The Southern Watch Series, Books 1-3: Called, Depths and Corrupted

by Robert J. Crane

  “Yeah, yeah,” Lerner said. “Now that your girlfriend’s gone, they’re all yours.” He gestured toward the door, and Duncan stood back, opening it so they could leave.

  “How are you gonna open the door?” Hendricks asked as he followed Lerner out and watched Duncan close it behind them. “Something more subtle than kicking it down, I hope?”

  “Sure,” Lerner said with a wink. “We have our ways, after all.”

  ***

  Gideon turned his car onto Water Street, which was just at the edge of Midian. It was ramshackle as all hell, a messy collection of old houses with peeling paint, white paneling falling off in great strips. Even at night it was obvious that the houses were just decaying away.

  He checked the note Spellman had given him for the address again. He drove down the tree-lined road, figuring it wouldn’t be hard to spot.

  It wasn’t.

  Most of the houses were little shit, things you’d find in the first-ring suburbs of most major cities that had grown up after World War II. Tract homes. No exception here, except they might have been older. They were tiny, barely shanties in his opinion, save for the one he had the address for.

  It stuck out in the middle of the block, probably once a beautiful manor house with lovely sculpting and a pleasant veranda to sip tea on as the sun went down.

  Now it was a shithole, with the same faded wood paneling as everything else on the block, the warped floorboards visible even from the street. All the paneling from the gables of the roof had torn off, and what looked like mildew was growing beneath.

  Gideon stepped out of his car as the rain started to fall again. He could hear it rattling the tin roof of the house as he made his way up the front walk. The lawn was overgrown, and a light burning in the front window was the only sign the house was occupied. The fresh night air was soured by the smell of some kind of smoke drifting off a porch down the way. Gideon could see the flare of someone lighting something up, but it didn’t smell like tobacco.

  He reached the front porch and avoided the most obvious of the warped floorboards. He stepped off track a dozen times before he reached the door and knocked tentatively.

  There was movement inside that he could hear, and the door swung open suddenly to reveal a raven-haired woman in a white silk robe. Her skin was tanned, with spots here and there that showed hints of her age. He would have guessed she was on the late side of her thirties, but he wasn’t all that good with human ages.

  “Hello, darling,” she said in a thick, husky voice. The accent wasn’t Southern; it was almost more European.

  “I’m … uh … looking for a room for the night,” he said, hearing his voice change pitch through the sentence with embarrassment.

  “Come right on in,” she said, and her green eyes were lit with amusement. She was wearing a lot of dark makeup under them, and her eyelashes were black and prominent.

  Gideon followed her into a foyer that didn’t really match the exterior of the house. That was twice tonight. Inside it was decently maintained, with a placid blue wallpaper pattern highlighted by gold fleur-de-lis. There was a staircase just inside, and he looked at the white carpet leading up it as the woman shut the door behind him.

  “My name is Melina Cherry,” she said in that husky voice. He turned to look at her and she smiled. Her smile was about as real as her tits.

  “Gideon,” he said with a nod. He could feel the unease. “Like I said, I need a room.”

  “Well, Mr. Gideon,” Melina Cherry said as she reached out and ran a finger softly across his face. “We don’t just do rooms here, you must know. There are several lovely hotels here in the Midian area that would be more than glad to just let a room to you.” She straightened up, stretching her long neck. Her robe fell open, revealing a bare breast. “Here, if you pay for the girl, the room is yours.”

  “Okay,” Gideon said with a nod. “I’ll take a girl—but only if I can have the room for the night.”

  She made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “We’re not exactly set up for room service—at least not the kind you’d find in a hotel, but all right. I don’t care if you sleep in the bed after you use it. Not at this late hour, anyway.”

  “Okay,” he said. He didn’t really want a girl, but it wasn’t the end of the world. “How much?”

  “A hundred,” Melina said after a moment, running fingers through her thick, black hair.

  Gideon nodded and fumbled into the pocket of his cargo shorts. He had it, it and plenty more to spare since Spellman was fine with being paid by bank transfer. He stripped five crisp twenties off the wad of money he carried and handed it over to Ms. Cherry—he doubted that was her real name—and she watched with patient expectation and counted as he went.

  “Blond, me or the redhead, Mr. Gideon?” Melina Cherry asked once she’d slipped his money into the pocket of her robe. It was still open, and Gideon looked. He wasn’t really into human bodies, but hers was not in bad shape. A little dappled on the skin. Age would do that, he knew.

  “Uhm, blond,” he said, picking at random. It mattered little to him.

  “Interesting. Most people are asking for the redhead, lately. Colleen,” Ms. Cherry trilled in a lovely tone. A whiff of strong perfume came from behind him and Gideon felt a hand tuck delicately around his waist. “Show Mr. Gideon to a room, please.”

  “Right this way, sir,” Colleen whispered in his ear. She walked at his side, and he glanced over at her. She was in her twenties, he figured, blond hair curled like she was a movie star. She sniffed a couple times, like she was trying to get a whiff of him. Her fingers were light against his back, and he could feel her tickling the flabby skin that he’d heard called a love handle. That was no big deal, either.

  “Make sure you show our guest a good time, Colleen,” Ms. Cherry said, and Gideon looked back to see her leaning against the banister, her robe still open for him to see. “Make him sleep soundly.”

  Gideon looked back to Colleen, who wore a smile that was fraught with tension. Her eye twitched and he wondered just what she was on. “Oh, I’m sure she will,” he said aloud before Colleen could answer. “I’m sure she will.”

  13.

  Erin had slowed down near town and let her thoughts catch up with her. She was almost through the town square when she thought of something and hit the next right turn.

  The rain was spotting the windshield when she pulled into the apartment complex, the heat blowing so loudly that she couldn’t even hear the rain. It gave off that smell, the one heaters had, and it felt like it was drying out her nose.

  The Explorer was parked there, sure enough, just sitting in the middle of the parking lot. It had mud all over the back rear tires and covering the wheel wells. She stepped out into the freshly falling rain as the puddle just outside her door rippled from the droplets falling into it. The brick apartment was lit by a couple lampposts and lights outside every door.

  She had been by Arch’s old apartment once but knew that he had moved to a different one after some lowlifes had dropped by and kicked down his door. It had been the most exciting thing to happen in Calhoun County for years. Until today.

  She stood outside her car and hesitated. Knocking on Arch’s door at this hour felt strange. He was probably here, after all, since his car was parked outside. Why wouldn’t he answer his radio or his phone, though? She bit her lower lip and chewed while she thought that over. The thing she least wanted to do was get into some sort of argument with him, especially about Hendricks.

  “Dammit,” she whispered, talking to herself, “his business is with the sheriff, not me.” She started to turn and get back into her car when she saw someone move in the shadows.

  ***

  Lerner let Duncan open the door because he had a subtle art with these things.

  “Excuse me,” Duncan said and gestured for Hendricks to move out of the way. The cowboy did, and Lerner felt himself grin. This was going to be good.

  Duncan kicked the door open. The
frame splintered around the lock and burst inward.

  “Son of a bitch,” Hendricks said, looking over his shoulder like the cops were going to descend on him at any minute. “I thought you said you had your ‘ways’?”

  “It’s open, ain’t it?” Lerner asked, grinning. “That’s one way to do it.” He gestured for Duncan to go in, which he did. Lerner started to follow but paused as he passed Hendricks. “Listen, kid, if you don’t want to come in and see what it looks like when a Sygraath is nesting right next door to you, don’t. Stand your law-abiding ass right out here and wait for us.” He winked. “Won’t be more than a minute or two.”

  With a pat on the cowboy’s shoulder, which was covered with that black duster coat he wore, Lerner moved on in. Duncan was already standing in the middle of the room, feeling it all out. The place looked about like Hendricks’s room had looked to Lerner—a complete and total shithole. The wallpaper was something between beige and reddish, but it looked brown—also, like shit—and the place smelled like someone had been whacking off and spraying their demon spunk all over the place. Which had probably happened because the inhabitant was a Sygraath.

  Same bed in the same place, same shitty half-clean hotel smell that Lerner was used to. This one smelled like it might have been a smoking room at one point in time, the lingering aftereffects of cigarettes in the air after what had probably been years of absence. Or, hell, for all he knew someone had lit one up last week in the place. Lerner ran a hand over the wooden dresser and the TV as he steered past where Duncan stood. “Anything?”

  Duncan was quiet for a beat before answering. “Nothing.”

  “What do you mean, nothing?” Lerner asked, frowning. It wasn’t like Duncan to come up with ‘nothing.’

  “He’s gone,” Duncan said. Blank eyes turned toward Lerner. “Completely gone.”

  “What, did he leave and go back to Chattanooga or move out of range of your sense of him?” Lerner had seen that happen before. Wouldn’t surprise him, either, if the Sygraath had gotten jumpy and bailed. It’s what happened sometimes when OOCs came calling. The wise would pack up and leave rather than run into the storm that followed.

  “No,” Duncan said, and Lerner knew him well enough to recognize that look. It wasn’t a good look.

  “What the hell are you guys talking about?” Hendricks asked from the door. He was just leaning there, the cowboy, waiting outside the door frame looking guilty as a Frac’shaa with its hands in a baby carriage.

  “He’s disappeared,” Lerner said, picking what Duncan was saying out of him without having to have him say it. “Which means he’s got some black arts working for him.” Before the cowboy could ask, he turned to head it off. “He wouldn’t disappear if he didn’t know we were on to him. Makes me worry he might have something in mind, something he’d like to be left alone to pull off. Something big.” He could see the kid wasn’t getting it, so he made it even more obvious. “Something that’ll kill enough people to satisfy him.”

  ***

  The girl—what was her name again? Colleen—shut the door behind them. Gideon found himself drowning in her perfume, like it was sprayed on in a factory that made the stuff. The room didn’t help; it had an obvious scent, too, like it was disinfected recently. It was a feast of red up here, the fleur-de-lis still present on the wallpaper, but everything highlighted in crimson instead of blue as it had been downstairs.

  “What do you want to do, baby?” Colleen asked him, rubbing a hand across his shoulder. Gideon’s t-shirt was still a little wet, and it was clinging to him in uncomfortable ways, especially around the gut. She leaned in close, and he could smell the gin on her breath, heavy as though she were pouring a glass of it right in front of his nose.

  Gideon hadn’t been with a woman before. It wasn’t really his thing, wasn’t something he was interested in. He knew other demons did it, but not his kind, not Sygraaths. They were self-gratifiers. He’d never even tried it with a human woman.

  He felt himself smile. He hadn’t tried a lot of things until lately.

  Colleen lingered just a few inches away, and her hand made its way down to his cargo shorts and unfastened the button. He didn’t need a belt, after all, and could barely keep the button fastened most of the time. It was just the shape of his body. It wasn’t like he ate or anything. Just the way he was made.

  He felt her hand slide down in there. She gave him a goose through the pants. He held his breath and thought of Sarah Glass and how she had died that very afternoon. How he’d felt it. He was hard when she put her hand on his cock, and he let his breath out in a gasp.

  “I want you to blow me,” he said before he even knew he was saying it. Her eyes were dull and glassy, but she nodded and slid down before he could say anything else.

  She pulled his shorts down around his ankles and he felt her slide her lips around his tip. He gasped when she did, and closed his eyes. He thought of the afternoon, of what he’d done, and it made him swell. Every stroke of her lips up and down his shaft was twice as blissful as any time he’d ever touched it, the sensation of his own lack of control making everything a mystery and a surprise.

  She stopped after a minute, and made a low, gagging sound as she pulled her mouth off his cock. He felt a rage fill him, the heat flooding his senses. He stood there, hard-on sticking out as she made a face then retched. “I’m sorry,” she said at last, sounding a little choked. “I’m sorry, I think it’s the cologne … or whatever … you put on there …” She looked up at him. Her eyes weren’t vacant anymore, but they were still glazed. “Can we switch to something else?”

  Gideon could still feel the heat burning beneath his skin, but even with the desire fully engorging him, he still felt a little caution prickle at him. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, lowering his eyes. “This was … kind of a fantasy of mine.” He didn’t have much experience with lying, but he thought that came out all right.

  “Oh, baby,” Colleen said, and she cleared her throat. She slid up from her knees and took him in her hand, working him back and forth while she looked him in the eyes. “What other fantasies do you have?”

  Gideon was smiling like mad inside, but he only inside. He kept his eyes down, only looking up at her every few seconds to gauge her reactions. “Well, I have this one … but it’s kind of … kinky.”

  Colleen ran her free hand over the skin of his neck while she kept gently jerking him off with the other. It was keeping him hard, but that was about all he could say for it. “How kinky, baby?”

  “Not too kinky,” Gideon said, and kept his eyes downward. “I just always wanted to fuck a girl from behind … while she was wearing a gag.”

  Colleen let out a little laugh, then pulled away from him to arrive at a wooden, mirrored vanity She slid open the top right-most drawer and her hand came back with something black and leather. Gideon had seen one of them somewhere before, in a movie. What was it called? Right. A ball gag. “I think we can handle that, baby,” she said.

  ***

  Erin saw the shadow moving out of the bushes over by the left-hand side of the building. She was already out of the car, so she started toward it. It was probably just someone walking a dog or out for a … post-midnight stroll?

  She kept one hand on her Glock in its holster as she made her way through the parking lot toward the shadow in the dark.

  The air felt even cooler now after the heater in the car had warmed her up. The rain was starting again in earnest, switching from a drizzle to something more steady, and she wasn’t wearing her rain gear. She could feel the droplets hitting the top of her head and her shoulders, falling onto the back of her uniform and seeping through to the skin. The world around her had a blanket of quiet dropped on it save for the sound of the rain and her shoes as she jogged across the pavement.

  She edged closer to the source of the movement and saw the figure walking on the path along the side of the apartment building now. A lamp caught a flash of red hair and Erin hurried on, following behind. />
  Another few steps and she caught a glimpse of the profile—it was a woman. The same woman she’d seen on the overpass with Arch and Hendricks just this afternoon. She was pale like Snow White, her red hair glowed in the light of the lamps, and she was wearing too-tight jeans that were pretty much like something Erin herself might have worn. Except the redhead had on cowboy boots.

  Erin started to freeze where she stood, one foot up the half-inch step over the parking lot’s curb onto the sidewalk. She fumbled the step, though—probably from being surprised—and made a noise as she caught her balance. She looked back, like she was expecting to see something other than a curb she tripped over, and when she looked forward again, the redhead was gone.

  “What the fuck?” she whispered to herself. There was a quiet hiss in the air as the rain picked up.

  “Hello, Erin Harris.” The voice startled her, made her jerk her head to her left. She kept herself from drawing the gun, but it was a close thing.

  The redhead was just standing there, looking at her with a cold expression, watching her like she was some kind of animal to be studied. “Hello,” Erin said. “How do you know my name?”

  “I know a great deal about you,” the redhead said, never breaking off her cold study of Erin.

  “Oh, really?” Erin said and kept watch on her—on her hands. Like she could be hiding a weapon anywhere on that body. In those jeans. Yeah, right. “Well, I don’t know anything about you.”

  “My name is Starling,” the redhead said, still watching her.

  “Great,” Erin said, and tried to keep from making a sarcastic noise. “That’s really fucking helpful. What are you doing here, Starling?”

  “Very simple,” Starling said, never once taking her eyes off Erin—which was fucking nerve-wracking. “I am here to speak to you.”

  ***

  The night air in the room was alive around Gideon, almost electric. It was dark, the lights off, and he was giving it to her from behind. Each stroke was almost as good as the ones he gave himself. Better in some ways. The smells of the act were something he was unused to, but they didn’t bother him. He could hear her soft grunts muffled by the gag as he thrust into her and pulled back out again. So this was what he’d been missing.