The Hunter

by T R Kohler

  Her mouth already open to respond, Ember paused, considering the question. “Well, no, but...”

  “Think of it more like...” Kaia said, cutting her off. Letting the sentence hang, she stared off for a moment, considering things, before saying, “The DMZ.”

  “The DMZ?” Ember asked, her voice flat. “As in, Korea?”

  “Yes,” Kaia said. “A wide swath of land separating the two sides. Both patrol it, step in if necessary, but it’s not like there’s active shooting on a daily basis.

  “More of an I-see-you, you-see-me sort of balance.”

  “And in this metaphor, we are North Korea?” Ember asked. “With the volatile, maniacal leader?”

  Jerking her focus from the window, Kaia leveled a hard glare on her. “Who is also now your boss, and did you a solid a few nights ago, if I remember correctly.”

  A bit of venom flared inside Ember, her initial response to being challenged, before abating just slightly.

  Kaia was right. About both parts.

  As much as she hated to admit either.

  “Okay, so Earth is a middle ground,” Ember said. “Sounds very Lord of the Rings.”

  Returning her attention to the window, Kaia said, “That was Middle Earth. Like I told you yesterday, this is what we refer to as a middle realm.”

  Ember’s eyebrows rose, not expecting Kaia to have gotten the reference, let alone correct it. For an instant, she considered commenting before moving on, the list of more important matters to discuss lengthy.

  “So those two men-”

  “Jonas and Micah,” Kaia said. “Micah being the tall black one, Jonas the older guy.”

  Micah, Ember remembered well. She’d gotten a good view of him as he entered, had even gone toe-to-toe with him in the living room for a few minutes.

  Now she had a lovely headache and likely a matching visual on her face to prove it.

  Jonas, she hadn’t gotten much of a look at. She’d heard his voice, had seen his feet stomping past, but hadn’t managed to get a look at his face.

  “Right,” she said, “so those two are angels?”

  Pulling away from the curtain, Kaia moved back for the chair. Going by her stiff posture and the slight wince she had upon settling into the seat, Ember guessed that she too was a bit sore.

  Based on the blood Ember had seen painting the side of her head the day before, it was amazing she was even on her feet.

  “Jonas is lower level, like me,” Kaia replied. “Micah is a bit further on down the list, like you.”

  Ember made no attempt to hide the confusion on her face. Like she’d just shared, in her time on Earth, she’d never spent much time in church. She was familiar with the Christmas story, the death story, could rattle off a couple of verses if really pressed, but it wasn’t like she was a biblical scholar.

  And that was just traditional Christianity, the world having myriad of other belief systems.

  Now, she had apparently been dropped right into the thick of things, being forced to wrap her mind around subjects she’d barely considered before.

  “Jonas is lower level,” she repeated, “as opposed to?”

  “The big ones,” Kaia replied. “Michael, Gabriel, Raphael.”

  Her features giving away nothing, Ember only nodded. Too many questions came to the surface for her to possibly ask them all, each no doubt leading to many more.

  In their stead, she chose to simply remain silent, knowing Kaia would continue when need be.

  “When we got this case, I assumed it was a simple missing person,” Kaia said. “Tam has been on the roster a long time. It’s not uncommon for someone to get sick of it and eventually want out.”

  Ember would have expected no less. Just the second day of her tenure, and already she had had a similar thought or two. For the time being, and hopefully quite a while to come, getting out wasn’t an option.

  But that wouldn’t always be the case.

  “But the other side showing up...” Ember began.

  “Means two things,” Kaia said. “First, Tam didn’t disappear. He was likely snatched.”

  Nodding, Ember pieced together what Kaia was saying, already moving ahead. “And second, this just got a lot bigger than we realized.”

  “Yes, it did,” Kaia agreed.

  For a moment, neither side said anything. One at a time, Kaia pulled her feet back from the edge of the bed. Putting them down beneath her, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

  “Typhon – my boss, the guy who handled your negotiation, and a demon pretty damn high in the pecking order – is digging into things as we speak. In the meantime, if you’ve got any ideas on this end, I’m all ears.”

  A bit surprised to hear Kaia be so frank, Ember felt her eyebrows rise. Her head rocked back a quarter inch, her gaze locked on her cohort, as she tried to make sense of the situation.

  Pushing aside all the theological jargon, she tried to focus on the case itself. Pulling back her training, she thought about how Detective Lieutenant Ember Squires would have handled things.

  The other stuff, Kaia could deal with.

  “Is Carlow dead?” she asked.

  Still leaning forward, Kaia let her head drop. Showing the top of her scalp to Ember, a few errant streaks of red were still visible, though most of the blood had been washed away.

  “I don’t know,” Kaia whispered. “When we burst out through the back door, I expected Micah to be right on my ass. I didn’t think you’d hold him up as long as you did, so by the time he arrived, I’d let my guard down a bit.”

  Lifting her face back to Ember, a bit of flush covered her cheeks. Throughout the previous two days, all the crazy banter and public flirting and ludicrous driving, the girl had not displayed anything approaching shame.

  Now, it striped her features in a way that Ember hadn’t expected, feeling her lips part slightly as she stared on.

  “When he finally burst out through the back door, I wasn’t ready. He slammed right into my shoulder, sent my ass sailing.” Tilting her head to the side, she pulled back a bit of her hair, revealing a thick gash above her ear. “Landed right on top of Carlow, our heads cracking like a couple of coconuts. I barely made it up and to the Jeep.”

  Dropping her head back into place, she added, “If he did survive, he’s with them now.”

  For just the slightest instant, Ember thought about reaching out. She considered touching Kaia’s arm, or telling her it was alright, or at least trying to impart that it wasn’t her fault.

  Just as fast, she reminded herself that the young girl she saw before her was just a visual. The person inside was a demon, someone bent on making her miserable, an entity with decades of experience, if not longer.

  “And without him-” Ember began.

  “We have no way of knowing what he was going to speak to Tam about, or even who the person was that sent him,” Kaia said, her tone laced with bitterness.

  Both things were questions Ember was about to ask Carlow before the window exploded and things went sideways. Not needing to point that out, she tilted her head back slightly, letting the crown of it touch the wall. Leaving it there, she thought on things for a few moments, the events of the previous day coming back in odd bursts, like watching the world under a strobe light.

  “That’s not necessarily true,” she whispered.

  Across from her, Kaia lifted her gaze, blond hair falling across her face. “Yeah? How’s that?”

  Raising a single finger, Ember pointed to her jeans crumpled into a pile on the floor, the leg of them still stained dark with her blood.

  “The last thing I did as I stumbled out yesterday was grab the wrench and Carlow’s cell phone. Maybe we can call Ralph, get him to give us a hand on whoever he’s been talking to.”

  Flicking her gaze to the jeans, Kaia’s eyes pinched up just slightly. “Who the hell is Ralph?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Jonas hadn’t been to bed in two days, and he could feel it starting
to wear on him. If left to his own preferences, there would be no need for sleep. No cause to ever stop moving forward.

  The rising and setting of the sun would be nothing but a way to track the passing days.

  That was against the rules though, ancient laws that had been put in place ages before to govern how the supernatural would behave while on Earth. Chief among them was the fact that any angel or demon that resided in the middle realm must inhabit a human form, subject to the same needs and limitations.

  They had to eat. They had to sleep.

  And they could be injured, forced to undergo the same – albeit much faster – healing process.

  That very process was what was now keeping Jonas awake and pacing. Making steady laps around the barn, enough to have worn a path through the tall grass surrounding it, he checked in every hour with Gad to see how the progress with their newest guest was coming along.

  Each time was answered with the same non-response from the healer, the man much too smart to ever display the annoyance he must have been feeling with the constant disruptions.

  Multiple times throughout the night, Jonas had considered giving in to rest. Many times while pacing beneath the star-filled sky, feeling the cool night air on his skin, he thought of lying down. Of trying to find some time to let his system recharge, knowing it would be much needed in the days ahead.

  As fast as the thoughts arrived, though, they were shoved aside, his mind much too active to ever allow sleep to find him.

  On the surface, the scene at the house in San Diego had been a success. They had interrupted an interrogation in progress, had even managed to secure the person who was being held.

  The higher-ups were pleased. It was only through blind luck they had gotten a bead on Tam, hearing that something might be making the rounds that was best left untouched.

  Now nabbing the man who had served as a direct connection to him was a coup. He could lead them to the next person in the chain, ultimately gifting them exactly what was wanted.

  Having been there, Jonas wasn’t quite as satisfied with things. He had witnessed a common underling square off with Micah, landing a few punches before being dispatched. He had watched as she and her demon handler both sped off into the distance.

  Had even made the decision not to send Micah after them.

  In the moment, it had seemed like the proper response. Now, with the addition of time, uncertainty was starting to creep in.

  The sun was just above the horizon as Jonas stepped inside, his footfalls silent against the floorboards. Moving through the living area, he saw Micah curled onto the same sofa he’d been using the day before, his frame much too long for the tiny piece of furniture.

  An arm curled beneath him, his head rested on his bicep, his lips moving slightly in his sleep.

  Leaving him to rest, Jonas continued through the kitchen and into the sleeping quarters, the smells of blood and cleaning solution in the air. As he entered, Gad looked up from his post along the side of Jonas’s bed, the young man from San Diego sprawled atop it.

  Wearing only a pair of shorts, his frame was thin, free of any muscle definition. A web of what Jonas had heard described as tribal tattoos was etched into his skin, starting on his right arm and covering much of his shoulder and chest.

  A cast encased his leg from toe to hip. A heavy bandage covered most of his head.

  That part didn’t bother Jonas in the slightest.

  The thick layer of sweat beaded on his skin did.

  Walking to the foot of the bed, Jonas folded his arms over his chest, staring down at the young man.

  “How’s he doing?”

  Glancing up, Gad’s eyes were bloodshot, heavy bags hanging under each. Awake just as long as Jonas, it appeared he too was feeling the strain of the last couple of days.

  Caring for multiple patients in such dire condition had a way of doing that.

  “He is alive,” Gad said simply, “but his system isn’t capable of processing the same as we are. I’m accelerating things as much as I can, but as you can see...”

  He extended a hand to the patient, letting the man’s state finish the sentence.

  Grunting softly, Jonas nodded. He’d known when they transported him that it was going to be difficult bringing him along.

  At least, in a manner timely enough for their concerns.

  “Has he said anything yet?” Jonas asked.

  “No,” Gad replied. “Some pained gasps and whatnot, but nothing intelligible.”

  “How far do you think he has to go?” Jonas asked.

  Casting a weary gaze up at him, Gad stood. Two pops could be heard from his back as he took his feet and moved closer to the bed, pulling back the bandage just slightly, the underside pink with bodily fluids.

  “Wound is closed, will begin mending fairly soon,” Gad said, keeping it pulled back long enough for Jonas to get a look before lowering it back into position. “The internal stuff? It’s hard to say. Could be around the same time, could be longer.”

  Once more, Jonas grunted. The limitations of the human brain to withstand trauma was something he’d been aware of for centuries. For their part, even mortals were now beginning to understand the seriousness of the issue.

  Given the blood on the scene and the state the young man was in when they found him, trying to speculate when he might be beneficial to them was anybody’s guess.

  “Okay,” Jonas said. “Come get me the second anything changes.”

  Gad nodded, returning to his seat. “You going to get some rest?”

  “No,” Jonas replied, heading for the door, already heading back to the path outside.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Typhon had been forced to be careful about the various feelers he put out. Like any organization, working for Hell still required a certain amount of workplace decorum. Friendships and alliances needed to be honored. The same with existing differences or grudges, this sort of thing being information that an enemy would certainly use against him.

  And most importantly, he needed to be certain not to induce panic. A single contracted employee that was seeking to get out was one thing. An issue that had already resulted in open hostilities with angels was quite another.

  Especially when it was as yet unknown what had even precipitated such an event.

  Of the various inquiries Typhon had made, there was one in particular he had put out. Someone that he had only had a couple of loose interactions with over the years, he wasn’t certain at the time that a return call would ever be made.

  Just that if he didn’t at least make the attempt, there could be consequences later.

  Standing alongside his desk, his hands clasped behind his back, Typhon had jerked his attention toward the phone the instant it sprang to life. Remaining rooted in place, his eyes bulged slightly as he stared at the screen, a ripple of palpitations rising up through his core.

  Leaning forward, he considered putting the call on speaker before thinking better of it. Even with the door closed, he wanted strict control over the conversation, not even his secretary trusted with what might be said.

  “Valac,” Typhon said. Pausing, he cleared his throat, before adding, “Thank you for calling me back.”

  On the opposite end, a voice that sounded almost childlike responded, “Of course, Typhon, though I must confess, I was more than a little surprised to hear from you.”

  The words were much in line with what Typhon expected, a perfect summation of everything he knew about the man. The high voice was a symmetrical match for his cherubic features, a look that most easily mistook him working for the other side.

  The demeaning manner of speaking.

  The words practically dripping with condescension.

  “And I at making the call,” Typhon said, “but I seem to have run into a situation here, and I was wondering if I might pick your brain a bit.”

  Pausing, lingering on it just long enough to make Typhon realize what he had said, Valac said, “By all means.”<
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  His back teeth coming together, Typhon clamped down on the phone. He squeezed it tightly enough to hear the casing crack slightly, warning him that total annihilation might soon be in the offing.

  Forcing a slow breath out through his nose, he released the tension in his hand.

  Never let it be said that working with assholes was something only humans were privy to.

  “Few days ago, one of my charges went off the grid,” Typhon said. “Guy coming up on an even hundred. We assumed he was just sick of the life and decided to run.”

  “A reasonable assumption,” Valac said. “I’ve never lost one, but I’ve heard for some of you it happens quite frequently.”

  Stopping his pacing, Typhon stared at the wall. He narrowed his focus, his gaze hardening as it fixed on an onyx carving, practically willing it to explode under the force of his glare.

  “Yeah. It happens,” Typhon deadpanned before pushing on ahead. “But this time, when I sent my team out to find him, they discovered he didn’t run, he’s actually being held.”

  “Oh,” Valac said, his voice rising slightly. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

  The statement could not have been made with less enthusiasm, Typhon’s ire spiking further.

  “But unfortunately, I haven’t heard of any such thing,” Valac continued. “I can ask my minions, but I don’t know that I can be of much help.”

  “No, that’s actually not why I reached out,” Typhon said. “I have people on that, should be taken care of directly.”

  Whether it would be or not, he couldn’t say yet, though he wasn’t about to admit as much to Valac.

  “The man that was taken is an antiques dealer, and we have reason to believe that the reason he was snatched was because of something in particular he was looking into.”

  “Oh,” Valac repeated, this one drawn out much longer than the previous. “I see.”

  Each of the upper-tier demons, those working just below the top decisionmaker himself, were imbued with certain traits. Depending on their origin or by whom they were later depicted, some had even been called powers.