Storm of Sin

by Patricia D. Eddy

  “Supposed to be?” Sin turns slightly, appraising me with a discerning stare. “Are you physically compromised? Do I need to worry?”

  My cheeks heat, and I stare down at my plate of half-finished tacos. “No. It’s nothing like that. It just...it still hurts. The department shrink says it’s all in my head. I need to ‘process my emotions’ and ‘honor my truth.’ Shit like that.”

  Sin rests his fingers over the scar. His touch is almost electric, and my skin tingles in a familiar and very pleasant way. And then his lips curve into a frown. “No. This has nothing to do with any psychological trauma.”

  “Then what is it? Is it dangerous? What can I do about it?” A thousand possibilities run through my head in under thirty seconds. Am I dying? Did Temple do something to me?

  “I am not certain.” He gently eases my sweater down and turns to watch the waves breaking against the rocky shore. “You are not in any immediate danger from the injury, Zoe. What I am sensing is...strange. An energy I believe I have felt before, long ago. It may have something to do with Thorn's influence over your late partner. If my fucking memory were only intact...”

  I nudge his plate closer to him. “Hey. You’ve done more for me in five minutes than my doctors and shrink did in three weeks. Eat. Let’s go to Jacinda’s, and after that, find somewhere we can talk. I know you don’t want to relive what happened to you, but I think—“

  “I need to.” With a sigh, he picks up the greasy paper plate and stares at it like it’s a serving of mashed peas drizzled with motor oil. But after a minute, he shakes his head, sighs, and picks up his remaining taco.

  We finish our meals in silence, and I hope we’ll come out of this case okay—or something okay-adjacent, at least. Because the way things seem now?

  I’m terrified these murders—these demons—will be the end of us both.

  Jacinda‘s studio apartment in the Tenderloin is old and worn down, but nearly spotless. Even the threadbare furniture is pristine. Multi-colored votive candles in small Mason jars line every window sill, and though most everything in her refrigerator has expired—the milk a full week ago—even her shelves are organized.

  “She was so young,” I say as I examine a picture of her with Dion taken by the water on a sunny day. “Twenty-four, was it?”

  “Yes.” Sin rifles through her nightstand drawer. “Nothing of any note in here. No diary or journal, no sex toys. Only a bottle of Ambien, two highlighters, and this.” He holds up a book with a photo of the Golden Gate on it. The Local’s Guide to San Francisco Living.

  “She’d only been here six months or so.” I crouch next to a small filing cabinet and give the handle a tug. Locked. “Don’t suppose you found a key in there, did you?”

  When Sin shakes his head, I pull a small, zippered pouch from my bag and go to work on the lock. I could probably break the damn thing faster by just jamming a screwdriver between the drawer and the frame, but something about desecrating a victim’s belongings has never sat well with me.

  “You need to work on your speed,” Sin says, coming up behind me. “And your technique.” Kneeling, he slides his fingers over mine. “Your dominant hand will have better control, so let your other sense the movement of the tumblers. A lock this size probably has three. No more than four. Which one is loosest?”

  I close my eyes, trying to ignore the feel of his body against mine, and probe the tiny lock carefully. “The back one.”

  “Good. Now find the next.”

  Despite practicing my skills for years, his simple piece of advice has me flying through the lock in under fifteen seconds.

  “You learn quickly,” he says, taking what feels like way longer than necessary—but less time than I’d like—removing his hands. Before I can slide the drawer open, he’s halfway across the room, leaning against the wall. “I am afraid I judged you without cause yesterday. When we met. I was angry at the commander and did not want a new partner. Particularly one with no knowledge of our world.”

  “I was kind of surprised you could walk with that extra large stick up your ass.” Offering him a small smile, I pull a stack of papers and a cardboard box out of the file cabinet. “Is this your way of saying you want a do-over?”

  “It is my way of apologizing. Or telling you I want to. I am sorry for misjudging you, Zoe. I will try not to let it happen again.”

  We spend a few minutes rifling through the papers, but they’re just mundane remnants of a young woman’s life. Her birth certificate, social security card, and a few bank statements.

  Sin opens the box, and suddenly, it’s like all the air is sucked out of the room. My chest tightens, and panic floods me, chilling me to the core. There’s no logical reason for my reaction. It’s just a dried flower in a small lucite box. But when I finally manage to take a breath and look to Sin, he seems to be as affected as I am.

  “Wh-what kind of flower is that?” I ask.

  “An orange blossom.” His voice holds a quiet reverence, and he lifts the small memento like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “One of my last memories before Regina found me was of walking through the orange groves of Florence in springtime. The scent...it is—it was—like nothing you have ever imagined, Zoe. I always thought it smelled like...freedom.”

  Fifteen

  Zoe

  When I was partnered with Temple, I always drove. Grunt work, he used to say. To sit passively while Sin drives is…odd. And a little terrifying. He claims his reflexes are better than a human’s, but that doesn’t mean I want him taking curves on two wheels.

  “Will you slow down? Please? You’re making me dizzy.” I crack the window, sucking in the fresh, salty air to try to settle my stomach as he weaves through some of San Francisco’s less traveled streets. He hasn’t said a word since we left Jacinda’s apartment. Seeing that orange blossom affected both of us deeply, but he was so trapped in his own memories, I don’t think he noticed my panic.

  I’m not about to tell him. I can’t explain it, after all. I have no emotional connection to orange blossoms. They’re pretty. I like orange juice as much as the next person. But that’s all the attachment I feel towards them.

  As he’s forced to stop at a red light and I get my bearings, a sinking feeling twists my stomach. “Sin, where are we going?”

  “Commander Eve spoke with your former lieutenant. The death of James Temple is now the Bureau’s to investigate.”

  Oh, shit.

  After I got out of the hospital, I begged Sergeant Perkins for access to Temple’s apartment, but he refused me. Every time. I thought I was ready, but I’m not.

  “Zoe. Look at me.” Sin’s voice snaps me back to the present, and I blink hard as I realize we’re parked a block away from Temple’s building. I was mired in my own head for at least five full minutes. “Temple was the first to be taken—that we know of. If we can find out how, where, and when, perhaps we will be able to predict their next move. The human detectives who searched his apartment would not have known what to look for. We may find evidence they missed.”

  “I know. I can do this.” Maybe I want to convince myself as much as Sin, because I’m out of the car before he even kills the engine.

  Still, I hesitate at the building’s secure, outer door, the spare key I never took out of my bag trembling in my hand. Until Sin reaches my side, and I can breathe again. He’s not the partner I thought I’d have. Or want. But he’s a lot less “asshole” and a lot more “damaged” than I gave him credit for yesterday. And his presence calms me.

  “I owe you an apology too,” I say as I hand him the key.

  “Oh?”

  The building smells like old plaster and lingering water damage. Temple’s apartment is—was—on the third floor, and we climb the stairs together.

  “You weren’t the only one who judged too quickly yesterday. This isn’t my world, and I have a fuckton to learn.”

  Sin stops outside Temple’s door and turns to me. The reddish ring around his irises is gettin
g larger, but it doesn’t lessen the intensity of his stare. “This is your world, Zoe. There is something other about you. But even if you never discover exactly what it is, you are a Bureau agent now, and you belong here.”

  This may be the most he’s said to me at one time without prompting, and it shouldn’t affect me so dramatically, but standing outside my former partner’s apartment, his words almost reduce me to tears.

  The SFPD seal is still in place, and the ripping sound it makes as I open the door reverberates through the hall. Sin touches my shoulder. “I should enter first. My senses are more acute than yours. I may be able to detect if anyone other has been here.”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  “I have never understood that expression,” Sin says.

  “Honestly, neither have I.”

  He moves through the apartment carefully, and I stay well behind him, wondering if he was trying to tell me I smell. “In here,” he calls, strain in his tone, and I hurry to catch up. He’s kneeling in front of the small gun safe Temple kept in his closet. It’s open and empty.

  “What is it? Every cop I know has one of those. The detective in charge of the case would have drilled the lock.”

  My partner peers up at me, discomfort tightening his features. “Incubi are predators by nature. We evolved to scent fear and arousal, the two emotions we can feed on most easily. The area around this safe carries both in equal measure.”

  “Are you trying to tell me Temple had...a gun fetish?”

  With an exasperated sigh, he shakes his head. “No. I am trying to tell you that Regina was here with your former partner and forced him to do something with the contents of the safe. Either retrieve an item or leave one behind. Check your tablet. The inventory from your former precinct should be in there.”

  Shit. The idea that Temple was in his apartment with that woman—that Fae bitch—gives me the creeps, and I shudder as I pull up the case files.

  “Two boxes of ammunition, unopened. A copy of his will—the scanned document is attached—the title to his vehicle, and a hunting knife.”

  “He used his service weapon in the attack,” Sin says as he pushes to his feet. “If he was taken when he was off duty, perhaps it was in the safe, and Regina forced him to retrieve it.”

  “Why?”

  “Power.” With one last glance around the small, spartan bedroom, Sin motions for me to precede him back into the living room. “Most in the Bureau do not carry guns. Our talents are our weapons. The mages use athames on occasion, but that is it. You—as our lone human—will likely be the only agent in the building most days with a firearm.”

  “Well, that makes me feel...inadequate,” I mutter.

  “It is not meant to.” He eases the tablet from my hand and sets it on the counter, where he taps the screen to bring up the scanned copy of Temple’s will. “Thorn and Regina are experts in psychological torture. Tell me this, Zoe. How would you feel if you were forced to use your gun to take an innocent life?”

  My voice drops to a whisper. “It would destroy me.”

  “Exactly. This was part of their plan to torture him. Human minds are strong.” Sin’s expression softens, and he offers me a sad smile. “Perhaps stronger than any other creature. They do not quietly or easily submit. Not for long. Regina’s touch and voice can compel anyone for short periods of time. A few hours at most. Long enough to get them somewhere...private. Somewhere she and Thorn can secure them and delve deep into their thoughts to find the one or two things their victims hold most dear. That is what they then use to...break them.”

  The threat of tears burns my eyes, and I swallow hard. “So they kidnapped Temple, then decided that forcing him to kill me with his own gun would be enough to break him completely?”

  A shadow passes over Sin’s features. “Or, that being used to take you, to capture you, torture you, and ready you for...use would be even better.”

  Fuck. Even when I realized I fit the basic profile of Thorn's victims, I didn’t put the pieces together. Maybe I didn’t want to. I have to sit down. Right now.

  My legs buckle, and Sin scoops me up and deposits me on a barstool. “Take a deep breath, Zoe.”

  “I’m...I’m fine. I don’t...it was just a shock, that’s all.” I wave him off, and he takes a seat next to me. “But Sin? I need you to tell me everything you remember about your time with them.”

  “No.” He reaches for my tablet and brings up the SPD report, but I’m not going to let him off the hook that easily.

  “You’ve been giving me half answers the entire time we’ve been on this case, and I’m sick of it. You don’t think this is hard for me? Being here? My partner shot me. He was like a brother to me. One of the only people in the world I trusted implicitly, and he held a gun to my side and pulled the trigger.”

  “And that is supposed to compare to what they did to me?” he shouts, standing and starting to pace the room. “Being forced to go against everything I have ever believed in?”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake. No. But it’s supposed to make you realize that this case isn’t all about you! It’s about the missing women. And men. The ones who are going through hell right now. A hell only you can understand.” I’m shouting now too, and he stares at me like I’ve lost my shit. And maybe I have, but I don’t care. “I need you to explain it to me. Because maybe—just maybe—you’ll remember something you think is completely inconsequential, but really…is the missing piece of the puzzle that could help us figure out where they’ll strike next.”

  Sin’s knuckles crack as he balls his hands into fists, and his skin takes on a bronzed glow—almost like there’s some internal fire brewing inside him itching to escape.

  “We don’t have to like each other, Sinclair. But we’re partners, and partners don’t keep secrets.”

  He flinches, as if my words have finally gotten through whatever shield he’s using to keep his pain deep inside. The glow surrounding him fades away, and he walks over to the window in the far corner of the living space and looks out over a small slice of the city half-obscured by the building next to us.

  “Are you certain you wish to do this here?” he asks.

  No. I’m not. But if he’s willing to talk, I’m not taking a chance leaving will change his mind. “Yes. I am.”

  Sin

  I cannot look at Zoe. Not when I tell her about what I’ve done. I fully expect her to go straight to Commander Eve and request reassignment. She will not quit the Bureau. She is too strong for that. But she will never be able to look me in the eyes again. Of that I am certain.

  There is only a small bit of sky visible through James Temple’s window, and I wonder how most inhabitants of this city do not go mad living in these tiny boxes with no way to see the sun. Then again, most of them did not spend two centuries in Hell where only Lucifer’s flames broke up the endless darkness.

  I need fresh air, so I snap off the window lock and raise the sash. “I was young. For…what I am. A hundred and twenty-three earthen years. My brother had not even been born yet. This realm was full of people to feed from, and I was not as discerning back then.”

  “So, you took from people without consent?” Zoe asks, a wary edge to her voice.

  “No. Not that. Never that. Until…Thorn.” I force a deep breath, searching for a hint of the sea, but all I find is the stench of the dumpsters in the alley below. “I told you I was in Italy at the time. Florence. Besides the orange groves, one of my last clear memories is watching Michelangelo put the finishing touches on his David.”

  “Holy shit,” she whispers.

  “Indeed. He was a true genius.” I risk a glance over my shoulder, and her green eyes are wide, awe bringing a beauty to her features I never want her to lose. But she will, any moment now. Returning my gaze to the window, I run a hand through my hair, the memory of how I wore it back then—long enough to brush my shoulders—so at odds with the more modern cut I favor now. “There was much unrest in Florence then, but still, the people celeb
rated every chance they could. A crowd of drunken Italians provided ample opportunity to feed, and I was ravenous. I know I glamoured two women that evening, but left them both with their virtues intact, and happy memories of dancing in the streets with their friends.”

  “You can do that? Change someone’s memories?” The stool rattles, but I do not turn to her.

  “Yes.”

  For several moments, neither of us speak. This is a mistake, but now that I have started, I cannot stop. “I was…drunk. On sexual energy and wine, and I cut through an alley on the way to my rooms. This is where my memories fade. But I remember Regina. Her voice. Her words. ‘You are a strong one, incubus. Come closer.’” Shaking my head, I brace my hands on the window sill. “I knew I should not listen, but her voice was like a siren’s song, pulling me closer, like a drug. So I went. She kissed me, and then my mind…it is like a thick fog obscured everything. I have vague memories of walking, of falling, of pain. When the haze lifted, I was underground in a cage so small, I could not stand.”

  Zoe inhales sharply, and I continue. “They left me there for so long, I was out of my mind with hunger and thirst. No food or water. No energy I could sense anywhere around me to restore my strength. When Thorn—mio maestro, he ordered me to call him—entered the room, I tried to glamour him, but his mind is stronger than any other demon—any other creature—in all the known realms. And I...was too weak to move.”

  I am no longer in San Francisco. My body and mind are trapped in Italy. Locked underground and at his mercy. “‘You will be my greatest weapon,’ he said as he dragged me out of the cage. ‘Your mind and body belong to me, and you will obey.’”

  With a shudder, I bow my head, as I did back then.

  “I tried to protest, but he called for two others. Men he had trapped and already broken. They chained me to a wall. Naked. My arms and legs spread wide. Once he started whipping me, the memories are so fragmented…” The scarred flesh of my arm throbs, and I dig my fingers into the old injury, needing the pain to keep me focused. “I know he used me to lure dozens of women. Regina brought in most of them, but the few who resisted her? All mages, for some of them had warded themselves against all other magical energy. They were no match for me. He would starve me before he allowed me out of the cage or the chains he kept me in, then force himself into my thoughts for hours until I was nothing but his puppet.”