Netherworld: Drop Dead Sexy

by Tracy St. John

  Tristan patted his black-garbed shoulder. “No apologies necessary, my friend. We managed to get somewhere at least.” He indicated me and Dan. “Judge, I need you to find Lana and tell her to have the weres sniff around the home of Todd Spaulding. What was the address again, Brandilynn?”

  I hated to have the Judge’s cold eyes on me. I had a sudden, ridiculous urge to trade my pretty sundress for a burkha under that assessing gaze. Jeez, I bet this guy could have made Mother Theresa feel sinful with that glare alone.

  I gave him Todd’s address, and the Judge turned his attention back to Tristan without giving me a word of acknowledgement. “I’ll accompany the weres myself.”

  Tristan smiled. “Excellent. There’s a dead man who looks like he committed suicide in the house. We believe the killer influenced him to do so. Once the weres have finished their sweep, call the police anonymously and tell them there’s been a murder at that address.”

  The Judge frowned. “But you said it looks like suicide.”

  Dan spoke up. “It’s better to give the investigators doubt. They know he was a client of Brandilynn’s anyway, and throwing the ‘m’ word at them will make them work harder and maybe pick up leads we’ve missed.”

  The Judge’s frozen glare found me again. “Of course. Humans do surprise me from time to time. Does this woman have any recall yet?”

  Boy, I hate being talked about like I’m not in the room. My parents did that to me all the time. I held back a retort, because he was Tristan’s friend. Okay, and partly because he creeped me out. Honesty, honesty.

  Tristan frowned at the tone the Judge took when he referred to me. “She’s getting bits and pieces of that night back, but she was glamoured. We may not be able to pull anything else from that Swiss cheese memory of hers.” He took a step towards me and smoothed a palm over my hair. “Sorry dearest. I don’t mean to sound as if you haven’t been of help. You have.”

  I glowed under his praise. I am such a sucker for a handsome man’s approval. I really need to grow some balls or something. “Maybe there’s something else I can do?” I offered.

  He thought for a moment before he nodded. “There is, and thank you for suggesting it. I’d like you and Dan to search around Old Town for the ghost we lost, the other murdered girl.”

  Dan said, “Stacy Wilkerson. That’s a lot of ground to cover.” He didn’t complain. My Marlboro Man looked eager for the challenge.

  “She’s not at any of the places she frequented during her life. I checked myself. She’s got to be down here somewhere.” Tristan went grim, his eyes darkening. “The Ripper is still out there, looking for his next victim. We don’t have much time before he strikes again.

  Behind him, the Judge’s beautiful but frozen voice sent a chill through the room. “The city should thank him for cleaning up the vermin.” He stared at me over Tristan’s shoulder, and I stiffened at the slur.

  Tristan’s expression turned downright thunderous as he turned on his assistant. “I know you have strong feelings about prostitutes and escorts, but do not insult Brandilynn again. She is important to me and I won’t have her judged, not when we’ve done so much worse ourselves.”

  Dan’s hand found mine, and he squeezed gently. “Let’s get going, Brandilynn. You don’t need this crap.”

  As Dan transported us out, leaving the other two men glaring at each other, Tristan’s voice followed us. “Be careful out there.”

  I wondered what was out there to make him advise caution in the world of the dead. Surely there couldn’t be anything worse out there than the steaming hatred in the Judge’s eyes when he stared at me.

  * * * *

  We materialized in a dark, shadowed place, a dirt path at our feet. The air smelled dank and rotting, bringing to mind sewage and dead things. I quickly traded my sandals for knee-high boots. The sundress changed to cargo pants and a button-down blouse with long sleeves. I thought about gloves for a moment. I so didn’t want to touch anything here. Even the air felt dirty.

  A cacophony of sounds overlaid the vista of crumbled tabby ruins of long-ago homes: sobs, shrieks, moans, and inhuman growls. Tree roots from the world above clawed their way down to catch at the ground beneath my feet. It was a world of decay, where it seemed no living thing had ever existed. I shuddered.

  “Nice place you got here. Where the heck have you brought me?”

  Dan grimaced as he tugged me along the path that might have once been a road. “This is under Union Street, a few blocks from downtown.”

  I looked over my head, as if I might spy the neighborhood above me with its seedy houses, weed-choked lawns and old cars held together with baling wire. “The bad part of Old Town. Funny how it’s just as scary here.” An unearthly shriek, not too far away, made me jump. “Make that scarier.”

  “This is a thin place. As above, so below.”

  In an alleyway between two partially standing houses, I saw two naked men. One had his hands braced against the wall of one house, his legs spread wide apart as the other reamed his backside. Good heavens. They paused mid-stroke to return my stare, their gazes cold and uncaring. I looked away.

  “What do you mean by a ‘thin place’?” I asked Dan. I had to be blushing fifty shades of red.

  “This is one of the locations where the world of the living overlaps with the world of the dead. What goes on up there affects down here, and vice versa.”

  “So the drug trade and murders that happen so often there are making it bad here?”

  “Right. And the black magic practiced in this area down here makes the killing and need for drugs more prevalent up there. It’s a vicious cycle, constantly feeding on itself.”

  “Black magic?” I watched as dark figures flitted from the crumbled structures around us, doing heaven knew what.

  “See those wards there?” Dan tugged me over to a tabby wall. What I had taken as graffiti were actually strange symbols painted on the shell-bumped surface. My eyes tried to make sense of the angry red hieroglyphics.

  Dan warned, “Whatever you do, don’t let go of my hand. I’ll get us out of here quick if we’re threatened.”

  I tried to decipher the odd wards. They almost seemed to pulse, as if enlivened with the heartbeat of some beast. “What can these do?”

  “I’m no witch. It could be anything from protecting this particular piece of property to stealing ghosts’ energy. Don’t ever touch a ward you know nothing about.”

  He pulled me back to the path, and I saw a tall, thin figure dart behind the building we’d been studying. A hooded cloak flapped around him, and I had the awful feeling whoever he was had been spying on us.

  Before I could tell Dan, a beastlike squall split the air two houses up. Dan led me to the far side of the root-draped street.

  “It sounds like someone’s keeping a rabid werehog over there. Keep sharp.”

  We skirted the building, its doorless and windowless openings barricaded with barbed wire. Jeez, I couldn’t wait to get out of here.

  “So let me get this straight in my head. If our energy is stolen, we become wraiths. Ghosts of ghosts.”

  Dan nodded, his eyes searching the hellish surroundings. “Helpless and racked with pain from being constantly fed on. I can’t imagine Hell having any worse punishment. If Stacy Wilkerson ended up here, a wraith is probably what she is. Witches and other ghosts desperate for energy love to get their hands on new ghosts because they’re so naïve.”

  “How does this feeding happen?”

  “All you have to do is come in contact with another ghost and consciously pull, like you did from the magnetic field earlier. It takes concentration. A ghost can also feed you their strength, but you’ll only find that in exceptional cases.”

  I frowned. “So say a ghost decides to feed on me. What’s to keep me from pulling my energy back if contact is all that’s required?”

  Dan quirked a sickened smile. “First come, first served. If a ghost draws from you, you’re too lost in the pain to draw back.
”

  “But once the feeding is over, if you don’t disappear you can get your strength back, right? Pull from the magnetic field or something?”

  He shook his head. “Being fed on to the point you become a wraith does damage beyond just losing your strength. You bleed energy after such an attack, too fast to replenish through the magnetic field alone. Even strong energy sources, if available, won’t keep you going for long. Some ghosts are permanently injured and never recover their ability to hold power.”

  Yikes. Note to self. Do not let anyone turn you into a wraith.

  Dan motioned to the reddish clay ground beneath our feet. “Keep an eye out for wards drawn in the dirt. They might be temporary, but they’re just as potent as the painted ones for as long as they last.”

  My eyes wide, I stared at the ground before us as we continued on. I might not know much about being dead, but I knew for certain I didn’t want to be a wraith.

  “So how do we find her?” I asked.

  Dan opened his mouth to answer, but the voice came from behind us, and it was female. “How do you find who, princess?”

  We turned to see a woman with hair dyed burgundy. Her skin was as pale as a vampire’s, and she wore a lot of black mascara, black eyeliner and her tank top, jeans and boots were black too. A near middle-aged Goth chick? Well, it was a statement. To each her own.

  She had a solidness that told me she still lived. Yet she looked straight at me. Another clairvoyant, one with more ability than Lana, I supposed. She smiled at me, but for some reason, I wasn’t warmed by it.

  “Do I know you?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Not yet. My name is Erica Ford. Can I help you with something?”

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  Her grin got bigger. She started to look a bit like a shark. “I got that. Maybe I can help you find this someone … for a price.”

  A couple of big guys, definitely spirits, walked up to stand at her back. They would have made good bouncers, and I’m not talking the sexy Patrick Swayze type. These were goons. Thugs. Brutes. I’d keep going, but I’d left my thesaurus at home.

  Dan’s expression was wary, and he took my upper arm, pulling me away from the terrible trio. “She’s a witch, Brandilynn. You don’t want to pay her price.”

  Erica gave us a round-eyed innocent look, all the more evil for its exaggeration. “A little of her energy to help her find a friend? That’s not so steep.”

  We had moved a couple of steps out of easy grabbing distance. Dan scowled. “Any price you charge is too high.”

  They started towards us. Erica’s beam became a twisted thing, more snarl than smile. “I don’t like your attitude,” she told Dan.

  Dan and I moved faster. “I’m sure you know who I work for.”

  “Tristan Keith has no power here. He’s overreached himself, as you’ll soon find out for yourself.” Her smile went from shark to T. Rex. My skin crawled.

  She raised her arms in a ‘v’ over her head. Her right hand clenched in a fist. “Praehendo mortuus anima,” she intoned.

  The thugs moved around her to come at us, their big paws reaching. Dan and I backed up fast as the three pursued, Erica muttering incomprehensibly as she chased us. I looked around for help. As above so below, as Dan had said. There’s never a cop around when you need one.

  Erica swung her clenched fist towards us, her hand opening wide to fling what looked like green sand. Dan grabbed me, swinging me aside to keep the substance from making contact.

  “The library!” he shouted. The world shifted around me in a dark smear, Erica’s angry yelp following me into the frozen in-between of transport. I felt a harsh tug, and I screamed as I was torn from Dan’s grasp.

  I emerged from the darkness of Fulton Fall’s netherworld into the sun and fluorescent-drenched lobby of the police station. As wrong turns went, it wasn’t so bad. At least I’d escaped Erica and her goons.

  A few people in various stages of irritation sat on hard plastic and metal chairs. The muted din of ringing phones and conversation came from an open door behind the bullet-proof glassed-in desk. A teen boy stood there, giving an emotionless uniform his impassioned complaint.

  “I know it was that jerk Sam Torkelson who took my iPod. Stuff is always disappearing around him.”

  I’d been in here before, the victim of a purse snatch. I’d had a brief instant of remembering that when I’d thought about cops never being where you need them. The stray thought had brought me here rather than taking me to the library with Dan.

  I had to go to the library. Dan must be frantic wondering if Erica had gotten me, I thought.

  Before I had the main room locked in my unruly head, Agents Heany and Neuhaus walked in from outside. I froze as Heany said to his long, tall companion, “This case gets weirder all the time. Hopefully forensics will prove that’s Ms. Payson’s jacket and shoes we found at the Spaulding house.”

  He waved to the desk officer, who buzzed them behind the desk. My interest sparked by the conversation, I followed them to the next room, where banks of desks were manned by about a dozen uniformed and plainclothes officers. Dan would have to worry and wait.

  The agents wove through the maze of desks towards the back of the room. Neuhaus said, “It sure as hell looks like a suicide, but that anonymous call—”

  Heany nodded. “The vampire could’ve glamoured Spaulding into hanging himself.”

  Thrilled the detectives had arrived at the same conclusion Tristan, Dan and I had, I followed them through a door marked ‘Homicide’.

  The homicide division was a smaller version of the room we’d just left. Desks, chairs, computers, telephones. A map with red pushpins hanging on a wall. Next to it, a dry-erase board with lots of notes scribbled on it and pictures of young women taped on top. Including mine. I recognized it as the shot the escort service I’d worked for used, with perfect lighting, flawless makeup and not a hair out of place. I was the prettiest corpse on the board, as most of the other girls had not so glamorous mug shots hanging up. I felt sorry that they hadn’t been photographed nicer. Every girl should get to look pretty.

  I looked for Stacy Wilkerson’s picture since she was the one that had been lost in the city below. Hers was a mug shot too, the glaring light not kind to what had probably been an attractive face. Limp brown hair hung down. Her eyes got my attention the most. I don’t think I’d ever seen such vacant eyes before, as blue and remote as the sky. Almost as if she’d been dead before the Ripper had found her. I shuddered.

  Heany and Neuhaus unknowingly joined me at the board. They focused on my picture, where I smiled and sparkled like a pageant contestant.

  Neuhaus rubbed his chin. “This whole thing’s got me wondering if Brandilynn Payson’s killer was our serial perp after all.”

  Heany sighed and stepped back to take in the scribbled notes. He planted his hands on his hips. “Let’s go over the differences and similarities. Difference one: Brandilynn was an escort catering to wealthy men, not a street prostitute.”

  Neuhaus scribbled the note at the bottom of the column beneath my picture. He kept writing. “Difference two: there’s no evidence she was into blood sharing with the Long Toothed.”

  “Neither were three of the other girls.”

  Neuhaus huffed and erased the notation. “True. Okay scratch that one. Brandilynn must have been stalked for the unsub to have snagged her at Spaulding’s house. We’ve assumed the other girls were just grabbed off the streets and consumed.”

  Heany snorted grim laughter. “You make it sound like they were Happy Meals.”

  “For this monster, they probably were.”

  While they talked, I drifted near a computer and pulled in some energy, careful not to overdo it. I just wanted a little boost after my run in with Erica and her goons. I was so not getting high again and losing my ability to concentrate.

  Neuhaus continued. “This is my big sticking point, him following Brandilynn to lover boy’s house. It forced him to k
ill off Spaulding. He’s always taken his victims with no known witnesses before. It just doesn’t match up with the others.”

  Heany looked over the scribbles. “There’s a lot of heat on the areas where the first victims worked. The killer is obviously local, so increased surveillance may have forced him to upgrade to the more refined ladies of the trade. Let’s look at the similarities.” He suddenly sounded like a college professor as he ticked off points. “Like our other girls, Brandilynn had sex for money. She was drained, mutilated, and dumped in a remote area like the rest. The kind of cutting he did on her body is the same as the previous vics, removing sexual organs and breasts as well as creating new orifices for use.”