“I pay every day, Truman.” Travis’s voice strained under the pressure, energy and intense emotions at his old coworker’s painful reminders. “But I didn’t commit the crime, and a jury acquitted me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be in my position.” He pointed to a pale blonde woman lying at the second wordless officer’s feet. “How did these victims die?”
“Stop asking stupid questions and figure it out, asshole.” The gun pressed deeper, moving to Travis’s hip. “But it’s funny… you come after these wretched women die. You’ve got a hard-on for making women suffer.”
A sentimental moan echoed in Travis’s left ear, followed by a feminine gasp.
“But then, word on the street is that you’re working with a donna, and Aviere Mye’s one devious bitch. I wouldn’t fuck with her. Hell, I wouldn’t touch that diseased woman. I avoid that bitch like the plague.”
The agent tilted the cowboy hat over his face. “I assume your silent partner’s crooked if you’re running your mouth, Truman.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re involved with the wrong woman. It suits you. However, I’m wondering why her crew hasn’t killed you yet.”
“God knows they’ve tried. There’s no need to warn me about Mye.”
Travis pressed his hat closer until he cleared his throat at the foul stench permeating the inner lining. Another unpleasant noise came after inhaling another whiff for good measure. Dandruff, sweat, and cheap shampoo warded off his temporary anxiety as he shivered. When his throat tingled, he kicked at his thigh to ward off energy bleeding into his aura.
If only I held this power… would I have any reason to fear magic?
He imagined the police officers choking on their last breath and hid a smile underneath his battle-worn hat.
No. This isn’t who I am. I’m not crooked… I only walk a gray line. Magic can’t consume someone whose heart is righteous, even if their final outcome is unorthodox.
His conviction warded away the tainted darkness seeping into his soul. Once conversation returned to his beating eardrums, Travis adorned his battle-stained hat, adopted a straight face, and repositioned his grip on the Desert Eagle again.
“The moment she realizes you’re a serial killer, Mye will blackmail you. Maybe she’s got a soft spot for you, considering her man disappeared. Ten years of the single life leaves a woman hankering for action.”
Travis parted his lips to answer, but Aviere’s voice interrupted before Travis could offer a scathing retort. He wished she’d interjected earlier when his thoughts bordered on inhumane brutality.
“Ugh, I recognize the pig’s voice. He works for Evan Donahue. I forgot Donahue used meat eaters to get his hands on drugs from crime scenes. Shady, but good for his immoral business practices.”
“Mye, stop bitching and get back to work,” Travis ordered, thrusting the earpiece closer. “Truman’s screwing with me like everyone in the precinct.”
“Donahue’s not on friendly terms with me, so forget about the pig.”
“What’s a meat eater?”
Truman slapped Travis’s back with the revolver. “For fuck’s sake, Travis. You work with a donna and don’t know the term for a crooked cop. She’s slacking.”
“I bet he reeks of fancy perfume,” the condescending female’s voice continued in Travis’s ear. “Donahue’s always smelled nice, even when his shit stinks.”
“Tell your bitch Donahue’s still pissed about threatening to take his property. It’s bad enough she’s breaking the omertà working with you.”
“Mye, what’s Truman talking about?”
Glass shattered in the background, followed by a hiss. “The Renegades are the Underground’s enforcers, so it’s still within the omertà. However, Martinez botched up. I thought he eliminated that pig.”
The agent waved a hand to the deceased woman at his rival’s feet. “I could do it.”
“If you want. Whacking that pig’s the best message for Donahue. No one would miss Truman, you’d satisfy your bloodlust, and get a couple thousand dollars on top your regular paycheck.”
Another glass shattered in the background, but the noise sounded cushioned through Travis’s ear.
He grinned at Aviere’s frustration and understood her underlying message from the other line.
“Either way, stop making cracks about the mob and investigate the scene. Lim and Reese seemed anxious when I asked about that Soulstealer woman Carmella mentioned. She’s an S rank mage.”
Travis stepped forward and ignored Truman’s insults about Aviere, then paused as another wave of sinister energy encompassed his aura. “Yeah, I know. But this isn’t Soulstealer, Mye. Same type of spells, but different energy signature.” He dropped his voice when he moved out earshot of the officers. “It’s absorbing into the walls.”
“Well, that leaves a few possibilities.”
Travis noted the rumbling drawl to Aviere’s statement and imagined the thoughtful pose she presented: a pointer finger across her lips while her thumb and knuckle rested on her jawline and chin.
“Limere’s knowledgeable about resident mages in this area. I’ll check with him real quick, then get back to you.”
Travis hurried to answer, but rustling noises sounded on the shared connection.
He squeezed the Desert Eagle until his knuckles turned white, then hunched as he dragged his feet across the floor. Hazel eyes flashed around until he located the exit signs before resting upon the lifeless victims at the center of the nightclub floor. After examining each one and noting their places outside the copper pentagram, Travis studied their ethnicities, shaking his head after finding no pattern to the arbitrary killings.
Each one lies at a focal point of the pentagram, as if it’s a summoning ritual, Lyssa. Wait… it’s the same as…
Travis titled his hat to block the strobe lights highlighting the dead women. “Cut the lights, goddammit!”
“Captain said to preserve evidence!”
“You got gloves,” Travis answered in a clipped tone. “Cut the lights.”
“What, so you can hide shit?”
The agent’s head rose, but residual energy hovering over the pentagram captured his attention. A platinum light sparkled every few seconds, swirling over each victim’s body. After several seconds, it hovered over a young woman and Travis headed toward her, kneeling to get a closer view of her injuries.
Whoever this mage is… they lured me here. I can’t deny the Red Coat Society did their homework. I’m at a standoff, Lyssa. If I escape, Carmella won’t give me any more information. On the other hand, staying exposes Peters and myself.
Travis knelt to the dead Asian teenager and a dubious expression played on his face as he caught sight of the woman’s attire. The tight black miniskirt and sunny yellow tank top revealed hefty portions of tanned skin with large breasts. Then he noticed the long jet-black hair, tiny lips, and sunken eyes.
Not a day over eighteen. Skinny woman… no lacerations. But her mouth… what happened to her mouth and eyes?
Dried blood trailed under wide, milky eyes and the corners of her gaping mouth. When he veered closer, Travis reached inside his pocket and slipped on white latex gloves before examining the body. As he moved her arms to check for injuries, somebody cleared their throat on the other line.
“I don’t hear Neuro, Travis.”
“Guess he’s handling the red tape. But someone set a trap.” He recoiled, shivering as dark energy solidified around him. “This involves the Society. Five dead women are spread around a pentagram at specific points, and there’s severed parts of the owner inside the nightclub. They needed blood to cast a summoning circle.”
Once again, Travis pictured the Poisoner’s thoughtful expression, only with furrowed eyebrows and a flat line across her small rosy lips. “Sounds intricate for a summoning.”
“You said Chelsea hired rogues,” Travis reminded Aviere, controlling his quiet tone. “Then you claim Donahue’s men are here as crooked cops, which I can’t discredit with th
e way Truman ran his mouth.”
“We’ll deal with the soldier, Travis, but…”
“What?”
“Hold on.” Muffled voices conversed on Aviere’s end, succeeded by a gasp before she returned to the conversation. “Change of plans. Book it, as quick as you can.”
“And risk valuable—”
“It’s not worth risking your lives. As much as I detest Peters, the wretched bastard doesn’t deserve a transference spell. I’ll take the blame from Sanderson myself, but I only know one person who’s survived. They haven’t been right since.”
Travis almost dropped his gun, sickening churns returning in full force. “That’s how Dalara got his abilities?”
“When we asked Lim after the accident, he wouldn’t tell us much,” she answered, speaking in one big breath. “I don’t know why Lim survived it, but I don’t imagine you can.” The Poisoner took shaky breaths before beginning again. “Keeping you there isn’t worth risking our lives, Travis.”
Even if she’s not law-abiding, she took us into consideration. Guess Peters’s analogy fits… foot fungus.
“Since you might get caught, I’m sending Lim to collect you two. He’ll find you. You’re wearing his ring. He said you can’t erase all residual energy after transferring something to another person. But be careful, and come back alive.”
The cleaner rose, arm heavy and gun by his side. He regarded the two police officers behind the deceased mid-twenties bleached-blonde woman, griping about investigating shady places and discussing how to ditch their investigation. Despite the entertaining argument between the cops, Travis clutched his right shoulder, sinking his fingers into the tense muscles.
Something isn’t right… but leave them. Get to the door.
Quivering footsteps matched the tingling in Travis’s chest as he hurried toward the front door. However, the agent stopped after two strides and his breath caught in his throat as silver strings sunk into the officers’ backs.
Radiant navy-blue auras diminished within seconds, and the officers fell, unmoving when they landed on the ground.
“Damn it, Mye! Dalara better arrive soon!”
Knowing the answer, Travis went through the motions and followed protocol as he felt for the silent officer’s pulse. Adrenaline coursed through his limbs at the newfound threat while his stomach fluttered at the departed officer’s shriveled, colorless skin. He closed the officer’s transfixed eyes, sensing the energy’s departure.
Travis almost carried out the same action for Truman with his balding head and terrified brown eyes, but stopped when shadowy energy slithered, seeking its next victim.
Hazel eyes peered around the nightclub, hoping to preserve at least one life before the Red Coat Society claimed more casualties. His legs wobbled when Peters barreled through the entrance and brandished his Beretta, back pressed against the frame.
The agent’s eyes bulged when Carmella followed Peters, almost mirroring his position on the other side.
No, not today. Carmella’s the only decent partner I saved from the precinct. She’s not dying here!
“Peters, be careful!” Travis shouted, standing upright. “Mye was right! Take Carmella and run!”
“I want one assignment without those cursed abominations chasing you!” Peters aimed the Beretta 92MS at the bar as he touched a button on the side of his sunglasses. “But honestly, what the hell happened here? The room’s buried in—”
“Go away, damn it!” Travis bellowed. “Science doesn’t trump magic!”
Electricity crackled from a gadget Peters produced from his suit pocket.
“Shawn, I’m warning you, get away! They’ll attack without warning!”
The box continued to flicker and Travis sensed when Peters set the voltage to maximum. “Then they’ll get tasered, Travis. Mages stop if they’re—”
“Shawn—”
Gunshots littered the air as a dreary, black mass hovered above Peters and Carmella’s position. Bullets passed through the shadows and destroyed several glasses at the bar. Liquor spilled on the floor, on top of the broken bottles and debris already scattered around the bar.
The shadow’s aura thickened, then thinned the closer it approached the two figures at the doorway.
Travis covered his face with a palm when Peters shot again, but clunky footsteps relieved the agent’s dismay. When Peters’s shouting carried through the wide exit, Travis made the visible sign of the cross, applying the barrel of his gun to each focal point.
Thank you, Carmella.
“Mye, I’m turning off the earpiece,” Travis said, removing the safety off the Desert Eagle. “I can’t concentrate with this shit going on.” His tone became matter-of-fact and cold as his reflexes heightened. Chalky white magic enveloped his right hand and trailed along the Desert Eagle. “Cleaning’s difficult with shadow mages, and your voice is distracting.”
“Travis, wait till—”
He glided an index finger over the switch and silenced Aviere’s voice before launching upward, moving to the ominous aura thickening around the nightclub and its lifeless victims. Each time Travis pivoted, sweat slid from his forehead, threatening to trickle down his neck. He overlooked the growing heatwave and concentrated on finding his threat, then cursed as the shadowy aura trailed back into the wall.
The agent grumbled, strained his neck, and veered, waiting for the next opportunity to strike at his invisible adversary.
Stiff muscles ached to stretch. It had been ten minutes, and Travis still held his ground, sweating through another alabaster work shirt.
He glared at the latex gloves strewn before his feet, but raised his upper lip as another noise caught his attention. One foot pivoted before Travis turned, holding the Desert Eagle with both hands as he aimed at a wispy figure a few feet away. Hazel eyes connected with the dark figure, but it withdrew when he fired.
“Jesus, come out, you slithery fucker,” Travis cursed. “The humans left ten minutes ago.”
The aura thickened, then slunk to the opposite side of the nightclub.
After discovering the wall his adversary chose, Travis read the energy signature, stomach fluttering at the prospect of another confrontation with his old rival.
A whooshing sound caught Travis’s attention and his eyes gleamed when fire danced at the tail end of a homemade Molotov. Without thought, Travis gracefully pivoted, aimed, and fired at the flying glass bottle.
As glass scattered to pieces on the dance floor, the agent used his trench coat to shield himself from fire and debris.
Then, from his makeshift cover, Travis squinted, blinking in surprise when shadows smothered the growing flames.
It’s going to be one of those days. I should have guessed when Peters tried shooting Mye in Sanderson’s office.
Cackling laughter filled the air, supported by throaty giggles seconds later.
Travis’s arms quivered with goosebumps and the hairs on his arms rose as he scanned around the nightclub. His feet shuffled while he kept watch, oblivious to his steps. A foot snagged against a deceased victim but Travis regained his balance, growling when sultry snickering sounded once more.
When he aimed at the voice’s direction, the agent’s limbs locked in mid-motion.
Adrenaline caused his muscles to tremble, but the pain intensified when the spell took effect. He moved some of his neck, but it seized after an inch or two. Unable to scout further, Travis dropped his eyes toward the floor and groaned when he discovered his foot over one copper line on the drawn pentagram.
Shit, a shadow trap overtop a damn pentagram! Unless there’s divine intervention… I’ll die with Mye’s stinging words hanging over my head.
Electricity and silver light intertwined before the deceased women disintegrated to ashes. The shadows solidified into tendrils and bound the paralyzed mage, securing him in place. The Desert Eagle fell from his nerveless fingers before Travis tried summoning his magic to teleport away.
Like his movements, his power stalle
d before the pentagram absorbed his valuable energy.
The hardened tentacles spread the ashes into magical symbols on the ground, glittering as magic infused with the drying blood. High-pitched laughter echoed in the room, different from the cackles seconds before. Once more, Travis thrashed to no avail.
Aviere, Dalara never came. Jesus, Lyssa, this is why I don’t depend on people. Unless he’s blocked… that’d make sense, with this intense power.
Hazel eyes flashed back and forth, searching for his latest threat. Travis’s face contorted at each slithering noise, including crunching footsteps on top of crushed glass. His eyes bulged when the tentacles squeezed his body, forcing his breath from his heavy chest.
He swore his heart would explode from the pressure as he whimpered in agony and wheezed for air.
Not yet—not Soulstealer—but who, Lyssa?!
“Keith Travis,” the cackling voice drawled. “It’s been a while, my elusive mage.”
He identified the laughter as a woman’s before shivering at the voice’s pitch and croaking when a thick tendril closed around his throat.
Out of instinct, Travis willed his fingers to clutch the limb, but hope vanished when his limbs didn’t obey.
“You struggle so valiantly,” the woman continued, her voice dropping in a seductive tone. “It’s amusing, but futile.”
I recognize her voice! Think, Keith… it’s not Soulstealer, but a Disciple of hers… someone capable of imitating her signature move. But who?
“I’m told you work for the Renegades now. Funny, considering shifters can’t protect you from the Red Coat Society.” The woman’s voice softened but encompassed the room when she chuckled. “Struggle to remember, mage, but I’m not Soulstealer. She defected after your rescued your wife from her. Something about you drove her to leave. Pity… she almost overthrew our leader, too.”
Soulstealer left because of me? She detested me… I guess vengeance makes one lose their mind. Look at you, Keith.
“However, I’m willing to spare you, if you point me toward Soulstealer. She visited Charm City, but she’s elusive. I’d love a demon who obeyed my orders.”
Drift: The Renegades Saga: Book Two Page 12
