by LW Herndon
“I’m working that issue. First we have to find one of them alive. Let’s go. We’ll run through his neighborhood first and go over to the school after it lets out.”
“We?” I held back an expletive. Legwork to help out kids was one thing. Partnering with a pushy demon sidekick from another clan was something else altogether.
She stood and waited with a pointed look at my jacket. When I didn’t move, she retrieved my camera case from the bookshelf, flicked it open, and fingered through the contents. “We go in as a reporter and photographer. No one will be the wiser. You’ll be less conspicuous partnered with a female in the high school environment.”
I muttered under my breath and grabbed my jacket, not much caring if she heard. I had survived for almost twenty-eight years, lived side by side with testosterone-pumped male demons, and this demonic pixie was going to get me killed.
I could just feel it.
Though I grudgingly admitted she had a point about pairing up and the cover. People liked having their pictures taken. Sometimes they talked to photographers and reporters. God only knew why. Said things they normally wouldn’t say. That fame thing. With high-school-aged kids, a woman wouldn’t raise as many flags.
Now, if I could just keep her out of my stuff.
***
Ayden’s idyllic neighborhood depicted the way I had always pictured a normal life should be. Homes well kept, lawns tidy, cars washed, and children playing, safe in front of their homes. I would bet soccer moms were in their kitchens baking cookies at this very moment. That was what moms did, right?
I didn’t have a frame of reference, having been raised in all the world’s darkest places. The normalcy and hominess gave me a vacant feeling in the pit of my stomach, an odd combination of longing and fear.
My past laid claim to a tribal youth and demon-clan puberty. Normalcy had played no part in either of those.
The people in Ayden’s neighborhood gave the appearance of leading safe and happy lives. Unfortunately, I had a step up on these people. Nowhere was safe. The better it looked, the more of a bull’s-eye for destroying happiness. I wished I could shield Ayden’s family from that reality. One way or another, his life was about to undergo a brutal change.
We’d arrived too late at school. The classes had ended, with basketball practice over by the time I drove Decibel into the Chatsworth High School parking lot. Only a few cars remained, most likely support staff in the main office.
We headed for Ayden’s home as dread gouged like a nagging burr beneath my skin. The wave of foreboding coated even Decibel’s energy signature and suppressed it to a low thrum.
I wound through the peaceful streets and turned my Accord down Ayden’s street, a nice quiet cul-de-sac. The third house on the right, a two-story colonial with a fenced-in backyard, matched the aerial view Decibel had found on Google Earth. The backyard bordered woods, part of the area’s parkland, and merged with the youth club’s athletic fields.
Secluded, peaceful, and totally accessible. The home lacked protection from the silent invaders targeting the Marlow family with death.
“Do you want to go knock on the door? Or haven’t you thought this far ahead?” I glanced at Decibel, surprised to see her mouth and facial muscles strained in an intense expression I couldn’t quite read.
“No.”
With no further instruction, I looped around, pausing only for the stop sign at the end of Ayden’s street.
I almost didn’t pay attention to the driver of a black H2 who turned in front of me. Out of habit, I watched in the rearview mirror as a young woman, hidden behind large sunglasses, continued down Ayden’s street and conducted a slow review of the cul-de-sac. She didn’t turn into any of the driveways but slowed to a stop in front of Ayden’s drive. Coincidence?
No such thing. Then the H2 moved on, and so did I.
I proceeded on through two lights when unsynchronized sirens cut through the soft country music from the car stereo.
One, two, and then three police cars raced past me from the opposite direction. Traffic had pulled over and allowed two fire engines and an ambulance to pass by as well. I twisted around to watch the emergency vehicles continue and then turn several streets down—onto Ayden’s street.
I calculated my next action and gave a sideways glance. Decibel sat beside me in unprecedented silence, her eyes closed, her perfect hands folded in her lap as if taking a catnap.
Not likely. I pulled the car back into traffic, made a U-turn, and sped up to catch the tail of the last ambulance.
Great way to attract attention, I thought gritting my teeth as I followed the vehicle in front of me through a reddish-orange stoplight, definitely more red than yellow. The breath I didn’t realize I had been holding released in a harsh grunt as I pulled over at the corner of Ayden’s cul-de-sac. Police officers and curious neighbors stymied any farther progress through the street.
I put the car in park, grazed the top of the steering wheel with my palm, and looked again at my demon cohort.
“You knew this when we drove by.” I’d thought to push Decibel, but I could now decipher the expression on her face. Her eyes were weary, the bright amber dimmed to a ruddy gold. I had no better understanding of her motives than when she’d first approached me, but clearly, she’d wanted the boy alive and had evidently felt his death.
Four hours on this job and our odds for success were already royally screwed. Time to find out what happened.
“Stay here.” I turned off the engine, grabbed the camera bag, and opened the door.
***
I pushed through bystanders and made my way to the head of the crowd watching the Marlow’s house engulfed in flames. Fire shot from the upstairs windows. At an explosion of glass and flame from the first floor, the crowd let out a collective gasp. Emergency workers pushed people back across the street to let another fire engine through.
For a quick second, I considered my options. Forging into the crowd was a risk I probably shouldn’t take. Whoever had executed the Marlow family would probably be monitoring the situation. If I stood out, it would make targeting them harder or pull the killers onto my trail. However, the option of bringing them to me worked. I don’t do easy, and my alternatives to halt these murders were limited. I needed control and leverage.
I analyzed the sea of faces so caught up in the disaster they barely acknowledged the people beside them. To my far right, a news crew had just arrived, the anchor busy fishing details from the on-scene police officers. The camera crews were busy setting up and adjusting lighting.
Area residents stood by. Some snapped shots of the house on cell phones and digital cameras. The voyeuristic ick factor churned the acid in my stomach, but I focused my camera and followed suit, training my lens on the surrounding crowd.
I pivoted, taking pictures of individuals and moved forward to capture several people who receded into the crowd. My camera focused in on one in particular, a young woman. The one who’d passed me earlier in the H2.
I lowered the camera as I caught something in the breeze. I watched her gaze flicker around the crowd, casing the people, her narrow-eyed scrutiny too specific for a bystander.
My maneuver to push closer blocked my sight of her. Then suddenly, there she was, puppy-brown eyes far too pained for a casual observer, her emotional vibration bearing a strange correlation to Decibel’s.
My feet shifted a fraction of an inch as I raised the camera and snapped a shot of her. Unfortunately, someone stepped in front of her at that exact moment.
She managed to duck back behind several teenage girls linked together, arms around each other, crying quietly. I lost track of her for a second until her fragrance rose on the breeze again—a complex perfume of aged grapes, berries, and citrus—almost a blended wine. Not the exact aroma as Markowski, more complex, less sweet, and more intoxicating. Perhaps female immortals differed from the males, or she was closer to her change.
I sensed her behind me and lowered the camera, sti
ll facing the crowd, my stance relaxed, not offering her a reason to bolt. Half a head shorter, she posed no physical risk to me but I felt her there. Given Decibel’s comment about the increased risk of detection with age, I gauged her a year or two older than Markowski. It worried me that someone else might pinpoint her in this crowd.
“Pretending to take pictures will do what for you?” she asked from behind my right ear.
I raised the camera again and snapped several more shots but remained facing away from her.
“Pictures of the scene and the crowd might be helpful later. Shoot now, research later.” To anyone who passed by, I probably looked as if I were talking to myself. Not a great first impression, but at least my presence wouldn’t immediately give her away.
Given the crowd’s focus on the fire, I lowered the camera and glanced at her to get a head-to-toe assessment. I intended a quick check for weapons, canvassing her potential as an attacker, or more realistically, her ability to defend herself. Her large brown eyes, glossy brunette bob, and Greek features, definitely Mediterranean, didn’t escape my notice.
She leaned closer, forcing me to bend down to hear her and feel the gun she held in the pocket of her jacket. “Cut the crap.”
“Now that’s not very civil,” I said.
“Life’s too short for civility.” She nodded toward the fire. “No amount of civility will help that boy and his family.”
I nodded. “Not now, but someone might have helped them earlier. Have the police confirmed if the fire took the whole family?”
She paused and blinked, startled.
I could imagine the thoughts running through her mind, her initial assessment obviously changing, though perhaps not for the better. Whether she considered me a threat or not, she clearly didn’t consider me any help. “They’ve accounted for four of the family members.”
Lifting my camera, I pointed my lens at the far side of the crowd and framed another shot. “Would think the fire was too hot for anyone to get inside to check.”
“Neighbors have confirmed everyone should have been home.”
“Tragic.” I kept my tone light, conversational, but I couldn’t shake how close we’d both been to reaching Ayden and his family in time. Perhaps minutes from saving them. “And premeditated.”
I turned to check around me, mostly to obscure any view of her by the rest of the crowd.
She followed my search for a moment, and then comprehension dawned on her face and her color paled. “You think the killer is still here?” Nervously, she stepped farther away from me.
I hesitated for a mere second, then took her by the arm and guided her quickly to the edge of the gathering. “If that’s the case, Jezrielle, you’d best leave.”
She froze, body and expression, suddenly speechless. Then in a hoarse voice, she choked out, “How?”
With my back to the crowd, I looked at my camera and pretended to check the number of shots I had left. I didn’t acknowledge her or her question, did not give any overt sign of a continued conversation with her. In my mind, I saw her name, one of several on a list in the folders at home. From my pocket, I withdrew a new memory card and a small slip of paper with my cell phone number.
“Go. Now.” I brushed by her, slipped the paper into her pocket, and raised the camera for more shots of the inquiring minds attracted to the scene. I knew the minute she took my advice. Her scent shifted direction and diminished with my first fully confirmed, very tantalizing aroma, of a live pre-immortal.
CHAPTER 6
Decibel sat in the passenger seat rapping her nails impatiently on the open side window when I reached the car.
“What took you so long?”
“I needed to get a good look around,” I said.
“What for?” Her words, short and petulant, matched her mood shift from loss to anger during my absence. “We’ve lost another one.” She raised two fingers in a minute measurement. “And we were this close.”
I slid the camera back into its case and glanced at my cell phone to check its charge.
“You don’t seem very broken up about this. Perhaps your true demon nature is showing through, baby boy?”
I ignored her. The demonic nature of my abilities had been up for speculation since I had crawled half-dead into Shalim’s mountain lair at fifteen. It was a public debate in the clan. A point constantly challenged by various demons who didn’t appreciate my “live and let live” philosophy. As far as I was concerned, the topic wasn’t open for Decibel’s weigh-in.
Car started, I debated withholding the little I had learned but couldn’t convince myself of any immediate benefit. “I’m sorry we didn’t get here in time for Ayden.” I pulled out into traffic and pressed a centralized control button.
“Humph.” She shifted her arm to avoid the closing of the window and let out an annoyed sound. Her personal feelings on the mission aside, her exclamation related more to the lack of furnace-like heat previously wafting through the open windows than the loss of the boy. A few demons prefer cold. Decibel didn’t fall in to that category.
Since I prefer privacy and it was my car, I won.
“We still have time for the next one.” I glanced at her.
Her eyes widened, her whole posture changing to tense and eager at the same time. “Another?” She twisted in her seat to get a good look out the rear window. “Who?” Then she squinted, suspicion marring her face. “Why are we leaving? We should go back and get them.”
“I gave her my number and convinced her to leave.”
“Are you crazy?” She smacked my right shoulder and reached back for a second haul when I grabbed her wrist. She struggled for a moment and then stopped with a snort, waiting for more information. When I didn’t expound, she sank back into her seat.
“How are we going to find her?”
“We’re not.”
Decibel folded her arms and waited; the ripples from her anger ratcheted up as heat in the shrinking confines of the car.
“She’ll get a hold of me.”
“Right. She’s going to trust you. Then what, show up on your doorstep? For all she knows, you did this to Ayden.”
That was something I hadn’t actually considered. “I guess it doesn’t really matter whether she trusts me or not. If she does, she’ll call me for help. If she doesn’t, she’ll call to set up a way to kill me.”
Decibel shook her head and closed her eyes, apparently disgusted. “Glad it’s your expendable head, not mine.” She gave it a moment’s quiet thought. “What makes you think she’ll survive to do either?”
“I think she’s alert to the danger.”
“I’m sure Ayden had an inkling, too. Didn’t do him much good.”
“I don’t think she’s alone.”
Decibel’s hands slid down the seat and she pushed closer to me. “Did you see someone else?”
“I’m sure she was there to help Ayden. This wasn’t a successful save for her either. And if she has a vested interest in living, then she’ll want to know what we know.”
“We don’t know much.”
“Granted, but she doesn’t know that. She felt confident enough to approach me. I don’t think it’s because she possesses defensive skills, and she disappeared quickly. I’m guessing someone cloaked her.”
“Or she first misjudged your threat level and had the wisdom to leave.”
“You referring to my animal magnetism?”
“Dream on. How would someone be able to cloak her from you?”
“They didn’t, but the drop in her presence, her scent, even the direction in which she departed was altered, instantly.”
She watched me for a while and then squinted. “What aren’t you telling me?”
I shook my head. It was conjecture really, but I would need Decibel’s help if Jez showed up. I could afford to lay out a little honesty here. Besides, it would take two people to handle the situation with Jezrielle and her ghost partner. “I think the person helping Jezrielle is immortal.”
<
br /> “But you said she was cloaked.”
“Yes, he cloaked her.” I waited a minute, concentrating on traffic for my merge back onto the expressway. “He didn’t bother to cloak himself. His signature parallels a male pre-immortal killed a few nights ago. The girl’s protector is older, more sophisticated, but the basics are similar.”
Decibel opened her mouth to speak. After a moment of consideration, she just closed it, sank back into the seat, and rested her forefinger to her lips while she stared out the window. “So now what?”
“Now? Now I drop you off. Because I have something else to track down.”
***
I dropped Decibel off at the entrance to my loft. She’d gotten there on her own, and she could leave without my help. Oddly, there wasn’t any disagreement from her. Not that I expect reciprocation, but Decibel’s silence didn’t leave me with a warm fuzzy. Demons don’t come to me unless they need something. If they stop pestering me for help, it’s usually a bad sign that they’ve decided to go with “door number two.” I rarely get control over “door number two,” and control is the key to survival.
Right now, with everything I had to take care of, if she opted for another avenue, so be it. One way or another, Jezrielle would get in contact with me. In the meantime, I had a ticking time bomb to deal with for Shalim.
I rolled onto the main road, opting for a quicker route to head downtown toward the train station. The late afternoon light had faded past dusk. The darkness and occasional phosphorescence of old-fashioned streetlights lent odd shading to the side streets and a misty luminescent fog in areas where no one needed it. Solar and light-sensitive lamps wouldn’t be budgeted in this neighborhood for several years yet, if ever.
The streets mutated from long blocks of the warehouse district to shorter blocks of older, two-story brick buildings in various stages of disrepair. Long-since defunct dime stores were interspersed between neon signs denoting back-alley bars and cheap-thrill haunts.
