Soul Stealer (28 page)

The surgeon was gone. He was alone in the room and handcuffed. Focus on the here and now. Essum remembered he was in trouble. There would be police. A woman was dead. And he was swimming in loony juice.

The medication was crazy. Even drunk he’d been able to function as his normal self. He couldn’t focus on anything like this …

A door swung open. He turned to take in who his visitor was, and his brain required about twenty seconds to catch up with what he was seeing.

Suit. Badge on the belt. Tie loose around his neck.

Ah, shit. Here was the next roadblock.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have a name on you, sir. Your landlady has a hell of a time remembering anything about the renter she has in apartment 4221. And there’s no ID anywhere in that place. What was in that apartment was a very dead and chewed-on girl. So you need to tell me what you know.”

Another visitor entered his line of sight: his doctor. “Detective Nailor, I told you. My patient is still under sedation for incredible pain. Any answers he gives you will be inadmissible in a court of law.”

Essum could only blink.

Now another person entered the room, this one in uniform. He took the arm of the main in the suit. “Come on Nailor, you know you can’t talk to him yet, there’s no point.”

Nailor threw off his colleague’s hold. “You want to see the photos, Doc? You want to see how that poor girl’s body was ravaged? Chewed up? He ate parts of her, Doc. It could have been anyone, you know. You have anyone that you would protect from the likes of this fuck?”

“Nailor,” the uniformed cop’s voice was incredibly strong. “This guy isn’t going anywhere. We wait, like we’re supposed to.”

The detective calmed down. It was like watching a wave wash over him. He spun on his heel and stalked towards the door. Maybe he wasn’t that calm. He nearly yanked the door off the hinges when he left.

The cop gave a half-hearted, “Sorry about that, Doc,” before he followed his co-worker.

The doctor turned back to him, and just as Essum was trying to form a “Thank you” the doc surprised him.

“You better heal fast, because I kind of want to see what that Detective will do to you.”

“You’re not eating?” Claudia looked up from the plate of toast Saleem placed in front of her.

“I can’t. Not as long as the sun’s up. It’s Ramadan.”  He was waiting to be nervous about saying it, but it didn’t come. He didn’t feel the need to apologize for it, either. It just was, and this was a part of him he had no need to hide.

He sat down across from Claudia and watched her take a mouthful of toast carefully. He’d never been really drunk, but his college mates had gone on benders plenty of times. Water and toast was their remedy, so that’s what he gave her.

She wasn’t embarrassed to eat in front of him. That was nice. Although with what she’d shown him already, eating was hardly too personal.

“Do you want to talk about … anything?” He asked after a moment.

“Oh no, I think I threw plenty of garbage on your doorstep last night.”

“Claudia, you told me that you lost your girlfriend less than a week ago. I asked you out and … I wish I’d known. I never would have … I mean …”

“We’d broken up. She likely never really liked me.”

“But still, Claudia.”

She was munching away on the second mouthful of toast. Then she asked, “Wait. As long as the sun’s up you can’t eat?”

“Yes.”

“How long does that go on?”

“All month.”

She frowned. “Why the hell are you working out? You’ll be dead in a week.”

He had to laugh. “I don’t plan on working out all month. Last year I lost twenty pounds. I was exhausted all the time. But at the firm I work at they’re all pretty good about it. They try to understand. So I do them the same courtesy and come home to pray. Don’t let it interfere with my work. And they make sure all the office functions have halal menus and I’m free to pray in a quiet room they set aside for me.”

Claudia smiled. “That’s … that’s good to hear.” She dropped her head down as she reached for the glass of water. “I will miss seeing you at the gym.”

He had a moment of feeling his cheeks warm then told himself it didn’t necessarily mean she liked seeing him, for any reason, like she might be physically attracted to him or something. She’d just confirmed she preferred women.

“Do you want more toast?”

She just shook her head and took another bite. Saleem checked the clock on the stove. He’d have to leave soon.

He cleared his throat but she spoke before he could. “You need to go back to work.” Saleem just nodded. She set the piece of toast down she’d been working on, and made as though to stand.

“Claudia, you don’t need to leave. I’m pretty sure you’re not going to rip off my stuff.”

She stayed standing at the table, and didn’t look up. She was thinking.

“I mean it. I still don’t think I know exactly what has been going on with you, but … I think you need a friend right now. And if you want to hide out for a couple days, then it might be a good idea if you’re here. ” He could feel her hesitation and reluctance but he also knew she had to be horribly lonely. “I won’t try anything on you, I promise. That’s not what this is about.” He wasn’t trying to make a joke and hoped it didn’t sound like he was.

She finally looked up at him. “Apparently you need to worry about me trying to take advantage.”

There was a beat, and then they were both laughing again. He took it as an accepted offer. “At least stay tonight. Feel free to take a shower. I’ve got some light cardio at the gym with Jimenez tonight then I’ll be home for supper later. I’ll pick something up for us.” He got up, noticing for the first time his shirt front was crumpled a bit and honestly didn’t remember her grabbing it.

“Saleem,” her voice was painfully tiny. She reached a tentative hand out as he stood, taking his left hand in hers. He stilled. “Thank you. I don’t know how to accept help or offers of friendship. But thank you.”

He squeezed her hand in return. “You’re welcome, Claudia. Now rest.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Trevor Vance put the crime scene photos down, taking off his glasses and pinching his nose. He stifled a yawn and looked at the uniformed officer in front of him. “And why do you think these have anything to do with those unexplained deaths?”

The uni, Constable Timmons, shifted on his feet, hands on belt. But he still met Vance’s gaze. “It’s that … that same feeling. I’m telling you Vance, the second we stepped in that place all I wanted to do was turn and run. I could feel it out in the hallway.”

Vance held up a printout. “Look at this gore, Timmons. Those other people didn’t have a single mark on them. This looks like a fucking shark attack.”

“I’m telling you, it felt exactly the same,” he turned on his boot heel and stalked out of the bullpen, throwing over his shoulder, “I’d bet my fucking badge they’re related.”

Vance sighed, shoving the picture back in the folder and moving it to the side to start on the pile that he knew had to be related to the first few victims. Seven people, found dead in various places around the city, no visible signs of trauma, no determined cause of death. Some were in their homes, one was getting into her car outside a drug store, two outside of a damn church, another fellow was taking his dog for a walk.

It was one of the saddest things Vance had ever seen: that poor dog, his leash still clasped in his owner’s hand, lying with his head on the guy’s arm, growling as the paramedics tried to load the body. That had been the last one Vance had seen before he clocked out to go home. Now here he was, back and examining the four he hadn’t responded to.

They were all so random, and all of the reports stated that the officers did not want to stay on site. They all wanted to go home and hug their loved ones. That was exactly what Vance had felt outside that church community centre and where they found the guy with the dog. When he got home he’d stared at his son for at least twenty minutes before going to bed. He was at the kitchen table, eating Cheerios, all smiles and messy spit-bubble-blowing, oblivious to what his father was stressing over. He went to bed mid-morning with horrible, dark premonitions.

He brought Timmon’s file back to the pile, opening the folder. Photos glared up at him, pale skin, wide shocked eyes and the red of blood everywhere. Mid-twenty to thirty year old female, they still didn’t have her name. Flesh gnawed from both inner thighs, cause of death seemed to be blood loss, autopsy pending. The coroner was starting to get a back log.

He had to close the folder against the photos. He didn’t need to see the blood and meat hanging off a lifeless limb. Of course the first thing you wonder about is sexual assault, but the woman’s underwear was in place during the photos and initial examinations all said there were no signs of sexual assault. She’d had sex but there was no trauma.

As he was chewing over Timmons “strange feeling” the bullpen door swung open and a man stalked through the room to homicide, completely unaware of everyone else.  He walked with a speed and lumbering pace that gave the appearance of walking downhill. Vance had no idea who he was, and looked around. Pogo had seen him too and was chuckling.

“Who is that?”

“Transfer. Homicide detective. Greg Nailor.”

“From where?”

“Springfield. He punched out his captain there. Got kicked out to our little shit burg.”

“He punched his captain? Any idea what for?”

“You’ve heard of this guy. It’s the captain who said that if women don’t want to get raped they shouldn’t dress like sluts.”

“Oh yeah – him.”

“Rumour has it that’s what Nailor punched him for.”

“Jesus.”

“He’s another hothead that takes everything very personally. That’s what Jameson’s pal up there says.”

Vance frowned. “What’s he working?”

“That chewed-up girl you’re avoiding looking at. He went nuts, ran at the suspect in the hospital.”

“Shit.”

“Jameson was with him, had to yank him out of the room by force.”

He held up the file, still closed. “Did you go up to this one?”

Pogo’s face changed and he went from slinging his deck chair all the way back to suddenly having something very important on his desk that needed all of his attention. “Yeah,” he said, voice breaking with strain. “It was all I could do to make myself stay there. Serious case of the heebie-jeebies, Vance.”

Vance looked at the inconspicuous folder he held in his right hand. Maybe it was time to check that apartment out; just for his own morbid curiosity.

Praesul drew the hood up over his head, shoving his developing hands in to the hoodie’s pockets, keeping his half-formed faced downward.

Good thing he’d left Essum’s apartment when he did. He’d passed the officers on the way into the building. To be safe he scrubbed their memory of seeing him, but they had been duty-driven and easy to steer the other way.

It was unfortunate about Essum, but the girl had been worth losing his familiar for the time being. Her soul had been so incredibly pure he’d smelled it while she was passing the apartment. With only his mind he’d drawn her to him, unlocking the door, leading her past Essum’s sleeping form and to his room.

He sent her pheromones, felt her arousal at the smell of them. As soon as she was at the door he struck, tearing out her voice box so she couldn’t scream, let her hit the ground when she fainted, then pulled her back to the bedroom.

To be able to touch warm human skin was enough to steal his breath. But having her unconscious wasn’t to his liking. He woke her slowly, sliding his strengthening hands over the bare skin, easing her back to him. He liked that she woke up already scared. As she struggled against him, he knew what she was feeling: cold, naked muscle slick with some kind of goop that would eventually solidify to make his skin. She didn’t like it; she panicked and fought.

It was as much an elixir as her soul, beating against him like a thin but warm beam of sunlight. He teased at it, letting her get scared while that soul stayed so strong and pure. When he did take the essence from her, he drank her in slowly, savoring her. When the bloodlust hit him it was a surprise. He was further along than he thought.

The soul flickered against him at the end, the last bit of spirit tickling his entire body as she was all but dead in his arms. Her heart beat and she was still breathing, but wouldn’t be for long.

Her breasts were small but firm, her stomach rounded and soft. But when his carnal urge was raised, it wasn’t sex he wanted. He wanted to feed. blood.

It was so close to sex. Maybe that was why he had always attacked the inner thighs; it was almost like he was mocking the act of oral sex. He held her just like he would if they’d been lovers, too overcome to undress before beginning the act. But it was the meat of those legs he ravaged, teeth tearing at skin. It took a lot to break skin with these regular teeth. But he had time. She was dead before he loosened the first chunk.

He made a terrible mess of himself, even though he didn’t even have skin to color with this crimson fluid. He ended up covered in slime as well as her blood.

He wiped off the red life force with towels in the bathroom, leaving them on the floor. He went through the closet, finding a pair of dark blue jeans, dark enough that it wouldn’t show if his ooze soaked through. The hoodie was black as well. He had to wear socks in the shoes to keep them from sliding off his feet when he walked.

He wasn’t sure where he was going now. He thought of maybe going to the hospital to see how his poor Essum was doing, but Essum’s room likely wasn’t open to visitors. There was, however, something else in that hospital he’d left behind for a pick-me up to revisit later. He’d taken one soul earlier who has tasted of a heavenly vessel, but there was another very interesting soul right next door to that one. Essum couldn’t get a good read on him, but he thought it might be a little bit of strength from a unique angle. Praesul had energy but God knew how long he could go before he had to feed again. The feedings were more important the closer he got to being complete; he’d need more and more and more until he was sated.

He turned for the hospital with an eye on the psych ward.

Voro closed his eyes, head back, pressing in to his pillow, jaw tight as he tried to control his mounting excitement. Gazardiel was absolutely insane in bed. Even he was nearly out of his element here …

She leaned back while straddling him, hips swinging back and forth with complete abandon. She seemed to have no idea how she was completely wrecking him.

Gazardiel cried out, clear as a bell, her entire body quaking over him. It was more than enough. He shouted her name, hands clenching on her thighs, fingers biting into her skin and muscle. The orgasm was amazing, as out of control as he had ever been in that situation. His body was shaking weird, and he had no idea what she was going through with her own. It was a strange feeling to him, being unable to get into her thoughts. But he liked it; being in his own mind when it happened.

Gazardiel hopped off him and the bed nimbly, crossing to the shower room completely naked. She was so comfortable with being undressed it almost made him uncomfortable, but she looked good like this. All her limbs were long and strong, her back a masterpiece of muscle, bone and smooth skin. Her ass was small and tight but high, her breasts the same. She was absolutely …

… not as gorgeous as Claudia.

She shut the bedroom door and he jumped as a lump formed in his stomach. Who knew what was up with his brain right then. After that he felt emptier.

He passed one hand over the centre of his chest after pulling the sheets up to his waist. He just spent hours doing the one thing he knew he was good at and enjoyed more than anything else. He should be happy, satisfied and hungry for actual food.

Voro shuddered, pulling the covers even higher. Fuck, this was the weirdest
thing he’d ever felt. He felt
alone
?

While he pondered the amazing impossibility of that, a ringing started in his ears like a radio being tuned in the next room. A noise, but more than that. It cranked up his skin, the hair on his arms stood up. He sat up, head tilting like a dog when you say its name in a high squeaky voice. More than just a sound. What was this?

The bathroom door opened, and Gazardiel’s entire body was tuned and ready, too. She took a moment to share a look with him then crossed to where he’d thrown her clothes the night before.

“What is this? What’s happening – why are my ears ringing?”

She spared him the quickest glance as she pulled her pants on. “You can hear it too?”

“Yeah. It’s annoying …. I feel like …”

“Like you need to get up and moving. That’s the feeling of evil, Voro. Real, undiluted evil. Nothing that even man can rival. That’s why we need to get rid of it.” She threw his jeans at him.

He caught them, threw the sheets off. “This is the feeling of evil?”

“Yep. Whatever it is down there it’s getting stronger. I bet it’s almost done the transition. We’re running out of time.”

He got dressed as quickly as she did, then followed her down the corridor to their special angel meeting room. All the angels he already knew were there, along with a few he’d never seen before.

Jehoel was leading the meeting. As soon as he and Gazardiel were in the room with the door closed Jehoel took the floor.

“We all felt it. We can’t wait, we know where it is. Which means it’s very close to finishing its development, as you know. Take five minutes, get armed. I’ll make sure Voro is ready. We’re going in and we’re not coming back until it’s done.”

Shortest “rally the troops” speech ever, but effective. The room cleared fast, and with the nod of his head Jehoel bade Voro to follow him to the armory.

When it came down to it, Voro had always been somewhat of a coward. The only thing that could threaten him as a Sin Eater was his own boss, or his
decipio
/
frustro
. He didn’t really get involved in battles. When good and evil did battle back in the real ancient times Sin Eaters weren’t in the trenches. They came after all that.

As he looked around the
Armory he saw beautiful young-looking people with the posture and poise of tried warriors. They had all been in those kinds of battles. They’d been hurt and healed centuries ago, yet they stepped back into that uniform like it was just last week.

What was there for kicking the ass of evil, anyway? When angels went to battle, what were they usually packing?

When Jehoel handed him a crossbow Voro thought he was nuts.

“What is this?”

Jehoel jogged the rig at him. “You want to go in with nothing?”

“No guns? Tanks? Helicopters?”

Jehoel lowered the crossbow, exasperated. “When exactly did you think you stepped into a James Bond movie?”

“Bows and arrows? For real?”

“These aren’t people, Voro. It’s difficult to kill evil, as you know. They can only be killed by holy artifacts. And AK-47 rounds aren’t holy artifacts.”

“Then why are these arrows sacred?”

“They’re from the wood of the acacia trees.”