Deathly Temperance
A Piper & Payne Supernatural Thriller Book 3
John P. Logsdon
Christopher P. Young
There are many book series in the Paranormal Police Department, and there are a ton more on the way!
PPD Precincts
Las Vegas - Ian Dex
Netherworld - Piper & Payne
Southeast Asia - Mark Vedis
Seattle - Savannah Sage
Shadow - Wren Cooper
New York - Bethany Black
Tap here to see all the books in the PPD, listed by their timeline!
OTHER SERIES
Platoon F - Comedic Sci-Fi
Queen Arthur - Arthurian Comedy
Ononokin - Comedic Fantasy
Chapter 1
It’d been a few weeks since we last heard from Keller, the dickhead of a mage who had been causing a lot of stir lately in the precinct. While I found it hard to believe he was letting the Retrievers catch our breath from the rout he’d given us, he was being eerily quiet.
But life in the Netherworld Paranormal Police Department, or PPD, went on.
There were runners, lawbreakers, and people who had just forgotten to check in. Usually the last bunch were dealt with via a buzz on their tattoo. Sometimes, though, the “I’ll get to it later” mentality landed us on their doorstep.
That wasn’t the case right now.
My partner, Reaper Payne, an actual reaper who had done something naughty enough to get him sentenced to live one hundred years in our world, and I were assigned to bring back a werewolf living in the Australian Outback. She was purportedly eighty-one years old, hunched over, and not much of a threat. Unfortunately, families of the locals that she’d been feeding on over the last couple of months begged to differ. To them, she was a vicious wolf.
Had it just been Reaper and me dealing with this, all would have been swell. But ever since Keller’s goons wiped out a good number of Retrievers, we’d been forced to take on rookies for training in the field.
As Chief Carter had put it: “Piper, you’re one of the best Retrievers we’ve got, and so I’m assigning you to train new rookies.” Technically, that was bullshit, because all Retriever units were being assigned fresh cops.
But he was right. I was the best Retriever. I wasn’t saying that because I was arrogant. I just knew that I was good at what I do, and numbers didn’t lie. I’d had more retrievals in my short tenure than some cops had had in their entire careers. A lot of this came from the fact that I was immortal. When you had no fear of dying, you were far more willing to take risks. Shit still hurt, though, so I was usually careful.
Reaper was still pretty new to the job, but he’d seen a lot in his years while ferrying people from the world to the Vortex. He wasn’t a worry to me anymore. He’d proven himself a number of times already.
The two I still found to be a chore were the officers known as Brazen and Kix.
Brazen was a werebear who also happened to be an asshole. He was big, out of shape, had a perpetually messed-up beard, and his clothes were rarely clean. Kix, on the other hand, was a young djinn who was covered in tattoos and always wore a shit-eating grin.
Now, you’d probably bet that I’d be more excited about serving with a guy like Kix than I would be serving with someone like Brazen.
You’d lose that bet.
I disliked serving with them equally.
Now, don’t get me wrong. They had demonstrated themselves to be more than competent during our last couple of missions, but they were still green.
That made me responsible for them.
I didn’t like being a chaperone.
But those were the breaks, and if you griped too much at Chief Carter, he could make your life a living hell. Besides, I owed the chief more than I could ever hope to pay back. If it weren’t for him, I’d either be strung out on some crazy drugs, in jail, or both.
“What have we got?” I asked Reaper, knowing he was able to spot people in the area using his internal tracking ability. Some people may have thought that was due to his glowing eyes, but it wasn’t. He just had that reaper skill. “Is she on your radar, Reap?”
“There is something…” He trailed off and pointed.
As if on cue, an elderly woman stepped out into the open.
Brazen and Kix went for their guns, no doubt itchy to try out those Death Nails I’d made them practice with. But I held out my hand and gave them a look. They put their weapons away with a sigh.
“Mrs. Donaldson?” I called out, taking my badge from my pocket and showing it to her. I slowly approached. “My name is Piper Shaw and I’m from the Netherworld Retrievers unit.”
“What’s that?” she called back, holding a hand to her ear. “Could you speak up?”
“My name is Piper Shaw,” I yelled back. “I’m an officer in the Netherworld Paranormal Police Department. This is my partner, Reaper Payne, and these are a couple of officers-in-training.” I didn’t bother to give their names. Mrs. Donaldson didn’t seem to mind, but Brazen and Kix were frowning at me. “We’d like to ask you a few questions, ma’am.”
At first she looked taken aback, but then she slowly nodded and waved us to follow her.
“I was about to go home and put on some tea,” she said, “if you’d care to join me.”
“Hmmm?” I replied, not expecting that response. “Oh, right. Sure, we’d love to.”
“Damn it,” hissed Brazen.
He wasn’t one who enjoyed socializing and pleasantries.
“Heads up, Piper,” Chief Carter said through our internal comms as we slowly followed after Mrs. Donaldson, “we have a situation going on down here and I need Officers Brazen and Kix back immediately.”
“Oh, darn,” I replied as relief washed over me. “How will we ever manage without them?”
Brazen looked quite pleased with being called back.
“Gee,” he said aloud, all smiles, “I’m sure I speak for Kix as well when I say that we absolutely hate to have to leave this riveting catch-the-old-woman caper, but duty calls.”
Kix grinned as well, though he seemed less enthusiastic about leaving. Unlike Brazen, Kix was fine with doing the mundane and simpler aspects of the job. I’d wager he was incredibly chuffed to be labeled as a Retriever no matter what his actual duties entailed.
“Toodles,” Brazen said before pressing his tattoo and disappearing.
“Good luck, guys,” Kix said with a shrug before he disappeared.
Reaper and I looked at each other and resumed following the old woman.
Chapter 2
Her house was more like a small hut, at least from the outside. The inside was cozy and tastefully decorated. It was minimalistic, sure, but I was one who always took functionality over fluff.
“So, what have I done to warrant having a contingency of Retrievers after me?” she asked as she put the kettle on to boil. “I know I’m getting older, but I do believe I still have a number of months remaining before my annual reintegration cycle.”
Every supernatural living topside had to go back to the Netherworld on a set schedule in order to go through reintegration. It allowed them to reset their base needs, go through new training techniques, and to remember that being allowed to live topside was a privilege, not a right.
All of this was necessary to protect the normals living in what we called the Overworld.
While the terms made it sound like supers lived und
erground, that wasn’t really the case. They were simply two separate realities that were close enough to be easily traversed, if you knew how.
Supers had learned how.
So why “Overworld” and “topside?” Because when you went through the portal, it felt like you were going up; when you came back, it felt like you were going down. I couldn’t say why the engineers had designed it that way. I’d have thought their arrogance would push them in the opposite direction.
Everyone had their own schedule for reintegration. Newer vampires and werewolves, for example, had to return more often due to their innate desire to attack normals. But even they eventually had their return windows relaxed if they could prove themselves capable of resisting temptation.
Mrs. Donaldson was older. She’d been living among normals for a very long time, and so her record showed that she only required trips back to the Netherworld once per year.
But that was only if she was good.
She was not being good.
“You’re correct,” I said, watching her closely. “You’re not due for your normal reintegration cycle for a few months, but there’s been a bit of a glitch in your stay up here.”
She put her hands on the counter and turned her head to the side, not quite looking back at us.
“Glitch?”
“You’ve been eating normals,” Reaper stated without inflection.
He was so pedantic sometimes.
“Oh,” Mrs. Donaldson said with a light chuckle, resuming her tea-making. “That’s all?”
Reaper and I glanced at each other, feeling confused.
“That’s a violation of your agreement, Mrs. Donaldson,” I pointed out. “You have been through numerous reintegrations, so you should be fully aware that you have broken the law.”
“Laws are meant to be broken, child,” she replied sweetly. “Besides, I’ve been a werewolf for many more years than you’ve been alive.” She began pouring. “The people I ate were old and dying. It was for their own good.” She nodded to herself. “Yes, I’d say I’m doing the community a service by devouring the old and the sick.”
The only thing worse than a murderer was one who truly believed that what they were doing was right. Even if she had the consent of those she was feeding on, it would still be against the rules and regulations of the Netherworld-Topside system. It just wasn’t allowed.
“Did these people sign a contract that authorized your disposal technique?” asked Reaper.
“That doesn’t matter,” I told him in a direct connection.
“I know, but I want to understand her motivations.”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Donaldson giggled. “Where would the fun be in that? Besides, who in their right mind would sign a document that allowed a werewolf to viciously destroy them?”
There were probably a good many people who would sign that document, but none that would fit that “right mind” classification.
Reaper pressed on. “And so you took it upon yourself to determine if their quality of life was low enough to warrant your intervention?”
“Precisely, young man,” she replied, bringing over our tea. “They are normals. We are supernaturals. This entire concept of protecting them from us is asinine. One can simply look at the vast differences in strength, speed, stamina, and intellect to know that they are but sheep in comparison.”
“Which is precisely why there are rules in place, Mrs. Donaldson,” I stated firmly as I took a sip of the tea.
It went down smoothly at first, and then it began to burn.
She’d poisoned us.
Honestly, I don’t know why I was surprised at that. I also don’t know why both Reaper and I were foolish enough to accept tea from someone who was a perp. My guess was it had to do with her grandmotherly look.
“Wow,” I said, wincing, “the poison you put in this tea burns pretty good.”
Mrs. Donaldson smiled as though she’d just given us candy on Christmas.
Creepy.
“Don’t you worry,” she consoled, “the burning will stop and you’ll die peacefully.” She then wiped her hands on her apron. “I would have preferred not to have killed you, to be honest, but I believe I have a duty to fulfill here and I cannot allow anyone to interfere.”
I nodded at her and set the cup down. Reaper put his down as well.
“The thing is,” I said as the burning stopped, “we’re both immortal. Poison won’t kill us.”
Her eyes darted back and forth between us for a moment and her shoulders fell.
“Unfortunately,” Reaper remarked, “attempted murder of two Retrievers will be tacked on to the charges already against you.”
Mrs. Donaldson sighed, slowly unfastened her apron, took it off, folded it, and set it on the kitchen table. Then she dumped out the rest of the water in the kettle, wiped it clean and set it back on the stove.
“It’s a shame that the youth of today don’t understand the nature of our power over those who are lesser.” She continued tidying up, though it seemed like a pointless endeavor. “If you were even half my age, you’d understand.”
“Actually,” Reaper responded, “I’m a reaper. I’ve been around for many of your lifetimes, and I’ve seen the horrible things that all manner of people—normal and super—are willing to do to each other.” He tilted his head at her. “Power is no excuse, I’m afraid. What you are doing is wrong, ma’am.”
She chewed on her lip and looked away.
I saw her arm twitch an instant before she snagged a small canister from the kitchen counter and threw it on the ground near me and Reaper.
Smoke belched from the thing and stung my eyes.
I jumped to my feet and moved away from the smoke, firing my gun in the general vicinity of where Mrs. Donaldson had been standing.
Reaper moved quickly to me as we both coughed and waved at the smoke.
Finally, it cleared.
There were Death Nails littering the walls, but Mrs. Donaldson was gone.
Chapter 3
We ran outside and saw the outline of a werewolf running off in the distance.
She’d gone full wolf.
“Shit,” I said, leveling my gun at her.
I missed.
“Double shit.”
“We can transport ahead of her,” Reaper reminded me.
Use of the transporters was limited, mostly in frequency of use, but Reaper’s special tattoo gave him more leniency over things than a standard Retriever. He couldn’t just jump from place to place within seconds or anything, but the cool-down period for him was half that of mine. We could jump to and from the Netherworld pretty rapidly, if there was sufficient need, but hopping around topside or even from place to place in the Netherworld wasn’t possible. It could actually kill you.
Reaper had even more issues with this than the average super. The portal system could seriously screw him up if he didn’t wear a special mala bracelet that had been infused with magical protections. I was a bit jealous of his bracelet, truth be told. Not because I wanted to have the limitation of requiring one to transport around, but rather because I thought it looked cool. I especially enjoyed the two skulls that sat among the rounded beads. While they were no doubt wholly unnecessary, they gave the bracelet a nice, somewhat sinister look.
“Put us in front of her,” I commanded. “Not too close, though. I want to have a few seconds to get set before she realizes what’s happened.”
Reaper nodded as I put my hand on his shoulder. He pulled up his sleeve and began tapping on his tattoo, dragging his finger around in various patterns. The ink lit up briefly behind his manipulations, showing it was registering his commands.
The world faded.
When it came back into view, we were standing directly in the path of an oncoming werewolf.
“Reap!” I shrieked an instant before Mrs. Donaldson’s wolfness slammed into me, knocking me flat on my ass.
“Sorry,” he said, staggering slightly from the use of his power. “Sh
e was apparently moving more quickly than I’d thought.”
“Oh, for goodness sakes,” Mrs. Donaldson said as she looked into my eyes. “You two are getting on my last nerve.”
Then she reared up and began raining down blows.
She was a lot stronger than I’d expected for someone her age, but when a super moved into their advanced form, they were entirely different. A normal woman of eighty years was like a spry Rottweiler on steroids when in wolf mode.
But I was no slouch in the fighting department, and so I defended myself as best I could. I couldn’t last forever, though, and Reaper clearly knew that. He loathed to cause permanent damage, if it could be avoided, but he’d obviously found enough balance to slam into the wolf that sat atop my chest.
They both tumbled away, giving me time to get up and pull out my gun.
Reaper jumped to his feet and spun to face the wolf.
Mrs. Donaldson was also up on her feet. She kicked him in the stones. Or at least where his stones should be. Honestly, I had no idea if Reaper was anatomically correct or not. It had never come up in conversation, after all.
He grunted and dropped to his knees, whimpering like a freshly neutered puppy.
Well, that was one mystery solved anyway.
Just as Mrs. Donaldson was preparing to knee my partner in the face, I shot her leg.
She yelped and hit the ground, writhing in pain.
A Death Nail to the torso or head was guaranteed death to any super. It would split apart in rapid succession, sending bits of itself throughout the body. A shot to an extremity or the ass, though, would just hurt like hell. Fortunately, Nails were built to be able to differentiate between normals and supers. If you shot a normal with a Nail, they could still die, of course, but the projectile wouldn’t split apart. It’d just go straight through or it’d stop when hitting bone.
As Reaper continued his moaning, I stepped over to Mrs. Donaldson and repeated the Retriever arrest motto.
Deathly Temperance: A Piper & Payne Supernatural Thriller (Netherworld Paranormal Police Department Book 3) Page 1
