Hidden Blade (The Soul Eater Book 1)

by Pippa Dacosta

  I spared a quick glance for Alysdair but couldn’t find her. So much for abstaining from soul eating. That promise had lasted a pathetic few hours. Spitting a curse, I pushed to my feet.

  The demon screamed triumphantly and swiveled its glowing eyes onto me.

  I smiled. “Hungry? I know I am.”

  “POLICE! Get your hands up!”

  I snarled as all my plans shattered. Life had been so much easier when people ran away from demons. Now, too many of them rushed in. I lifted my hands so the cops could see I wasn’t a threat—at least not to them.

  Flashlight beams flicked over the pews, down the aisles, up the wall, and landed on the demon hovering in the air and whipping up a dust storm.

  “DON’T MOVE!” More shouts. Boots scuffing. Gear rattling. They’d get themselves killed within seconds. Opening fire on the demon wouldn’t stop it, but it would give it a target. Those talons would slice through the cops and their Kevlar like they were made of paper.

  I thrust out my left hand. “Hurzd.”

  Power throbbed through me, heady and intoxicating. The demon’s flaming eyes widened, its wings locked up, and the thing tumbled out of the air, thumped onto the altar, and slid off.

  “Sorry, peaches, no time for foreplay.”

  “DON’T MOVE!”

  I sprang forward and clasped my hands on either side of the demon’s hideously deformed face. The spell tumbled forth, words binding together and digging deep, and into the slippery darkness I went. Even as boots thudded up the aisle and the cops shouted at me to step away from the thing, the spell latched on and yanked.

  Power—dark and delicious—buzzed. The laughter returned, and I was right at home. Arms hooked around mine and tugged me off the demon. I felt it distantly and heard the cops barking orders as though they were in another room. I was thrown facedown and someone dug a knee into my back, wrenched my arms behind me, and slapped on the cuffs.

  “… used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

  Laughing probably didn’t help, but there it was, bubbling from my lips.

  “Daquir,” I whispered.

  Sprites of fire danced over the demon’s carcass, startling the cops who aimed their weapons at the rapidly vanishing remains, for all the good it would do them. Activity buzzed. Radios crackled. And in seconds, the demon was gone, turned to ash.

  The cops muttered among themselves, no longer sure what they’d witnessed, and looked at me like I might sprout wings. They had no idea I was the real stuff of nightmares. In a few hours, they’d convince themselves it couldn’t possibly be a demon they’d seen. It was a trick of the light. Fearful minds concoct imaginary foes.

  After they bundled me into the back of a squad car, I dropped my head back and closed my eyes. “I get a phone call, right?”

  “Back at the precinct,” my police escort said from the cruiser’s front seat and then asked, “What was that back there?”

  “What was what?”

  “The thing. I saw it.”

  “I didn’t see anything.” My smile was back, broader than ever.

  Chapter 13

  I got my phone call and my own holding cell. I was under arrest for a slew of minor offences. They had yet to connect me with the three dead kids from the midtown high-rise, and if my phone call paid off, they wouldn’t get a chance. But if they found Alysdair, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to place me on the roof where the kids had been butchered.

  If my call didn’t pay off, it might be time to leave the city. The thought of leaving New York wasn’t pleasant. After a few decades, the city, its endless activity, its hard outlook, and its no-bullshit people were a part of me. I’d made a home here, settled here longer than anywhere else. But perhaps it was time. Stay in one place too long and the roots rot, so the old world saying goes.

  It had been so much easier to slide under the radar when people weren’t armed with cell phones and cameras. Now everything was filmed, recorded, and ferreted away into datacenters. It was more difficult than ever to hide—unless you happened to be like Osiris and relished hiding in plain sight.

  A uniformed cop collected me from my cell and escorted me to an interrogation room.

  The door clicked closed behind me, leaving me standing under the cool scrutiny of the straight-faced, charcoal-suited Thoth.

  He appraised me from his sitting position at the table and said in a tone so flat and sharp it could have cut diamonds, “No cell can hold you.”

  I shrugged, finding myself restless under his gaze. He didn’t exude power the same way Osiris did. Thoth’s lurked deep. “I have to live this life. I’d prefer not to live it on the run.”

  He opened his briefcase, removed a slip of paper, and slid it across the table toward me. “The evidence is circumstantial. They have nothing to hold you. You’ll be released. Sign here.”

  Hands still cuffed, I eyed the mirrored wall. Attorney-client conversations were confidential, but it wasn’t the cops I was concerned about. Gods had many ways of eavesdropping on the unsuspecting.

  After signing Thoth’s form—as confident as I could be that the God of Law wasn’t about to screw me over—I pushed the paper back across the table.

  He gathered the document and neatly inserted it into the proper place inside his briefcase. Then he nudged one of his pens back in line, making it parallel with its neighbor. Gods forbid anything was out of place. He’d have a fit if he saw my filing system.

  “You can’t afford me, Mister Dante,” Thoth said, still cold, still flat. He had about as much spark in him as a reanimated corpse.

  “No, I can’t afford you, but like I said, I have information to trade.” What I was about to do, if it went wrong, could start a feud that would have far-reaching consequences. Or Thoth might try and kill me where I stood, because that would certainly be one fine way out of this mess.

  Thoth leaned both elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. With his back straight, his shoulders rigid, and the dash of a goatee narrowing his already thin face, he reminded me of a blade, the kind of blade forged to look plain but that could slice through anything in its path. No doubt about it, my next words would either free me or condemn me.

  He waited, probably wondering if he could trust a word I said. Liar. Thief, he’d be thinking.

  “Osiris suspects you’re screwing his wife,” I said. The ground didn’t tremble. Thunder didn’t crack. Maybe I’d get away with this.

  Thoth blinked twice and lifted his chin. “That’s unfortunate and quite incorrect.”

  “Of course.” I couldn’t tell from his blank expression whether he was lying. I couldn’t read a damn thing on his face. I’d just told him the most powerful god, outside of the elusive Amun-Ra, believed he was screwing his wife, and Thoth had barely flinched. He really was hardcore. “But you are meeting with her?”

  He blinked quickly again and abruptly stood. “That I cannot confirm or deny.”

  You just did, I thought.

  Thoth straightened his cuffs and sleeves so they perfectly lined up.

  “Let me be clear, Mister Dante.” He looked up, and something dangerous peered out from behind his slate-gray eyes. “Isis’s love for her husband is enduring and eternal. It is the one constant in our ever-changing lives, much like the air we breathe or the ground we walk upon. There is no god, no force in this realm, the underworld, or the afterlife, that can sever their bond.”

  “Besides themselves?”

  He briefly bowed his head, conceding. Either he didn’t know Osiris like I did, or he didn’t care that the god had his crosshairs lined up on his back. And I was the unfortunate one who’d have to pull the trigger. But I had room to maneuver. I’d agreed to kill Thoth; I hadn’t agreed not to warn him first.

  “Armies have marched off the back of love,” I said. “Thousands of people die every day for it.”

  “Love is indeed a potent motivator.”
/>   Thoth and Isis weren’t screwing, I knew that much, but they were meeting in secret, and that alone would be enough to put a wedge between Osiris and his wife.

  “Whatever is going on between you and Isis, unless you tell Osiris the truth, it will get you killed.” Killing a god was no idle threat, and I’d just laid it out bare.

  Thoth’s faultless expression gained a few fracture lines around the mouth. It was probably the closest he came to grimacing. “I cannot.”

  “His suspicions will consume him.” And the rest of us, I added silently.

  Thoth’s bloodless lips pulled into a reed-thin smile. By the gods, he does smile! And it was a horrible thing to witness. “I appreciate the concern, but it’s not necessary.”

  “Oh, I’m not concerned for you.”

  Thoth stood, picked up his case, and came around the table. Easily a foot taller than me, he peered down his narrow nose, meeting my eyes for as long as he dared before shifting the briefcase to his left hand and straightening his tie. “We are each confined to our word.”

  “Indeed we are.”

  He knew I’d be coming for him and that I’d told him more than enough to protect himself—and hopefully me—when the time came.

  “I’m sure we’ll meet again soon, Mister Dante.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt.”

  Without delay, he marched out of the interrogation room. The cop entered moments later. She unlocked my cuffs and spared me a smile. “That’s one efficient attorney you have there, Mister Dante. You’re free to collect your personal belongings and go.”

  I rubbed my sore wrists and wondered if I’d earned myself a friend in Thoth, or an enemy.

  Shukra was waiting outside the precinct, her face like thunder. A pair of sunglasses hid her eyes and protected them from the glare coming off the fresh snow dump. The rest of her, wrapped in a fur-lined coat, stood rod straight and immobile, warning me she was about to grill me.

  “What part of don’t get caught did you not understand?”

  I flicked my coat collar up and flashed her a smile. “Like a red rag to a bull.”

  “I hate you.”

  “I noticed.”

  “How did you get off?”

  “Thoth.”

  She balked at that, probably wondering where I’d gotten the cash to hire one of the best attorneys in the city. Her questions were incoming and would hit once she worked through the details in that steel-trap mind of hers.

  Plucking my cell from the police-issued plastic bag, I switched it on and waited for it to boot up. My breath misted the air. Steam rolled off the street and the cold gnawed on my face and fingers. Squinting into the too-bright winter sun, I spotted a red Ducati parked outside the precinct’s parking lot.

  Shu shook her head. “Wasn’t me, but I did pick up Alysdair from the church. It tried to eat me. You’re welcome.”

  I headed for my bike and resisted the sudden and alarming urge to thank Shu. Her touching the sword was no minor thing. The blade had likely burned her and tried to draw her soul into itself. Her going within three feet of the blade was an unexpected act of kindness from a demon that supposedly wanted to scoop out my insides with a spoon. She’d want compensation.

  The Ducati’s keys were waiting in the ignition. Thoth was thorough. It would be a shame when I had to kill him.

  “Was the Montgomery problem dealt with?” Shu asked, stamping her feet and puffing into her hands.

  “Yeah.” My cell chimed a message alert. “But I’ve collected a few more since then.”

  I didn’t have to tell Shu anything, but we’d learned over the years that secrets didn’t last long and usually caused more trouble than they were worth. Besides, she knew my soul. There was no greater secret than that. Bizarrely, I knew I could trust her. Besides Osiris and Cujo, she was the only other being who knew the exact details of my curse—because it was also hers. In five centuries, she’d never told another soul.

  My cell vibrated. I glanced at the screen. VOICE MESSAGE: BAST.

  “We need to talk,” I told Shu and lifted the cell to my ear.

  “Ace, two more of my blessed are dead. I’m on my way to a suspected third. Call me back.”

  The message ended, and another began, this one from a few hours ago. “Chuck is missing. I think I’ve found their connection. Meet me at the corner of two-thirtieth and Edgewood. The others are dead, Ace. All of them.” The message ended, cutting to silence.

  “Damnit.” I dialed Bast’s number, but the call rang out. “Shu, are you armed?”

  “Always.”

  I swung my leg over the bike and rocked it upright. “Follow me. Keep up.”

  Almost three hours had passed since that call, and Bast hadn’t called back. Whichever way I looked at it, my ex-wife’s silence was a bad omen.

  The Ducati roared to life beneath me. I rolled the bike onto the road, spotted Shu climbing into her beat-up two-seater sports car, and opened the bike’s throttle. The tires gripped with a screech, launching me through blurry New York streets. Shu wouldn’t keep up, but she’d find me. She always did.

  Chuck was missing. Bast’s women were dead. My mother had been slaughtered in her own chamber. The jackals suggested the events were linked. It was unlikely that Ammit had been pregnant like the other victims. Perhaps she’d known something, and the killer—with enough clout to turn the Devourer’s jackals against her—had wanted her silenced. As much as the thought sickened me, I had to talk with Osiris.

  I turned the bike onto Edgewood and rolled to a halt. EMTs, cop cars, and a growing crowd blocked the residential street. Was Bast here? I tried her cell again. Nothing.

  The crowd strained against a stretch of police tape. I carved my way through them to the front. The stark winter sun highlighted bright splashes of blood in the snow. Bulky body bags gave the rest of the scene its finality. Someone or something had ripped through a squat, single-story building and torn through anyone who had gotten in its way.

  Radio chatter drew my eye to an animal control van. Bast?

  Among the slushy mess of blood and snow near the front steps, I spotted large paw prints. Bast wouldn’t have done this, but she’d been here.

  “Ace.” Shu drew me away from the frontline, thumbs tapping on her phone. “This address is listed as a modeling agency, but there are some indications online that that wasn’t all they did.”

  “Like what?” I scanned the crowd, the cops, and the dozens of vehicles, but Bast wasn’t here. She could have picked up the killer’s scent and started tracking them while I played catch-up. Why hadn’t she called me?

  “Escorts.”

  I spotted an ambulance with its rear doors hanging open and started toward it. “Escorts as in professional friends or escorts with benefits?”

  “The benefits kind,” Shu replied.

  Escorts—the connection Bast had mentioned. The dead women had been on the payroll?

  An EMT loitered near the back of the ambulance with her head down, busy filling out paperwork.

  “Shu, go over there, be dramatic, and make it good. I need a few minutes alone with the witness in the back of that ambulance.”

  Her sunglasses couldn’t hide the way her eyes lit up at the promise of mayhem.

  “Don’t hurt anyone,” I quickly added before she could summon a biblical plague.

  “Happy to help.” She tucked her phone away, removed her sunglasses, and sauntered toward the EMT.

  I took up a hapless bystander position at the front of the ambulance, checked that the driver was busy in the cab, and waited for Shu’s signal. Sure enough, she let out a cry and dramatically fell into the crowd, causing enough of a ruckus for the EMT to rush in.

  I climbed into the back of the ambulance, spooking the guy wrapped tightly in a space blanket. He shrank away.

  “Hey, just a few questions—not gonna hurt you.”

  “Who are you?” He had the wide, glassy-eyed look of someone in shock, and he blinked at me like I might be a figment
of his imagination.

  “Someone who can help.” Shu’s commotion continued outside, but I didn’t have long before the EMT returned. No time for small talk. “Did you see who did this?”

  He shook his head. “No, man, I was out back. We heard the shouts, and then the screams started…I heard Jimmy sayin’…” He trailed off, the memories dragging him under. He’d be reliving them for a while.

  He swallowed and looked down at his hands cradled in his lap. “He was begging, yah know? You’re supposed to stay in your room. They told us on that terrorist training course, yah know, after nine-eleven. If anything happens, like this… I mean, not like this. Nobody expects someone to come in and start…cutting.”

  “Just one person?”

  He nodded. “I think so. The door was shut, but I heard…”

  “Did anyone say anything that could help? Any names? Anything at all?”

  “Jimmy…” He winced. “He said the girl wasn’t here.”

  “What girl?”

  “I could hear Jim clearly, but…” When he looked at me, there were questions in his expression, and confusion clouded his eyes. “I should remember, shouldn’t I? Something? Anything? The cops asked. They looked at me like… I dunno. I should—I can’t…”

  “What girl?” I pressed, keeping my voice calm while my heart raced.

  “I don’t know, man.” His fingers were trembling so he curled them into fists. “Jimmy said she was in the old warehouse apartments down by pier fifteen and then…and then he didn’t say anything else. I found him.” His shoulders shook. “His throat was…”

  I had a lead. It was something. “Thank you.”

  “Shock, right? Why I can’t remember? It’s shock. I mean, the cops said it was. It makes you forget. Makes you see things?” He giggled in a wholly unhealthy way. “Because, man, when I saw that panther, I thought I’d lost my shit for good.”

  I smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring way. “You’ve been very helpful.”