Sinners & Sorcerers: Four Urban Fantasy Thrillers

by SM Reine

  The Needles gave their captives two choices: get tortured, or consent to being fucked to death. “Willing” demon food.

  Ofelia had picked torture.

  So they’d tortured her. Lord, had they tortured her. But Ofelia had held out.

  She’d been at the mercy of the Needles for a week. An entire fucking week. They’d ripped her so full of holes that she was faint from blood loss, and she hadn’t given in.

  I thought about the incubus washing up in the bathroom, the bowl of needles in the kitchen.

  I thought about killing him.

  But Ofelia was too weak to walk. I tossed her over my shoulder and climbed out of the attic like that.

  I took her straight to the hospital. I stuck by her side the whole time that the nurses were bandaging her wounded body, and when the cops showed up to question her. She refused to file a police report. She told me that it’d just get the cops killed if they went after her attacker—he wasn’t human; they couldn’t hurt him.

  So once she fell asleep, I went back to get the fucker that had taken her myself.

  He was still at the beach house. I found him talking on Ofelia’s cell phone under the pier. He looked agitated. Fearful. He was telling someone on the other end that he’d lost her and that the Needles were going to kill him for it. His eagle tattoo jutted over his collar, so I could tell that it was the same guy, and the sight of him made my vision go red.

  I interrupted his call by smashing his head into the rocks.

  Saying what I did to him wouldn’t make me sound good. I’m not a violent guy, you know. When I arrested witches on the OPA’s most wanted list, I’d rather sneak up on them than risk a direct confrontation. But this guy, I just about knocked his fucking head off.

  He never saw me coming.

  That was how I discovered that incubi have a weakness—a big one. When they bleed, they bleed hard. His skull cracked when I dropped him. He poured blood all over the sand. And I realized that I might have gotten what I’d been fantasizing about, but didn’t really want—I might have actually killed the guy.

  I used Ofelia’s phone to call for an ambulance. Fucking stupid, right? An ambulance for the demon from Hell.

  I didn’t get EMTs. I got black SUVs.

  The guy who came out on the beach to greet me had blond hair and a nice suit and a look of surprise. He asked me if I’d tracked and taken down the incubus on my own. I told him yes. And I apologized. I felt like shit for what I’d done to the incubus. I wanted him to face justice, not die.

  Apparently, that was the right thing to say. The blond man smiled at me. He told me that his name was Fritz Friederling, and he didn’t arrest me.

  He asked me if I wanted a job.

  + + +

  “So did he die?”

  I looked at Isobel for the first time. I’d been staring at her beaded curtains the whole time I talked. Didn’t want to have to see what she thought of me. But now I saw, and she was watching me with sympathy in her eyes.

  “Fritz said that he was locked up in a Union detention facility,” I said. “So, yes, he survived.”

  “And Ofelia?”

  “She healed. Just about disowned me for going after the incubus on my own, but she’s fine. Back to her usual shit. Getting into trouble.” I couldn’t help but smile to think of her. She was getting in trouble in Mexico now, somewhere with warm beaches and no incubus mafia.

  “Sounds like you did all the right things,” Isobel said.

  It was the first time I’d told anyone the whole story since starting to work for the Office of Preternatural Affairs. And she didn’t think I was stupid or a violent animal. My heart unclenched a little.

  “Fritz probably saved my life from retaliation by the Needles,” I said. “The job’s good. I love my job. And I’ve ruined all of it.” I gave her a sideways look. “Why did you think the incubi were out to kill you?”

  She looked surprised by the question. “Oh. It’s just…Helltown drama, I guess. North side versus south side. Death’s Hand doesn’t like incubi and vice versa. They’re always after the priestesses.”

  “I don’t think you should go back there.”

  Isobel stroked her fingernails through my hair. “I can take care of myself.”

  I was too exhausted to argue. I dropped my head into my hands again. “I wasn’t lying to you when I told you I didn’t kill Erin. I didn’t know—I never thought I could have—”

  She kissed me.

  My first reaction was all animal—the little brain, not the big brain. She climbed into my lap and all I could think about was how incredible she felt, the way she tasted, the smell of her hair. She pushed me so that my back bumped the wall and she kissed hard.

  I liked it. A lot.

  But big brain won out. I grabbed her by the arms instead of the parts I really wanted to grab. I pushed her back.

  She looked surprised and confused. “What?”

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Isobel skimmed her fingernail down my cheek, like she was tracing the path of a tear. I tried not to look down her shirt. It was hard. I had a great view from that angle. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you ever since you saved me in the desert. Actually, that’s a lie. I’ve been thinking about it ever since I washed your face off and realized you weren’t a hideous gargoyle.”

  I was too confused to be offended. “But I killed Erin.”

  “Oh, Cèsar,” she sighed, like I was totally clueless. She melted against my chest. Her head felt good tucked against my neck. “You need to turn yourself in. Tell Fritz everything that’s happened—everything about the Needles in Helltown, and Erin Karwell, and the Union guys. I know he’ll be able to help you.”

  “Turn myself in?”

  “Yes. I’ll take you to him in the morning.”

  So Isobel wasn’t afraid of me, but she still thought I should be arrested. She was probably right. That was the only way that Erin Karwell was going to get the justice she deserved now.

  But I couldn’t let Isobel drive me to Fritz’s house. The OPA had been looking for her. They wouldn’t just arrest me.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’ll turn myself in. And I should probably—”

  Isobel put her hand over my mouth. “Shut up and hold me.”

  That I could do.

  I wrapped my arms around her. Lord, what I would have given to have been with a woman like Isobel a week ago. Before I hurt Erin. Before I fucked up and made an innocent life pay for it.

  Isobel didn’t try to kiss me again. She rested against me, warm and comfortable and silent, giving me the trust I didn’t deserve.

  Eventually, her breathing slowed. She relaxed.

  I’d had energy potions, but Isobel hadn’t. She probably hadn’t slept in days. Made it easy to gently move her off of me, stretching her out on the cot. Took superhuman strength not to lie down next to her, but I didn’t. I grabbed another energy potion out of my jacket, took a quick swig.

  Then I went walking.

  22

  I had to walk for three hours before I finally spotted a cab. The closest things I had to water were the energy and strength potions I’d snagged from Domingo, so I drank them as I walked up the highway toward Los Angeles. I was jittering hard by the time I got into the checkered cab.

  “Where to?” the cabbie asked me.

  My hands were shaking like I’d tossed back a twelve pack of Red Bull. I raked my fingers through my hair. I was soaked with sweat.

  It wasn’t just the walk or the potions. It was knowing what I had to do next.

  For a second, I thought about telling him to take me back to Isobel. I thought about locking myself in the RV with her and seeing what else she’d been thinking about doing to me. I thought about asking her how she felt about spending the summer in Mexico with Ofelia, maybe heading into Guatemala to visit Abuelita’s family.

  But Isobel wouldn’t take me back, so I gave him a different address.

  The driver turned
on the meter and got on the road.

  Fritz Friederling lived in Beverly Hills. He’d told me over drinks at The Pit once that his great-grandfather had been big in mining—something about minerals—and Fritz had inherited everything when he was sixteen. He worked for the OPA because he was passionate about keeping the country safe, not because he wanted the benefits. Definitely not because he wanted an extra eighty grand a year. It was pocket change for him.

  His house was wedged in between two celebrity mansions. The kind of place that buses visit on tours. The cabbie gave a skeptical look at the elaborate gate guarded by stone lions with uplifted paws and said, “This right?”

  “This is right,” I said, and I gave him a sweaty wad of cash.

  He was gone before I’d gotten all the way to the intercom.

  I buzzed. The speaker crackled on, and I said, “It’s me, it’s Cèsar Hawke.”

  The gate swung open immediately. Fritz’s front lawn was bigger than most public parks. It was early in the morning and gardeners were working on maintaining his flowerbeds. The staff didn’t even glance at me as I headed for the front door.

  A man emerged from the house, half-dressed for work in charcoal gray slacks. He was a suave motherfucker with his blond hair slicked back, a tie hanging around his neck, and a watch that probably cost more than Domingo’s house. I’d always thought he looked kind of like James Bond.

  “Cèsar! Thank God!” Was I imagining things, or did Fritz look relieved to see me?

  I lifted my hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not here to fight. I’m turning myself in.”

  “Turning yourself in?” Fritz frowned deeply. “Aren’t you going to try to defend yourself?”

  “No. I’m just…turning myself in.”

  “Well,” he said. “You surprise me.”

  I’d surprised myself, too. “I’ve had a bad week, man.”

  He obviously already knew that. He swept a hand toward the front door. “Let’s go inside. You look like you could use a drink.”

  + + +

  Fritz had servants. One of them brought me a snifter of brandy. Not my usual breakfast, but considering I was about to go somewhere that I’d never have a drink like this again, it seemed like a final act of generosity from my boss. Even so, I didn’t want to drink it. I never wanted to drink alcohol again. I cupped the snifter between my hands and warmed it with my body heat as Fritz hiked up the legs of his trousers and settled on the chaise across from me.

  He looked like he was going to speak. I didn’t let him.

  “I’ve been doing some investigating in my…time off. Trying to figure shit out. Get my head on straight. You’ve probably heard some of it from Eduardo and Joey.”

  Fritz’s eyes sparked with interest. “Agents Costa and Dawes? What about them?”

  “They didn’t tell you that they found me?” I asked.

  “They haven’t been back to work in days.”

  Well, that was interesting. “They caught me at an RV park, dragged me out to the desert, and tried to execute me.” Fritz’s jaw dropped open. I quickly added, “I left them alive. All I did was tie them up.” I didn’t mention Isobel. If the OPA didn’t know how to find her, I wasn’t going to help them.

  “I believe you,” Fritz said. “I know you wouldn’t lie about that.” He raked a hand through this hair. “That’s not good, Cèsar. Costa and Dawes are with the Union, and as you know, there’s somewhat of a…veil of secrecy between our department and theirs. I’ll have to go through official channels to get authority to investigate them.”

  “But you will investigate them?”

  “I’ll investigate,” he said.

  Relief warmed me. At least something good had come out of this. The only good thing, maybe, but at least it was something.

  Fritz leaned his elbows on his knees, staring at me intently. “Now do you want to talk about what’s happened with Erin Karwell?”

  I stared into the brandy. The pattern of the marble floor was distorted through the curved side. “Not really.”

  “I wish you had come to me when you left the police station.”

  “Would have made your job easier, huh?” I asked.

  He looked surprised. “I might have been able to help you.”

  “I don’t think there’s any helping me now.” It wasn’t about me anyway. Even if he could have waved his hand and made the problem disappear, it wouldn’t have fixed anything for Erin.

  “You’re a good agent, Cèsar. I don’t have many good agents under me—and fewer that I can trust. I’d hate to lose you.”

  Even though I’d killed a woman? “I’ve always appreciated my job,” I said cautiously. “But you didn’t send anyone to pick me up from the 77th Street station. I figured you’d written me off.”

  He shrugged. “The paperwork takes time. You never would have gone to trial.”

  I didn’t know what to say about that. I opened my mouth then shut it.

  A man wearing a black suit and tie stepped into the doorway. He caught Fritz’s eye. My boss stood.

  “Finish your drink,” he said. “I have a phone conference I can’t miss.”

  What was more important than a fugitive agent showing up at his door?

  As if he could read my mind, Fritz said, “There’s been new evidence in your case. They’re debriefing me on it now.” He gave me a sideways smile. “With this new development, I’m sure the meeting won’t last long.”

  I didn’t see anything amusing about it. My fingers tightened on the snifter hard enough that the pads went white.

  Fritz followed his security guard or assistant or whatever into the kitchen. I could see through the doorway that Fritz’s kitchen was as nice as the rest of his house. Marble countertops, big island thing, cast iron cookware hanging from the rack. There was a freaking waterfall on the back wall.

  I wasn’t sure how long it would be until the Union came to take me away, but I felt antsy, like I was going to get jumped at any moment. I paced the room, set the brandy on his antique bureau, checked my reflection in the mirror. The week had aged me. I was scruffy and sunburned and dirty.

  I scrubbed my jaw and stared at the face of the man who had killed Erin Karwell. That guy deserved everything he was gonna get.

  My hip buzzed.

  I just about jumped out of my skin at the sensation. Patted my pockets. Felt something hard on the right side.

  Domingo’s cell phone. I forgot that I’d been carrying it.

  I glanced up at the kitchen. Fritz was still talking with his assistant, outlined in gold by the light through the window. They weren’t watching me. They didn’t notice when I stepped into the hall and answered the cell phone.

  “You have to come back, Cèsar.”

  Took me a second to recognize Isobel’s voice. She sounded like she was panicking. “Wait, what? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Agent Takeuchi—she did it, she was there—”

  “Slow down, Izzy. What about Suzy? Where was she?”

  “I grabbed some of Erin Karwell’s cremains before we ran. I’m sorry, I know it’s gross. But I used it to raise her again.”

  “Why would you—”

  “Cèsar, you’re as dangerous as a teddy bear. Erin never said that you killed her specifically, did she? I had to know.” Isobel plowed on without waiting for me to speak. The reception was bad—her voice crackled, faded, then came back. “—was there that night. At your apartment.”

  What she was trying to tell me started to sink in.

  “Suzy was there?”

  “She was fucking there, Cèsar,” Isobel said. She didn’t seem to have heard me. I was losing her. “Erin saw her.”

  It was impossible. No way Suzy would have been hiding that from me, not without a good reason. It didn’t mean she was a killer—it didn’t mean anything.

  “Wait, there’s someone—” Isobel began.

  The sound crackled, fuzzed, and cut off abruptly.

  The call had died.
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  23

  Fritz’s front gate was closed. It was tall. And there were two black SUVs parked on the other side. The Union had arrived to arrest me, take me to a detention center, make me vanish.

  They were going to be disappointed.

  I veered off the path, hurtling through the gardens. “Sorry!” I shouted to a gardener as I pulverized his begonias.

  There was a tree planted near the wall. It had been trimmed to keep the branches from hanging over the opposite side, but it was easy to climb from the gardens. Domingo and I had climbed a thousand trees to sneak out and party on the weekends, and my muscle memory hadn’t faded. I was over the wall in seconds.

  I jumped over the side. Landed hard on my knees. Got up to run.

  Hands grabbed my jacket from behind. I swung a right hook as I turned.

  It was only Suzy’s lightning-fast reaction time that saved her from getting a face full of fist. She grabbed my wrist and twisted it behind my back. I felt my elbow pop.

  “Suzy!”

  She forced me to the ground with her grip on my arm. “Shut the fuck up, Cèsar,” she hissed under her breath. “They’re on the other side of that wall.”

  Once she was sure I was quiet, she released me and leaned around the corner to look at the SUVs. Her hand rested on her hip where a holster should have been. For the first time, I wondered why she hadn’t been carrying her sidearm. I hadn’t seen her with it in days.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Looking for you.” She showed me a crystal filled with a faint turquoise glow. “Tracking spell. I used the clothes you left at my house as a focus.”

  “Why? Because you want to tell me the truth about what happened the night Erin died?”

  The blood drained out of her face. “Cèsar—”

  “So it’s true.”

  Her lips pressed into a thin frown. “Stonecrow?”

  I nodded.

  She pushed her hair out of her face, closed her eyes, seemed to think silently for a moment. When her eyes opened again, she looked resigned. “You were drunk off your ass, Hawke. You’d been arguing with the waitress outside. When I saw you leave with her, I followed to save you from a drunken one night stand.”