Beast Coast (A Carus Novel Book 2)

by J. C. McKenzie

  Sid tsked and shook his head. “The humans are not possessed.”

  The Demon’s hand shot up and stopped me from launching into a tirade.

  “A Demon is not responsible. And since I’m feeling benevolent, I will elaborate, although under normal circumstances that would require a renegotiation of terms. What you describe is subconscious control by someone with psionic abilities.”

  The air became too thin to breath properly, and I needed to sit down. My body took the shortest path; with a loud thud, my ass hit the floor. “Can you tell me something to help me find the person responsible, or did I dance and lose my remaining dignity for nothing?”

  “Not for nothing, little Carus.” Sid leaned down to meet my glare. “And I have fulfilled my end of the bargain and more.”

  My vision blurred. My mouth filled with the taste of my last meal. For nothing.

  “But…” Sid’s voice interrupted my psychotic break. “I know of a man…”

  I glanced at the tightly draw Venetian window shades, predawn light sneaking through. “Talk fast, Demon. We’re running out of time.”

  “A Witch survived an attack and caught one of the humans responsible. I know where he’s being held.”

  “Alive? One of the possessed humans has been captured alive?” My ears tingled as if they perked up. There’d been no survivors until this point, and the VPD and SRD had yet to track down the identities of the bodies found. Had they, I would’ve visited each and every one of the victims’ homes, questioned their loved ones, and combed the areas they were last seen. But like the investigators for the VPD and SRD, I had little to go on. This survivor was important.

  “The Witch’s name is Lucus Klug. German for clever or smart. Aptly named, that one,” Sid said. “Keep that in mind.”

  I committed the name to memory and then observed the Demon. He stared back, waiting expectantly.

  If he waited for me to shower him with praise and gratitude, despite his going “above and beyond” to help me, it wasn’t going to happen. I scrambled to my feet. “Why are you being so nice? What’s in it for you?”

  “It serves a purpose.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “It’s in my best interest to be nice to you. After the performance you gave me tonight, I’m hopeful for a repeat. If you have any further questions, you know how to contact me.”

  The room brightened as the sun continued to rise. The early morning chatter of birds filled the room. Sid’s body started to waver, like a mirage in an X-rated desert movie.

  “And my price.”

  Without any further warning, Sid disappeared. No gaping portal opened. He simply vanished. Deteriorating like a biodegradable garbage bag, only quicker.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Don’t overestimate the decency of the human race.”

  ~H. L. Mencken

  As I talked to Lucus Klug on the phone, I envisioned a slight man in a pink bathrobe waving a plastic princess wand in the air for emphasis while he described his ordeal. What was it about Witches that regardless of age, gender or sexual orientation, they all came across as drama queens in their early twenties? After getting to know them, Ben and his den of male apprentices appeared an exception to the rule.

  “Has he told you anything?” I asked.

  “Sugar, he don’t remember nothing. Fishing one moment and handcuffed in my love den the next. No idea of the damages he did. Not a clue.”

  Love den? A comment bubbled up in my throat, but I swallowed it down. Keep it professional, McNeilly. I took a deep breath before continuing. “Would it be possible for me to come over to your…er…love den and question him?”

  “What could you possibly do that I can’t?”

  “I can be very persuasive.”

  “So can I, sweet cheeks. Ain’t nothing you can do to this boy that I haven’t already done. I’m a Witch, you know.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “I threw a truth spell at him. That boy’s mind is blanker than a dumb blonde’s test sheet. Doesn’t even know his own name.”

  I clutched my cell phone and took a deep breath. Normally, I’d chuckle at the dumb blonde joke, but the pressure was on. I couldn’t let Wick be tortured because I got distracted. No name? No memory? I still had nothing to go on. “Is there anything you can tell me of interest?”

  “Unless you’re interested in cleaning up puke, sugar, ain’t nothing here for you.”

  “Damn. Side effect of your spell?”

  “You know it. The man sure does love his vegetables.”

  There was such a thing as too much information—the nameless man’s dietary habits definitely fell into this category. “What are you going to do with him?”

  “Well, seeing how he’s innocent and all. I’m going to keep him until this Supe Slayer nonsense blows over.”

  “To keep him safe?”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  Before I could think of some witty response or muster up a pathetic argument for the man’s freedom, the Witch hung up on me. Imagine that.

  I flipped my hair up into a ponytail and twisted my bangs back to pin them before prancing to my bedroom. Lucien and his horde didn’t know I spoke with Sid last night. It would buy me a little time to pursue my other assignment. Today, I planned an unannounced visit to Booth’s mom.

  Dressed in skinny jeans and a light blue cashmere sweater that brought out my gray eyes, and naturally tanned skin tone, I picked up my purse and headed for the door.

  My phone beeped, telling me I had an unread message. It must’ve come in while I was in the shower. Tapping my phone screen, I punched in my password and read the message. It was from Clint.

  Progress, little dancer?

  Balancing my purse and keys in one hand, I texted back. Tonight.

  Can I watch?

  You can fuck off.

  I could hear his laughter in the silent response to my last text.

  ****

  Agent Booth’s mom lived in a tidy Tudor-style cottage house with a white picket fence, which somehow managed to scream crazy cat woman with chained gimps in the basement despite the wholesome appearance. I knocked on the door for the third time. No answer.

  The home sat on a corner lot, nestled between two quiet streets in a sleepy neighbourhood. Sniffing around the perimeter revealed no supe scents, but Herman didn’t have one.

  The fully fenced back yard represented a minor obstacle, but I scaled it with the agility of a house cat and flipped over to the other side with skills worthy of a military combat soldier. Freshly cut green grass gave the space a lush appearance. Red roses, lilacs, and japonicas lined the inside of the fence and created a fragrant oasis. None of the other houses could look into the yard, but despite the privacy, I refrained from shifting to my wolf form for an even stronger sense of smell—no point. If Herman lurked around, stealing more of Mrs. Booth’s stuff, I wouldn’t smell him anyway. Besides, if he happened to be here, I wanted to be in human form to confront him. At least at first.

  I opened the screen door and sniffed the gap between the solid wood door and its frame. And recoiled.

  Death.

  The doorknob stared back at me. I slowly turned it and the door clicked open. Decay slammed through the space and smacked me in the face, hacking at my nasal passages like an inexperienced Do-It-Yourself renovator.

  Pulling my sweater over my nose, I stepped inside the house.

  I should have brought one of my guns. The thought flittered through my mind. Who knew what weapon would be most effective against a scentless, lab-escapee supe. The more, the better at this point. I had an arsenal of semiautomatic handguns and assault rifles in my apartment’s safe, but I tended not to use them. I was a weapon in my own right. Plus, if I shifted, I left whatever I brought with me behind. For that reason alone, I liked to travel light. It went against my personal beliefs to leave firearms where anyone could stumble upon them.

  Still, my Sig would feel pretty nice in my hand right now.

&nbs
p; The first room contained an assortment of old woman shoes. There were multiple pairs of plain white runners with extra thick soles. The room had a bench with hooks above it for jackets. A mudroom to a realtor. Kick-ass shoe room to me. I’d love to have one of these. I hated bending over to pull knee-high boots off in my narrow hallway.

  The mudroom led to a neat kitchen. Crumbs and a dirty butter knife sat on the counter where ants scurried in paths to the food. I’d sniff harder to figure out what was on the knife, but the overbearing smell of death stopped me. Looked like peanut butter.

  When I walked through the kitchen to the dining room, I found the body of whom I could only assume was Agent Booth’s mom. She lay sprawled on the floor, her face smushed into the carpet, expression unreadable. One arm was trapped under her body, as if covering her heart. Covering or clutching?

  Sniffing around the room revealed no new scents. Only old lady and old dead lady. One and the same. No one had been here. Except perhaps Agent Booth or Herman…or both.

  I knelt beside the body, careful not to disturb it. Despite undergoing several stages of decomposition, nothing indicated a violent death. No obvious fractures or breaks. No sprayed blood. It looked like she stood from her armchair three to four weeks ago and fell, clutching her heart.

  Natural causes?

  Didn’t see many of those in my line of work. No wonder the crime scene creeped me out.

  Leaving the body, I walked up the carpeted staircase to the second floor. Who mowed the lawns then? Herman? A kid from down the street?

  The main bedroom remained vacant and looked undisturbed. Holding my breath, I moved to door number two.

  When the door swung open, I gasped. Hundreds of photos plastered the walls, all of Agent Booth. Discarded albums were strewn across the floor, pages flipped open, pictures ripped out. Around the pictures, someone had scrawled “Joyce,” “Agent Booth,” and “Who are you?” I stared at a shrine. Three candles stood unlit by the unmade bed. Sniffing the air revealed no new scents, but I’d bet my booty Herman slept here.

  Where was he now?

  Probably hocking more of old lady Booth’s stuff.

  I closed the door on the disturbing scene and retraced my steps. I’d have to come back later. Not wanting to disturb it and scare Herman off, I skirted around Evelyn’s body, and let myself out the back door. Hopefully Herman didn’t have a heightened sense of smell or he’d know I’d visited, regardless of what I did or didn’t move.

  As I drove away from the house, I sent a silent apology to Agent Booth’s mother. Her body should be laid to rest or given the appropriate respects of the dead, not left to decay in her living room.

  How should I tell Agent Booth?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “I favor the Phylogenetic Hypothesis, which proposes hiccups are remnants of the neural mechanism from when our amphibian ancestors frequently switched between breathing in air and water.”

  ~Andrea McNeilly

  In an attempt to distract my guilt-ridden brain from thoughts of Booth’s mom rotting away in her house, I pulled out the Encyclopedia of Mythical Creatures, looked up Carus and started reading. My fingers barely registered the sting from the cover. I couldn’t tell Booth what I’d discovered. Not yet. I had to nab Herman first, so she wouldn’t have the chance to interfere with the retrieval. The book did little to lighten my mood.

  “Carus: Feradea’s Chosen One. Gifted with the ability to have multiple feras, the Shifter can take on multiple forms, including an animal hybrid referred to as the Ualida, the amalgamation of all feras resembling a demonic being. Each of the Carus’ feras is a spiritual guide and representation of part of the Carus’s soul. To be complete, the Carus must possess all his or her spiritual feras. Also see Lumentum.”

  Holding my breath, I flipped to the appropriate page.

  “Lumentum: The beast of burden living deep inside Feradea’s Chosen One. The beast, also referred to as the Ualida, is the divine form of the Carus and a spiritual amalgamation of all feras associated with the Carus. If the Carus loses control of the beast, it may escape, transforming the Carus to a nexus of evil that will reap devastation to all. It requires great control to keep the Ualida caged and any shortcoming can result in catastrophic events, hence “beast of burden.” To date, no Carus has successfully controlled the beast. Most Ualida were executed by local authorities after causing mass destruction. Also see Carus and Ualida.”

  Ah fuck.

  The sound of someone knocking on my door interrupted me before I could look up Ualida. The citrus and sunshine scent slid in from the building’s hallway before I opened the door. Tristan waited on the other side. I checked my appearance in the mirror and smoothed my hair.

  When I opened the door, I nearly staggered at the beaming smile on his face. As it was, the shock of seeing his angelic beauty caused me to suck my breath in. “Tristan.”

  “Andy.” He moved into the entranceway, slipped a hand through my hair to clasp my neck and leaned down for a kiss.

  “Hi,” I mumbled into his warm supple lips.

  A hand glided down my body, grazing my breasts before grasping my right hip. He pulled me closer. “Hi.”

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” I pushed him away so I could breathe.

  “Andy, the pleasure is all mine…but I’ll share.” He stole a quick kiss before stepping out of my personal space. The air felt cold on my skin in his absence. We stood in the entrance hall of my apartment and studied one another.

  “Am I interrupting?” A husky voice growled.

  Pleasure and panic shot through my body simultaneously.

  “Wick!” My voice sounded high pitched as I craned my neck to see over Tristan’s shoulder. “Hi!”

  After a long awkward pause, Tristan stepped to the side. He probably didn’t like Wick at his back.

  “Um. Why don’t you both come in? Coffee?” My voice squeaked.

  They both nodded without taking their eyes off each other. Caught in a battle for dominance neither wanted to lose, it meant they’d keep staring at each other in order to not break eye contact first.

  “This is ridiculous.” I grabbed a jacket from the closet and held it up between the two. “Now neither of you submitted.” I looked over to Tristan’s side, still clutching the jacket in shaking hands. “Tristan. You were here first, so please come in and make yourself comfortable.”

  Tristan chuckled and shook his head. After he shucked his runners, using his toes on one foot to pull his heel out of the other, he sauntered down the hall and turned the corner.

  “Wick?” I let the jacket fall. He turned his wolf eyes on me and blinked a few times before the yellow cleared to their beautiful deep espresso. “Join us?”

  Wick saluted and stalked to the living room. But not before he smacked me on the ass. When it looked like they were content to give each other the hairy eyeball, I left them sitting in the living room to make coffee, but before I could put three mugs on the counter, I knew I’d made a mistake.

  A deep growl radiated from the other room. I abandoned the coffee grounds and ran over to find the two Weres—thankfully both still in human form—nose to nose. Wick, slightly bent over Tristan, used his height as a seven-inch advantage. His growling grew deeper. “She is mine.”

  Tristan bared long canines in response, and a deep rumble vibrated from his chest through the air. His eyes shifted to cat slits. “She’s unclaimed. The choice is hers.”

  The energy in the room crackled with power as the Weres took a few steps back and circled each other. Their emotion thick and heavy in the air. I struggled to breathe. It reminded me of vacationing in Ontario during the summer when the humidity index flew off the charts. At least my shirt wasn’t stuck to my skin from excessive sweating. Not yet, anyway.

  “Guys.” I waved my hands. They ignored me. Their stare-down continued. They took a step toward each other. I bit my lip.

  All supes gave off more energy compared to humans. Each preternatural being possess
ed a unique signature, but regardless of type, whenever supes congregated, the energies fed off one another, heightening the power in the room. With two alphas facing off, the effect grew exponentially, crackling the air with potency. Goosebumps spread across my arms, the tiny hairs raised, the energy lathed my skin, one cold lick at a time.

  One step closer, and the static electricity generating from their bodies would electrocute us all.

  “That’s it!” I exclaimed, right before I smacked my palm on my forehead, again and again.

  Both Tristan and Wick’s eyes slanted in my direction. Something about seeing their potential mate repeatedly bashing her forehead with her hand must’ve jarred them from their pissing match. The next thing I knew, they both stood beside me.

  “What is it?” Wick asked at the same time Tristan reached out to smooth my arm and say, “Are you okay?”

  Wick snarled at Tristan. Tristan turned and hissed at Wick. Practically besties.

  “The Supe Slayer attacks groups of us because we give off more energy. He or she must detect the elevated power somehow.”

  “And feeds off it.” Wick finished the thought process for me. “The supes are being dragged to the Slayer alive so he can feed on them before discarding their bodies.”

  “Do you know what preternatural being does that?”

  Wick shook his head. I turned to Tristan.

  “No idea.” The Wereleopard looked thoughtful. “But I’ll ask around. Someone must know.”

  “A water supe with psionic skills that feeds off energy. That narrows it down a bit, but I have a feeling we’re still missing an important clue,” I said. The Encyclopedia of Mythical Creatures sat on the table and glared back at me. Looks like the big book of monsters and I have a hot reading date tonight.

  A beeping sound emitted from Tristan’s pocket. He pulled his phone out and tapped the screen. His brow furrowed. “I have to go. Work.” He glanced up at me and hesitated. His gaze flicked to Wick, and I knew, just knew, he didn’t want to leave me alone with the competition. He exhaled deeply. “I hate my job right now.”