I moved forward and felt my boot sink into something pliable. I glanced down and realized the shriveled strips of what looked like bacon belonged to what remained of the body on the bed. My stomach flipped over again, and I gulped back excess saliva. The body on the bed had been flash-burned; beneath the blackened skin, the flesh blushed pink. Whatever had burned him or her, had done so too quickly to scorch below the surface of the skin. Nothing else in the room had been touched by fire. Nothing quite points the finger at a demon perpetrator like the roasted pork smell of charred flesh.
“We initially thought perhaps a minor explosion,” Coleman explained. Hill stood bolt upright beside him, lips pinched into a thin line. “But the splatter pattern rules that out. See how the arc of blood behind the bed indicates the victim had time to struggle?”
I followed the detective’s gaze up the wall and wished I hadn’t. I didn’t sign up for this. Come to think of it, I didn’t sign up at all.
“Torture?” Ryder asked.
“In all likelihood.”
I coughed, attracting a few concerned glances, and lifted a hand, indicating I was not about to empty the contents of my stomach all over a crime scene. Tentatively stepping forward, boots crushing paper and glass with each step, I approached the bed. Blood had dried to rust-red on the sheets. Papers and what looked like the pages from a book had fallen into a sticky pool of blood beside a bedside cabinet. So much blood...
I followed a dangling arm to where it hung from what remained of a shoulder. I saw the charred ghost of a tattoo and recognized it instantly as the scorpion motif on my ID card.
“He’s an Enforcer?”
None of the three faces looking back at me appeared surprised.
“She is. Newly qualified,” Ryder said. “A sleeper.”
A sleeper was an Enforcer who was not yet on active duty, likely fresh out of training. My lip curled. Ryder’s clinical choice of words grated on my already sensitive nerves. “Anything else you’d like to tell me, or shall I continue to stumble in the dark?”
Detective Hill coughed into her gloved hand. “Actually, we were hoping you could tell us something.” Her voice pitched higher than her normal, authoritative monotone.
The forensic photographer shuffled past me, muttering an apology. The distraction allowed me to move back from the corpse and return to Ryder’s side. Hill glanced at Coleman, who glanced at Ryder. They would have been comical if not for the grim circumstances.
“What?” I sensed their reluctance.
Ryder scratched his forehead. He pinched his lips closed and then met my gaze. “They want you to read something.”
Here came the truth and the reason why I was here: not for my questionable talents as a newbie Enforcer, but for my unique skill when it came to ‘reading’ metals. Hill looked apologetic, her porcelain face cut in a frown, while Coleman wouldn’t meet my eyes. I knew why. Someone had told the two detectives what I could do, and with it came the knowledge of what I was. A half-demon Enforcer didn’t sit well with Coleman. On another night, I might have been able to sympathize with his short-sighted prejudice, but the evening appeared to be getting worse, and I was in no mood to pussyfoot around his feelings.
I gave them an overly eager grin. “Let’s get on with it.”
We filed out of the room. Hill conferred with one of the forensic team, and I tucked my hands deep inside my jacket pockets. Ryder tried to catch my eye while Coleman had decided to put as much distance between him and me as possible. So this was how it was going to be: use the half-blood for her peculiar party tricks. I should have expected it. I’d been used to it most of my life. Why should things change now?
Ryder approached just as Hill collected a large, clear garbage bag from one of the forensic team and turned toward me. Inside the bag I could make out a metal chain with links as thick as my forearm.
“You okay with this?” Ryder asked, not quite meeting my eyes.
“Sure thing.” My gaze locked on the bag. Something about the chain... It tugged on buried memories. Smears of blood on the inside of the bag obscured the contents, but I couldn’t shake the sensation of familiarity.
“I know you’ve not done this since—”
I glared at Ryder, silently daring him to mention the events of six months ago when I’d been foolish enough to read a sword and witness the metal-memory of my ex-demon-lover killing a good friend. Before Ryder could elaborate, Hill unceremoniously dumped the bag on the floor at my feet.
She straightened and flicked her hair out of her face. “Work your magic.” She gestured absently and stole a few hasty steps back, as though my half-demon nature might be contagious.
It wouldn’t take long, and the quicker I could get it over with, the better. I’d learned that dragging these things out didn’t lessen the impact of whatever secrets lay hidden.
“Do you need anything to help with the...y’know?” Hill asked.
I ignored her and crouched down, knees cracking. I opened the seal on the bag. The smell of wet metal burned my nose and laced my throat. I turned my head away and steeled myself against a few wayward memories. Snippets from my past tugged at my carefully placed mental restraints. The chain, the blood. They meant something on a personal level, but I couldn’t allow the thought to surface. Not here. My memories were dangerous territory, best kept hidden, especially in the company of others.
“I’m sorry,” Hill said.
I looked up at the detective and snorted. “Sorry that you’re making me do this, or sorry that I’m half demon?” She pulled back with a frown. I could have been kinder, but that would’ve meant admitting how afraid I was. “I’m going to have to get my blood on this for it to work...”
“Go ahead.” Hill locked her arms across her chest, her face impassive. She wouldn’t make the mistake of offering me insincere niceties again.
Ryder handed me a Leatherman. I used the knife to cut my finger and watched the blood swell until it dripped into the palm of my hand. Make her bleed. Make her read... I hissed as the memory bubbled up through my efforts to keep them all submerged in the dark pool of my subconscious. I’d not heard that little nugget for a long time. I blinked rapidly and steadied my breathing. I had a job to do, and refusing to read the chain didn’t even cross my mind.
I smeared blood over my hands and held them over the bag.
“Muse...” My real name slipped from Ryder’s lips as I plunged my hands into the bag and wrapped my fingers around the links.
A rush of images flooded through me, over me, and spilled into my mind. The apartment, Ryder, Hill, the dead Enforcer—all of it vanished beneath a stream of information. Unable to look away or block the torrent, I saw a face in profile, male by the set of the jaw and the solid rise of the cheekbone. Dark hair, too long, past his shoulders. Something inside my subconscious chimed alarm bells, but the image swept away before I could focus. More pictures rushed me. Calloused gray fingers tipped with razor-edged claws curled around the chain. The links rattled. I saw the victim. Her eyes bulged, and her mouth gaped. She clawed at the chain around her throat. Her killer responded by tightening it. Her face contorted, lips blue, cheeks swollen, and then he tugged the chain free, twisting her head at an unnatural angle. Those claw-tipped fingers dragged down her face, furrowing her cheek. The demon straddling her leaned in and nuzzled his taut face against hers. He breathed in her scent. His body quivered, and a moan dragged from between his lips.
You are mine, Muse. His words chewed up inside a growl, and he spat them out.
Wrenched from the vision and back into real-time, I fell back onto my arms. Ragged gasps came hard and fast. My heart drummed against my ribs. Tremors wracked me, memories of agony and shame manifesting in my muscles. A scream clawed up my throat in a bid for freedom. I couldn’t control any of it. If I’d had access to my demon, she’d have come barreling forward, but she was gone. I was alone with the horror. Ryder reached for me, but I batted his hand away. If he touched me, I didn’t trust myself not to lash
out at him.
Before he could ask me what was wrong, I was on my feet and running. I shoved though the doorway and past Coleman, ignoring his shouts of alarm. My boots hammered on the stairs as I stumbled down them. I staggered down the last few steps, barged between some uniformed officers, and burst through the front doors into the courtyard.
Rain pattered gently against my face. The cool night air nipped at my flushed cheeks. The chill grounded my thoughts back where they belonged, in the here and now. I stumbled a few more steps and reached for the wall. My stomach dry-heaved as my body tried to rid itself of the ghastly sensations. Coughing, spluttering, I waited for the violent urge to vomit to pass.
It wasn’t long before I noticed Coleman loitering in my peripheral vision. He glanced over at the gate where the press hounded any passing cop. I kept my head low and focused on subduing my tremors. The physical effects of terror would eventually subside. The same couldn’t be said for the images or the memories.
“What did you see?” He moved closer. I winced at the sound of his shoes crunching on gravel. It all seemed too loud, too abrasive, too acute.
Ryder jogged into sight. “Hey.” He jerked his chin at Coleman. “Back off.”
Coleman swept an arm at me. “She obviously saw what happened. We need answers. The Institute is sitting on this, Ryder. I need answers before the demon who’s doing this starts targeting the public.”
“I know that. Charlie’ll give you answers. Just give her a second.” Ryder stepped into Coleman’s personal space, deliberately squaring up to him. They were matched in height, but that was where the similarity ended. If it came to blows, Ryder would fight dirty, and Coleman wouldn’t see it coming.
A camera flash blanched the front of the apartment complex, capturing the three of us in the midst of our heated discussion. Coleman finally backed down. He turned away from Ryder and approached the entrance. “May I remind you leeches we’re in the middle of an investigation here and do not need—” The press came alive like hungry chicks squabbling in a nest.
“Is it true this is the third Enforcer killed in the last three weeks?”
“What’s the victim’s name?”
“Is it linked to last week’s attacks?”
My labored breathing drowned out the cacophony of squawking reporters. I bowed my head. My stomach and throat worked to undermine my efforts at suppressing my gag reflex. Rainwater streamed through my hair and down my face, masking my tears. If I let them, the memories would chew me up and spit me out a shivering muttering mess. I couldn’t allow them purchase. The feeling would pass, the horror would fade, and I could go back to pretending I was perfectly fine.
I sniffed and dabbed at my nose. When my hand came away, a smear of blood stood out in stark contrast against my pale skin. I quickly wiped it away and checked that Ryder hadn’t seen. He hadn’t. He was still scowling after Coleman. If he suspected I was unfit to continue my training, I’d soon find myself locked away like a lab rat. Again.
Ryder noticed me watching him and gave me a nod. I bobbed my head in response. He never had been one for personal chats, preferring actions to words, but he cared, and in what remained of my world, he was the only one who did.
Also by Pippa DaCosta
The Veil Series
Wings of Hope ~ The Veil Series Prequel Novella
Beyond The Veil (#1)
Devil May Care (#2)
Darkest Before Dawn (#3)
Drowning In The Dark (#4)
Ties That Bind (#5)
Get your free e-copy of ‘Wings Of Hope’ by signing up to Pippa’s mailing list, here.
Soul Eater
Hidden Blade
Witches’ Bane
See No Evil
Scorpion Trap
Science-Fiction
Girl From Above #1: Betrayal
Girl From Above #2: Escape
Girl From Above #3: Trapped
Girl From Above #4: Trust
New Adult Urban Fantasy
City Of Fae, London Fae #1
City of Shadows, London Fae #2
About the Author
Visit www.pippadacosta.com
Born in Tonbridge, Kent in 1979, Pippa's family moved to the South West of England where she grew up among the dramatic moorland and sweeping coastlands of Devon & Cornwall. With a family history brimming with intrigue, complete with Gypsy angst on one side and Jewish survivors on another, she has the ability to draw from a patchwork of ancestry and use it as the inspiration for her writing. Happily married and the mother of two little girls, she resides on the Devon & Cornwall border.
Contact Pippa here:
www.pippadacosta.com
[email protected]
[The Veil 01.0] Beyond the Veil Page 23
