Phoenix Contract: Part Three (Fallen Angel Watchers) (4 page)

“This seems like a pretty dangerous area. Are you sure it’s this way?” Troy asked, just barely managing to keep the dark irony out of his voice as Cheryl led him down a dark alley to where her car was supposedly parked.

“It’s right up ahead,” the blonde assured him, perhaps sensing his suspicion.

“Kay,” he mumbled, striving for a suitably neutral tone.

The vampire had her back to him with absolutely no one around, so he had a perfect opportunity to take a shot. A clean kill, exactly the kind the Alastors were trained to make when the opportunity arose.

He already had his hand buried in his jacket pocket, fingers wrapped around his gun. The compact Kahr MK40 felt small in his massive hands, but the gun itself, which held five .40 S&W rounds plus one in the chamber, packed a potent punch for such a small, easily concealed weapon.

Heart or head? The destruction of either organ destroyed a vampire. Alastors drilled in the catch phrase until it became a mantra—
heart or head.
The explosive capacity of bullets could obliterate both and the more traditional methods of a stake to the heart or decapitation worked just as well.

Troy knew he was violating his training and procedure, but his hesitation dragged on minute after minute, and the decision got harder the longer he waited. His palms were clammy, and his gut churned, a morass of acid reflux. He couldn’t help it. Cheryl seemed too human.

He and Katsue spent a week trailing Cheryl before they’d positively identified her as a vampire. She appeared so human that only the tiniest telling traits had given her true nature away, her pale complexion and her nocturnal habits. Both were traits that any human might’ve possessed, and she showed none of the typical signs of decay that usually marked the undead for what they were. It wasn’t until they’d observed her purchasing black market blood from a Red Cross employee that Troy had finally accepted that she was a vampire.

Even then, the circumstances troubled him. Why had she been buying blood instead of hunting? For the week they had watched her, they never saw her kill. Her exact species of undead was unknown to them, but she passed so completely for human that they suspected she might be a new breed. Troy had never seen anything like her before, and he hoped he never would again.

Katsue had wanted to move in for the kill much sooner, but Troy had insisted that they wait to be sure. His impatient, impulsive partner had chafed at the restraint, but he’d insisted, remaining staunchly immovable.

Alastors existed to destroy demons and were the front line of defense in the Watcher’s war. A good hunter quickly developed an almost preternatural affinity for spotting undead. However, sometimes mistakes were made, ghastly errors or terrible lapses of judgment that destroyed lives.

It occurred during Troy’s first year, his first kill, and he had sworn it would never happen again. Before Katsue, he’d been assigned to work with Thrash who’d acted as mentor and partner, teaching the new guy the ropes. Young and eager to prove himself, Troy acted without Thrash’s go-ahead. Troy had identified a vampire at a club, an anemic Goth girl with a blood fetish. He lured her away and took the kill, stabbing her through the belly with a wooden stake, angled upward so that the tip hit her heart.

She’d been human, barely older than a child, and Troy had inherited a legacy of guilt that influenced every future decision he’d ever make. And rightly so.

Thrash had covered for him, and to this day, they were the only witnesses to an innocent person’s death.

The memory of her falling over, grasping at the stake embedded in her chest, shock and accusation in her eyes—it haunted him. Troy still woke up, shaking and drenched in sweat, the young Goth girl’s ghost imprisoned forever in his nightmares.
Never again.

Abruptly, Cheryl swung around to face him, and Troy tensed. This was it. She’d attack. Only he wasn’t ready. His trip down memory lane had left him shaken with slowed reactions.

Instead of launching at him, Cheryl leaned against the side of a battered blue Chevy, and Troy belatedly realized that they’d reached her car. “You know, I just want to be sure that you don’t have the wrong idea about me,” she babbled. “I don’t normally meet strange, but really cute and smart men, in coffee shops and just leave with them.” She winked and smiled at him, flirting. “But I have a good feeling about you. It’s like I can trust you.”

“You can,” Troy assured her. He was completely trustworthy. It was he who couldn’t trust her.

Cheryl smiled, a warm spontaneous grin that displayed all of her even white teeth without the slightest hint of fang or pronged tongue. She rushed forward, and Troy tensed against her tackle, then her lips pressed against his. The unexpected kiss was sweet and pleasurable, and her scent filled his nostrils—the faint aroma of roses.

The kiss created a sense of connection between them, a sense of sharing and rightness, and a pleasant buzz robbed him of his suspicion and fear. Amazingly, Troy’s body responded to the feminine form pressed against him. He wrapped her in his arms and increased the pressure of the kiss, making hungry demands on her mouth.

A gunshot thundered through the alley, and blood exploded from the side of Cheryl’s head, splattering Troy’s face and shirtfront. Cheryl went limp in his arms, and he released her body and allowed it to fall to the ground. Shocked and shaken, Troy stared down at his bloody hands in blank horror, trying to understand what had happened.

Katsue stepped out of the shadows and fired her gun again, emptying her weapon into the vampire’s head. Katsue’s gun was loaded with hollow point bullets, which inflicted a massive amount of damage, creating small entry wounds and gaping exit points.

On the fifth shot the remnants of Cheryl’s skull exploded, sending a shower of bone and brain matter outward. Both Katsue and Troy ducked simultaneously, shielding their faces with their arms. The body was consumed from within, rapid decay reducing it to a small pile of ash and bone within seconds.

“I can’t believe you could be so stupid!” Katsue exclaimed.

“Why the hell did you do that?” Troy demanded, rounding on Katsue. “I had her.”

“You did not,” Katsue retorted. “You were
kissing
it! Troy, get real. It’s the number one rule of hunting: don’t identify with them. They’re not people. They’re demons. And you sure as hell never let one get close enough to make intimate contact!”

Troy’s jaw snapped shut with an audible crack of gnashing teeth. He glared, but had no reply. He shook his head hard, trying to free his mind of the cajoling spell that the bloodsucker had used to enthrall him.

Katsue was right. He’d messed up. Calling it a
she
was a mistake. Cheryl had been nothing more than an animated corpse, a dead husk inhabited by a demon. The girl she’d once been was long gone. That sort of erroneous thinking had gotten more than one good Alastor killed.

In the dark alley, Katsue fell silent, watching him with eyes full of recrimination. His partner had the sense not to harangue the subject to death, but he could sense her worry.

“Fine, you’re right,” Troy admitted with a grudging grunt. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to spend an hour talking to one and then execute them.”

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” Katsue said, choosing to let the matter drop. “I just fired a gun. We shouldn’t linger in case the cops show up.” The discussion, for the moment, was over.

A scraping noise from the far end of the alley made both of them stop and look. Tensing, they reached for their weapons. Background illumination made it possible to make out the shady outlines of objects. They weren’t blinded, but the setting wasn’t ideal for an unplanned confrontation.

A man, clad in dark clothing, walked toward them. Even in the dim light, the shock of bleached blonde hair and the pale face made him instantly recognizable.

“Thrash! Where the hell have you been, man?” Troy called out with a relieved grin. He released his hold on the gun in his pocket and moved toward his fellow Alastor.

“What’s he doing here?” Katsue hissed. She held back, suspiciously keeping her hands on her weapons. “How’d he find us?”

Good question. Determined to find the answer, Troy gave a little shake of his head. “Let’s see what he has to say,” Troy answered. They often frequented Starbucks while hunting. It wasn’t inconceivable that Thrash had tailed them from the coffee shop.

“Father Matthew and Professor Leromenos have had us searching high and low for you,” Troy continued, sizing Thrash up as he approached.

The other man’s movements were relaxed and lolloping, a lazy glide. His hands were open and empty, dangling at his sides. “I’ve been busy,” Thrash answered, voice just loud enough to carry. “Why, what’s the fuss? Can’t a fellow take a little R&R without you guys going ‘In Search Of’ on my ass?” He gave an easy laugh.

“What was so important that you disappeared for weeks on end without a word to anyone?” Troy asked as they came to a halt about three feet apart, facing one another like dueling fun fighters.

“It’s a long story, but to sum up, I bought an antique sword from Xavier’s, and it wound up being more trouble than I’d bargained for. I’ve had a demon on my ass ever since.”

Xavier Hunter was a private dealer who operated an exclusive shop on Staten Island, dealing exclusively in antique weapons.

“What sort of demon?” Troy asked, catching improbable movement out of the corner of his eye that made him blink and look harder. His attention shot to the area behind the Albino where an impenetrable darkness, a mass of shadow with writhing edges, filled the alley.

The whole situation suddenly felt dead wrong, and Troy’s internal alarms went haywire. He started to withdraw, jerking back too late.

“Troy!” Katsue shouted in warning.

The darkness rushed forward, following on the Albino’s heel like a cloak.

Acting on reflex, Troy lunged backward while reaching for his gun. He only had time to register a wall of inky blackness towering over him before it crashed over his head, engulfing him completely in an eternal agony of imprisonment.

Troy’s last conscious and separate thought before the darkness absorbed him—he’d been sucked into hell.

“Troy!” Katsue leapt, charging several feet forward before a knee-jerk survival instinct made her stop. She stared disbelieving at the place he’d been standing. Troy and Thrash were both gone, and all that remained were gently undulating shadows.

The viscous surface rippled, and a protrusion rose, gaining mass and form until it took on the shape of a man. Stunned, Katsue watched Thrash reform from the liquid, and for once, her reflexes failed. She did nothing but stare with open-mouthed horror as the blackness drained out of him, from his platinum blue-tipped hair to his shiny black leather boots.

Thrash released a long belch and chuckled. “Sorry about that, I don’t normally lose form when I eat. But then, I’m still digesting. Troy was a big fellow.” He grinned at Katsue, a smile full of cold, evil malice that sent chills down her spine.

“What the hell are you?” she asked, her voice high and shrill. She finally recovered her reaction and brought her gun to bear on the
thing
that had killed both Thrash and Troy.

Evil bled from the creature and filled her with an intense and painful fear. It inspired revulsion so strong that she cringed away in disgust.

“I am
The
Soul Eater. Within me dwell all those I have consumed. They are trapped in my gut for all eternity, suffering in agony while their essence is digested. Their skills and knowledge are mine.”

Thrash took in her horrified expression and smirked. “Am I making you uncomfortable? Perhaps a face you’re more familiar with would be better?” Rippling like molten mercury, his features turned silver, and his entire body altered. When he solidified again, Troy stood where Thrash had been.

Her first bullet caught him between the eyes. Her second hit him in the forehead, and every single successive shot struck Troy’s head. Like shooting into a pool of water, every bullet created a ripple across the surface of his face. His features were momentarily distorted, but reformed, and no blood fell.

Her gun clicked empty, and the Soul Eater still stood, wearing Troy’s form and a vicious smile. “Now, was that really necessary?” he taunted, tilting his head back with a slight shake. “I suppose it was. Nothing you do can hurt me, but you need to prove to yourself that I’m invulnerable. Go ahead.”