by Gaja J. Kos
Gina’s grin faltered. “You might want to wait with that, though.”
“Why?” I fell in step with her as she began to descend the stairs, though a hint of where we were headed wafted up through the air-con when we hit the first landing.
Gina glanced my way, her lips a thin, compassionate line, but it was the haunted look in her eyes that sent goose bumps skittering down my skin as she said, “Coming from one werewolf to another, let’s just say that this is the kind of trip to the morgue we all dread.”
The old unease I’d barely shaken when I arrived in Berlin resurfaced in full. Gina keyed us into the restricted area, then led me down a bleak, white corridor, our steps echoing through the vast space. Cold seeped into my still-hot skin. I clutched my bag tighter, monitoring the spike of revulsion in Gina’s body as we approached a pair of large, swinging gray doors.
I had a suspicion she, maybe even in tandem with Finn, had been the one to find the victims.
Why else would ICRA allow her near this case?
But if that were true, then it made her current reaction all the more troubling.
A part of me seriously did not want to know what rested beyond those doors.
I faltered for a second as Gina grabbed the handle, then pushed myself to close the gap, my breath caught somewhere in my throat, as if that could block the vileness assaulting my senses.
Gina swung open one side of the door—
Every muscle in my body locked.
Shit.
I’d thought I’d already seen the worst when it came to death.
Even without me almost experiencing the exact same fate firsthand, finding Manfred Weber’s cut-up corpse infused with essence that was not his was a memory I doubted would ever lose its hold. The sheer wrongness I’d sensed back then continued to mar my senses whenever I, unwisely, recalled the event.
And while the sight before me wasn’t a product of some twisted Frankensteinian tinkering, my body reacted just the same.
7
I swallowed the bile scorching the back of my throat and stepped through the swinging door Gina held open, my entire skin crawling.
Seven bodies covered with white sheets from the waist down rested on steel gurneys that spanned across the entire width of the morgue.
Seven.
I shuddered. Shit, I’d known this had been a string of murders, but the sheer number of departed souls still froze the blood in my veins.
Gina didn’t press or judge me as I just stood there for several long moments, unsure whether I should stare at the mangled throats bearing distinct marks of a vampire in a feeding frenzy—or the swirling symbols cut into the victims’ chests.
No wonder ICRA had wanted to keep this under wraps. This was just Berlin. I had no idea how many more cities were hit, how many more souls cast into the underworld, but even the sight before me was enough to cause more panic among the masses than we could afford if details got out.
A nagging thought, however, kept crooning this wasn’t the only reason for all the secrecy.
But that was a thought that would have to wait.
Swallowing, I moved one foot forward. Then the other. I carried on the pattern until I was standing by the nearest gurney, my gaze trained on the peeled-back skin depicting symbols I didn’t recognize. The doors swung shut behind me, and Gina joined me by the gurney right as another set opened on the far left of the morgue. I shifted my attention from the corpse to the newcomer.
With every step the handsome man clad in an unbuttoned white coat took, the air became richer with threads of an old essence that suggested his late-forties appearance had little to do with his actual age. Something in my body relaxed—and I sensed Gina, too, became more at ease as the man’s presence enveloped us.
Though I couldn’t pinpoint his heritage, I had to admit this comforting influence was a brilliant thing to have in a morgue. Even the bleak artificial lights that seem to leach the color of everything in the room didn’t impact the warm brown of his eyes or the smooth, dark tone of his skin—let alone did anything to diminish the kindness I found on his face.
Once more, ICRA surprised with employees who were far from the stuck-up, pompous asses our ranks were all too full of.
“Agent Freundenberger, I’m Leon Stein, the ME working this case.” He offered his hand, his grip strong but not overly so.
“Pleasure to meet you.”
A bittersweet smile swept across his lips. “Though we all wish circumstances would have been different.”
Stein, Gina, and I glanced at the long line of bodies. Now that the initial shock had somewhat dimmed, the details of their deaths stood out in a different light. I shuffled from foot to foot as the chill of the room whisked across my bare arms and seeped through the rips in my jeans. Thank the gods I hadn’t opted for shorts.
“The killer didn’t discriminate,” I commented.
The scents drifting from the corpses indicated different species—including two humans.
“No, they certainly didn’t.” Stein looked to Gina. “You have the files?”
“Roth has them.” The Senior Agent I was still to meet. When the ME nodded and strode over to a desk with three neatly stacked piles of folders waiting atop it, Gina said to me, “He insisted you come down here first, see for yourself what we’re dealing with before you delve into the case.”
I nodded. Standing here, the tactic I’d seen Isa employ numerous times long before I joined the Agency made sense.
You could read or listen to others’ reports, but nothing beat firsthand experience.
In particular if the latter came before your mind started thinking within the walls facts tended to form.
My gaze wandered to the neck of the dead man closest to me. A shock of white-blond hair gave him an even ghostlier appearance, his what I suspected had once been youthful features bearing the strain of a violent death. Paper rustled from behind—Stein, sifting through the folders—but the sound was a distant, insignificant thing as I studied the torn flesh on the young men’s neck. Then the symbols, carved across the victim’s chest and trailing down his abdomen. While the untidy bite marks indeed hinted at a feeding frenzy, these symbols were meticulously cut into the skin.
Either there had been two killers at work, or the single person responsible had held on to the body for long enough to retain the necessary clarity of mind to fulfill such a task.
When Stein crossed back over with a file in his hands, I asked, “Were you able to determine how much time passed between the victims’ deaths and the symbols?”
“Only an approximation.” He flipped a page, though it was clear he didn’t truly need the data. “Somewhere between two and six hours.”
Which wasn’t particularly helpful, given frenzied vamps bounced back at different rates.
Just as I opened my mouth to ask what the symbols meant, Gina’s phone rang. She excused herself and padded over to the door as she answered, but instead of exiting into the hallway, her fingers lingered on the handle.
My werewolf hearing delivered the reason why.
“Problems?” Stein asked me, undoubtedly noting how pinched my features had become before I’d managed to get a grip on myself.
“Sadly, ones I knew I couldn’t get away from for long.”
He flashed me a sympathetic smile, then devoted his full attention to the printouts in his folder while I listened in to the conversation. Not one of my proudest moments, but since Gina had decided to remain in the room while the person on the other end detailed the demon attack, I suspected the werewolf wanted me to hear it.
Stein, apparently, was more than eager to play along with her plan.
“Yes, sir.” Gina released the handle. “Understood, sir.” She pocketed her phone and turned to me. “The PD just got in touch about a demon attack. They want to question the perp.”
I cast a quick look at Stein, who was still nose-deep in his notes, then beelined to Gina. “Yeah, that’s going to be a bit difficult.”
Once I was done, she ran her thumb along her bottom lip, gaze flicking between me and the morgue at my back.
“You better take me to the agent in charge of the case,” I said to break the silence.
But Gina shook her head. “Your actions might be a bureaucratic nightmare, but they weren’t unfounded.” She touched a hand to my shoulder. “You’re needed here. Let me handle this.”
At a loss for words, I could only mutter a stunned, “Thank you.”
“Once you’re done with Stein, head up to Senior Agent Roth’s office,” she added before hurrying down the hallway, footsteps almost perfectly silent and back held straight.
I made a mental note to make it up to her for this, then walked back into the morgue. The scent of death invaded my nostrils, and I quickly put a damper on my senses that I could gradually release as I adjusted. Simply blocking out everything wasn’t an option in my line of work.
“All right.” I walked up to Stein, who peered up from his notes. “Let’s carry on, shall we?”
The ME seemed more than happy to do so. He flipped the folder closed, tucked it under one arm, then swept the other to encompass the seven gurneys.
“As you can see, all victims bear distinct signs of a vampire attack. The bites and loss of blood were the cause of death in every case. Now while it’s not unheard-of for a vampire to gorge during a feeding frenzy, it takes a damn strong one to consume this much in the span of twenty-four hours.”
“Not to mention the symbols…”
Stein grunted in agreement.
If a vamp did overstuff on blood, they tended to pass out afterwards. Again, it made me wonder whether this was the work of two people rather than one.
I frowned. “Do you know what they signify?”
“Our resident witches confirmed the origin of the sigils is magic based.” He plucked the folder from under his armpit and tapped it against his leg. “Unfortunately, they couldn’t tell us more, and the symbols themselves aren’t in any of our databases. One of the witch experts said they bear similarities to an old writing that hasn’t been in use since the 1800s, but, according to them, aren’t an exact match.”
I stepped between two gurneys to take a closer look. “Do they have a function or are they for…decoration only?”
“Unfortunately, that’s another inconclusive from me. We can’t even narrow it down to a specific type of magic.”
“Do you mind?” I motioned to the bodies.
Stein gave me a “go ahead” gesture. While I was still fairly new at all this, the demonic traits forced into my essence gave me more than just demon fire and my other-sight. As months passed, I’d become more and more attuned to energies—powers, too. Though my knowledge was certainly still very much lacking.
I hadn’t been exactly at home in witch territory before, and while I had Lena train me in all things demonic, especially sensing wards, that was a far cry from the complexity that was magic with its numerous branches and vines.
Still, I had to try.
Opening myself up, I allowed my surroundings to fill me. One by one, I filtered out the data my werewolf radar picked up, sifting through the input and shutting down those unnecessary channels until all that remained was the trace amount of power lingering on every corpse. I wove between the gurneys with slow steps as to not disturb the signatures, then, once I was sure they all carried the same thing, focused on a single body. I chose the middle-aged woman on the far left.
The ghostly imprint of power felt like a spell of some sort, but far darker than anything I’d ever come across before. My skin crawled the more I opened to it. Even though the amount of the magical residue was about as negligible as day’s old rain on the breeze, there was something potent about it. Something permanent that refused to disintegrate even when the rest of the spell had.
What surprised me the most, however, was that this odd signature didn’t seem to originate from the marks, but rather the entire body.
Had the power in the carvings somehow seeped into the flesh? I frowned and straightened, switching my senses back to normal. Magic could certainly impact the body as a whole, but something with such clear origins as the marks should have its core there, too.
I turned to Stein. “I think I have all I need right now.”
“My reports will be included in the main file.” He slid the folder he’d been holding in his hands onto the desk, then escorted me out of the morgue.
The dreary, white hallway seemed more hospitable by his side.
I peered at the man. “Are you influencing my mood right now?”
A hint of color darkened his cheeks.
“I thought you…welcomed the atmosphere, back in the morgue.” He averted his gaze and quickly turned down the wattage. “I apologize if I overstepped boundaries.”
“Don’t,” I said. Whatever his magic was, it wasn’t harmful. It didn’t lower my inhibitions or impair my judgment. Simply made me less…jittery.
“With the days I’ve had lately, I’d pay excellent money to have you on my retainer.”
Stein bellowed out a laugh and released his power back into the air.
After we parted on the stairwell, I took the elevator up to the ninth floor. The mirror taking up the back wall of the lift revealed a decidedly unflattering sight. I grimaced and dropped my bag to the floor. While I could do nothing about the odor of the morgue that had adhered to my clothes and skin, I did smoothen my ponytail and tucked my T-shirt into my ripped jeans. A semblance of presentability was better than none. I had a feeling I’d already filled my quota of unprofessional behavior this morning.
I checked my reflection one more time, then grabbed my bag and spun towards the door. Three floors left. I still had no idea why I’d been assigned to this case, but the drive to unravel whatever messed-up shit was going on made me think we wouldn’t be such a bad match after all.
Maybe the change in attitude was simply a consequence of Stein’s aura, but damn, I was thrilled to have it.
The scent of coffee hit me even before the elevator door opened. I marched down the lavender-scented corridor, my footsteps drowned out by the incessant sound of furious typing and ringing phones that drifted from the series of closed offices I passed on my way to Roth’s. As his was the very last in the line, I gleaned some good insight into just how busy even the top floors were compared to our own HQ.
True to Berlin’s capital nature, this was ICRA’s main seat in Germany. But while the energy levels buzzed high and rubbed me the wrong way, there was also something pleasant in it thanks to the undercurrent of efficiency.
I knocked on the door just beneath the plaque reading Senior Agent.
“Enter,” a male voice beckoned.
The aroma of coffee clung to me in wisps as I entered the office. The curtains straight ahead of me were pulled to the sides, blinding me for a second as the sunlight fell on my face. I blinked, then stifled my surprise as my eyes adjusted and the finer details snapped into focus.
Where I’d expected to find yet another polished office, Roth’s was bedecked with various potted plants that seemed illuminated from within as the sun’s rays hit their foliage at just the right angle.
Then again, the Senior Agent sitting behind the desk was Leshy. Even in his “human” form, there was no mistaking the essence of the forest that enveloped him. Or the faint traces of his species’ illusion magic.
I stuffed down the impulse to run the fuck away and claimed the leather chair he motioned to instead.
“Thank you for joining us on such short notice, Agent Freundenberger.” His hazel eyes gleamed as they locked on mine, and the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks softened his otherwise hard features. “I presume you have already been to the morgue.”
“I have, sir.”
“Good.” He g
rabbed the topmost file from the stack to his right and handed it to me. “Then we can begin.”
I took the folder, frowning a little, though I was unable to pinpoint just what was off beyond…something. Not with the man himself—it was more the vibe he was putting out.
Like he was trying just a little too hard to put me at ease.
The folder dented beneath my fingertips.
I’d already seen the bodies. What else was there?
The single consolation I could take was that Roth’s intentions didn’t feel malicious. Not that knowing that did anything to curb the unpleasant nagging in the pit of my stomach, telling me I was not about to like what was coming my way.
The Leshy said nothing as I kept studying him, simply prompted me with a flick of his eyebrows. Right.
Pushing the eerie feeling into the back of my mind, I opened the folder to the first page. What the—
ICRA already had a suspect for the murders.
Trepidation rushed down my spine as I double, then triple-checked the image. The annotations. Shit.
No wonder ICRA’s top dogs were invested in the case.
The weirdness of the past two days clicked into place with frightening clarity. The executive order to call in any vamp attacks. Senior Agent Kaatz’s mood—how he’d refused to divulge any real information before I got here.
But also how he’d almost slipped.
If it were up to me…
Because he knew. Kaatz knew…
“Sir,” I croaked, but nothing more came out as I stared at the headshot of the person I’d hated and loved at the same time. A person I, despite everything, respected.
Nausea twisted my gut.
The killer wasn’t just one of our own.
It was Isa.
8
Disbelief morphed into rage. I snapped the folder shut and slammed the wretched thing against the desk. The money tree perched nearby shuddered, and the photo of Isa’s painfully gorgeous face slipped from the file, sliding sideways until it hit the graphite gray pot.
I trained my gaze on Roth. “What the fuck is this?”
