.
Shaking my head to shake off the grogginess, I scrolled through the database on the flash drive plugged into my laptop. Years ago, I started cataloging the creatures I encountered, their habits and abilities, DNA results, reported locations, and any other interesting facts. I didn’t
refer to the list much. I tracked mainly by habits and smell. I was used to hunting one species at a time, with a lot of repeat offenders. Memorizing their information was easy. Tonight, with a wide variety of samples to run, I was glad for the log to make the work go faster.
Stretching, I checked the clock on my laptop. 11:42.
I pushed up from the desk and headed for the kitchen. After three crime scenes in one day, a jolt of caffeine was the only way I was making it through the work I had left, including fabricating my report with enough detail to satisfy Captain Barnes. I should be done by now, I thought. I could have been, if my office had any organization whatsoever. But, unlike my lyrriken mentor, Oren, who had a high-tech, secret lab under his three-quarters of a million-dollar home, I was short on space and privacy.
I’d been forced to leave most of the advanced equipment (pricey tools a freelance arson consultant and former cop couldn’t afford) in unmarked boxes. Which left me rummaging through the stack like a desperate, post-apocalyptic scavenger, hastily setting up equipment on the floor because the desk wasn’t big enough. Tidiness wouldn’t change the test results, though, or get me closer to solving a case that was as convoluted now as when I first sat down.
Few samples I obtained at the river were human. The rest tested as a variety of off-world creatures, including ciguapa, asri, pixie, wendigo, aswang, and banshee. The skins brought more to the party: selkie, lyrriken, siren, human, and an ulfar; a breed of werewolf I hadn’t seen in a long while. Then, there were the creatures in my vision and the baubas.
“This is getting ridiculous,” I groaned. There were so many species represented, it was almost easier to make note of those not involved.
Some of the creatures were shifters. Their parts, at least, appeared human. Others had a similar physical structure that was close enough to pass a visual inspection. But nearly all the results obtained from the crime scenes needed to be altered or fabricated to hide the truth. Thankfully, that part wasn’t on me. Oren had operatives in various strategic positions in the city, including the morgue and the crime lab. A digital cover-up would have begun before the first sample was tested.
But if all those I’d identified were our victims, who were our suspects?
The torn strip of cloth found near the jogging trail didn’t answer that question, but it did help make sense of another.
The black fabric was neither interesting nor other-worldly. The leather inside, however, was both. DNA identified the lining as belonging to an introverted creature called a yeren. Large and ape-like, the yeren were docile and not all that intelligent. They were isolated creatures who inhabited multiple worlds, but were rarely seen outside the heavily forested areas they resided in. Though the human world was too populated for their needs, a few lived here.
Years ago, I encountered one in the northwest who acted out of character, attacking several families of campers over a period of weeks. It turned out to be suffering from an illness. The creature was thin, disoriented, and violent, and its thick coat of hair had completely fallen out. It took nearly a month to find it. Why? Because tracking a yeren is near impossible. They don’t sweat. They bury their waste and food scraps deep in the ground. They travel in the trees, leaving few prints on the ground. And their bodies have no smell.
Now, I realized Yeren didn’t lack odor. Their skin somehow nullified it, and all other smells it connected with. But locating, trapping, and skinning one was no easy feat. Capturing enough to make clothes out of their skin required serious commitment.
I popped a coffee pod into the machine. Waiting for the mug to fill, I mulled over what I knew about our killers. They possessed claws, speed, strength, human shape and fighting techniques, organization, an almost mechanical resolve, surgical skills, a taste for Chinese take-out, and a wicked determination not to be identified.
If I hadn’t ruled out my kind, Lyrriken would make the most sense. Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of another species that met the parameters enough to stand out as a suspect.
I squirted some chocolate syrup in my coffee and shuffled back to my office. Giving my stiff neck a good crack, I sat back down to continue my hunt for a common thread.
It wasn’t how the bodies were treated or disposed of. The tools and weapons used were a broad range, as well. There were no obvious commonalities between the victims’ characteristics, abilities, or their home worlds. Kidnapping them from numerous off-world locations wasn’t practical. Taking them from here, off the streets of Sentinel City made more sense. It was a focal point for paranormal activity. And murder was a plausible explanation for why some of the many trails I’d chased lately had gone inexplicably cold. I’d assumed my slippery prey had left the city. Now, I assumed pieces of them were in body bags in the morgue.
Aidric might know something, I thought, if those new to this world were in danger. Plenty of monsters came to the Sentinel on their own for reasons ranging from innocent to nefarious. But Drimera’s king offered his assistance to a particular type of traveler. First using Ella, then his trusty three-headed lyrriken, Coen, Aidric had been relocating refugees from troubled worlds for some time now, including those places sickened by the blight.
Most of the creatures in Coen’s charge were quickly ferried through another exit to a more habitable world. Ella had taken a different approach, as proven by the shelves and boxes full of evidence the police recovered from her basement. Instead of keeping the creatures contained beneath the city, she’d allowed them to integrate with the humans, at least temporarily, before moving them on. Her sudden death had left an unknown number of the refugees on the streets, lost and alone.
Regardless of how they got here, even formidable creatures were at risk on an alien world, making them easy targets for an enterprising monster with ulterior motives. Now, to figure out what the hell those motives might be…
A rude vibration against the surface of the desk scattered my thoughts.
Moving things aside, fumbling for my rattling phone, it sailed off the desk and onto the floor. I snatched it up with a curt, “Son of a bitch,” as I nearly fell out of my chair. Accidentally answering the call in the process, a giggle came through the speaker. I raised the phone to my ear. “Ronnie? Is that you?”
Her laughter trailed off. “Are you all right?”
I was about to ask her the same thing. Officer Veronica Lane was smart, tough, and clever. Giggling was not a sound I’d ever associate with her. “Sorry,” I said. “I dropped the phone. Are you still on duty? Do you have something for us?”
“No. Barnes sent me home. But he has someone reviewing the rest of the traffic cam footage, and I have my feelers out. If there’s anything to find, you’ll have it in the morning.”
“Then what’s going on?” I liked Ronnie, but our relationship hadn’t evolved to the level of impromptu, late-night phone calls. “Are you all right?”
“I’m good. Some of us needed to blow off a little steam. We’re hanging out at that pub on Westover.”
“The one you mentioned last week, with the killer wings?”
“That’s the one. There’s a dartboard here that’s looking pretty lonely, and Casey says you have one hell of an aim.”
“Did he? Is he there?”
“No. He didn’t pick up. We’ve been here a few hours.” You don’t say, I thought, understanding now where the giggle came from. “But I can stay a little longer, if you’re up for joining us.”
I spun in my chair, considering her offer. I had reports to write, and the mess in my office wasn’t going to clean itself. But this wasn’t my first invitation. Every time the team got together on their off hours, they asked me to come along. Every time, I made up an excuse. It was close to becoming awkward. Yet, I wasn’t thrilled about spending the rest of my night being grilled. Through her good-natured digs and light inquires, it was clear Ronnie had doubts about my role on the team. Specifically, how I’d turned a temporary consulting gig into a more permanent position of weight on the mayor’s new task force.
Deflecting her hadn’t been a problem, so far. But Geronimo was a determined young woman. Without doubt, she’d use the opportunity to satisfy her misgivings.
On the other hand, if it helped maintain my cover, a few drinks and some friendly conversation was a small price to pay. “Okay,” I said. “One drink. Give me—” A sound erupted from my phone. It was one I hadn’t heard before. And I was hoping I never would.
“Is that an alarm?” Ronnie said, hearing it, too.
The sound blared again. I couldn’t tell her the annoying claxon was part of a new, high-tech security system I’d installed last week at the gym. She’d know it was overkill. Deadbolts were enough for the neighborhood. If I didn’t have a working exit to another world in my office.
“Hold on.” I shut off the alarm and checked the notification. “Shit.”
Someone was inside.
“Dahlia?” Ronnie said warily. “What was the alarm for?”
“A motion sensor…for rats. I’ve got rats. At the gym.”
There was no giggle this time, just disbelief. “Did you say rats?”
“Yep. Big, ugly ones. Nosing around where they don’t belong.”
“Is that why you haven’t opened for business yet?”
A second, more urgent alarm fled the speaker, as the intruder entered my office. I’d taken steps to prevent any accidental wandering through the exit. But the brick I’d originally thought to use might have been less inviting. Having installed, instead, what amounted to a bank vault around the damn thing, any thief would see it as just that: a vault, in need of opening.
“I’m sorry, Ronnie. I have to go.” I closed my laptop and hurried from the room. “Raincheck?” I said, slipping my feet into a pair of boots.
“Sure. But don’t mess around with this. If they get into the wiring, it could start a fire. You should call an exterminator.”
“Exterminate them.” I grabbed my jacket. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
Smoke & Mirrors Page 7
