Night Vision (44 page)

Coming October 2013!

I stood at the top of the ravine overlooking the waterfront below. Nestled on the front of Lake Sammamish, my destination was—like many in the greater Seattle metropolitan area—a sprawling behemoth of a house jokingly referred to as a McMansion. Cookie-cutter design along with all its neighbors, the monster was a tribute to the high wages and high cost of living that came with this area.

Only tonight, all the money and success in the world wouldn’t help the owner of the palatial estate. Tonight, the man who owned this house was going to die—and he was going to die the final death.

Behind me, in a sheer flowing robe that mirrored the twilight sky, stood Greta, my mentor, the leader of the Death Maidens. Petite, with hair the color of burnished copper, Greta and I bore the same tattoos, only hers were far older and more brilliant.

Emblazoned on our foreheads were onyx crescents, hers burning with a vivid flame. Mine sparkled a glistening black most of the time. An intricate lacework of black and orange leaves wound up our forearms. Hers were vivid.
Mine had started as a pale shadow but now were nearing a similar intensity.

Patiently standing a few steps behind me, Greta waited as I contemplated the house. I was dressed in a flowing robe similar to hers, though mine wasn’t sheer, and now I absently toyed with the tasseled belt girding my waist as I gauged the timing. This would be my fifth kill in the past month—or
oblition
, as it was called in Haseofon—and this time, I was on my own. Greta was only supervising.

I’d been on a fast track the past eight weeks, spending a lot of time in Haseofon, the temple of the Death Maidens, learning to fight on the astral where we worked. And I’d been taking a high dose of the
panteris phir
, or Panther’s Fang, to gain better control over my shifting into the black panther side of myself.

I was surprised the latter had been working so well, considering how little control I had over shifting into my Tabby self, but Greta had said that because Panther was a gift from the Autumn Lord, my half-human heritage wasn’t a stumbling block to controlling the ability.

Now I closed my eyes, listening for that internal sensor that would tell me the exact moment in which to move in. A pause, as I lowered myself below my conscious thoughts, deep into my subconscious. And then I heard it.

Five…four…three…two…one
…There, it was, echoing in the corner of my mind. The gentle chiming of a clock as it counted down the last moments of Gerald Hanson’s life. The clock—or sensor—was my guide, urging me on, directing me when to move in and at what precise moment I was to grapple with Gerald’s soul and send it spinning into oblivion.

The only thing I knew about Gerald at this moment was that he was a lawyer, and his life was forfeit to keep the balance. Grandmother Coyote had called in a favor from the Autumn Lord, and Hi’ran had specifically directed that I be the one to take care of this. For whatever reason, I was to be the Death Maiden who attended his death.

I glanced back at Greta. She remained impassive, waiting
for my move, so I set out for the ravine and she followed me. We raced through the etheric winds as if we were meteors, shooting through the sky. Movement on the astral was still confusing to me, although I’d been here a number of times, but I was slowly getting used to it. And here it was that the Death Maidens paid their victims their last visits—on a tiny sliver of the astral plane reserved for our work, and our work alone.

We were the last people our chosen victims would ever see, the last faces they would know. Some we escorted to glory and to great rewards for their courage and bravery. For others we were the harbingers of doom, the final hand of judgment who could not be denied. We sent them into the churning pool of primal force in which their soul-force was cleansed, purged, and reborn as pure energy ready for use.

Gerald Hanson was among the latter.

As the clock ticked down the last minutes of Gerald’s life, I walked through the walls of his house, followed by Greta, and stood beside him. He would not see me until it was too late.

To the outer world, it would appear that Gerald Hanson had died of a sudden, massive stroke. In reality, the Hags of Fate would cut his cord of destiny, triggering that stroke. Whatever sins against the balance Gerald had committed, they were great enough to earn him a one-way ticket into oblivion. His soul was so tainted that it could not be allowed to continue on the eternal cycle.

I stood beside him, waiting. There was no one else in the house, except a little dog who was asleep on the sofa. The pup would be well cared for. I’d call Chase after I finished and was home, to make certain he knew the dog, because this case—along with whatever notifications were necessary—would fall under the jurisdiction of the FH-CSI. The Faerie-Human Crime Scene Investigation unit would be involved because Gerald Hanson wasn’t human. He was a werewolf.

As the final seconds ticked down, I stepped forward, standing in front of him. A pause, then
three…two…one
…and
Gerald clutched his chest, looking confused. I waited until he spasmed again, then went limp. As his body slumped on the sofa, his spirit rose to stand in front of me. At first he looked confused, but then he saw me and jumped back.

“Where…who are you? What…” He glanced back at his body and a slow look of understanding crossed his face. As he turned back to me, I moved in.

I reached out and laid my hand on his arm, and we vanished into a place where there existed only the swirl of mist and fog, as a thin silver crescent hung high overhead against the backdrop of stars. There was nothing familiar here, at least not to Gerald. There was nothing to comfort, nor to soothe the fear or offer hope. Here, there was merely the stark whisper of vapor that flowed around us and the cold shimmer of the stars. We stood there, in spirit, between the worlds, and before he could speak I reached out and placed my hands on his shoulders, and his memories flowed into my own, and I saw through his eyes.

Flash
…A long hall stretched out in front of Gerald; on either side stood rows of cells. Cages with iron bars. The hallway was dimly lit and smelled like urine and feces. The faint sound of whimpering echoed through the air, but the smile on Gerald’s face belied the blackness in his heart. As he started down the passage, a lovely Fae woman knelt in the center of one of the cells, her hands pressed over her face. As she heard Gerald’s footsteps, she looked up, a pleading look in her luminous eyes, but he snorted, and moved on. The woman would fetch a pretty penny, and there were plenty more like her out there. And plenty of men waiting to buy them…

Flash
…Gerald sat behind a desk—a large oak affair that dripped with money and prestige. He was fiddling with a brief, but as he looked out the window, his cell phone rang. A man’s voice on the other end of the line let out a rough laugh.

“Number sixty-five needs a replacement. He broke his toy, again, and is willing to pay an extra fifty grand to find one who can take the extra wear and tear. You have one week.”

As Gerald pressed the End Call button, he stared out the window, a faint smile crossing his lips…he loved his work. He truly loved his work.

Flash
…Two men climbed into the limo, taking the seat opposite Gerald. One of them looked sullen, the other afraid. Gerald rolled up the window behind him, separating them from the driver, then offered them a drink. As the men eagerly accepted the glasses and sipped, he leaned forward, waiting.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice steely. “I told you to handle the entire family. You didn’t handle the entire family, and now you’ve compromised our work.”

The taller of the pair shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t do kids. I told you that in the beginning.”

“And
I
told you what was at stake.” As Gerald spoke, the smaller man began to shake and dropped his drink as he collapsed. The other man looked at Gerald frantically, but within seconds he followed suit.

The limo stopped, and Gerald opened the window again. “Take us to the Cove. We’ve got a delivery to make.” And with that, he settled back, opened a new bottle of bourbon, and carefully poured himself a glass as the car silently glided through the night.

I pulled myself out of his mind. The images were confusing, but the feeling behind them was a darkness driven by avarice. The desire for money, the desire for power. And the willingness to do anything to get it. Repelled, I gazed into Gerald’s eyes. He was scum, worse than scum, and while I wasn’t sure of everything he had done to reap such a sentence, I’d seen enough to know he’d buy and sell people without a second thought.

Nervous, he looked over his shoulder. “Where am I?”

Ah…so he still didn’t realize he was dead.

“On a one-way trip, Gerald. Consider me your angel of death.” Before he could do more than whimper, I laid my hands on him—holding him so firmly that he couldn’t get away.

He struggled, pleading, but his words fell useless. This
was my mission, and whatever mercy or empathy I had vanished as my training kicked in. His spirit was no match for my strength.

“Fires of the void, come forth to do my bidding. Cleanse this soul and pass it through your center.” The rite was second nature now—the ritual ingrained in my being by this point. While Greta had taken me through the rites again and again, this time I was doing it on my own, without any help from her.

Gerald let out a sharp scream. “Please, don’t—I don’t understand.”

“Gerald Hanson, you sealed your destiny by your actions. The Hags of Fate have made their decree. The Harvestmen have agreed. Prepare to face the darkness of the abyss.”

I closed my eyes, summoning the karmic fire. A purple flame washed over us, raging through his soul, crackling through the mist and fog to electrify his energy. A wisp of ash flew up from his aura, and then another, and then—with a loud chatter of static—the karmic flames raced through his spirit, reducing it to harmless dust. Another moment, and Gerald Hanson ceased to exist, forever. His soul consigned to the final death, only a fine layer of ash remained poised for a second, and then it, too, blew away into the night.

I watched the etheric wind sweep away the remnants of everything Gerald had ever been, throughout all of his lives, all of his cycles. The only thing left was a harmless, benign energy. No trace remained of the person he’d been, no sign of the lives he’d lived. And then, with a final, silent
whoosh
, the lingering energy spiraled up and then returned to the central pool from which all things sprang.

As always, I felt oddly hollow, like a reed in the wind, bending but not breaking. Mournful, plaintive, but accepting of my place in this world.

I closed my eyes, willing Gerald’s memories to fade, although I knew I wouldn’t forget them. While they didn’t make much sense to me now, there had to be a reason the Autumn Lord had commanded me to be Gerald’s doom. I wasn’t sure what it was yet, but I had the feeling I’d find out.

But for now, I was stick-a-fork-in-me done for the night. Turning my back on the ever-present mist and fog of this realm, I leaped back to the astral where Greta waited. I hoped to hell we were done for the night.

Greta slipped her arm through mine as we journeyed back to Haseofon, the abode of the Death Maidens. She was so much shorter than me that it gave us a Mutt-and-Jeff look, but there any resemblance ceased.

“You did very well. You’ve adapted quickly.” She smiled up at me, and I felt a tinge of pride.

“I’ve tried.” I pressed my lips together.

At first, the concept of being a Death Maiden had freaked me out, but over the past couple of years I’d wavered, feeling my naïveté slip away little by little. At first I’d clung to my eternal optimism, to the little girl/kitty cat who didn’t want to grow up. But when Shade—my fiancé—had come into the picture, things began to shift. Half shadow dragon, half Stradolan—shadow walker—Shade existed in the realms of spirits and ghosts, and I’d grown used to the energy.

Over the past few months, I’d made the decision to embrace who I was becoming, rather than fear it.