Demon Mistress
Page 11

“She means Demonkin.” Vanzir joined us. A dream chaser demon, Vanzir had defected to our side and had voluntarily placed himself under our control through the Ritual of Subjugation, a painful and binding trial. His life was in our hands for as long as he lived and wherever he went. He looked like a shorter, younger David Bowie during his Ziggy Stardust days, with platinum short spiky hair and eyes that shone with an alien light. He had the whole punk, heroin-chic thing going on.
“I knew I smelled demon scent.” I glanced up at him. “I tried to attack it but damn . . . You happen to know what those things are?”
“No more than you. I’ve never seen anything quite that . . . odd.” He shook his head. “Did you manage to hit the one attacking you?”
I grunted. “No, and I can’t figure out why. I was set to make contact, but the creature had some sort of force field around it. I landed my foot against the barrier, and it slammed me back on my ass.” I shrugged. “Anybody else make a direct hit?”
Delilah looked at the others. They all shook their heads.
“Apparently not,” she said, “but I can tell you this. When that thing was attacking me, I felt something squirming around in my mind. Like a swarm of beetles.” She shivered. “In fact, for a moment, I thought . . .”
“Yes?” I encouraged her gently.
Delilah squinted and rubbed her head. “I can’t remember what I was going to say. But it felt like it was drilling into my skull, into my very soul.”
I groaned. “Great. A soul sucker. Just what we need. You think they’re in cahoots with Shadow Wing? He’s a Soul Eater.”
“A Soul Eater’s so powerful he wouldn’t leave anybody alive. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a connection.” Vanzir frowned.
“These creatures don’t seem to be his usual MO. Shadow Wing usually sends Degath Squads or powerful spies like Karvanak the Raksasa. I can’t imagine him sending monsters like these, but maybe I’m wrong.” Camille frowned. “We’d better figure out what these things are right away.”
Just then, Mallen joined us.
“Five dead, and not a mark on them,” he said, his face ashen. “Two of the wounded managed to live. Both of the survivors are barely conscious. We’re taking them in. What the hell went on here? I can’t figure out what’s wrong with them or why the others died.”
Chase spoke up. He’d remained surprisingly quiet until now. “Whatever these monsters are, I want them found and destroyed. I also want to know why they’re attacking the Fae and not humans.”
“We should put in a call to a Corpse Talker,” I said. “Since the dead are Fae, she might be able to provide some sort of lead.”
“Good idea,” Sharah said. “I can make arrangements. We’ve got one on standby.”
Chase shuddered. “Oh wonderful. Just what I want to witness. Another bloody fast-food fest. But if you think it will help, get her into the morgue as soon as possible. We’ve already got two Fae on ice who seem to follow the same pattern we’ve got here. No wounds, no reason why they should be dead. Let’s get moving.”
Sharah nodded. She turned to me. “Will you be the liaison? Corpse Talkers don’t like elves, and Camille shouldn’t really get near them. The chance for a magical implosion is far too great.”
Witches and Corpse Talkers kept a wide berth from one another. Some component of their magical makeup didn’t mesh, and if their energy fields touched, the very real chance existed that we’d be on the receiving end of a very nasty explosion of some sort.
I glanced at Delilah. She’d toughened up quite a bit over the past few months, but she was still too squeamish to play liaison. She’d stand witness, but she probably couldn’t keep it together if she had to be up close and personal with the Corpse Talker. They were creepy enough when viewed from a distance. Something about their aura gave off a major ‘Do not turn your back’ energy.
“Sure thing,” I said, as we headed out into the night. Overhead, a lazy string of clouds rolled past the Moon. It was barely eleven o’clock yet, and the Moon Mother hadn’t set. She’d sink into slumber around two thirty in the morning. The golden orb was growing toward full, and I knew both Delilah and Camille were feeling the siren song of her call. Three nights before the solstice she’d be full and ripe, and her energy would stay strong through Litha. Oh yes, the Summer King was ushering in a wild ride for the Weres and any Fae ruled by the Moon Mother.
“Let’s get this show on the road.” I headed toward Camille’s car. “We’ll meet you at the morgue, Chase. We need to find out where these demons are coming from and put a stop to them before they kill again.”
CHAPTER 9
When we arrived back at the FH-CSI building, Sharah, Mallen, and their trainees had already set up the bodies down in the morgue. The situation felt all wrong. None of the victims showed any signs of injury, there was no blood, no reason they should be dead. But they were.
The survivors were under strict watch in the intensive care unit upstairs, but the medics were having a difficult time figuring out how to help them. Tiggs, an officer, was still clinging to a thin shred of awareness. The other—Yancy—was fading. And nobody knew why. Sharah had called for an experienced healer from Elqaneve, but she wouldn’t be here for a few hours.
As we gathered around the stainless steel tables holding the bodies of the fallen, it occurred to me that I was as dead as the victims. The only difference between them and me was that I’d undergone a little tweak before I died. A simple infusion straight from Dredge’s vein and bingo . . . I existed among the walking dead. By all rights, I should be dust now, a blip in history.
Camille planted herself in the corner, well away from the tables. When the Corpse Talker arrived, we didn’t want any accidents. Smoky stood by her side. Delilah sat in a chair near them, her legs folded in the lotus position, a notebook in her lap to take notes with. Vanzir planted himself next to her.
Chase and I waited near the bodies. His face was stark and weathered.
A few minutes later, Sharah entered the room, leading the Corpse Talker behind her. No one even knew what race of Fae they branched off of, or what they looked like. The Corpse Talkers hid themselves in an underground city in Otherworld, rumored to be deep within the forests of Darkynwyrd.
Only their women ventured out into the world, and only their women became Corpse Talkers. A few had gone mad, their powers shifting in violent and twisted ways. They wandered through OW, feared and avoided. But the majority hired themselves out to those who sought the truth from the dead.
She was cloaked in the garments of her profession. A cowled robe as indigo as the deep ocean covered her completely, and the gloves she wore showed long, slender fingers beneath the cloth. The hood cloaked her face from view, although a slight twinkle of pale gray flickered from within the shadowed hollow.
Her eyes, I thought. We already knew she wouldn’t give us her name, so we didn’t even ask.
She glanced from body to body—seven all told—and her voice echoed out of the folds of her hood. “Where do you wish me to begin?”
Chase shrugged, so I pointed to the nearest body. The man had been a half-breed, perhaps half-Svartan, half-Fae. Whatever the case, he’d been gloriously handsome when he was alive, but now he lay silent on the metal slab. Still beautiful, but not for long.
The Corpse Talker leaned over him. Her cowl shrouded her actions, but we knew what she was doing. As she kissed him deeply, sucking in all that remained of his soul, a faint bluish tinge rose from his body. I could hear her murmuring, coaxing the spirit to enter her body and speak through her. An ancient ritual as old as the Fae themselves, the rites of the speakers for the dead never failed to amaze me.
After a moment, she raised her head. “Ask.”
I sucked on my lip, trying to think of the best questions. If we were lucky, we’d get two or three answers from each body. If not—as few as one. Or none. I decided to start with the most obvious. “What killed you?”
A raspy breath emerged from the Corpse Talker, and then, in a voice as dry as old parchment, she said, “Squid . . . it was horrible.”
Delilah shuddered. “She’s right. They’re terrifying.”
I motioned for her to be quiet. “Let me finish before the soul disappears for good.” I turned back to the Corpse Talker. “Where are your wounds? We can’t find them. How did you die?”
Again, a shudder, then the whistling voice. “Sucked dry—”
Before the soul could finish, the Corpse Talker shuddered, and we lost the connection. I motioned for her to move to the next body. We didn’t have long from first contact. Once the souls were free from the bodies, they began the journey to their ancestors. Then the game was up, and we wouldn’t have a chance to summon them again until the festival of Samhain. Unless, that is, the soul rested uneasy and journeyed to the Netherworld instead of the Land of the Silver Falls.
The Corpse Talker kissed the second body. I glanced over at Chase. From what Camille had told me, the first time he encountered one of the speakers for the dead, he’d almost fainted. This time, he seemed to be keeping it together.
As the transfer of soul essence took place, I became aware that Camille was faintly singing. She was barely mouthing the words, but I could catch the tune. It was a rhyme we’d chanted as children for protection.
Lips to lips, mouth to mouth,
Comes the speaker of the shrouds.
Suck in the spirit, speak the words,
Let secrets of the dead be heard.
The second victim was as unhelpful as the first. The only question he was able to answer was “How did you die?”
“Don’t know . . . was there, then . . . eating at me . . .”
I frowned and glanced over at the others, who looked as puzzled as I did. The soul vanished before I could ask what it meant. The Corpse Talker moved to the third victim, who was gone, and the fourth, who also had joined her ancestors. The fifth, however, gave us a little more to go on.
“What killed you?” I asked after the ritual kiss.
In the same rustling voice all spirits used, the Corpse Talker said, “Demon. A demon. I could smell it. I was so afraid . . .”
I stared at the body. This man had realized it had been a demon. “How did you die?”
“Something entered my mind and ate away at me until it broke through the silver cord that tethered me to my body.”
Delilah had mentioned feeling like there was something crawling around in her brain. Could it have been looking for her cord?
Curious as to how the man had recognized it as a demon, I asked, “What were you when you were alive? What did you do?”
“I worked in Y’Vaiylestar as a seer for the Court and Crown. They sent me over Earthside to do research . . .” His voice began to fade. “Mother—” was the last word he said, and then he vanished, and I knew that he’d gone to his ancestors. Grateful his mother had come for him, I rested my hand lightly on his.
After a moment we led the Corpse Talker to the two victims Chase had called us about, but they, too, had vanished to the Land of the Silver Falls. The Corpse Talker stood silent, then turned to Sharah, who nodded.
“Come with me,” she said. “I’ll take you to a place where you can wait until I . . . procure your payment.”
As they headed out the door, Chase shuddered. “All of their hearts?”
Camille shook her head. “Only of those whose souls she actually touched. It’s the rite. Communion with the dead through the consumption of the heart.”
“Why not of those who she couldn’t reach?” he asked.
“Keeps them honest,” I said with a short laugh. “Prevents deception. Or maybe they have no interest in the hearts of those who were already gone. I don’t know, and I doubt anybody knows the answer.”
Chase frowned, then pushed it aside. “So what did we find out? The last one seemed to know we were up against demons. And he said that it ate him up?”
I nodded. “My bet is that the thing sucks souls dry.”
At that moment, Sharah entered the room, carrying a pan and several opaque plastic bags. “I’m going to excise their hearts. I suggest you leave unless you want to watch me prepare dinner for our guest.” She had a faint look of disgust on her face. Elves didn’t like Corpse Talkers and vice versa, but she’d do what was necessary.
Chase was at the door in a flash. “Come on, let’s check on the survivors.”
We followed.
As she brushed past Sharah, Camille laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, and the elf gave her a brave smile. Sharah’s job had turned out to be incredibly bloody compared to what she could be doing at home in Elqaneve. Though she was Queen Asteria’s niece, she chose to stick it out here for the greater good.
One of the survivors was fading fast, his vital signs dropping even as we stood by his bed. The other drifted in and out of consciousness, barely coherent.
“It’s in my mind,” he whispered. “I can feel it . . .”
“Whatever we’re dealing with is still feeding on their life energy,” I said.
Vanzir spoke up. “It’s probably trying to spawn as much fear as possible. Fear spurs on adrenaline, meaning more energy.”
“He’s right,” Camille said.
“Okay,” Chase said. “So we have a passel of demons that can get inside your mind and feed on it, then can drain you of your life without a scratch. But why did Delilah show wounds?”
“I’ll bet you all of their victims were wounded for a bit. Sympathetic magic. They knew they were being attacked, so their bodies showed it. Why the wounds healed, I don’t know. When Delilah shook the one attacking her, her wounds healed up almost instantly.” I frowned.