Authors: Stacy Mantle
“This is Richard.” His voice betrayed his annoyance. Obviously he was having a night as frustrating as mine which, given that he was the head of the Special Assignments Unit for the police department, was not that unusual.
“What’s the word on our latest target?” I asked. “I’m freezing to death out here.”
“Good evening, Alexandra,” he said dryly.
“Good evening, Richard.” I smiled, despite my frustration. He hated when I didn’t follow normal phone etiquette—a trait I felt confident was inspired by serving fifty years as the best friend of my adoptive father. “Do you have anything for me?”
I listened to him shuffling papers as he searched for the file. “Body count of twelve in the last two months. Four in the past four days — throat ripped out on each.” He paused, scanning the notes. “Impressive… The profile fits a PSK.”
I chuckled softly.
Preternatural Serial Killer
— the standard moniker assigned to any serial killer. The acronym worked with the local police who attributed the
P
to
psychopathic
rather than
preternatural
, and allowed access to funding that the department wouldn’t normally have access too. The additional funding afforded them the ability to outsource the unconventional and bizarre cases to people like me, which allowed the public to remain oblivious to the fact that we had creatures they had only read about in horror novels out roaming the earth.
Sometimes ignorance really is bliss.
To qualify as a serial killer with the police, a person has to have three kills inside of a month. Unfortunately, a lot of people fit that profile these days… The only real difference between a preternatural and a psychopath is that preternaturals tend to have a much higher body count within a much shorter timeframe.
“The profiler made a few comments,” Richard continued.
“Let me guess, I interrupted. “White male, loner, mid-thirties, with a God complex who was recently laid off work?”
“You got it.” He paused, and I could almost picture him searching the file for a preliminary sketch. But he needn’t have bothered. Any sketch coming back would reflect someone who looked like Jeffrey Dahmner or Ted Bundy—a seemingly normal, somewhat attractive man who people would describe as
such a normal-looking person that they would never have suspected of being such a monster.
“No Handler listed.” Richard continued, “At the very least, we haven’t been able to locate one, so finding him will be your first priority.”
That wasn’t good news. Vampires and Weres are created, not born. For the first few years, they needed their creators around to teach them the ropes—how to control the bloodlust, how to handle their gifts, and most importantly—how to keep those gifts a secret from the general population. Without a Handler, a Newborn of either species didn’t stand a chance. Neither the vampire nor Territorial councils tolerated Newborns running around town unsupervised.
“Jesus…” I replied softly. “Newborns have the self-control of a gnat.”
“Language, Alex.”
“Hey — you say it all the time!”
He ignored my protest. “The press is calling him Azrael.”
“Azrael, huh? As in
angel of death
, Azrael? How fitting. Which news station was bright enough to hire on a theology major?”
The hint of a smile crossed his lips. “Now, Alex—the press keeps you employed. Besides, what else would you do if you weren’t out hunting bad guys?”
“Oh, I don’t know—lie on a beach in St. Thomas. Explore the Great Barrier Reef.”
Visit any place where it’s warmer than here in the winter
, I thought.
“You would never be able to find a pet sitter.” He smirked.
He made a valid point. The members of my diverse pack would probably kill each other if I weren’t around to keep the peace. Having Richard as both a friend and employer is convenient, but he keeps me busier than I would like to be. But seeing as how he’s the only living human who knows our secrets, we help him.
“And then there’s the matter of that pesky blood oath,” he reminded.
I scowled and briefly considered hanging up on him. Like I need a reminder. Every single day of my life is a reminder of the penalty I was paying for illegally crossing territorial lines with a pregnant werejaguar. They had reduced the charge to smuggling—an improvement over murder, but not by much. The Territorial Council didn’t care much about the reasons I had for getting Modnik out of Costa Rica, only that I had gotten her out.
“Don’t remind me.” I sulked, although I couldn’t really complain. Working for Richard isn’t too tough when the alternatives were considered. He lets me keep my own hours and doesn’t waste my time with cases that any rookie could handle. Richard is a man who knows how to use his resources. And being able to keep Modnik and her twin cubs with us while we helped her with the post-traumatic stress had made it well worth the price.
Richard chuckled, knowing how much I hated being under his control, even if he was pretty easy to work for. “Has Billy shown up yet?”
I shook my head before remembering he couldn’t actually see me. “No, but I’m sure he’s nearby.” My partner had never been one to miss a hunt and he would die before he abandoned me anywhere with a Newborn on the loose.
“Besides, I’m only giving Azrael three more hours, then I’m bailing.”
The disapproval was evident in his voice. “The mayor is threatening to send the Snake-eaters in if this isn’t resolved soon, Alex. We need to get this one off the books.”
Rolling my eyes, I reached into my pocket and retrieved a stick of gum. The Snake-eaters were the more elite, and most destructive, branch of the Special Forces. They did two things well: survive and destroy. Bringing that group in was like the city bringing cobras in to correct a rodent problem. Needless to say, they weren’t my favorite branch of the military.
“Geez, talk about overkill. Why would they send those guys in? We haven’t had to deal with those lunatics for years.”
I unwrapped the piece of gum and placed it in my mouth, ignoring my stomach as it grumbled in protest of the meager meal. I needed to remember to bring a snack along on these excursions.
“Yes, well we’ve been busier than usual these days, Alex.”
Truth be told, we
had
been busier than usual. Generally I only get called in on an occasional side job when Richard got too busy to send Billy out. Lately, it seemed like I was becoming a full-time employee. I said as much to him.
He appeared to consider my words for a moment. “Let’s just worry about this problem for now. Get Azrael off the street, then locate his handler. I suspect he’s been a busy little vampire over the past year.”
“We’ll find him. Besides, when have I ever let you down?” I grinned and ended the call with a quick press of the earring stud before he could answer.
At the very least, I would always have Richard in my life. Whether I wanted him or not. And Billy, our resident coyote shifter and full-time detective, was fast on his way to becoming my number two.
Turning from the street, I stared into the shadows of the buildings, giving my eyes time to adjust to the fast approaching night as I once again scanned the shadows.
A black cat burst from a nearby dumpster sending garbage cans crashing to the ground. It darted through the alley as I rapidly drew my favorite handguns — a pair of Glock 10mm pistols. They were specially outfitted with a heat-seeking laser that could find its target faster than the human eye. The one thing I did not have on these guns was a hair trigger, which was a good thing at the moment. I holstered the weapons as it slowed to stare at me from a safe distance, flicking its tail back and forth almost as though it knew what I had planned to do.
Bored and growing more impatient by the minute, I toyed with the idea of entering the cat’s mind. To let my shields down meant an immediate assault on my senses and a certain migraine, yet the information I might gain about Azrael’s whereabouts could be invaluable. The potential benefits outweighed the risks. Dropping my psychic shield, I did my best to ignore the noise of hundreds of animals who resided within the vicinity, and let my thoughts drift towards the feline who was making her escape and allowed my mind to merge with hers. Feeling the touch of my thoughts, she immediately slowed to a walk and glanced around suspiciously, feeling me enter her mind. Dropping all the shields now, I allowed her instincts to fill my head; giving myself over to her enhanced senses: The feel of cold asphalt under hypersensitive paws, the amplified sense of smell, the stench of decaying blood permeating my awareness… I stumbled back from the sensory overload. Taking a deep breath, I managed to curb my response to retch, and stabilized my senses enough to begin sifting through individual scents. Cats don’t have the best sense of smell, not like those of a dog, but hers would do for the moment.
Billy’s voice echoed in my ear, drawing me out of the half-hearted mind exploration. I cursed silently, frustrated at the interruption. Snapping the locks into place, I closed out the noise of the world and focused on his voice.
“Alex, can you hear me?”
Cupping my hand over my ear, I pushed the tiny transmitter, forcing the device to increase its wavelength and make his voice audible over the howling wind.
“Yeah, Billy. I hear you. See anything unusual out there?”
It was a silly question, as his thoughts briefly collided with mine before I stopped the process. At least now I knew he was within a few blocks of where I stood. My ability had its limits, and distance seemed to be one of them. If it were a person I knew as well Billy, I could sense their presence from a much further distance, but the clarity of his thoughts told me he was nearby. It really doesn’t matter how much I try to stay out of my pack’s heads, it happens occasionally—especially when their thoughts are more animal than human, and most especially when I am emotionally close to the one transmitting. Billy has been my best friend since I was ten…
“What’s your 10-20?” Billy asked, his voice popping into static until I couldn’t even hear him.
I tapped my earring, then tried re-routing the call to the phone. Still static, but he seemed to be able to hear me just fine. I sighed.
The hell with this
. I thought, closing my eyes to dial into his subconscious. I kept my touch light. Billy hated anyone being in his head, but he especially hated me in there. And trust me when I say that his pet peeve came in handy on occasion — particularly when he’s being annoying.
Which is often…
“Hold tight,” I said aloud, hesitant to move from the building’s shelter to see where I happened to be. Traffic along the central Phoenix road had been reduced to a single car once every twenty minutes. Waiting for a lone car to pass by, I stepped from the shadows. The fierce wind hit me, whipping my hair against my cheek as I beat a quick retreat back to the relative protection of the old buildings. Cursing softly, I touched my face, half expecting to see blood on my fingers, but found none. I deftly twisted the unruly hair into a thick braid and pushed it into the back of my duster.
I didn’t need any more scars to add to my growing collection.
Despite having excellent vision, I could barely make out the words on the street sign. “First and Adams, I think.” I kept my voice low. “What’s your ETA?”
His mind filled with a chain of thoughts, “Jefferson’s a one-way street, so I’ll have to drop down to Fifth, then head north to Washington over to Third,” he continued to ramble off his intended route, talking more to himself than to me.
“Christ, Billy,” I mumbled when he had finished his monologue. “I don’t care how you get here, just get here.”
When it came to an operation like this, he was always the precise one. That worked just fine for me. I tried not to occupy myself with too many details — it was one more reason I kept people like Billy nearby. That and the fact that he could become a coyote on command.
“Any sign of our dead man walking?” His voice erupted into static as a sudden gust of wind rushed through the air.
I shook my head before again reminding myself that even my high-tech toys wouldn’t be able to pick up head movements. “Nada. What’s going on out there?”
“Nothing but an old man doing something very questionable in an alley.”
“Which alley?”
“Not yours,” he said, his husky laugh breaking over the radio and sending warm shivers down my spine. “Hold tight. I’m almost on you.”
I could hear the rumble of his classic silver Mustang Fastback moments before I saw it pass by the opposite end of my alley. The car looked as old as it was, but he’d modified the engine so much over the years that it could outperform any of the newest models without even straining the motor. I knew that unless he sensed I was in trouble, he would circle the area and attempt to use his own internal radar to find me rather than honing in on the signal from my GPS.
Unlike me, Billy hates technology…
While Billy has great instincts, it was my technological toys that had finally narrowed down our prey’s favorite hunting regions. It hadn’t been easy, but by using GPS and satellites to narrow down his drop zones, we were finally able to triangulate on the next most likely kill location. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association charts provided us the means to anticipate his hunting times. Advanced climate science came in handy when tracking the preternatural and NOAA was the best in the business.
But none of that would do any good if Azrael didn’t cooperate by showing up. Especially tonight.
No matter how the wind shifted, I couldn’t lock down the scent of the Newborn we pursued. The fury of the approaching storm made tracking impossible, which was the only reason I was still standing around in an alley. The moment I caught the Flyer’s scent, the wind would shift and the scent was lost.
The second I stepped forward, a chill ran through me, forcing the hair on my arms to stand up straight. Glancing around, I noticed that the wind had stopped. Whether it was a natural occurrence or something more menacing, I couldn’t tell. This particular area of town had become known for its residents’ use of witchcraft, and although there were very few true witches in the world powerful enough to influence the weather, it wasn’t unheard of.