Heaven's Door (Quincy Harker, Demon Hunter Book 6)

by John G. Hartness

  Chapter 12

  I walked to the front of the church and stood with Becks as Paul and the rest of the crime scene techs arrived.

  “What do we have, Detective?” Paul asked.

  “Double homicide, lots of blood. Similar MO to the Matthews case. I’ve called Agent Smith from Homeland; I assume he’s going to want to claim jurisdiction of the case.”

  “You’re damn right I am, Flynn,” Smith’s voice boomed from the street as he slid out of the Suburban, his ever-present coffee clutched in one hand. “Set up a perimeter. Get some of the locals to help you man it. Anybody but me, Harker, Flynn, or a tech tries to go into that church, shoot ‘em.”

  The stocky ex-soldier stomped up to where we stood by the bottom of the steps. “Is the scene secure?” he asked.

  “We didn’t see anyone else around,” I replied.

  “Go ahead then,” Smith said to Paul. He took a photographer and another tech into the church.

  “You’re gonna need a ladder,” I called after them. “And a rope!”

  “Bad?” Smith asked.

  “The worst thing I’ve seen in a while,” I said.

  “That’s pretty bad,” Smith agreed. “You find anything the techs won’t?”

  “The killer left another message for me. My name written all over the walls in blood. I wiped it out before they got here. And both our victims were Nephilim. I saw the wings,” I confirmed.

  “So that’s four that we know of. Our guy is either close to getting his freak on or he’s ready,” Smith observed.

  “He either needs one more Nephilim, or he’s killed one we don’t know about, which I think is unlikely given the amount of taunting this dickhead has been doing to me. So let’s assume that four is an accurate count of dead half-angels. That means he needs a human and a Cambion to complete the summoning.”

  “I doubt this one plans to use himself as the sacrifice,” Flynn said. “Something about all the taunting just seems way more narcissistic than what you told me about the last killer. So I think he’ll have a plan to find another Cambion to serve as the sacrifice. As far as a human goes, those are pretty simple.”

  “Yeah, only a million and a half of those running around this town. But Cambion are pretty thin on the ground,” I said. “I don’t know of any central repository for birth records of half-demons, though.”

  “And if he knows the trick of masking his true nature with Nephilim blood, then you wouldn’t have any way of knowing who he was,” Smith added.

  “That’s what we’ve got Paul for,” I said. “At least, I hope so. Did your research turn up anything, Smitty?”

  “A great big pile of fuck-all,” he grunted. “There was plenty in Marlack’s books about how to summon demons and how to communicate with the Lords of Hell, but not shit on demonspawn or anything useful in this case.”

  “Damned inconsiderate evil necromancers, not ever having useful shit in their spell books. Where’s Giles and Willow when you need them?” I quipped.

  Smith turned to me with a glare. “Do you take anything seriously, Harker? We’ve got people dying here, and you’re making fucking Buffy references?”

  “There’s plenty I take seriously, Smitty. I’m pretty serious about catching the demonspawn son of a bitch that’s writing my name in innocent people’s blood all over my city. I’m serious about keeping the people I care about safe from the aforementioned demonspawn motherfucker, and if you really want to know how serious I can get, you can ask the plant elemental that I killed this afternoon by setting myself on fire. So yeah, there’s shit I take seriously. But there’s nothing so goddamn dark I can’t crack a joke about it. I’ve fought demons hand-to-hand, beat the ever-loving fuck out of one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and eaten Flynn’s cooking. And I’ve come out of all that alive, if maybe a little scarred. So if you don’t like me poking shit with a stick, too goddamn bad. Because even though I talk a lot of crap, when it hits the fan, I’m not just the smartass you want by your side, I’m the smartass you’ve got.”

  “That almost inspired confidence, Harker,” Smith said with a grudging smile. “Especially the bit about surviving Flynn’s cooking. That’s some serious stamina there.”

  “If you two assholes are quite finished, Paul just radioed me. He’s got something inside,” Flynn said.

  We pushed through the big doors with Smith in the lead. Paul stood at the front of the sanctuary holding an evidence bag. There was a small piece of white material in the bag stained red, presumably with blood.

  “What have you got, Paul?” Smith asked.

  “It appears to be a small fragment of torn wax-treated paper,” the tech replied. “I found a similar piece under the body in Matthews this morning. At the time, I chalked it up to possibly being something in the parking lot under the body, but now that I have a sample to test against, I’ll see if the two scraps match.”

  I stared at the bag, dialing in my enhanced vision to focus on any details that were apparent. The white paper was maybe a quarter inch on each side, with a hint of a deep blue on one torn corner. “What do you think it is?” I asked.

  “I have no idea, Mr. Harker,” Paul said. “But I will run tests to determine whether or not the two pieces match, then I will try to extrapolate the meaning of this blue design on the corner. I believe there was also a bit of blue on the piece from the parking lot.”

  “Good eye, Paul. Please let us all know as soon as you have something.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Anything else?”

  “We have a tentative ID on the victims.”

  “That was fast,” I said.

  “I Googled the church directory. The priest is Gaines Pence. He’s the senior priest here. The…”

  “Child,” I supplied.

  Paul looked at me, stricken. “Yes. The child is Eugene Ziban. He’s an altar boy here. He’s…he was twelve years old. I’m sorry, Detective. I know it’s not professional, but who would do something like this? This is…just awful.”

  Flynn put a hand on the young tech’s shoulder. “I know, Paul. It’s terrible. But sometimes people do terrible things to each other, and that’s where we come in. We figure out who did these things, and we make damn sure they don’t do them again.”

  “Ever,” Smith said, his face grim.

  “Did you find the kid’s clothes?” I asked, changing the subject. Every head snapped to me. I didn’t flinch. I needed to know.

  “They’re already bagged,” Paul said.

  “Did the kid…did Eugene have a wallet?”

  “It’s in the bag.”

  “Detective, I need you to come with me, open the bag, and get the kid’s wallet. We need to maintain chain of evidence.” I knew chain of evidence was useless because this killer was only ever going to face one judgement, and that wouldn’t take place on Earth. But I needed Paul to think we were still working this like a mundane case.

  “What do you want with his wallet, Harker?” Smith asked.

  “Either in his wallet, or in his cell phone will be his emergency contact. Somebody has to tell his parents what happened.” Those words hung heavy in the air for a long, silent moment before Flynn moved.

  “That’s for the ME to do. After the autopsy, when they can come positively identify the body,” Becks said. “Not our gig, thank God.”

  Just then we heard a muffled thump from the rear of the sanctuary. Smith, Flynn, and I whirled around and drew our weapons, each pointing in a slightly different direction. There was nothing there, but when I listened harder, I could just barely pick up the sound of someone moving near the back of the church. I motioned for the others to follow me and for Paul to stay put. He nodded and crouched between two pews. His other techs looked around, then knelt behind the first row, taking what cover they could find.

  Smith moved through a pew to one wall and Flynn the other while I moved silently up the center aisle, my Glock in hand and flashlight held crossways under the pistol, just like the profe
ssionals on TV all do. I didn’t count on it doing shit to improve my mediocre aim, but at least I had a light. I figured if it was anything really dangerous, I wouldn’t do shit with a pistol anyway, but it was good start.

  We got to the back of the church and still saw nothing. I opened my Sight and scanned the area, and jackpot! I holstered my gun and pointed at the confessionals tucked into the back corner of the sanctuary. The smaller rooms looked like four freestanding closets, and my Sight told me there was someone alive in the one nearest the back wall. Someone whose daddy lounged around on clouds and played harp all day.

  There’s another Nephilim in the room, and it’s hiding in the confessional, I sent to Flynn. Cover me. She nodded, and I held up a hand, palm out, for Smith to hold his position. I wanted Flynn where she could shoot the half-angel if it came at me and Smith where he could run it down if it got past me.

  I didn’t need to worry about either option. I yanked open the door, and the man that greeted me was the most terrified mostly human being I’d ever seen. He was a skinny dude in his early thirties, short, with thick glasses and lank dark hair plastered to his head with sweat.

  “Please don’t kill me!” the man cried as he curled up even further into a little ball on the floor of the confessional. “I don’t want to die, please don’t kill me! I’ve got so much to live for!”

  Personal hygiene obviously wasn’t one of his motivating factors for seeing another sunrise because this dude stank to high heaven. And not just fear-sweat, either. He had that acrid stink that long-time tweakers carry like a cologne, and I knew immediately why he was in the church.

  I turned to Flynn and Smith. “It’s okay, just a junkie who crawled into a dark safe place to sleep it off and then heard some things he couldn’t un-hear. He’s still kinda fucked up, from the drugs I mean. The rest of it would fuck up anybody, no matter how well-adjusted.”

  Flynn walked up behind me and looked down at the twitching, babbling mass of half-angel. “What’s wrong with him? Oh, never mind, I smell the meth-funk.”

  “BO and cat piss, that’s the smell of somebody who’s been on crystal a long time,” I replied. I knelt down to the tweaker’s side. “Hey man, be cool. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. Did you see who did this?”

  He looked at me, eyes wide. “What are you, man? What are you?”

  “I’m just a guy. Just a normal guy, like you. But I work for the government, and I need to know if you saw who did this.”

  He shook his head, and I felt disappointment well up inside me. “Nah, man, you ain’t like me. And you ain’t no normal dude, either. I don’t know what you are, but I ain’t never seen nothing like you. Me, I’m special. I ain’t normal neither, but you ain’t like me. You ain’t like that other dude, though. You ain’t black inside. You ain’t gold like me, but you ain’t black neither. You ain’t red like the dog-dudes, or blue like the vampires, but you ain’t gold. You’re like, silver. Ain’t never seen silver. She’s pretty. She’s green, with a little pink. You got some of that pink, too. You like her, don’t you? Heh. It’s okay, man. She likes you, too. I can see it. You got a taste, man? I could really use a little sumpin-sumpin, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t have anything on me, man. I’m sorry. But you saw the other dude, the one that was here a little while ago?” I slipped into his freaked out cadence, but couldn’t quite match his lingo.

  “Yeah, man, I saw him. I saw right through the walls, man. He was fucked up, that dude. All black and red inside. And I heard him, too. Heard him super-loud.” Shit. I looked into the addict’s eyes. There was nothing there. No recognition, no nothing. I waved a hand in front of his face, and he snatched his head back, but didn’t track my hand with his eyes. He was blind as a bat.

  I turned to Flynn and Smith. “He’s blind. He sees with Sight. That’s what the color bullshit is about. He reads auras. He won’t be worth a fuck as a witness, but he’s Nephilim, and if our guy gets anywhere near him, he’s toast.”

  “Three Nephilim in one church? That seems like a big coincidence, Harker,” Flynn said.

  “It probably isn’t one,” I replied. “If the guy in the pulpit was half-angel, people like him would naturally be drawn to the place just because it felt right. That priest’s juju was all over this sanctuary, until he died, but until that, he was probably a beacon for the partially divine all over town.”

  “I guess that makes sense. But what do we do with your new buddy here?”

  “I’ll take him,” Smith said. “I know of a couple of safe houses around town. I’ll take him there and sit on him while your techs process the scene. When the sun comes up, I’ll put a few agents on him and we can get back to the hunt.”

  “How does that sound?” I turned to the blind half-angel, but he was staring up at Smith, a look of pure horror on his face. He pointed to the agent, gasped once, and passed out. But not before he pissed himself, sending a stream of urine cascading into the floor and all over my leg.

  “Thanks, Smitty. I knew you were a scary fuck, but did you have to make the guy piss all over my foot?”

  “Sorry,” Smith said. He didn’t look very sorry. Like, not at all. Asshole. “I’ll get a couple of my guys to load him into the car. Call me if your techs find anything bigger than a postage stamp.” He stomped out the front door.

  “Smith’s gonna deal with this guy, and I gotta get some dry pants,” I said to Flynn.

  “I’ll hang here with Paul and meet up with you when they’re done.”

  “Your car’s at my place,” I said in a voice low enough to keep the techs from overhearing.

  “Shit, you’re right. Okay, I’ll come with you, but I’m not washing your back again.” But she smiled when she said it, so I had a little hope. And a boot full of tweaker piss, but at least I still had hope.

  Chapter 13

  She really didn’t wash my back, but when I got out of the shower, I found hard-nosed Detective Rebecca Gail Flynn, scourge of Charlotte bad guys and badass chick, curled up on top of my bedspread, fast asleep. I looked over at the clock on my bedside table, saw the 3:45 a.m. in glowing blue numbers, and decided that a few hours of shuteye would do us both good. The rush I got off Luke’s blood had long since run its course, and I was feeling the weight of all my one hundred twenty years. I grabbed a spare blanket out of the closet, lay down next to Becks, and pulled the blanket over us both.

  Sunlight was streaking in the window when I felt the body beside me stir. I looked over at Flynn, auburn curls splayed out on the pillow like a waterfall, and felt something twist in my gut. I was so completely fucked. I’d fallen for this human woman, hook, line, and sinker, and if anything happened to her, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to get myself back. So I just had to make sure nothing happened to her. She stirred, stretching like a very contented cat, then I watched her snap awake as she realized she wasn’t in her own bed.

  “Chill out, Becks, it’s okay. You fell asleep while I took a shower, so I laid down with you and we caught a few hours of shuteye. We both needed it.”

  “Why are you naked?” I looked down. Yup, naked.

  “I walked in here after the shower, and you looked so cute I just decided to let you sleep. Then I realized how much yesterday took out of me, so I decided to sleep a little, too.”

  “Still doesn’t explain the naked part.”

  “I got out of the shower, dried off, and got into bed. None of that requires clothes. So I didn’t wear any.”

  “You sleep naked?”

  “You don’t?”

  She let out a sigh. “I’ve gotta pee. This is not the time to discuss sleepwear.” She got out of bed and stretched, pulling her shirt up just enough for me to get a glimpse of her flat belly. I liked what I saw, a fact that was obvious and exacerbated by my own need to relieve myself. Which, of course, got a lot more difficult the more I saw of the gorgeous detective. She clumped off to the bathroom and closed the door. I walked out into my den, then across the room to the guest bathroom. I th
ought about baseball long enough to be able to pee, then gave my face a quick wash in the sink.

  I wandered back into the bedroom just as Flynn opened the bathroom door. “Jesus, Harker! Put that thing away, will you?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “If you see anything you’ve seen before, feel free to shoot it.” I grabbed a pair of underwear out of the dresser and stepped into them. “Happy now?”

  “Yeah, not bad. Face it, Harker, guys are just way sexier in underwear than out of it. I mean, face it, you’ve got a decent body, and you’re actually a pretty good-looking guy.”

  “Glad to hear you don’t think I’m a troll,” I quipped, digging around for a pair of jeans. I put on my pants and an undershirt, then walked over to the closet and pulled out a black dress shirt. All my dress shirts are black, long sleeve, and basically identical. I was doing the whole “wear the same thing every day” long before Mark Zuckerberg started bragging about it. I always just thought I was fashion ignorant and basically lazy. I never knew I was simplifying my decision tree, or whatever bullshit other lazy fashion ignoramuses came up with.

  “Oh no, you’re a definite hottie, but all guys look a little silly naked.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. I’ve spent a lot more time examining the naked female form, personally. And I’m a fan.”

  “Took you a hundred years to figure that out, huh?” She grinned at me.

  “Nah, I developed a pretty good theory in my first twenty years. The last century has just been additional research. But I’m finally ready to announce my findings—I like naked women.”

  “Yeah, better change that plural to singular, if you want to see this woman naked again.” I knew I wasn’t in trouble because she was still smiling. As long as I kept her laughing, I was okay.

  “You’ve got a deal. I like naked woman.”

  “Good to hear. Now do you have a new toothbrush lying around? My mouth feels like death.”