Storm of Sin

by Patricia D. Eddy

  “Then don’t shut me out, asshole. And tell me what you should have known.” My stomach twists and roils, and if I have to look at the body another minute, I’m going to throw up. Stalking across the room, I snatch my notebook off the floor and shove it back into my bag. Sin hasn’t moved.

  “You’re really not going to tell me? Fine. I’ll see you outside.”

  The Bureau’s morgue is just like all the others I’ve been in. Nothing but stainless steel, frigid air conditioning, and weird smells that stick with you for hours—if not days. The green tiles remind me of my high school gymnasium, but the girls’ locker room never had anything like the various tools lining the counters of this place.

  It’s all too much. The air in the hall is slightly fresher, but it’s not enough to quell my nausea, and I replay the half an hour I spent at the crime scene. The poor couple who’d found the body had been sweet, and the techs had wiped their memories. Like something out of Doctor Who or Men in Black.

  Who does that? Wipes memories?

  Me, apparently. Or at least the organization I’m now a part of.

  Bursting out into the brightness of late morning, I find a bench next to a planter of rose bushes. Something normal. Human. Even…pretty. I tip my head back and let the sunlight warm my cheeks, my eyes closed. Until a chilling image flashes behind my lids. A cage. In the dark. And I swear I can smell damp earth, moldy stone.

  Get a hold of yourself, Zoe.

  Forcing my eyes open, I scoot closer to the rose bushes and inhale deeply. I should not have read the BOO handbook while Interview with a Vampire played in the background. Big mistake.

  A few moments later, Sin drops down onto the warm wood next to me. “That tattoo…the design is ancient. And I have seen it before.”

  “Where?” I tilt my head to find him staring up at the hills surrounding the city.

  “Nowhere I can speak of. Trust me, Zoe.”

  His voice carries the weight of a long life—not that I have any idea how old he is—and when he says my name, a lump swells in my throat.

  I don’t know this man—this demon—but he’s my partner, and I haven’t been entirely straight with him either. If I want him to trust me, I have to trust him.

  “It was her eyes.”

  “What?” he says.

  “You asked me what was wrong earlier. At the crime scene.” I glance up at him, only to find him staring across the street. A sliver of the bay’s visible, and the blue-gray waters are calming. “I’ve seen bodies mutilated before. After weeks of decomp. You never forget that smell. It’s awful, but it’s part of the job.”

  “And her eyes still affected you that dramatically?”

  “Yes.” Running a hand through my curls, I search for some logic, some reason why, but come up with nothing. “It was like everything that made that shifter who she was...everything that made her a person...was gone. Like someone destroyed her from the inside out. And I’ve never seen a body that made me feel that way before.”

  Shock, anger, and understanding weave together, forming a deep rumble in Sin’s chest, and I fall silent as I try to understand his reaction.

  After what feels like an hour, he sighs. “There is more to this murder than meets the eye.” At my cringe, he offers up a strained laugh. “Apologies. A most unintentional pun. Commander Eve should have warned us—warned me—about this before she sent us out there. Before she assigned you—“

  “Hey.”

  Sin holds up his hand, “You and a demon whose past is forever linked to what we just saw in there.“ Rubbing the back of his neck, he ruffles his dark hair, and for the first time, I notice his fingers. They’re burned in spots, the smooth, almost shiny skin at odds with the rest of him that appears to be perfection wrapped in a cocksure swagger. He shakes his head and turns his gaze to the parking lot once more.

  His dark blue sports car stands out like a bird of paradise amid a flock of pigeons. Particularly next to my old coupe. I’m assuming from now on, he’s going to want to drive.

  After another few moments, he turns to me, his stare so deep, it’s like he’s searching my soul. Unlike inside, his irises are a glittering sky blue now, and I wish I felt comfortable asking him why they change colors. The section on incubi and succubi in the handbook was woefully short.

  “I will not lie to you, Zoe. This case will be dangerous beyond all measure. Are you certain you can handle it?” he asks.

  The question grates, but I can’t blame him it. Not with how I acted at the crime scene. And in the morgue. Rookies puke at crime scenes. Rookies run out of the coroner’s office and want to burn their nostrils with a blow torch.

  “I’ve been in Homicide for eighteen months. Before that, I walked a beat. I was at the massacre down at the Pier back in January, and I’ve found my fair share of vagrants and junkies well after their expiration dates. I’m here now because…” I clench my hands hard enough for my short nails to dig painfully into my palms. “Because my partner tried to kill me, and I shot him.” I don’t look away, and though inside, I want to fall apart, I’ll never let Sin see that happen.

  With a curt nod, he says, “Very well. I hope neither of us regret this.”

  Five

  Sin

  Sitting next to Zoe, I try to make sense of her. Her file listed her as human, but the power behind her eyes? It is very real and very much…other.

  Twice now, she has caused me to wonder if I have fed from her in the past. There is a familiarity to her mannerisms I cannot place, but yet, she is so unique, I know I would have remembered her.

  As for why the body disturbed her so? There is more to that mystery as well. More than her discomfort with the shifter’s missing eyes.

  She leans forward with her elbows on her knees, staring at that little notebook in her hands. If I did not desire to keep her slightly afraid of me, I might do the same.

  I’m drawn to her in a way I have only felt once before. Many centuries ago. I am always in control. I have to be. Now, more than ever. If the incubus bastard who called himself Thorn was able to escape Hell, any distraction could be fatal—or worse.

  Nothing prepares me for the assault of memories. Screams. Blood. Women. Men. Every manner of being in between. They all begged. Pleaded. Tried to bargain with Thorn to kill them and stop his endless torment.

  I could not help them centuries ago, but if he—and the Fae woman he made his queen, Regina—are behind this dead shifter, I must end them. Now.

  Fuck.

  So much of that time is a blur. Regina’s voice, so sweet and compelling as she used her Fae magic to wipe my mind of all independent thought. The unnatural, horrifying sensation of Thorn—mio maestro—using his power to compel me to carry out his sick desires. To terrorize and torture his victims, to bring them to auction where other, even more depraved demons would do…such horrible things to them.

  During those two endless centuries, I was able to hold on to the thinnest shred of the man I’d once been. Not enough to resist him, but enough to drown in the endless, overwhelming guilt as I helped him destroy life after life and betrayed all I held dear.

  Looking down at my hands, I can still see the blood. Somehow, I found a way to break free. But those memories are gone forever. My first clear recollection is dragging Thorn and Regina down to Hell and offering them to the Devil—along with my own soul as penance for my sins.

  Surely, they could not have atoned. Hell isn’t a place you simply walk out of. Beelzebub does not give out hall passes. The last demon who escaped—Stefan, I think his name was—well, he almost took the place down with him.

  Movement in my periphery brings me back to the present, and I find Zoe running a hand through her hair, stopping at the back of her neck, and rubbing like she’s trying to erase the memory of the shifter’s tattoo.

  My arm throbs, the place he marked me, and I force the pain away. With a hard, slow blink, I meet Zoe’s gaze, and again, the power catches me unaware. Sucking in a breath, I put another inch of s
pace between the two of us, though I ache to move closer. Something draws me to my new partner, something magical shimmering under her skin. In the depths of her green eyes. In her voice.

  Does she know? About all that untapped power begging to be released?

  With the grace that comes from complete and total control of my body, I rise and nod towards my car. “Follow me.”

  Zoe gets to her feet, but refuses to rush after me. Is she trying to assert some form of control? If she battles me, she will lose. Every time. Though…the fun we could have if she tried… One look and she could be a quivering mess at my feet. But I swore long ago I would never use my power on the unsuspecting again.

  And Commander Eve would have my ass. Most days, that would be a small risk with a very large reward. But today? I will not step one toe out of line. This case is personal, and I will see if through. Even—or especially—if it ends my pitiful existence.

  “Where are we going?” Zoe asks as she pulls her keys from her pocket.

  The leather seat wraps me in comfort, and I drape my arm out the window and force a smile as she unlocks her own car. “Headquarters. I believe it is time for your first glimpse of the Bureau’s red tape.”

  Zoe

  Thank God for GPS. Sin’s sleek, shiny car is a hell of a lot faster and more maneuverable than my old Civic, and he left me in the dust after less than two miles.

  My meeting with Commander Eve took place in an enchanted building across town—in case I turned down her offer—so I’ve never been here before, and from the outside, BOO Headquarters looks like...well...nothing. A plain, concrete building with windows so heavily tinted, they’re completely opaque.

  By the time I park alongside Sin’s A3, impatience hardens his already chiseled features.

  “From now on,” he says as he ambles towards the unmarked building, “I will drive.”

  My eye roll makes my head hurt. Sin holds the door for me, and once we’re both inside, he frowns. “Is this your first time here?”

  “Yes.” I hold his stare, cataloging yet another variation in his eye color. At the moment, the outside of his irises are like the summer sky.

  “Then prepare yourself.”

  As warnings go, it’s pitiful, but when we round the corner and enter the bullpen, I realize there’s nothing else he could have said. My jaw drops open, and Sin doesn’t break stride. “I suggest you get yourself under control, Zoe. The leopards do not like to be gawked at.

  If it were empty, this room would look like any other bullpen in the country. Beige walls, scuffed linoleum floors with a layer of grime no mop can remove, and the scent of stale coffee with an undercurrent of sweat. Even the desks look the same.

  But the agents sitting at them? It’s like a paranormal menagerie. What can only be a vampire stares at me from two desks over, her lips curving into a smile and revealing sharp, glistening fangs. Her partner is...a ghost? She’s wispy, almost translucent.

  Sin’s right about the leopards. A pair of them—twins if I had to guess—pin me with hard stares. They look like humans except for the spots and fur covering their bodies, their decidedly feline noses, and whiskers. I avert my gaze and follow Sin as he weaves through the bullpen and heads for a glass-walled office in the center of the large space.

  Commander Grayson Eve paces, her lips moving rapidly, though I don’t see anyone else in there with her.

  When Sin bangs on the office door, she whirls around, taps her ear, and holds up her hand for him to wait. He ignores her and barges in anyway.

  “I’m sorry, Governor,” Eve says. “I’ll have to call you back. My apologies.” She yanks the earbud out and dumps it on her desk. “Sinclair, you’d better have a damn good excuse for bursting in like that.”

  He slams the door in my face, and as I’m about to lose my shit over my partner’s rudeness, his shoulders heave, and he opens it again.

  “Gee. Thanks,” I say as I step inside.

  “Zoe, this matter is between me and the commander,” he says, ice in his tone. “But as my partner, you should know the danger this case will put you in. Now sit down and do not interrupt.”

  Commander Eve’s expression is the only reason I don’t go off on him. She’s turned pale, her lips pressed together in a thin line and a muscle in her jaw ticking.

  “Sinclair, if I ever hear you talk to your partner that way again, you will be suspended without pay for a month,” she grits out. “I read Dr. Breslin’s initial report. I know why you’re here.”

  “How many others?” Sin demands. “She is not the first. Is she?”

  Eve’s shoulders slump, and she sinks down into an expensive chair with more levers and knobs than I’ve ever seen. “She is the second woman found dead this week. There was also a male, three weeks ago. Though as you know, it is almost assured that others are already missing.”

  “Three?” He paces, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Tell me about all of them. Right fucking now.”

  Commander Eve pulls out a thick file and rests her hands on top of the plain, beige cover. “Before I tell you what’s in here, I need to apologize to you, Zoe.”

  “Me? Why?” I sit up a little straighter. “I know I’m a complete rookie when it comes to the paranormal, Commander, but I assure you, I can handle—“

  “That’s not it.” Her fingers curl slightly, and something shimmers over her skin. Are those...talons where her nails used to be? I stare, transfixed, until she clears her throat. “I have Eagle blood,” she says simply as she flexes her hands and the talons fade into long, black fingernails.

  “Oh. Uh, sorry.”

  “You will not last long here,” Sinclair mutters under his breath, “if you do not learn to control your reactions.”

  “Well, maybe if you prepared me for what I was going to see...”

  “Enough!” the commander slams her fist down on the desk and glares at both of us. “I can’t tell if pairing the two of you was brilliance or idiocy. But it doesn’t matter now. Sinclair, I realize you have only spent a few hours with your new partner, but have you told her anything about your past?”

  He shakes his head, every muscle in his body strung so tight I swear he’s about to snap like a guitar string. “You know I do not like speaking of it. I have never told any partner.”

  “Well, that ends now.” Eve presses a button at the corner of her desk, and the glass walls turn opaque, writing and images flaring to life all around the room. “Take a moment.”

  Rising, I follow the progression of dates and photos of so many missing all across the country—pictures from their lives. Happy, smiling faces. In some, the women have shifted—or partially shifted—into their animal forms, and in others, they look completely human. Except for the eyes, I realize. Every single one of them has an otherworldly quality to their eyes. The men, however...they all look human. Dates and cities are scrawled under each photo.

  January - New York City. Twelve dead. Nine women, three men. March - Chicago. Twelve dead. Nine women, three men. May - New Orleans. Twelve dead. Nine women, three men. Dallas, St. Paul, Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, Phoenix, Los Angeles.

  Nine cities. Over a hundred women and twenty-seven men.

  “And now, you think whoever did all this,” I wave my hand around the room, “is here in San Francisco? Why?”

  “Because of the faery tattoo,” Eve says. She picks up a tablet, taps the screen a few times, and the images and notes on the walls change. Now, the dead aren’t so pretty. In many cases, they were only identified by DNA or dental records.

  But in more than sixty percent of them, at least a partial tattoo was still visible on the body.

  “Every ink sample is identical,” she says. “And imbued with powerful magic. Not that we understand what it does.

  “I don’t know a lot about tattoos,” I say, “but there can’t be that many ink suppliers. I agree this seems like a high number, but are we sure—“

  Sin clears his throat from the chair. He hasn’t looked at a
ny of the photos. In fact, he’s staring straight ahead at the commander, and crimson rings his irises. “Shifters cannot be tattooed with regular ink, Zoe. The design will fade the moment they shift. It is their nature. That is very likely the purpose to the magic. Commander Eve was not talking about the chemical composition of the ink, but the magic infusing it.”

  “Oh.” I look to Eve, and her blue eyes confirm Sin’s words. “And our shifter?”

  “The labs won’t come back for another few hours,” she says with a frown. “The magical analysis unit has never been one to rush. Not even for a case like this. But the design matches the others, as do the visual qualities—which alone are quite unusual.”

  “It must be him.” Sin rises and walks over to the far corner of the room to a photo of a dead woman lying in a heap. She wears only a pair of lace panties, her neck broken and her head twisted at an unnatural angle. Jabbing the wall over her back, he snarls, “These marks, along with the ink…they prove it.”

  Joining him, I frown as I examine the broken lines of skin along the woman’s back. “They’re not standard whip marks, and today’s victim had these same triangular-shaped injuries.”

  “That is because they are not from a ‘standard’ whip.” His tone turns harsh and rough. “May I?” he asks as he holds out his hand for the commander’s tablet.

  She passes him the device, and he pulls up another photo. It looks a little like a thin, metal bar, but every two inches, there are other, odd protrusions almost shaped like triangles.

  “What is that?” Sin rotates the image, and my stomach clenches. “Is that the letter T? In…cursive?”

  “Yes. He calls himself Thorn. Part incubus, part something much, much stronger. He feeds off of fear, and he marks all of his victims so they can never forget they belong to him.” Sin rubs his shoulder, then drops the tablet back on the commander’s desk. “How long do we have?”

  Eve frowns. “Unsure.”

  “Do not give me that bullshit!” Rounding the desk, Sin gets right in her face. “They never deviate from their pattern. Not in over a thousand years. The men are taken every four days. A week to train them. Then, nine women, one every third night! How. Many. Missing. Women?”