by T. G. Ayer
The nanites turned into a gray amorphous cloud, and drifted towards the open ball, where the four sections closed, sucking up the swarm with a soft whoosh.
Vee crouched and reached for the small globe, feeling the weight of it in her palm. She glanced over at the demon who stood shivering before her. “What are you waiting for, Benny?” she asked. Then she smiled and said, “Go.”
And he ran.
Chapter 2
Humanity had a lot to answer for. Today the crime was murder.
As far as Karan was concerned, murder was just fine with him as long as they killed each other. But he took umbrage when humans killed using the name of a god as justification, as reason.
Perhaps a thousand years ago, such an act would have been acceptable. But not today. Not in this strange, technological, politically-correct world.
Karan shook his head and glanced at the device in his palm. The tablet was both phone and computer, enabling him to communicate across the globe using technology. There had once been a time when a simple thought had been sufficient to send a message to a worshipper. Sadly, humans today had lost the ability to commune with the gods.
Besides, Karan wasn’t sure he’d want to commune with them anymore. The more he saw of them the more certain he became. And yet one human girl seemed to walk in the face of that opinion every chance she got.
Vaishnavi Shankar was full of spirit. He could see her as a goddess, filled with fire and passion—the very reason he’d contacted her. She was both soldier and puppet.
He smiled. Now, what would she think of that truth?
Karan focused on the device and watched words appear on the screen. He squinted angrily. Another death, the circumstances of this murder too similar to last week’s to be unrelated. He’d need to bring the girl in again and was beginning to consider that his relationship with her may morph into something more permanent. This was not woman’s work, but He had suggested she’d work out well.
He.
He’d lost so much power already, and yet He still believed in them. Humanity and their pitiful offerings. But, where the girl was concerned, Karan could see what had impressed the Gods. Her power, courtesy of her Apsara bloodline, was in full force. That the gods had willingly blessed her thus far, with access to them, with magical protection and with the hellhound, was enough to ensure Karan remained comfortable while using her.
He used the device to send her a text message, knowing she’d pass that information straight to her supervisor at the FBI.
Karan moved to stand in front of the picture window.
New York was a simmering contingent of lives, all ebbing and flowing within each other. Where humans saw blinking lights on a glowing skyline, gods saw flickering specks of life-forces, melding together to form dense nexuses of power.
Karan inhaled sharply, and watched as lightning flickered across the sky, a white electric bolt that was sufficient message.
Humans could no longer sit back and watch as the gods strived to save them. It was time humanity rose to their feet and battled at the gods’ side.
That was the only way the gods would ever be free.
Chapter 3
A glance at her watch informed Vee that it was just after three in the morning. Having a hellhound was very useful. They happened to also have a cool ability. Instant transport over long distances. Thankfully, they could take passengers.
Hunts Point to Lower Manhattan was a quick jump and Vee had to concentrate on arriving on a street about three blocks from the scene so Syama could see it well enough to transport them to the right place. The last thing she needed was to make an out-of-this-world arrival inside a murder scene.
Rossi preferred Vee keep things as normal as possible. Their arm of the FBI was top secret and off-the-books, considering most people lacked respect for paranormal activity and magic.
The hellhound kept close to Vee as she hurried across the deserted street, giving the black sky a glare. With the crime scene probably teeming with cops, not to mention those out trolling the neighborhood, Vee had to arrive far enough away that they wouldn’t be seen popping out of thin air.
The night of the new moon was always one in which the evil and the demonic stirred, creeping in the shadows, waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting.
Legend said that without the light of the benevolent moon goddess Chandini, evil is left to run rampant, to plague the lives of the innocent, and the not-so-innocent humans.
Vee gritted her teeth. They won’t run rampant. Not if she could help it.
She jogged through the labyrinth of the night-drenched streets of Manhattan, familiar enough with the dangers to keep a wary eye over her shoulder despite her hellhound companion’s presence.
Vee passed an elderly silver-haired man, wrapped in a tattered tweed coat, buttoned to his chin to ward against the wintry edge of the late fall night. The man gave her a suspicious glance, then when he’d ascertained she was neither a danger, nor about to solicit him, he gave her a short nod and passed her by. She couldn’t help but wonder who he was, a baker or a shop-owner, no doubt closing up late and heading home. Just another ignorant human.
Ignorant, but happily so.
Knowledge didn’t necessarily imply joy and happiness.
Vee glanced over her shoulder and watched as the hunched shape of the old man disappeared around the corner, muttering a blessing that he’d be safe as he walked the streets.
She tugged her jacket closer as she reached the street that was her destination, thankful for the fleece lining that kept her warm. The red lights of a police cruiser danced upon the surface of the wet blacktop, casting a bloody glow onto the walls of the surrounding buildings.
A cordon of yellow police tape marked the crime scene and as Vee walked towards it she pulled out her shield and flashed it at the cop. The man’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he looked her over, then he tilted his head in the direction of the alley, giving her permission to enter. She looked far younger than her twenty-six years, and her hair, now drawn back into a smooth ponytail, surely added to her youthful look.
But she didn’t acknowledge him, just stalked off and ducked beneath the crime scene tape with Syama in tow. The bodyguard hellhound came to a halt at the entrance to the alley, learning from previous crime scenes to keep as far back as was possible without leaving Vee in any significant danger.
A couple of crime scene techs hovered a few meters from a body lying face up on the ground. They stared impatiently at the two detectives standing beside the dead woman. A lone light cast a mean glow on the scene, probably one of those motion sensitive ones people used to scare off potential thieves.
The light hadn’t done anything to deter the murderer though, and as Vee closed in on the body she sighed. This was going to be a hard one. The scene was out in the open, and there was no telling if the rain had fallen before, or after, the killing.
She studied the two cops whose attention shifted to Vee as she walked toward them. The tall portly male was the Chief of Police, Harrison Clyde, a man who was seen to give Vee a longer rope than any of his cops. Probably the reason for the look of animosity his companion gave Vee. The redheaded woman, Andrea Monroe, was Clyde’s most valued detective, and would rival Cressida for the size of her cojones.
Monroe’s eyes narrowed as Vee stopped beside the corpse. “What took you so long?” asked the detective, making no attempt to temper the sharpness of her tone. She was dressed in black jeans and a tan leather jacket, much the same as Vee, only Monroe had had the sense to throw on a warm overcoat before waltzing around in the cold. Her green eyes gleamed as she studied Vee, waiting for an answer.
“Had to walk, Monroe. I was a few blocks away.” Vee gave the detective a mild smile, paying no attention to the older woman’s disgruntled bearing.
Chief Clyde nodded his greeting. “Hope we didn’t take you away from anything important.” His expression was expectant, as if with Vee’s arrival he hoped to close the case before the sun rose.
“Nothing as important as this, Chief.” Clyde was the only man in the NY police department who really believed Vee had something to offer. Whether it was his relationship to Rossi or Vee’s track record, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she was happy to have at least one person who took her seriously, especially when she had the prickly Det Monroe to deal with.
Clyde beamed at her, his cheeks shining as he asked, “What do you need?” He was never one for beating about the bush.
Vee scanned the alley and glanced back at the corpse. “I’ll need everyone to step away from the scene, at least ten feet back.” Vee studied the body, barely paying attention to Monroe as the detective grumbled something unintelligible and moved off. With the Chief guiding her away, the woman had little choice. And for that Vee was most grateful.
The hardest part of her job was taking shit from other women. And though Vee could only admire Monroe’s achievements, the detective never failed to get under her skin. For now, Vee put the antagonistic woman out of her mind, and studied the body.
The victim appeared to be in her early twenties, although in most cases these girls tended to be much younger, layers of caked-on makeup hiding their youth. She lay flat on her back, her eyes open, staring at the black sky, her expression frozen in stark horror. Thick black hair fanned out around her head, dark locks tentacling out in a morbid halo. The black wig sat askew, half-unpinned to reveal pale blonde hair flattened against her skull.
The girl wore a shimmering white silk blouse—very classy—with a hot pink bra beneath. Whatever sexiness she meant to portray was hidden by the large red stain on the front of the blouse, the sodden fabric ripped in three long slashes, torn red flesh glistening wetly within the jagged edges of ripped silk.
Vee paid attention to the tiny leather skirt, the discarded crocodile skin bag and the designer shoes. The girl’s clothing hinted at high-class escort as opposed to red-light district lady of the night.
But, none of the girl’s clothing mattered. And from what Vee could see so far, neither did the girl’s profession—high class or not. Whoever killed her hadn’t done it for any sexually-related reason.
After studying the scene, then taking note of the blood-spatter patterns along both the walls, Vee stepped about five feet from the body and took a deep breath. Keeping her back to the cops, she drew energy from the centre of her being and closed her eyes, allowing the elements around her to awaken, coaxing them to reveal themselves more clearly. Until now she could only detect a faded shimmer.
Things will soon become clearer.
Chapter 4
Vee opened her eyes to a scene vastly different to the dark and shadow-filled alley of moments ago. Dozens of images surrounded the body, shapes of innumerable shades of light. They resembled multi-colored infra-red images, but they were the residual imprints left behind by the previous occupants of the narrow alley, images caught in the ether, that went back for at least two days. Sometimes they lasted longer, depending on the auras of their owners—depression, grief and tension provided a boost to their aural residue, which made them linger.
It wasn’t a surprise that sensitives—humans who felt auras as opposed to seeing them—were often drained of their energies. Humans were naturally parasitic where energy was concerned, feeding off, and supplying, each other almost constantly depending on their needs.
Vee took a few moments to filter through the images one by one, zoning them out according to the freshness of the imprint. The strength of the imprints left behind by those who’d visited the scene fluctuated according to their age, allowing Vee to filter out the ones from earlier in the day, leaving behind only the images from the last few—more pertinent—hours.
Sifting through the auras, Vee moved past the young man who’d come to throw out the trash, the two men who’d used the alley as a toilet stop, the hooded figure and a young prep-school kid exchanging something, their actions furtive even in the shadows of the alleyway. Many of their faces were clear enough to identify—while others, with their profiles hidden by hoods and caps—were not so easy to see.
At last, Vee was able to zone in on the images of a handful of people, the four most recent ones, their glows strong in the darkness. Vee moved around, circling the body, studying the trail of feedback imprints leading away from it. Each trail was made up of multiple imprints overlapping each other as each person moved into, and out of, the alley.
Vee looked down at the girl again, now easily identifying the shimmering orange that was the residue of the dead woman’s life-force. She tracked the girl’s movements, backward from the body until they reached the street. Then she studied the three other residual imprints, quickly determining that one belonged to a man, his head covered in a hoodie, his movements jumpy as he looked over his shoulder—probably a junkie—who’d come to the body after the girl had died. He’d scrambled around the corpse, perhaps looking for something to steal. He’d left empty-handed.
Only two imprints left. As she honed in on one of them Vee stiffened and let out a shocked breath. For a moment, she was certain the residual feedback appeared to belong to a man with the head of a lion.
Vee shook her head, then took a few breaths to steady herself before studying the image again. She concentrated harder but now the imprint seemed to have faded away, as if she’d merely hallucinated the feline features.
Stiffening her spine, she focussed on the energies left by the man she’d imagined as half a lion. She followed the trail and frowned as she watched the images flow.
The robed, hooded figure closed in on the girl, stalking her, using the shadows to hide his approach. He drew alongside her, and her eyes widened as she turned, some noise, or a shifting of the air, alerting her to company.
Her mouth opened, fear ripping within her aura, as he raised his hand and slashed her abdomen open before stepping back and watching her fall to the ground and bleed out.
He’d given no warning, offered no escape.
Getting closer, Vee studied the series of images again, trying to ascertain what type of weapon was used, but for all her concentration she was unable to clearly see the man’s hand.
Bad sign.
She tried to push away her frustration as she studied the remaining imprint. While the killer had sliced the girl open, another robed man had watched from a few feet away, his face hidden by a hood. The problem with residual feedback was material objects also left behind their mark, and when the material was close to the skin, the imprint could become distorted.
Vee watched as the killer withdrew something from his pocket, then leaned toward the body, placing the object below the wound. With his back to her, he shielded his actions, and Vee walked around to the other side. He collected blood in a small box, perhaps a jar or a container, before closing the lid.
The image of the watcher was a dark red, an almost luminous shade of ruby. He’d stood by and watched, only moving when the killer stepped toward him and fell to his knees, remaining bowed until the man lay a hand to the supplicant’s head.
Then the killer rose, head still bowed as the watcher moved past him toward the dead girl. A gilded aura flickered around him now, and he bent closer to the girl, pressing his curved fingers to just below her breastbone.
Sound wasn’t recorded in aural imprints, and Vee could only observe as the second man placed his hand on the girl’s chest. He bent closer for a moment, then withdrew something that filled the palm of his hand.
Vee swallowed hard, her heart thrumming as she guessed as to what the killer now held, still warm and dripping blood. The supplicant came forward and held out a small box, and the watcher-turned-mutilater dropped his burden into the box.
Then both men left the alley together.
Vee swallowed hard, feeling fatigue take her over. The problem with studying residual feedback was she had to use a part of her mind that still needed exercising. As much as she’d previously practiced her aura reading, the intensity of the effort still reduced her muscles to a flubbering mess, wh
ich was never a good thing when facing cops who wanted answers.
Stiffening her muscles, Vee turned and waved Clyde and Monroe forward. “Well?” asked Monroe as she drew alongside Vee, her gaze unwavering.
Vee exhaled slowly. “There was one killer, and one bystander . . . he stood over there, watching.” Vee pointed to the spot six feet back beside a dumpster where the robed observer had stood, fully aware that her description must seem far-fetched.
She narrowed her gaze at the spot where he’d stood, then caught a glimpse of gleaming red on the corner of the dumpster. She sent up a silent prayer and said, “Tell the techs to check the corner of that dumpster, I think there’s a fibre caught on the rough edge, probably threads from his clothing.”
Monroe gave a begrudging nod before raising her eyebrow. What else?
Vee crouched beside the dead girl. “This wasn’t a sexual predator. He didn’t molest her in any way. He followed her in from the street, then attacked without warning. No defensive wounds; she was taken by surprise, probably thinking he was a potential customer. Three identical cuts across the abdomen. I’m thinking some kind of ritual killing, maybe rite of passage if you take the watcher into account. He used some sort of receptacle to collect her blood. And he did something else to her, I couldn’t see what.” She pointed at the girl’s chest. “Have the coroner check for missing organs.”
Vee didn’t want to go into further detail and confirm the removal of the heart. Monroe had watched her every move while she’d worked and she hadn’t so much as touched the body, which would leave the detective wondering how the hell she knew the heart was gone in the first place.
Nor could she find a reasonable way to confirm that the observer had removed the heart. How would Vee explain that from merely reading the crime scene?
“They slashed her, took their bloody prizes and then left her to bleed out.” Vee studied the wet ground surrounding the body, grateful to find half of a bloody footprint a few inches from Monroe’s shoe. She pointed to it and said, “Watch where you step, Monroe. The perp was kind enough to leave a footprint.”
