Creep: Karma Inc. Case 4

by Gillian Zane

  “It’s also been suggested from the top that you might want to change your look.” He motioned to me and I glanced down at my jeans and tee.

  “Not mediumy enough?” I asked with a smirk.

  “Not what one would expect,” he said.

  “What’s a medium supposed to look like?”

  “Dark and broody,” he suggested.

  “Oh, your female equivalent?” I snickered and he frowned.

  “Lighten up, Drake.” I needed a full length mirror to do the deed, so I walked to the nearest open wall area and manifested one that took up the entire space. I stood in front of it and took stock of my current situation. I was still very blonde and a bit more casual then I usually looked. When Persephone had hurried us out of the office, I had quickly manifested myself into jeans and a tee.

  I thought about what a medium would look like, and honestly the only one that came to mind was that New York medium with a TV show, and she was a blonde too. Bigger hair of course, but I was guessing they were going for stereotypical and not real. I went back for the tablet and pulled up the web browser to search for mediums, the fiction television series came up in the majority of the searches I tried.

  “I think I already fit the part.” I held up the search results.

  “Funny, but I think they expect edgier.”

  “I can do edgier.”

  Doing a few more specific image searches, I found the look I was going for. I went back to the mirror and concentrated on the image I had found. I manifested myself into a black mini skirt and red ribbed tank. I added a few long necklaces for effect, along with bracelets and dangling earrings. The blonde hair wasn’t working with the edgy look though. I smiled as it darkened to a purple black, but it wasn’t enough. I looked like a club kid, not a medium. I went further and my hair exploded into a dark blue shade, with teal weaving through the long locks. Finally, for the make-up, a smoky eye look, dark lipstick, and a ring on every other finger. Emo queen or medium, their choice.

  I turned around and held my hands out to Drake, giving him a questioning look.

  “Wouldn’t be my first choice as far as looks for you, but you do pull it off well.” He studied me from head to toe and I felt my cheeks heat.

  “This is definitely different from my normal look on cases,” I chuckled, brushing at my thick blue hair. I had always wanted to color my hair something crazy.

  “Wait, I realized. Is this–” Drake’s voice, the tone, had me going still, meeting his eyes in anticipation of what he was about to say. But he trailed off, second guessing himself.

  “What?” I prodded.

  “You were on cases, those times I thought…”

  I nodded to urge him on, not quite sure where he was going with this. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick out in messy disarray.

  “The bartender,” he said.

  “He was stealing from the bar and cheating on his girlfriend. It was my first solo case.”

  “Your boss, the ad guy?” he said in a low whisper.

  “Embezzling and a potential rapist.”

  “I thought you…I thought you were involved with them.”

  “I know.” I set the tablet down on the table. “And even though you thought that— thought that I was the kind of girl who screwed around with a guy on a bar, a guy with a pregnant fiancé…you still helped me try to find out what happened to my supposed friend. I can’t thank you enough, Drake.” It was true. He had probably thought I was some flake in the beginning, but he still helped me. Still grew to trust me, and even—I didn’t want to think about that.

  “Cassandra, she…you, shit.” He ran his hand through his hair again. I walked around the table and laid a hand on his arm. He looked at my hand, his hair flopping over his forehead. I wanted to fix his hair. Instead, I stepped back and put a chair between us so I wouldn’t be tempted.

  “It’s alright, I would have thought the same thing about me, if I was in your shoes,” I said, hoping it eased whatever was warring inside his head.

  “No, it’s not that.” He shook his head, trying to formulate what he wanted to say. “It was you all the time. I mean, you Cassandra. As soon as I read your case file, I needed to know who killed you. And I knew you—you as Cassidy, held the key,” he finished. “I guess I was right and wrong at the same time.”

  “I was technically involved,” I laughed and looked at my hands. They looked funny with all the rings on them. I wasn’t usually one for jewelry. Or at least I thought that was the case. I still couldn’t remember most of my living life, no matter what Lethe had hinted at.

  “I can’t remember the last few weeks of my life. Did we find out who killed you?” He asked and finally gave me the information I didn’t want to know. The last few weeks. What did that mean, two weeks? Three weeks? I shook my head sadly in response to his question.

  “I think we got close, though. I think the same person that killed me, killed…”

  “Me?” he finished.

  “Yeah, it had to be the same person. It was so random. We were right there. We found Pete. Well, his body. And you went to the motel to follow up on a lead and someone shot you.”

  “And then here we are, back at the beginning.” He shook his head.

  “Yeah, starting over,” I sighed. He didn’t realize in how many ways.

  “But, where were you? After. I’ve been the head of Karma for two months. They mentioned I had an operative that was missing, but never told me your name, or what you were doing, just that you’d be back when you were ready.”

  “Like I told you, I didn’t handle your death well. I wasn’t exaggerating about the med hold thing.” His eyebrows shot up with my statement. I didn’t want to go into it. I didn’t want to tell him that they had to drag me from his body and lock me in a room.

  “Why? I mean, seeing me die couldn’t have been easy. But, was it that bad? Why were you so upset?”

  “It took me by surprise. And I knew you weren’t human. They told me you wouldn’t go to the same Afterlife as me. I couldn’t accept that. I didn’t think I would see you again.” I shrugged. “I didn’t even know what you were, what a—” I didn’t even know what to call him. Part god?

  “I’m a demigod,” he finished for me.

  “Is that what they call it?” I laughed.

  “Yeah. Half god, half man, that about sums it up. Or random product of sexual dalliance,” he said with a sarcastic shrug. “I don’t feel very godly, if that helps.”

  “If you are just some byproduct of her promiscuity, why are you here, running her pet project? That has to mean something,” I said, partly out of curiosity and to also make him feel better about himself. It was strange having to reassure him, I never would have thought Drake would be subject to self-esteem issues.

  “I don’t know, honestly, I think she’s been waiting for me to die since I was born.”

  “That’s sick,” I said in horror.

  “Not to her. She called it killing off the soft parts. My god part still lives, the humanity is dead. It’s how you transition to the gods’ realm as a demigod.”

  “Oh, so the human you dies, and then you become what, all god?”

  “I don’t think so, we then become demigod. And from what I could tell, she was waiting for someone of her line to take this position. Because I’m from her line she thinks she can better control me.”

  “Did you know you were a demigod before you died?” I asked, intrigued by this new development.

  “Sort of,” he said and now my curiosity was piqued.

  “Oh, c’mon, Drake. What does that mean? Did Persephone raise you?”

  “Gods no!” He shook his head. “That is a horrid thought, right there.”

  “Mommy dearest,” I laughed in agreement.

  “But, then again, I didn’t have the best childhood either.” He didn’t go on and I frowned, wanting to know more.

  “Now you have to spill.” I pulled out a chair and sat down heavily indicating that I was r
eady for the story and he had to sit down and tell me all about it.

  “It’s not much of a story,” he said as he lowered his bulk into the delicate looking antique chair. “Persephone had a cult of worshippers, still does if I’m not mistaken. They have a blog and a Facebook group. They have this compound right on the border of the U.S. and Mexico, kind of a no-man’s land type of place. The closest town is called Hades, ironically. I don’t know if they did that on purpose, or if it was a coincidence.”

  “Sounds charming,” I laughed.

  “Not in the least. But it’s her biggest group of worshippers. They call themselves witches, and do a lot of rituals in her name. This past century she’s picked up quite a bit of pagans that worship her. She’s usually associated with the duality of the female spirit or some nonsense.”

  “I didn’t realize she was still worshipped,” I said.

  “They have to be if they are still manifesting in large amounts. The gods that exist in Afterlife, anyway. From the little that I’ve picked up in the last few months, they only exist if someone believes in them. Like the old wives’ tale about Santa Claus. The more living who believe, the more power they have. If they don’t have enough worshippers, they sustain themselves on either negative or positive energy, depending on their nature, and that is only doled out by the gods and goddesses that are still being worshipped, so you have to work for it.”

  “But, how many people can possibly still worship the old gods?” I asked.

  “It’s not worship, in the sense of the word. I think it’s also if they are talked about, studied. It’s why Hades and Persephone have so much power in Afterlife, they are popular historical figures, even used as fictional characters in thousands of books. You tell a child the myth of Hades and Persephone it is a form of worship.”

  “Mind. Blown.” I did the obligatory hand motion that went with my ridiculous statement. “So, there might be a bunch of deities that were forgotten, that still exist, but what? They work for the not forgotten ones?” I asked.

  “Pretty much. If they want to exist, they have to work for the PTBs. I learned that pretty quickly, because now that I’m an official demigod and I don’t have people who worship me—” He stopped and looked at me, his forehead furrowing. Was he embarrassed? I stopped fiddling with a crystal that was on the table and made eye contact, trying to reassure him that I wasn’t going to judge him.

  “I need negative energy to exist too.”

  “Wait—like you need it like you need food? If not, you what?” He had my full attention now and I was horrified. He was looking at his hands in shame.

  “I cease to exist. All this karma that you and the other operatives are collecting, the negative energy you are pulling off your targets. It feeds back to the gods. What the other operatives call the PTBs, and some of it goes to me. It’s the meaning behind all of this shit.” He shook his head in exasperation and finally looked up to meet my gaze.

  This was the meaning behind my entire existence? To feed some bloated gods and goddesses who didn’t have enough worshippers?

  “You’ve got to be shitting me.” I clenched my fists and winced as the sharp pain of my nails bit into my palms.

  “It all has its place in the circle of life and death. The living need to be taught a lesson and the PTBs need energy to survive. Everyone wins.”

  “Except the dead who do all the dirty work,” I said.

  I realized after I spoke the words how selfish that sounded. Drake had found out he was a demigod, son of a heinous and narcissistic goddess, and that he had to feed off of negative energy to survive…and again I was making it all about me. I chewed on my lip self-consciously and pushed the conversation back to him.

  “So, that clears up a few million things in my head, but what does it have to do with your parenting?”

  “Right. It all goes back to the cult. Like I said, they thought they were witches. They called themselves a coven and they would hold these rituals, elaborate and very sexual. They drummed up a lot of energy for Persephone. She decided to make an appearance for one of her biggest nights of worship.”

  “That must have blown their socks off,” I laughed.

  “Well, they were all naked…so no socks to blow off,” he chuckled, but from the way he was looking at his hands again, I could tell this wasn’t something he wasn’t used to talking about.

  “Naked?” I questioned to urge him on.

  “They blended pagan rituals with what they thought were ancient rites. Ones that usually involved solstice celebrations in the nude. Fertility rituals, sex magic, you name it, they did it. In ancient rituals maidens were sometimes offered to the gods. Since Persephone was female, they offered her a man. My father. Five months later, I was left on the alter in their chapel.”

  “How could it be from that night if it was only five months? You could have come from anywhere.”

  “Gestational periods are different for goddesses,” he said this like it was common knowledge and I wrinkled my nose not wanting to know how a goddess gave birth or what a pregnant Persephone would be like.

  “That’s what my father told me anyway. He said the goddess herself told him. She came to him and told him that I was his son and how to raise me, or some other bullshit.”

  “So, you were born into this cult, and they thought you were the kid of the goddess they worshipped?” I said awe struck.

  “When I was old enough to figure out that most of them were batshit crazy, I thought most of it was delusional rants. I figured my father and the other members of the cult were lunatics. They certainly weren’t stable in the normal sense of any word. Until the day I died I thought my father had imagined all of it…”

  “Holy shit, Drake.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” He coughed to cover up the fact that his voice had cracked.

  “You were raised by a cult of witches who thought you were a demigod?” I started piecing it all together.

  “I ran away when I was eleven.”

  “I can’t, I don’t know how to–” I stumbled over what I could possibly say that would convey how fucked up his situation was.

  “I thought they were crazy. I thought my dad…I hated and pitied him until the day I died. But he was right all along. I had my doubts as I got older, I was stronger than average, better hearing, and I had moments…it’s hard to explain. Like precognitive flashes, but of the present moment. I would always explain it away and make excuses. I studied the supernatural and thought I might be something, but my father couldn’t be right…I couldn’t be a demigod,” he squeezed the bridge of his nose and bowed his head. “I’ve never told anyone this.”

  Damn. I wanted to go to him.

  I wanted to throw my arms around him. My stupid feet were frozen to the ground, again. I was scared of how he would react. Of how it would make me look.

  “Drake,” I said in a low, coward’s voice. He looked my way, and I was struck by just how vulnerable he looked. I had never had the slightest glimpse of this side of him before he died. He was always so in control when he was alive. But I could imagine that finding out all of this had shattered any kind of control he thought he had. It spurred me into action. I would tell him what happened before he died. Hell, I patted my pockets, where was that vial? We could both take the liquid that would make us remember.

  I didn’t have my purse. Nothing in my pockets.

  I must have manifested it somewhere when I changed. I had no idea where things went when I manifested them gone. Probably disappeared into the ether. Back to the dark matter. I was screwed. What a stupid mistake. What a stupid move. Now, there were no choices for me.

  A crinkle appeared between his brows when he saw the look of panic on my face.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I thought…”

  The bell over the door chimed and we both started. I got up quickly, not ready for whoever was here.

  I had expected Persephone to show up, or some random cult member to divulge more damning
secrets. What I wasn’t prepared for was the little squirrel of a girl that walked in. She was all pinched and fuzzy, with glasses at the tip of her nose and dark hair that sizzled out from her head. She made a slightly alarmed noise when she saw our attention directed at her.

  “Castalia Rosso?” the girl squeaked.

  “Yes, are you looking for a reading?” I improvised, figuring Castalia would get a few walk-ins during the day.

  “Uh…no, I am, I mean, yes, well, not me,” she stammered.

  I caught a stern look from Drake and realized this probably had something to do with the case. Time to play it up.

  “Come in, girl, do you work for someone?” I asked.

  “Uh, yes.” Her brown eyes were as wide as saucers.

  “Something to do with the dead?” I asked and she physically reacted with a shiver starting in her shoulders and leaking out through her fingers.

  “How did you, uh, know?” she squeaked and I saw out of the corner of my eye, Drake turn and face away from us, slipping behind the shelves so our visitor couldn’t see him. His shoulders shook with the laughter he was holding back. I guess he was over his existential crisis. Thank goodness she couldn’t see him. I wanted to slap him. He could ruin this entire operation.

  “That’s what I do,” I said in the most whimsical voice I could muster.

  “Oh, yeah,” she laughed a nervous, high laugh.

  “So, what exactly do you need from me?”

  “Yes. Okay.” She dug around in her purse until she produced a little case. She withdrew a card and placed it on the table in front of me. I glanced down at it like I already knew what was on it.

  “I work for an investigations unit.” She gained some confidence as soon as she began talking about her work. “We look into hauntings and possible possessions.”

  “How interesting,” I said to fill the silence. “And this is you?” I indicated the card on the table that had a large R&R Investigations logo across a stark black background.

  “Oh, no. That’s Roselle and Raul. Sibling partners. I work for them. Well, I work for the network that hired them. They’ve been signed to a reality television show deal. But the network is looking to balance their investigation and spiritual work with an actual medium,” she got out in a rush.